I'll be carrying my journal with me during the next week, along with all of life's other essentials, and a handful of luxuries (pipe, dark chocolate, Sierra Designs' down moccassins). My lover and I, along with two other couples, and a single guy who is comfortable enough in his own skin to make the journey with we three pairs, are flying to Vegas in the morning, and by various means making our way to Wire Pass -- a trail head in Utah that points us toward the Paria River which we'll find and follow for five days or so until it shoves us into the Colorado near Lee's Ferry in Arizona.
The wireless signals are just weak enough in the canyon that I'll not be bothering to bring a lap top with me. I'll complete my "Christian Enterprise and I" series of posts upon my return with a word or two on Jesus. But I'll be writing in my journal, real inky words, while I'm away, and eager to continue to share the words I'm finding that express my way of being in this very diverse and beautiful, often troubling, and more often surprising world of ours.
I'll be walking with some dear friends, listening for Creator's rhythms, noting the expanse of desert and sky. Not missing the keyboard or screen. It's going to be good. You should let me show it to you some day. Let me know when, I'll put together a trip for you.
Peace to you. Shalom.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
IV. b.
"Sin" is missing from the list of Christian particulars that I presented in my "Christian Enterprise and I" post, but I guess I have something to say about it.
It's like this: I have a friend, he is a homosexual and he worships with a conservative evangelical Christian congregation, he is in a monogamous relationship, the father of two, and a self-identified sinner. But homosexuality is not his sin, any more than heterosexuality is mine.
Hypothetically let's say that pornography is a sin. Straight porn will get you a spiritual time out every bit as much as gay porn, won't it?
We've got ourselves all tangled up in the pre-fixes (homo-sexuality, hetero-sexuality) and we're having a hard time finding common ground. But it's there, right after the "o" in both terms, and it's something we can all relate to. Libido and lust, expression and repression, we've all tapped in, to some extent, to the realm of the sexual. We have to, we're bodies, we have sexual things built right into us. (If you're having trouble relating to this, maybe you're in the repression category, that's ok, been there; go ahead and say it, "I am sexual." Excellent now say what the things are, say them both loud and clear, "PENIS," good, the other one too...don't be shy...starts with a "v" and it's not a dirty word...v...v...V, "VAGINA," there, that's a good start.)
Our sexuality, as an essential part of our humanity, has the potential to unite us, but we've done with it what we do with pretty much everything else: we've figured out a way to make sexuality divisive. And that's a sin.
Sin is an addiction to a substance, any substance will do. It is an attitude more than an item on a list. (Our Catholic sisters and brothers, however, do have a good list of attitudes and addictions that's worth a moment or two of your contemplation, as are their corresponding opposites.) The addiction that I see as the linchpin in most of what ails us (most scenarios of violence, hatred, and fear) is our addiction to the comfort we find from the cliques that bolster our identities. You see what I'm saying? This can be racial or religious (resulting in lots of violence and hatred, affecting our history and global relations), or it can originate from something else, like our idea of what's fashionable or our areas of giftedness (resulting in lots of meanness and locker-stuffing, affecting our middle schools, high schools and global relations).
I'm not dogging diversity, not in the least. As far as I'm concerned our various identities are as essential to our humanity as our sexuality is. (Say it, "I'm a Christian." "I'm a Jew." "I'm Hindu." "I'm Hispanic." "I'm gay." "I'm an athlete." "I'm a businesswoman." "I am Canadian.") I am for diversity. I am against the tendency we have to cushion our reality; to build a wall that isolates us and allows us to ignore our neighbor. The way to break down the wall is not by relinquishing our identity, but by exploring it to it's very source. If we all do that we'll probably find a thing or two in common -- humans, residents of the earth. If we begin there we might learn something valuable from another person's very different experience as a resident of the earth.
So sin is anything that allows us to utterly disregard the ubiquitous other.
P.S. The idea that homosexuality in all of its manifestations is a sin, that needs to be dropped. It needs to deteriorate and become a part of the soil of our past, a history out of which we can grow and flower and become more beautiful and fragrant.
I'm aware of the cases within various articulations of Christianity that have been made against homosexuality, and I find them unconvincing. I'm also aware of the biblical passages that reference homosexuality and I consider it obvious that these passages are not referencing a lifestyle of homosexuality that is based on commitment and love. The homosexuality that was known by the biblical authors and their contemporaries primarily existed in the realm of prostitution, ritual sex, and sexual abuse -- this is what they would have felt compelled to address. They would have had little or no reason to concern themselves with addressing committed and loving homosexual relationships. And if you bring up Leviticus you automatically loose. If you want to use Leviticus you have lots of explaining to do.
To be sure our religious predecessors (the scribes of this holy book that we scribble all over) would not have been free of prejudice. We've sanctified the book, not the authors. Let's read the book through the lense of infallible love, thus accessing its sacred direction for our lives and interactions, and avoiding the prejudices of its fallible authors. If our ancestors (religious, national, and familial) are anywhere, regarding us from where they are, I don't imagine they'd be too upset if we do away with their bad ideas and replace them with handshakes, hugs, and high fives. That's the best way to do combat with sin.
It's like this: I have a friend, he is a homosexual and he worships with a conservative evangelical Christian congregation, he is in a monogamous relationship, the father of two, and a self-identified sinner. But homosexuality is not his sin, any more than heterosexuality is mine.
Hypothetically let's say that pornography is a sin. Straight porn will get you a spiritual time out every bit as much as gay porn, won't it?
We've got ourselves all tangled up in the pre-fixes (homo-sexuality, hetero-sexuality) and we're having a hard time finding common ground. But it's there, right after the "o" in both terms, and it's something we can all relate to. Libido and lust, expression and repression, we've all tapped in, to some extent, to the realm of the sexual. We have to, we're bodies, we have sexual things built right into us. (If you're having trouble relating to this, maybe you're in the repression category, that's ok, been there; go ahead and say it, "I am sexual." Excellent now say what the things are, say them both loud and clear, "PENIS," good, the other one too...don't be shy...starts with a "v" and it's not a dirty word...v...v...V, "VAGINA," there, that's a good start.)
Our sexuality, as an essential part of our humanity, has the potential to unite us, but we've done with it what we do with pretty much everything else: we've figured out a way to make sexuality divisive. And that's a sin.
Sin is an addiction to a substance, any substance will do. It is an attitude more than an item on a list. (Our Catholic sisters and brothers, however, do have a good list of attitudes and addictions that's worth a moment or two of your contemplation, as are their corresponding opposites.) The addiction that I see as the linchpin in most of what ails us (most scenarios of violence, hatred, and fear) is our addiction to the comfort we find from the cliques that bolster our identities. You see what I'm saying? This can be racial or religious (resulting in lots of violence and hatred, affecting our history and global relations), or it can originate from something else, like our idea of what's fashionable or our areas of giftedness (resulting in lots of meanness and locker-stuffing, affecting our middle schools, high schools and global relations).
I'm not dogging diversity, not in the least. As far as I'm concerned our various identities are as essential to our humanity as our sexuality is. (Say it, "I'm a Christian." "I'm a Jew." "I'm Hindu." "I'm Hispanic." "I'm gay." "I'm an athlete." "I'm a businesswoman." "I am Canadian.") I am for diversity. I am against the tendency we have to cushion our reality; to build a wall that isolates us and allows us to ignore our neighbor. The way to break down the wall is not by relinquishing our identity, but by exploring it to it's very source. If we all do that we'll probably find a thing or two in common -- humans, residents of the earth. If we begin there we might learn something valuable from another person's very different experience as a resident of the earth.
So sin is anything that allows us to utterly disregard the ubiquitous other.
P.S. The idea that homosexuality in all of its manifestations is a sin, that needs to be dropped. It needs to deteriorate and become a part of the soil of our past, a history out of which we can grow and flower and become more beautiful and fragrant.
I'm aware of the cases within various articulations of Christianity that have been made against homosexuality, and I find them unconvincing. I'm also aware of the biblical passages that reference homosexuality and I consider it obvious that these passages are not referencing a lifestyle of homosexuality that is based on commitment and love. The homosexuality that was known by the biblical authors and their contemporaries primarily existed in the realm of prostitution, ritual sex, and sexual abuse -- this is what they would have felt compelled to address. They would have had little or no reason to concern themselves with addressing committed and loving homosexual relationships. And if you bring up Leviticus you automatically loose. If you want to use Leviticus you have lots of explaining to do.
To be sure our religious predecessors (the scribes of this holy book that we scribble all over) would not have been free of prejudice. We've sanctified the book, not the authors. Let's read the book through the lense of infallible love, thus accessing its sacred direction for our lives and interactions, and avoiding the prejudices of its fallible authors. If our ancestors (religious, national, and familial) are anywhere, regarding us from where they are, I don't imagine they'd be too upset if we do away with their bad ideas and replace them with handshakes, hugs, and high fives. That's the best way to do combat with sin.
(intermission)
I'm trying to figure out if it's possible to do what I've been doing here recently (share my ideas about Christianity) without creating distance between myself and you the reader. I know for many readers what I'm sharing and thinking about functions to bring us closer together, you find solidarity in what I'm writing. And some readers (one time readers) are entirely unaffected, unscathed, uninspired -- they move right along, never to shed a click on my blog again. Yet there are those who are affected by what I'm sharing in a way that causes: 1. them to question me (you are confused by what I'm saying, that I'd be saying it, perhaps concerned), or 2. them to question themselves (you feel threatened by my ideas, you feel insulted or judged or shoved in a corner).
To those readers,
Please pardon me if my tone has affected you in the manner of option 2. It is not my intent to inspire self-doubt or to berate the dignity of any individual by casting judgement.
Nor is it my intent to inspire Aram-doubt. Please understand (regarding option 1.) that here, in this blog and particularly this series of posts, are my ideas, some statements, expressions, articulations. My heart (my self, my me) is involved in this expression, but not contained by it.
To all my readers,
I'm going to keep writing because I feel compelled to, I feel strongly about the issues I bring up and I think I present valuable things for your consideration. But not for your conversion. So keep reading and let's keep talking, I value your comments.
To those readers,
Please pardon me if my tone has affected you in the manner of option 2. It is not my intent to inspire self-doubt or to berate the dignity of any individual by casting judgement.
Nor is it my intent to inspire Aram-doubt. Please understand (regarding option 1.) that here, in this blog and particularly this series of posts, are my ideas, some statements, expressions, articulations. My heart (my self, my me) is involved in this expression, but not contained by it.
To all my readers,
I'm going to keep writing because I feel compelled to, I feel strongly about the issues I bring up and I think I present valuable things for your consideration. But not for your conversion. So keep reading and let's keep talking, I value your comments.
Monday, May 18, 2009
IV.a. the other
We are afraid of our differences. I'm tempted to write that we, humans, are inherently afraid of our differences, but I don't think it's true that we have to be that way. Fear is certainly an inherent sensation, but I think we're more or less socialized to fasten it to diversity. Consider children, the sort of humans that still have a good portion of the innocence they were born with. Children are inherently intrigued with our differences. All the little fingers on my contrasting white skin at an orphanage in Jamaica taught me this when I was 12. The children in the life skills class at the elementary school I worked at with their little fingers tangled in my beard. Differences in appearance and aptitude drew the attention (and incidentally the touch) of these uncontaminated examples of humanity.
What do differences (in appearance, in expression, in belief, in orientation) do to the rest of us? Often they tense us up, bother us, frighten us. And that's ok, there's no shame in the sensation of fear. It's actually quite healthy to acknowledge our fears, so we can encounter them straight on and confront them. There is hope in that. But fear denied, fear masked, fear avoided will be (has so often been) our downfall.
Let's say that we are indeed afraid of our differences, put simply: diversity threatens us. And say we're brave enough to acknowledge, encounter, and confront our fear. There are a couple of ways we can advance in that face to face confrontation.
One option is to advance with violence. By superimposing our fear on those whom we are afraid of (which we do quite naturally) we can attack our fear in its personified form. With physical or verbal force we can drive our fear into submission. If we make our fear tangible we can hold it down, and if we convince ourselves that it is low enough then we'll no longer feel the sensation of our fear, we'll have sufficiently numbed ourselves to it. But really what we'll have done is numbed ourselves to those whom we were afraid of, and done nothing to the fear itself. The fear will still be there, its sensation replaced by a silent infestation. Bad things happen when that happens. Violence toward our differences will continue to result in factions and feuds, more bloodshed and more borders.
If, on the other hand, we advance with love (or curiosity, if love is too abstract an approach) there will be a more beautiful outcome. Our fear (naturally) will take the shape of the others we are afraid of and we'll bravely approach them with love, housed in genuine curiosity: "What's it like being you?".
It's really that simple. We've been experimenting with this for ages. Asking that question and listening to each others responses and devising ways to live which take it all into account. We've been dreaming of success for quite some time now, our dream finding a variety of forms of expression: the Republic, democracy, socialism, free love, anarchy, the Kingdom of God. Our ideas tend to fall short as realities, but that doesn't mean that we should stop dreaming, or quit devoting our lives to the realization of our dream.
Jesus was one of the dream's primary dreamers.
"What is the greatest command [i.e. life's greatest instruction or the world's greatest need] ?" he's asked. "Love the Lord your God with everything you are; your emotions, your body, your intellect, your very breath. And the second greatest is like it: love your neighbor like you love yourself."
Who is your "the Lord your God"? Jesus was talking to Jews, theirs was Yahweh -- the I Am, the Isness, the One, the God that ignores and transcends tribal and national identities, the God that brings together tribes and nations, the creator and unifier, the Ground of all Being, the Real. Maybe when you hear Jesus' words about loving God you attach it to something similar to all of this, it's hard to say, God's a touchy intangible subject, yet worth some looking into.
The second answer illuminates the first for us considerably. It is like it. Love your neighbor, that's like loving God. And who is your "neighbor"? Not much room for fancy talk or hermeneutical gymnastics here. Your neighbor is each and every person who is other than you. The "thou" in the I/thou relationship. "Next door neighbor" means the other who lives next door to you. A neighborhood is a collection of others, others who all live in the same hood. Earth is a big hood, it's a global neighborhood, it always has been, but we're more aware of it now than we ever have been (thanks to the internet, air travel, photos from outer space, etc.). And since a certain sense of awareness to the other is necessary (at least helpful) before love can happen (I loved Lauren as soon as I met her) then perhaps the instruction to love our neighbor reaches farther now than it ever has.
Maybe now that our world is global in scope, now that everyone is officially our neighbor, we can have another go at our dream. And maybe now that our hood is so huge we can actually simplify our approach to the other; we don't need a political or religious or social idea to unite under, for these are no longer big enough to contain the world that we're aware of. Our humanity is, and perhaps even more binding than that is our common home. A home that we are free to explore as our hearts feel fit, asking each and every other we encounter, "What's it like being you?". If we do this, and if we listen to each other's reply, good things will happen.
What do differences (in appearance, in expression, in belief, in orientation) do to the rest of us? Often they tense us up, bother us, frighten us. And that's ok, there's no shame in the sensation of fear. It's actually quite healthy to acknowledge our fears, so we can encounter them straight on and confront them. There is hope in that. But fear denied, fear masked, fear avoided will be (has so often been) our downfall.
Let's say that we are indeed afraid of our differences, put simply: diversity threatens us. And say we're brave enough to acknowledge, encounter, and confront our fear. There are a couple of ways we can advance in that face to face confrontation.
One option is to advance with violence. By superimposing our fear on those whom we are afraid of (which we do quite naturally) we can attack our fear in its personified form. With physical or verbal force we can drive our fear into submission. If we make our fear tangible we can hold it down, and if we convince ourselves that it is low enough then we'll no longer feel the sensation of our fear, we'll have sufficiently numbed ourselves to it. But really what we'll have done is numbed ourselves to those whom we were afraid of, and done nothing to the fear itself. The fear will still be there, its sensation replaced by a silent infestation. Bad things happen when that happens. Violence toward our differences will continue to result in factions and feuds, more bloodshed and more borders.
If, on the other hand, we advance with love (or curiosity, if love is too abstract an approach) there will be a more beautiful outcome. Our fear (naturally) will take the shape of the others we are afraid of and we'll bravely approach them with love, housed in genuine curiosity: "What's it like being you?".
It's really that simple. We've been experimenting with this for ages. Asking that question and listening to each others responses and devising ways to live which take it all into account. We've been dreaming of success for quite some time now, our dream finding a variety of forms of expression: the Republic, democracy, socialism, free love, anarchy, the Kingdom of God. Our ideas tend to fall short as realities, but that doesn't mean that we should stop dreaming, or quit devoting our lives to the realization of our dream.
Jesus was one of the dream's primary dreamers.
"What is the greatest command [i.e. life's greatest instruction or the world's greatest need] ?" he's asked. "Love the Lord your God with everything you are; your emotions, your body, your intellect, your very breath. And the second greatest is like it: love your neighbor like you love yourself."
Who is your "the Lord your God"? Jesus was talking to Jews, theirs was Yahweh -- the I Am, the Isness, the One, the God that ignores and transcends tribal and national identities, the God that brings together tribes and nations, the creator and unifier, the Ground of all Being, the Real. Maybe when you hear Jesus' words about loving God you attach it to something similar to all of this, it's hard to say, God's a touchy intangible subject, yet worth some looking into.
The second answer illuminates the first for us considerably. It is like it. Love your neighbor, that's like loving God. And who is your "neighbor"? Not much room for fancy talk or hermeneutical gymnastics here. Your neighbor is each and every person who is other than you. The "thou" in the I/thou relationship. "Next door neighbor" means the other who lives next door to you. A neighborhood is a collection of others, others who all live in the same hood. Earth is a big hood, it's a global neighborhood, it always has been, but we're more aware of it now than we ever have been (thanks to the internet, air travel, photos from outer space, etc.). And since a certain sense of awareness to the other is necessary (at least helpful) before love can happen (I loved Lauren as soon as I met her) then perhaps the instruction to love our neighbor reaches farther now than it ever has.
Maybe now that our world is global in scope, now that everyone is officially our neighbor, we can have another go at our dream. And maybe now that our hood is so huge we can actually simplify our approach to the other; we don't need a political or religious or social idea to unite under, for these are no longer big enough to contain the world that we're aware of. Our humanity is, and perhaps even more binding than that is our common home. A home that we are free to explore as our hearts feel fit, asking each and every other we encounter, "What's it like being you?". If we do this, and if we listen to each other's reply, good things will happen.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
III. salvation
Substitutionary atonement: Salvation means the atonement of ones sins, by way of the sacrifice of ones pure and blameless savior, for the sake of the well being of ones soul.
I don't find that description inaccurate or ineffective, however, neither do I consider it exhaustive of the potential of what salvation might fully mean. I think there's another route the word "salvation" can travel.
The saviour most frequently referenced in accordance with the atonement theory above is Jesus. And the sin (or bondage or anti-salvation habit or thing that we need to be saved from) that I see most harshly rebuked by Jesus in the Bible stories is divisiveness between neighbors, the establishing of factions, the excluding of oneself from the other.
Salvation then, modeled expertly by Jesus' lifestyle and final moments of breath, isn't so much in the mechanics of a sacrifice but in the coming together of those who suffer.
Salvation is the Hebrew shalom, the Sanskrit shanti, that precedes and transcends all of our factions and prejudice. Salvation is the possibility (the hope) of unity -- a united array of all our diversities -- on all levels. Unity globally, unity in communities and neighborhoods, unity in our families, unity in our relationships, unity in ourselves.
Salvation is peace so far as peace is whole and complete, meaning not simply the absence of war between nations, nor even the absence of conflict in general, but the willingness of men and women to love and listen to one another.
Salvation, from this perspective, isn't purchased with the blood of violence or sacrifice, but is hoped toward and realized in accordance with the way of love. Salvation comes to an individual when love attains lordship in his or her heart, comes to a relationship when love carries it, comes to families and communities when they are united in love, comes to the world in the message of love.
For God so loved the world that God gave God's only son, Jesus, so that whoever believes in Jesus won't cease to exist but will have the fullest and most extensive existence imaginable, eternal life!
God's love is universal. And to believe in Jesus isn't to believe certain things about Jesus (though we're all welcome to do that) but to believe in the essence of Jesus, what Jesus was/is about: the coming together of people, love of neighbors and enemies alike, a thoughtful unity with the divine by way of a careful caring for the fragile and marginalized.
Salvation, on some accounts, has come. On many accounts, is coming. And on all accounts, is yet to come. There is hope/work for us all.
I don't find that description inaccurate or ineffective, however, neither do I consider it exhaustive of the potential of what salvation might fully mean. I think there's another route the word "salvation" can travel.
The saviour most frequently referenced in accordance with the atonement theory above is Jesus. And the sin (or bondage or anti-salvation habit or thing that we need to be saved from) that I see most harshly rebuked by Jesus in the Bible stories is divisiveness between neighbors, the establishing of factions, the excluding of oneself from the other.
Salvation then, modeled expertly by Jesus' lifestyle and final moments of breath, isn't so much in the mechanics of a sacrifice but in the coming together of those who suffer.
Salvation is the Hebrew shalom, the Sanskrit shanti, that precedes and transcends all of our factions and prejudice. Salvation is the possibility (the hope) of unity -- a united array of all our diversities -- on all levels. Unity globally, unity in communities and neighborhoods, unity in our families, unity in our relationships, unity in ourselves.
Salvation is peace so far as peace is whole and complete, meaning not simply the absence of war between nations, nor even the absence of conflict in general, but the willingness of men and women to love and listen to one another.
Salvation, from this perspective, isn't purchased with the blood of violence or sacrifice, but is hoped toward and realized in accordance with the way of love. Salvation comes to an individual when love attains lordship in his or her heart, comes to a relationship when love carries it, comes to families and communities when they are united in love, comes to the world in the message of love.
For God so loved the world that God gave God's only son, Jesus, so that whoever believes in Jesus won't cease to exist but will have the fullest and most extensive existence imaginable, eternal life!
God's love is universal. And to believe in Jesus isn't to believe certain things about Jesus (though we're all welcome to do that) but to believe in the essence of Jesus, what Jesus was/is about: the coming together of people, love of neighbors and enemies alike, a thoughtful unity with the divine by way of a careful caring for the fragile and marginalized.
Salvation, on some accounts, has come. On many accounts, is coming. And on all accounts, is yet to come. There is hope/work for us all.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
II. Hell, and Heaven too
I ceased grappling (or even dabbling) with the concept of hell quite some time ago. I got to a point where the term seemed so laden with the glorification of our tendency to cast judgement on others and our insatiable propensity for personal guilt, that I simply let go of it. I think that was a necessary and positive thing for me to do. And I think it is a healthy thing for anyone to do to at least try and work off the beer belly that adorns the doctrine of hell. There is some excess to it that we'd be better off without.
Ideas often (always?) spring board off of other ideas on their way to becoming their own thing. There's no shame in that, and no harm in dissecting an idea, acknowledging it's sources, as a means of better understanding its meaning. Today's most prevalent Christian concept of hell is a hodge-podge concept that has borrowed from the images of various traditions and sources. Hades is where the dead go in Greek mythology upon passage of the river Styx. Gehenna (the Valley of Hinnom) was the location of a trash dump in the middle east with powerful metaphorical potential. Sheol is the Hebrew image of "the grave", the leveling place, the state of death that comes to us all. These words aren't synonymous with hell. They are each complex images in themselves that have lent portions to the development of Christianity's idea of hell. Hell is an idea that has evolved and developed, with purpose that is not strictly harmful. Hell is not a place, but an idea of a place, a powerful one. And bloated by our fears and prejudice the idea of hell has grown, in some articulations, into a means of ridding our eternal experience of those with whom we disagree, a sort of final crusade, genocide to the farthest extreme possible.
I don't believe in the eternal torment of sinners (or, for that matter, of the innocent). It seems plain to me that sin is nothing short of torment in and of itself, whether doing it yourself or having it done to you. If hell is in any way essential to the Christian enterprise then, as I understand it, it is like this: all of the happenings contained in the Christian message and metaphors happened in order to be rid of hell; not in order to provide a means of avoiding hell and bidding for a lot outside of it. Most heroes of the Christian faith saw hell for what it is, and the most inspiring of them waded waist deep into it and did what they could to extinguish it.
Hell, if anything at all, is what many people experience everyday and what all people experience at least some days. Humans experience hell when they are disregarded by others around them. We create hell by our failure to evenly distribute food and water, shelter and dignity to one another. Making heaven the realization of ones dignity, the satiation of hunger and thirst, the remedy of malnutrition and illness (whether that malnutrition has to do with a scarcity of meals or not). Indeed, and remember this, for some heaven does not find them until death does.
I'm a believer in the quiet rest and the holistic realization of contentment that comes, in one way or another, one day to us all. My left-column friends would perhaps call me a universalist. Maybe "hopeful" according to the right-columnists.
Ideas often (always?) spring board off of other ideas on their way to becoming their own thing. There's no shame in that, and no harm in dissecting an idea, acknowledging it's sources, as a means of better understanding its meaning. Today's most prevalent Christian concept of hell is a hodge-podge concept that has borrowed from the images of various traditions and sources. Hades is where the dead go in Greek mythology upon passage of the river Styx. Gehenna (the Valley of Hinnom) was the location of a trash dump in the middle east with powerful metaphorical potential. Sheol is the Hebrew image of "the grave", the leveling place, the state of death that comes to us all. These words aren't synonymous with hell. They are each complex images in themselves that have lent portions to the development of Christianity's idea of hell. Hell is an idea that has evolved and developed, with purpose that is not strictly harmful. Hell is not a place, but an idea of a place, a powerful one. And bloated by our fears and prejudice the idea of hell has grown, in some articulations, into a means of ridding our eternal experience of those with whom we disagree, a sort of final crusade, genocide to the farthest extreme possible.
I don't believe in the eternal torment of sinners (or, for that matter, of the innocent). It seems plain to me that sin is nothing short of torment in and of itself, whether doing it yourself or having it done to you. If hell is in any way essential to the Christian enterprise then, as I understand it, it is like this: all of the happenings contained in the Christian message and metaphors happened in order to be rid of hell; not in order to provide a means of avoiding hell and bidding for a lot outside of it. Most heroes of the Christian faith saw hell for what it is, and the most inspiring of them waded waist deep into it and did what they could to extinguish it.
Hell, if anything at all, is what many people experience everyday and what all people experience at least some days. Humans experience hell when they are disregarded by others around them. We create hell by our failure to evenly distribute food and water, shelter and dignity to one another. Making heaven the realization of ones dignity, the satiation of hunger and thirst, the remedy of malnutrition and illness (whether that malnutrition has to do with a scarcity of meals or not). Indeed, and remember this, for some heaven does not find them until death does.
I'm a believer in the quiet rest and the holistic realization of contentment that comes, in one way or another, one day to us all. My left-column friends would perhaps call me a universalist. Maybe "hopeful" according to the right-columnists.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I. the Bible
For me it seems dull (rather stuffy and cooped up) to think of God dictating divine words to human receptors, thus making the Bible an inherently divine product wherein one can find answers to the hard questions. In other words I don't consider the Bible a divine response to human dilemmas.
Rather, I consider the Bible as genuine human response and reaction to the experience of God in life; sometimes by individuals, sometimes by a community. I think the Bible is more or less an acknowledgment of the the hard questions, wherein solidarity and guidance can be found.
Consider the history of the Bible itself. The process of its compilation: generations and generations of people reporting and eventually recording their experiences of life and worship and conflict and celebration and identity. So many authentic and uncensored statements and questions about the matters that mattered to them. The process of its canonization: how gradually a series of councils, by judging its utility and wisdom, bestowed authority to the collection of books that we hold in our hands when we hold the Bible. It is powerful to think of the rich history of the Bible. I think the Bible's rich history marks it with significance in a way that our personal statements about it (i.e. inspired, inerrant, infallible) can not.
I don't think of the Bible as the Word of God, but as an assembly of words (stories, accounts, songs, letters, forecasts, social commentary, history, and poetry) that are of God as often as an individual or community uses them in a God-worthy (loving!) way. The Bible is read, interpreted, and used. And that can be done to the benefit or detriment of "the other" (our neighbor, whom we're meant to love as ourselves). I believe the Bible is meant to be used to benefit, to encourage, admonish, and guide. Not used to back up our prejudice, fears, and judgments, as it so often is.
In school I was encouraged to acknowledge that the (Christian) scriptures were insufficient when separated from us, specifically from our ability to reason or interpret, our culture and traditions, and our experience of life. And I believe that these four things (scripture, interpretation, culture, and experience) do indeed need to be in constant dialogue (quadralogue?). More than need -- they are unavoidably interlaced and interdependent for the religious person. And even for the non-religious person, this dynamic foursome has played such an extravagant role in our history and has a still lasting effect in our politics and social interactions, it would be wise to understand "that" if not "how" this is.
I don't believe that the Bible does much, nor is it sacred, on its own; even though I do consider it sacred. Which is not to suggest that we bestow upon it it's sanctity (authority, yes, but sanctity is something different). In the hands and heart of a community or individual that does consider the Bible as authoritative, that does embrace its history, teachings, and stories, it has a weathered and reputable power and wisdom. There is in it a sacred theme that, partnered with human understanding, imagination, and action, has the potential to affect today's world in extraordinarily beneficial ways.
I think that makes the Bible a sacred book, able to guide a person or community in the way of love.
Rather, I consider the Bible as genuine human response and reaction to the experience of God in life; sometimes by individuals, sometimes by a community. I think the Bible is more or less an acknowledgment of the the hard questions, wherein solidarity and guidance can be found.
Consider the history of the Bible itself. The process of its compilation: generations and generations of people reporting and eventually recording their experiences of life and worship and conflict and celebration and identity. So many authentic and uncensored statements and questions about the matters that mattered to them. The process of its canonization: how gradually a series of councils, by judging its utility and wisdom, bestowed authority to the collection of books that we hold in our hands when we hold the Bible. It is powerful to think of the rich history of the Bible. I think the Bible's rich history marks it with significance in a way that our personal statements about it (i.e. inspired, inerrant, infallible) can not.
I don't think of the Bible as the Word of God, but as an assembly of words (stories, accounts, songs, letters, forecasts, social commentary, history, and poetry) that are of God as often as an individual or community uses them in a God-worthy (loving!) way. The Bible is read, interpreted, and used. And that can be done to the benefit or detriment of "the other" (our neighbor, whom we're meant to love as ourselves). I believe the Bible is meant to be used to benefit, to encourage, admonish, and guide. Not used to back up our prejudice, fears, and judgments, as it so often is.
In school I was encouraged to acknowledge that the (Christian) scriptures were insufficient when separated from us, specifically from our ability to reason or interpret, our culture and traditions, and our experience of life. And I believe that these four things (scripture, interpretation, culture, and experience) do indeed need to be in constant dialogue (quadralogue?). More than need -- they are unavoidably interlaced and interdependent for the religious person. And even for the non-religious person, this dynamic foursome has played such an extravagant role in our history and has a still lasting effect in our politics and social interactions, it would be wise to understand "that" if not "how" this is.
I don't believe that the Bible does much, nor is it sacred, on its own; even though I do consider it sacred. Which is not to suggest that we bestow upon it it's sanctity (authority, yes, but sanctity is something different). In the hands and heart of a community or individual that does consider the Bible as authoritative, that does embrace its history, teachings, and stories, it has a weathered and reputable power and wisdom. There is in it a sacred theme that, partnered with human understanding, imagination, and action, has the potential to affect today's world in extraordinarily beneficial ways.
I think that makes the Bible a sacred book, able to guide a person or community in the way of love.
The Christian Enterprise and I
A couple of posts back I mentioned a sensation that I couldn’t shake, the sense that I needed to express myself regarding what I believe, me and faith.
Additionally, and more specifically, I feel a steady need in my inner life to address how I relate to and perceive of Christianity. Having been born and bred into the whole enterprise it is a matter of personal importance, there’s no denying that. But I also have relationships with many people who are active in the Christian faith, who are, in fact, self-proclaimed Christians, and these relationships contribute to the need I feel to make this address. I cherish both my heritage and these friends. And seeing as it is no secret that I have changed considerably, since my days as a pious youth and a collegiate bible student, in the way I think about religious matters – my convictions have been adjusted, my paradigm tweaked – I intend, with a series of posts, to give an account of my current relationship with Christianity. I’m going to do this by writng some monologues that pertain to a handful of Christian particulars.
By sharing these posts my intention is not to establish distance between myself and others who hold to a more conventional Christian articulation, anymore than it is my intention to distance myself from those who find no value whatsoever in the Christian experience or Christian metaphors. What I want to do is make myself known, I want to be understood and appreciated just like most of the rest of you.
But, should we end up one or two doctrines shy of mutual understanding, or should my idea of lucid expression turn out to be your idea of ambiguity (and a source of frustration) then I would be glad to either continue the exploration on a more personal-conversational level (to the extent that it might be possible) or simply agree that there is a heap of potential for good relationship to be had in the shared art of lovingly disagreeing. Maybe in the end what we’re disagreeing about isn’t religion at all, maybe we’re just wired differently (remember the columns?), and maybe you’re just as important in the swirl of life (and dialogue) on earth as I am.
What you can expect from me in the next week or so (so long as I consistently find a source of internet) is something about:
I. the Bible
II. Hell, and Heaven too
III. salvation
IV. the other (aka: our neighbor, whom we’re meant to love as ourself)
V. God
VI. and Jesus
Keep reading, share your comments, be nice, and enjoy these efforts of mine at being e-vulnerable and e-honest.
Additionally, and more specifically, I feel a steady need in my inner life to address how I relate to and perceive of Christianity. Having been born and bred into the whole enterprise it is a matter of personal importance, there’s no denying that. But I also have relationships with many people who are active in the Christian faith, who are, in fact, self-proclaimed Christians, and these relationships contribute to the need I feel to make this address. I cherish both my heritage and these friends. And seeing as it is no secret that I have changed considerably, since my days as a pious youth and a collegiate bible student, in the way I think about religious matters – my convictions have been adjusted, my paradigm tweaked – I intend, with a series of posts, to give an account of my current relationship with Christianity. I’m going to do this by writng some monologues that pertain to a handful of Christian particulars.
By sharing these posts my intention is not to establish distance between myself and others who hold to a more conventional Christian articulation, anymore than it is my intention to distance myself from those who find no value whatsoever in the Christian experience or Christian metaphors. What I want to do is make myself known, I want to be understood and appreciated just like most of the rest of you.
But, should we end up one or two doctrines shy of mutual understanding, or should my idea of lucid expression turn out to be your idea of ambiguity (and a source of frustration) then I would be glad to either continue the exploration on a more personal-conversational level (to the extent that it might be possible) or simply agree that there is a heap of potential for good relationship to be had in the shared art of lovingly disagreeing. Maybe in the end what we’re disagreeing about isn’t religion at all, maybe we’re just wired differently (remember the columns?), and maybe you’re just as important in the swirl of life (and dialogue) on earth as I am.
What you can expect from me in the next week or so (so long as I consistently find a source of internet) is something about:
I. the Bible
II. Hell, and Heaven too
III. salvation
IV. the other (aka: our neighbor, whom we’re meant to love as ourself)
V. God
VI. and Jesus
Keep reading, share your comments, be nice, and enjoy these efforts of mine at being e-vulnerable and e-honest.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Columns
I was prompted by a conversation with a dear friend of mine (while putting down mulch and piling up ideas about God, faith, culture, life, the whole gamut) toward some ponderings on the differences between "modern" thinkers and "postmodern" thinkers. My friend falls significantly into one category and I in the other, there's no denying it, but I am trying to open up to an approach to these two approaches that doesn't make one or the other out to be the villain.
First off let me withdraw from the words "modern" and "postmodern", not wanting to get trapped in the act of misnomer-ing and out of respect for those who have done much more in the way of research on these terms/philosophies/phenomena. "Post/modern" were the two words that sparked the columns below, but any deviation is my own, and I'd like to be welcome to go wherever I may.
Left Column -------------------- Right Column
Idea---------------------------------Drama
Belief--------------------------------Experience
Quantitative-------------------------Qualitative
Methods-----------------------------Metaphors
Statements---------------------------Stories
Define--------------------------------Describe
A to B (destination)------------------a TO b (journey)
I want to be careful not to portray this as a conservative vs liberal thing, or a close minded vs open minded thing, or an anything vs anything else. I'm trying to point out that this is, and that the one is as valid a way to be wired (or conditioned) as the other.
A couple of elucidations.
*Quantitative says, "We tend to be real crystal clear about who we are. We say, 'I am such and such,' whether it be a Democrat or a Christian or the Tooth Fairy. We quantify things with labels of affirmation. 'He is a Democrat/Republican.' 'She is a Christian/Atheist.' 'They are the Tooth Fairy.' 'I am...' Qualitative usually thinks we're stuck in our ways."
Qualitative says, "We tend to be elusive when it comes to titles and labels. We say, 'I am not that sort of Democrat, not that sort of Christian, not that sort of Tooth Fairy.' We qualify labels by way of negation. Quantitative usually thinks we're dodging the question."
*A-to-B and a-TO-b go on a backpacking trip together, say to the Paria River in Arizona/Utah. They take a shuttle (with Betty of course) to Wire Pass (A/a) and hike for five days to/TO their rental car at Lee's Ferry (B/b).
By being too focused on the destination A-to-B can miss out on the beauty of the journey and the formative elements therein. A-to-B might fail to enjoy the trek. a-TO-b, however, can miss out on the sense of accomplishment upon completion of the trip. a-TO-b might feel discouraged rather than rejuvenated upon "arrival".
(To put arrival in "..." is something an a-TO-b would feel compelled to do.)
I encourage my reader to try not to be intimidated by either column. What the left column and the right column have in common is that they are both approaches to life, both attempts at understanding truth. And if we're honest most of us will acknowledge some of each column in us, though we probably have a definite leaning, which is totally okay.
What isn't okay is when we become insistent that one approach ought to be able to encompass and satisfy us all. It's not okay to suggest that our favored approach is absolute. That doesn't benefit ourselves or anyone else. It only betrays our fear of being wrong, of being on the losing side. We don't need to fret about that. We're in this together.
One of the most important things might be to recognize the destructive manifestations of either column at work in a person who has an unhealthy heart and a lot of influence. (Heart = where the parts of a person, body/spirit/intellect/imagination/emotions, intersect.)
It is dangerous, for instance, when a dogmatic and dictatorial person is addicted to the left column. Certain things will turn up in such a coupling: exclusivism, judgementalism, narrow-mindedness, abrasive indoctrinating -- and these all disguised in cloaks of martyrdom, and freedom-fighting.
Equally dangerous is the convincing fatalist and pessimist who is entrenched in the right column. This combination leads to relativism, relentlessness, despairing and uncaring -- disguised as realism, honesty, and truth telling.
Most people you come across aren't either of these two people. These two are exceptional. Most people, like Wiggs Dannyboy says in Jitterbug Perfume, "[just] want somebody to tell 'em they have a chance at the i-n-g of life and not just the e-d." Most of us want to make a living, one that has nothing to do with currency or bank accounts, we want life in the fullest possible sense. If it's life we want, let's make sure we're listening to people with healthy hearts, helping people with unhealthy hearts, and considering the value and validity of our own heart, whether it leans to the left or the right.
First off let me withdraw from the words "modern" and "postmodern", not wanting to get trapped in the act of misnomer-ing and out of respect for those who have done much more in the way of research on these terms/philosophies/phenomena. "Post/modern" were the two words that sparked the columns below, but any deviation is my own, and I'd like to be welcome to go wherever I may.
Left Column -------------------- Right Column
Idea---------------------------------Drama
Belief--------------------------------Experience
Quantitative-------------------------Qualitative
Methods-----------------------------Metaphors
Statements---------------------------Stories
Define--------------------------------Describe
A to B (destination)------------------a TO b (journey)
I want to be careful not to portray this as a conservative vs liberal thing, or a close minded vs open minded thing, or an anything vs anything else. I'm trying to point out that this is, and that the one is as valid a way to be wired (or conditioned) as the other.
A couple of elucidations.
*Quantitative says, "We tend to be real crystal clear about who we are. We say, 'I am such and such,' whether it be a Democrat or a Christian or the Tooth Fairy. We quantify things with labels of affirmation. 'He is a Democrat/Republican.' 'She is a Christian/Atheist.' 'They are the Tooth Fairy.' 'I am...' Qualitative usually thinks we're stuck in our ways."
Qualitative says, "We tend to be elusive when it comes to titles and labels. We say, 'I am not that sort of Democrat, not that sort of Christian, not that sort of Tooth Fairy.' We qualify labels by way of negation. Quantitative usually thinks we're dodging the question."
*A-to-B and a-TO-b go on a backpacking trip together, say to the Paria River in Arizona/Utah. They take a shuttle (with Betty of course) to Wire Pass (A/a) and hike for five days to/TO their rental car at Lee's Ferry (B/b).
By being too focused on the destination A-to-B can miss out on the beauty of the journey and the formative elements therein. A-to-B might fail to enjoy the trek. a-TO-b, however, can miss out on the sense of accomplishment upon completion of the trip. a-TO-b might feel discouraged rather than rejuvenated upon "arrival".
(To put arrival in "..." is something an a-TO-b would feel compelled to do.)
I encourage my reader to try not to be intimidated by either column. What the left column and the right column have in common is that they are both approaches to life, both attempts at understanding truth. And if we're honest most of us will acknowledge some of each column in us, though we probably have a definite leaning, which is totally okay.
What isn't okay is when we become insistent that one approach ought to be able to encompass and satisfy us all. It's not okay to suggest that our favored approach is absolute. That doesn't benefit ourselves or anyone else. It only betrays our fear of being wrong, of being on the losing side. We don't need to fret about that. We're in this together.
One of the most important things might be to recognize the destructive manifestations of either column at work in a person who has an unhealthy heart and a lot of influence. (Heart = where the parts of a person, body/spirit/intellect/imagination/emotions, intersect.)
It is dangerous, for instance, when a dogmatic and dictatorial person is addicted to the left column. Certain things will turn up in such a coupling: exclusivism, judgementalism, narrow-mindedness, abrasive indoctrinating -- and these all disguised in cloaks of martyrdom, and freedom-fighting.
Equally dangerous is the convincing fatalist and pessimist who is entrenched in the right column. This combination leads to relativism, relentlessness, despairing and uncaring -- disguised as realism, honesty, and truth telling.
Most people you come across aren't either of these two people. These two are exceptional. Most people, like Wiggs Dannyboy says in Jitterbug Perfume, "[just] want somebody to tell 'em they have a chance at the i-n-g of life and not just the e-d." Most of us want to make a living, one that has nothing to do with currency or bank accounts, we want life in the fullest possible sense. If it's life we want, let's make sure we're listening to people with healthy hearts, helping people with unhealthy hearts, and considering the value and validity of our own heart, whether it leans to the left or the right.
Friday, April 24, 2009
philippians 4.7
My wife is asleep in bed right now and I am up, awake, later than I should be because I can't shake a feeling.
I sense that some people in my life think I have given up on God and that I have devoted my thoughts and efforts to things less than worthy of a life's devotion. And that sense troubles me, it has be scrambling for an explanation -- an explanation of my own or one from one of them, except that none of them have accused me of any such thing, it's just a sense, a feeling I can't shake.
So I'm left to explain on my own.
I know there are a couple things I believe in, a couple things that make me a believer and they aren't exclusively Christian or religious.
I believe, somewhat naively, in the potential for redemption, that redemption is possible for any individual and that it's possible in any social situation. Love is more powerful than anything else, and it's confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory. Forgiveness goes out of its way to break ground for redemption -- I've witnessed all of that from beginning to end, for example, in my parents' story. And I continue to keep my eyes peeled for it elsewhere in life.
I believe in the natural rhythm of things, sometimes even mystically. The slow steady fidelity of tides and seasons and growth and reproduction, for instance. To call anything supernatural is redundant. The natural is extraordinary, and confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory -- containing struggle and regeneration, heartache and elation, death and life.
In regards to those two things, call the first "Love" and the second "Life" both with capital "L's", I am a believer. And when I write this, when I claim it, it makes me feel like I have a bold and strong faith in God. Even though I don't use the word "God" as much as I once did, or credit things to "God" as readily, I haven't turned my back on God. Consider it all an attempt to not take the Lord's name in vain, to not take "God" for granted.
By not identifying as a Christian I am not trying to distance myself from anyone. With these attempts at explanation that I continually make -- in my head, on paper, out loud, here on my blog -- I am trying to benefit (not condemn) anyone who might be interested in knowing me, it's in order to enhance (not dishevel) the potential for our relationship.
By not saying, "I am a Christian" or "I believe 'such and such' about God" I am not trying to judge those who do. The thing is I'm proud of me, and chances are I'm proud of you too. Give me the benefit of the doubt and you'll see that what you believe about God and the good life is alive and well in me. Just as I see it in you.
Nor do I desire to distance myself from my heritage. Everyone of my days as a child was tempered in the furnace of Christianity and strong family ties. Any time I bask in the memory pools of my upbringing it's a balm to my soul's skin and I get to feeling smooth, fragrant, and fresh. I like most of the influences and experiences that have helped shape who I am and am becoming. The handful that I don't like I at least appreciate and don't resent. I consider myself well crafted, and the smiths' hands are many.
Suffice it to say? I am not an atheist, not even an agnostic, though I know, love, and appreciate several of each sort. I am a believer through and through. And even if I'm not that kind of a believer, I am one nonetheless.
I'm conservative too. It just has more to do with the way I refrain from kicking around the word "God" and other religious lingo. A rose by any other name...
Which is to say that God has a distinct scent and I'm trying more and more to trust my sense of smell, even at the expense of some of my past convictions and especially at the expense of my prejudices.
Does this make sense? I feel like it should but fear it doesn't but it's important to me that it does. What I want more than anything in life is peace that involves everything, including everyone, including you and me. That doesn't imply a need for sameness between us, but does depend, to some extent I think, on understanding. So let's not hide our questions from one another, nor be eager to change each other.
I want you to be honestly you. And me to be honestly me. And trust "God" to take care of the rest.
I sense that some people in my life think I have given up on God and that I have devoted my thoughts and efforts to things less than worthy of a life's devotion. And that sense troubles me, it has be scrambling for an explanation -- an explanation of my own or one from one of them, except that none of them have accused me of any such thing, it's just a sense, a feeling I can't shake.
So I'm left to explain on my own.
I know there are a couple things I believe in, a couple things that make me a believer and they aren't exclusively Christian or religious.
I believe, somewhat naively, in the potential for redemption, that redemption is possible for any individual and that it's possible in any social situation. Love is more powerful than anything else, and it's confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory. Forgiveness goes out of its way to break ground for redemption -- I've witnessed all of that from beginning to end, for example, in my parents' story. And I continue to keep my eyes peeled for it elsewhere in life.
I believe in the natural rhythm of things, sometimes even mystically. The slow steady fidelity of tides and seasons and growth and reproduction, for instance. To call anything supernatural is redundant. The natural is extraordinary, and confusing and complex and sometimes contradictory -- containing struggle and regeneration, heartache and elation, death and life.
In regards to those two things, call the first "Love" and the second "Life" both with capital "L's", I am a believer. And when I write this, when I claim it, it makes me feel like I have a bold and strong faith in God. Even though I don't use the word "God" as much as I once did, or credit things to "God" as readily, I haven't turned my back on God. Consider it all an attempt to not take the Lord's name in vain, to not take "God" for granted.
By not identifying as a Christian I am not trying to distance myself from anyone. With these attempts at explanation that I continually make -- in my head, on paper, out loud, here on my blog -- I am trying to benefit (not condemn) anyone who might be interested in knowing me, it's in order to enhance (not dishevel) the potential for our relationship.
By not saying, "I am a Christian" or "I believe 'such and such' about God" I am not trying to judge those who do. The thing is I'm proud of me, and chances are I'm proud of you too. Give me the benefit of the doubt and you'll see that what you believe about God and the good life is alive and well in me. Just as I see it in you.
Nor do I desire to distance myself from my heritage. Everyone of my days as a child was tempered in the furnace of Christianity and strong family ties. Any time I bask in the memory pools of my upbringing it's a balm to my soul's skin and I get to feeling smooth, fragrant, and fresh. I like most of the influences and experiences that have helped shape who I am and am becoming. The handful that I don't like I at least appreciate and don't resent. I consider myself well crafted, and the smiths' hands are many.
Suffice it to say? I am not an atheist, not even an agnostic, though I know, love, and appreciate several of each sort. I am a believer through and through. And even if I'm not that kind of a believer, I am one nonetheless.
I'm conservative too. It just has more to do with the way I refrain from kicking around the word "God" and other religious lingo. A rose by any other name...
Which is to say that God has a distinct scent and I'm trying more and more to trust my sense of smell, even at the expense of some of my past convictions and especially at the expense of my prejudices.
Does this make sense? I feel like it should but fear it doesn't but it's important to me that it does. What I want more than anything in life is peace that involves everything, including everyone, including you and me. That doesn't imply a need for sameness between us, but does depend, to some extent I think, on understanding. So let's not hide our questions from one another, nor be eager to change each other.
I want you to be honestly you. And me to be honestly me. And trust "God" to take care of the rest.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
feel the rhythm, join the dance
I had a chance to talk with a couple different groups of people this week about the situation of the environment, as in the state of the natural world and the impact of humankind on it. We perused the issue as thoroughly as possible in the time we were allotted. One thing we did not do was argue whether or not there is an environmental situation at hand, a situation where the human impact on the environment has reached uncontainable levels; or for a more neutral assessment, has become more noticeable than not. I consider that to be self-evident, even for those who aren't aware of the statistics -- the rate of deforestation, the impossibility for many in developing countries to find clean water, the number of species on the planet that are ceasing to exist, the tragic amounts of plastic and garbage gathering in a large section of the North Pacific Gyre, the acidity of rain, the loss of fertile topsoil due to poor agricultural habits, the excessive amount of red meat consumed by the affluent minority of the world and the excessive amount of grain grown to feed the cattle heading in that direction -- a simple look around lends quick exposure to human impact on an otherwise sustainable planet.
I believe all of this is wrong, not the way it should be, irresponsible, sinful, disruptive, distorted, distasteful, unfortunate... and overwhelming. I don't think it's possible for this massive ship (thanks Maxwell, for this metaphor) of over-consumption, over-disposal, and maleficent eco-habits to turn around in just one generation. But I sense the ship aching to turn nonetheless. So I propose two approaches:
Approach #1
Each of us can completely minimalize the residue of our presence; by eliminating every fouling act, numbing every appetite, going strictly vegan, making our own clothes, renouncing our material possessions, decreasing our footprint to zero.
I believe this would work. In time, if every human were to take this approach, I believe that the planet would recover from the devastation it has faced as a result of our over-consumption. In time the soil would rejuvenate, forests would replant, water would reclaim it's geological path and life giving purity, animals would reproduce, the atmosphere would overwhelm the poisons it contains. Unhindered by our abusive interaction with it, the natural world would take care of itself, and regain its all-blanketing beauty.
It would work.
But we, humans, are up to our necks in us. Our livelihood is so integrated with the economic machine of consumption and mass production, in servicing one anothers' massive appetites, that with out the consumer (all of us) then the provider (all of us as well) would be out of a job, devoid of their source of livelihood. In this case, environmental rejuvenation would result in economic destruction. (Which I suspect is the fear that is behind the sad and narrow assessment of environmentalism on http://environmentalism.com/.)
The natural world is resistent -- "inventive, persistent, and sly" (please read A Conservationist Manifesto by Scott Russel Sanders http://www.scottrussellsanders.com/) -- it will take care of itself if we afford it the space to. But we would find ourselves so estranged from the natural world that we would not know how to join the rhythm of rejuvenation.
The environment cannot sustain our overindulgence. The human story could not endure complete withdrawl.
Approach #2
We continue to pursue the good life. We pool our creative energies together to reimagine a sustainable and wholistically healthy version of the abundant life. We vigorously reestablish the connection we have lost with the rhythms of the natural world that we are so a part of. We devote ourselves to the act of sharing, allowing the earth's resources to be redistributed to all who need nourishment (rich and poor, human and non-human alike). We do not merely set about switching from destructive to constructive actions, rather we embrace a posture of acceptance and trust in the earth's rejuvenative potential. (For a far more articulate and exceedingly powerful treatment of these very issues please read Environmental Linguistics on http://laurenzmitchell.wordpress.com/.)
The creative force that set the earth spinning and jostled life into being on its surface is still present and active. And fortunately for us it is forgiving and patient, it still has room for the human story.
I believe all of this is wrong, not the way it should be, irresponsible, sinful, disruptive, distorted, distasteful, unfortunate... and overwhelming. I don't think it's possible for this massive ship (thanks Maxwell, for this metaphor) of over-consumption, over-disposal, and maleficent eco-habits to turn around in just one generation. But I sense the ship aching to turn nonetheless. So I propose two approaches:
Approach #1
Each of us can completely minimalize the residue of our presence; by eliminating every fouling act, numbing every appetite, going strictly vegan, making our own clothes, renouncing our material possessions, decreasing our footprint to zero.
I believe this would work. In time, if every human were to take this approach, I believe that the planet would recover from the devastation it has faced as a result of our over-consumption. In time the soil would rejuvenate, forests would replant, water would reclaim it's geological path and life giving purity, animals would reproduce, the atmosphere would overwhelm the poisons it contains. Unhindered by our abusive interaction with it, the natural world would take care of itself, and regain its all-blanketing beauty.
It would work.
But we, humans, are up to our necks in us. Our livelihood is so integrated with the economic machine of consumption and mass production, in servicing one anothers' massive appetites, that with out the consumer (all of us) then the provider (all of us as well) would be out of a job, devoid of their source of livelihood. In this case, environmental rejuvenation would result in economic destruction. (Which I suspect is the fear that is behind the sad and narrow assessment of environmentalism on http://environmentalism.com/.)
The natural world is resistent -- "inventive, persistent, and sly" (please read A Conservationist Manifesto by Scott Russel Sanders http://www.scottrussellsanders.com/) -- it will take care of itself if we afford it the space to. But we would find ourselves so estranged from the natural world that we would not know how to join the rhythm of rejuvenation.
The environment cannot sustain our overindulgence. The human story could not endure complete withdrawl.
Approach #2
We continue to pursue the good life. We pool our creative energies together to reimagine a sustainable and wholistically healthy version of the abundant life. We vigorously reestablish the connection we have lost with the rhythms of the natural world that we are so a part of. We devote ourselves to the act of sharing, allowing the earth's resources to be redistributed to all who need nourishment (rich and poor, human and non-human alike). We do not merely set about switching from destructive to constructive actions, rather we embrace a posture of acceptance and trust in the earth's rejuvenative potential. (For a far more articulate and exceedingly powerful treatment of these very issues please read Environmental Linguistics on http://laurenzmitchell.wordpress.com/.)
The creative force that set the earth spinning and jostled life into being on its surface is still present and active. And fortunately for us it is forgiving and patient, it still has room for the human story.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
you and god and this book i read
I recently finished reading The Amber Spyglass and so finished the story of Lyra and Will's adventures in many worlds as recorded in the series: His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman.
There is some controversy over these books because the author might be an atheist and the story might have an anti-christian agenda.
I've heard that the author is a kind and open conversationalist (and worthy debate partner), and I've concluded that the story is about Lyra and Will, their friends and their journeys, their struggles, their triumphs, and their coming of age. So if you've got the stomach for a thing or two that might not exactly line up with your personal worldview, or that might, then read and enjoy them.
To readers who identify with the facets of theism, conservative and moderate alike, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, the token of suggestion that I gleaned from His Dark Materials is not so much to abandon belief in God or even commitment to your religious expression, but to reconsider the articulation and possibly foundation of your belief and expression. And in reconsidering be open to revision where necessary.
If your belief in God is articulated in such a way that poses God as a figure of authority who provides limitations and regulations whereby life must be lived, then perhaps it isn't God you are speaking about after all, but a caricature of God created by an institution of religion as dictated by men who are/were un/consciously invested more in the pursuit of power and control than in the pursuit of the divine.
How might your belief in God be better, more accurately articulated?
Is God a monarch and a tyrant? Interested in our human concepts and experience of authority and power? Interested in motivating by the means of fear and force? (Is that the foundation of your religious expression? fear? shame? guilt?)
Or is God something else entirely? Not a being who uses force, but a force in and of itself. Not a motivating entity, but an actual sensation of compulsion.
Which sounds more like that which was present at the incipience of the world? Which sounds more like that which is present in the world's sustenance?
To readers who identify as atheists (or simply do not identify as theists), those who avoid religion and its facets, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, I think you would be encouraged by His Dark Materials, finding your stance on God and religion condoned in the pages of this story. Yet a suggestion all the same, and that is to rebel against the indifference toward life that drives so much and so many in our world (and other worlds too no doubt); and to pull at life instead, finding it active and ready for exposrure: in the corners of our relationships, in the songs and sounds of birds and animals, in the stretch of the horizon, in the very air, and in the breath that we breathe it with.
To readers one and all note that regardless of your articulation -- whether it be in favor of this God or that, whether in denial of either or all, whether in a careful disregard -- our stances can quickly become us; our articulations, if unchecked, become our idols, become the manifestation and limitation of who we are.
How tragic to be defined simply (or to define someonelse) by how one uses the word "God". What a waste to categorize and so dismiss someone because they believe in God or because they do not or because they're not quite sure. When the reality of divinity, energy, life is so readily apparent, as it is through the many struggles and triumphs of the two protaganists, in the curiosty and courage, the kindness and inventiveness, the hope with which we approach our world. To be known, and even defined, utlimately as one who loves and is loved.
There is some controversy over these books because the author might be an atheist and the story might have an anti-christian agenda.
I've heard that the author is a kind and open conversationalist (and worthy debate partner), and I've concluded that the story is about Lyra and Will, their friends and their journeys, their struggles, their triumphs, and their coming of age. So if you've got the stomach for a thing or two that might not exactly line up with your personal worldview, or that might, then read and enjoy them.
To readers who identify with the facets of theism, conservative and moderate alike, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, the token of suggestion that I gleaned from His Dark Materials is not so much to abandon belief in God or even commitment to your religious expression, but to reconsider the articulation and possibly foundation of your belief and expression. And in reconsidering be open to revision where necessary.
If your belief in God is articulated in such a way that poses God as a figure of authority who provides limitations and regulations whereby life must be lived, then perhaps it isn't God you are speaking about after all, but a caricature of God created by an institution of religion as dictated by men who are/were un/consciously invested more in the pursuit of power and control than in the pursuit of the divine.
How might your belief in God be better, more accurately articulated?
Is God a monarch and a tyrant? Interested in our human concepts and experience of authority and power? Interested in motivating by the means of fear and force? (Is that the foundation of your religious expression? fear? shame? guilt?)
Or is God something else entirely? Not a being who uses force, but a force in and of itself. Not a motivating entity, but an actual sensation of compulsion.
Which sounds more like that which was present at the incipience of the world? Which sounds more like that which is present in the world's sustenance?
To readers who identify as atheists (or simply do not identify as theists), those who avoid religion and its facets, but who still possess the courage of an open mind, I think you would be encouraged by His Dark Materials, finding your stance on God and religion condoned in the pages of this story. Yet a suggestion all the same, and that is to rebel against the indifference toward life that drives so much and so many in our world (and other worlds too no doubt); and to pull at life instead, finding it active and ready for exposrure: in the corners of our relationships, in the songs and sounds of birds and animals, in the stretch of the horizon, in the very air, and in the breath that we breathe it with.
To readers one and all note that regardless of your articulation -- whether it be in favor of this God or that, whether in denial of either or all, whether in a careful disregard -- our stances can quickly become us; our articulations, if unchecked, become our idols, become the manifestation and limitation of who we are.
How tragic to be defined simply (or to define someonelse) by how one uses the word "God". What a waste to categorize and so dismiss someone because they believe in God or because they do not or because they're not quite sure. When the reality of divinity, energy, life is so readily apparent, as it is through the many struggles and triumphs of the two protaganists, in the curiosty and courage, the kindness and inventiveness, the hope with which we approach our world. To be known, and even defined, utlimately as one who loves and is loved.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
dropping the "G" word
Imagine you (or I, or anyone for that matter) were bred from the earliest of your recollectable days to long to fall in love with a woman named Cindy.
You dreamt of a Cindy in your adolescence and chased after Cindy's on the play ground in your youth. You could imagine calling your lover by no other name. A woman's quality, apparent upon your initial interactions with her, all but vanished when she stated her name to be something other than Cindy. You were taught and tied into the endeavor of loving a woman with this name.
Flipping through the book you find her. Cindy, or in her fullness Cinderella, cinder-ella, the girl of the cinders, girl of the ashes. And -- ashes to ashes, dust to dust -- you realize that every woman you sought, those you loved and those you didn't (those who loved you and those who didn't) was Cindy, each a daughter of the earth, each human.
So you siphon your focus on the name into a more expansive focus on the experience of love. And you fulfill your destiny.
You dreamt of a Cindy in your adolescence and chased after Cindy's on the play ground in your youth. You could imagine calling your lover by no other name. A woman's quality, apparent upon your initial interactions with her, all but vanished when she stated her name to be something other than Cindy. You were taught and tied into the endeavor of loving a woman with this name.
Imagine a string of romantic experiences that you have as you wander the earth, each very genuine, each passionate and hopeful. You encounter a woman (avoid the preliminary introductions) share experiences with her, fall authentically in love with her. Then you ask her name and it is not Cindy. So you leave her -- you leave the romance, the authenticity, the passion, the hope, the experience, the love all behind. And you do it again. And again. None of them turn out to be Cindy.
So you take a different approach. You seek out women named Cindy. You find a Cindy and you pursue her, date her, kiss her, introduce her to your family -- "This is Cindy" -- move in with her, share life with her. But it is all contrived, so you leave her for another woman named Cindy and do it again. And again. None of them coax love from you (and incidentally neither do you do much for them, so don't feel too cocky).
Imagine your broken and lonely state of being. Imagine having given up true love several times over. Imagine having placed your hope in an idea so resolutely time and again, and time and again it being returned to you void. And imagine in this grim state as you travel the globe with your seemingly hopeless cause set before you that you wander into a library in Frankfurt and select a volume of fairy tales; hoping to find something to quell the sting, to find inspiration from these stories of eerily unlikely events.
Flipping through the book you find her. Cindy, or in her fullness Cinderella, cinder-ella, the girl of the cinders, girl of the ashes. And -- ashes to ashes, dust to dust -- you realize that every woman you sought, those you loved and those you didn't (those who loved you and those who didn't) was Cindy, each a daughter of the earth, each human.
So you siphon your focus on the name into a more expansive focus on the experience of love. And you fulfill your destiny.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
ufc with yhwh
i had a sweet wreck the other day. i was biking from work to meet lauren at a coffee shop, hauling downhill on 10th street. i decided to take a short cut along the pedestrian route so i glanced back to check traffic, crossed over and hopped up onto the sidewalk. it was raining and i took a sharp turn left a little too fast, my back tire slid out and my front tire buckled and i went down and skidded like 15 feet. i hopped up and had one of the moments of "am i ok? i'm ok. really? am i? i am." and then the obligatory bashful look around to see if anyone saw (no one did), unjammed my chain, hopped back on, thanked God i was wearing denim and a tough jacket, said, "that was awesome", and continued (with a touch more care) on my merry way.
it felt really good. i haven't wiped out for a while. i had a couple wrecks in college that were really sweet (one forward somersault with feet still in toe clips, took a big divot out of the woman's field hockey field at the bottom of our ski slope at houghton, i saved the divot because we had found a lizard and seth fancy and i set up a little island in a bowl of water for him, but he escaped and lived a better life than either of us ever could have given him), but it's been a good long while since i really skinned my knees. what's the appeal i wonder? it's not a desire for pain. just for contact, friction, resistance.
like the part in philip pullman's "the subtle knife" when william struggles, unbeknownst to him, with his father. like the story in the bible where jacob wrestles God. clings to God, makes demands of God, gets his hip broken by God. i don't talk about God on a daily basis anymore, not like i did when it was my homework to do so, when the community i belonged to made a practice of it. but i still like meeting for wrestling matches, smiles and dirt smeared across our faces, the two of us rolling around without much to talk about but with plenty in common. God letting me win sometimes, i letting God win sometimes.
i don't distinguish much between God and Life. like i don't hold to God as a human-like being with arms and legs that wrap around me in the fight. the events and experiences of God wrap around me, they are what i pull against or give in to. and i think that's how God likes it.. as in, i think that's how Life is done best.
i got an opportunity to sit with Life for a while a couple weekends ago, i had our little cottage to myself and i rested. sat across from Life for an evening and a morning and lingered in Its presence, feeling the surge of my own muscles for a change, rather than the push of Life's muscle on me.
i'm back in it again, wrestling again.. smiling, grimacing, struggling, collapsing. but really glad that we took some respite.
it felt really good. i haven't wiped out for a while. i had a couple wrecks in college that were really sweet (one forward somersault with feet still in toe clips, took a big divot out of the woman's field hockey field at the bottom of our ski slope at houghton, i saved the divot because we had found a lizard and seth fancy and i set up a little island in a bowl of water for him, but he escaped and lived a better life than either of us ever could have given him), but it's been a good long while since i really skinned my knees. what's the appeal i wonder? it's not a desire for pain. just for contact, friction, resistance.
like the part in philip pullman's "the subtle knife" when william struggles, unbeknownst to him, with his father. like the story in the bible where jacob wrestles God. clings to God, makes demands of God, gets his hip broken by God. i don't talk about God on a daily basis anymore, not like i did when it was my homework to do so, when the community i belonged to made a practice of it. but i still like meeting for wrestling matches, smiles and dirt smeared across our faces, the two of us rolling around without much to talk about but with plenty in common. God letting me win sometimes, i letting God win sometimes.
i don't distinguish much between God and Life. like i don't hold to God as a human-like being with arms and legs that wrap around me in the fight. the events and experiences of God wrap around me, they are what i pull against or give in to. and i think that's how God likes it.. as in, i think that's how Life is done best.
i got an opportunity to sit with Life for a while a couple weekends ago, i had our little cottage to myself and i rested. sat across from Life for an evening and a morning and lingered in Its presence, feeling the surge of my own muscles for a change, rather than the push of Life's muscle on me.
i'm back in it again, wrestling again.. smiling, grimacing, struggling, collapsing. but really glad that we took some respite.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
ben and bob
I guess this delighted me a little bit too much to keep to myself.
Simply this:
I had a dream last night that Veggie Tales came out with a full length, live action Christmas movie. Ben Stiller played Bob the Tomato.
That's all.
Simply this:
I had a dream last night that Veggie Tales came out with a full length, live action Christmas movie. Ben Stiller played Bob the Tomato.
That's all.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
samurai, yogi, pacifist, and husband
a buddy and i are tossing around some ideas about being good guys in this world we live in. asking each other some questions and offering each other the conversation that results.
this week's question was simple and cliche (and gender exclusive so, to my female audience, please make adjustments where necessary -- my thoughts aren't exclusive, just my language in this entry):
what does a man of strong character look like?
my response:
the samurai's code of honor (bushido) contains a commitment to yu, or courage. this was a style of heroics that is more than fearlessness. it is courage that is tempered with wisdom. not a brash rushing into danger, but a wise willingness to face danger when necessary; not as a means of demonstrating his quality but as a natural extension of the good that has been cultivated in his heart. he does not desire death but neither is he deterred by anything from performing an act that he knows to be right.
"namaste" is a salutation given and received in india and nepal and elsewhere. it is a sanskrit word that, taken literally, means "i bow to you". but as a gesture it's meaning has grown and when a person greets another saying "namaste" they are in effect saying with humility and gratitude, "that which is divine in me reaches out to that which is divine in you". think: jesus when he told the story about the sheep and goats and "whatever you did for the least of these you did for me". namaste -- i see you, hear you, feel you as someone to be cherished, and i offer you my attention, my presence, my love.
in order to be wise in courage and to be attentive to others a man has to have a supply of patience. and that patience must come from a calm place in his heart, a place that is at peace. in the midst of tumultuous surroundings he must have the resolve to believe in the possibility of peace.
the band on my finger symbolizes a promise of loyalty. keeping that promise does not mean perfection, does not mean the absence of conflict, does not mean the absence of questions such as, "am i really the man i claim to be?" or "do i have what it takes?" being loyal means that when you look at the golden/silver/platinum band hugging your finger you remember and believe the answer to those questions, that yes you are and yes you do.
ideally a man of strong character is brave, compassionate, patient, and faithful.
that's why a man with strong character is also relational. because ideals aren't sufficient; and when ideals fail a man needs support or forgiveness or encouragement to be and believe in who he is. those things can be offered only from without, though they can come from the most unlikely places (so he is wise to keep his heart open and his wits about him).
a strong man is steady and available and vulnerable and honest and befriended.
this week's question was simple and cliche (and gender exclusive so, to my female audience, please make adjustments where necessary -- my thoughts aren't exclusive, just my language in this entry):
what does a man of strong character look like?
my response:
the samurai's code of honor (bushido) contains a commitment to yu, or courage. this was a style of heroics that is more than fearlessness. it is courage that is tempered with wisdom. not a brash rushing into danger, but a wise willingness to face danger when necessary; not as a means of demonstrating his quality but as a natural extension of the good that has been cultivated in his heart. he does not desire death but neither is he deterred by anything from performing an act that he knows to be right.
"namaste" is a salutation given and received in india and nepal and elsewhere. it is a sanskrit word that, taken literally, means "i bow to you". but as a gesture it's meaning has grown and when a person greets another saying "namaste" they are in effect saying with humility and gratitude, "that which is divine in me reaches out to that which is divine in you". think: jesus when he told the story about the sheep and goats and "whatever you did for the least of these you did for me". namaste -- i see you, hear you, feel you as someone to be cherished, and i offer you my attention, my presence, my love.
in order to be wise in courage and to be attentive to others a man has to have a supply of patience. and that patience must come from a calm place in his heart, a place that is at peace. in the midst of tumultuous surroundings he must have the resolve to believe in the possibility of peace.
the band on my finger symbolizes a promise of loyalty. keeping that promise does not mean perfection, does not mean the absence of conflict, does not mean the absence of questions such as, "am i really the man i claim to be?" or "do i have what it takes?" being loyal means that when you look at the golden/silver/platinum band hugging your finger you remember and believe the answer to those questions, that yes you are and yes you do.
ideally a man of strong character is brave, compassionate, patient, and faithful.
that's why a man with strong character is also relational. because ideals aren't sufficient; and when ideals fail a man needs support or forgiveness or encouragement to be and believe in who he is. those things can be offered only from without, though they can come from the most unlikely places (so he is wise to keep his heart open and his wits about him).
a strong man is steady and available and vulnerable and honest and befriended.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Going to the desert next week..
There are some who seem to me to be content with very little; content to have jobs that require their days and then content to pass their evenings and nights in whims of entertainment, modest friendships, mediocre romance or religion. They don't hope for much, content to walk. I like to walk. But I want wings to turn my stride into flight from time to time. I want passionate oblivion to come crashing into what's happening right now; for it to get all tangled up, perpetually. I want storms to always ruffle my feathers while the wind unfurls my wings.
My restlessness is not discontent. I do not feel condemned by restlessness but compelled by it. I am not thirsty in order that I may writhe in my thirst but so that I will seek out a drink. My soul goes to the desert because there are elements of nourishment there, not because it is barren.
Yet in the very barrenness lies that nourishment. And the nourishment is space. The space to stretch out all my limbs, to open my lungs, and to spread my questions freely and expansively -- nakedly even -- until they dry out and crack like the lips that uttered them, leaving me sore and finally silent enough to escape myself, unhurried and unharassed enough to collapse into something that is something like peace.
My restlessness is not discontent. I do not feel condemned by restlessness but compelled by it. I am not thirsty in order that I may writhe in my thirst but so that I will seek out a drink. My soul goes to the desert because there are elements of nourishment there, not because it is barren.
Yet in the very barrenness lies that nourishment. And the nourishment is space. The space to stretch out all my limbs, to open my lungs, and to spread my questions freely and expansively -- nakedly even -- until they dry out and crack like the lips that uttered them, leaving me sore and finally silent enough to escape myself, unhurried and unharassed enough to collapse into something that is something like peace.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
a rant
The menus have a sufficient, even significant, amount of selection to them at the restaurants I'm working for. The finer dining of the two ranges from a glorified tofu dish, to a goat cheese and portobello mushroom ravioli, right on through to the market priced fillet mignon, with several nods to the sea (scallops, salmon, a nightly seafood special) in between.
About a month ago the chef derived a burger that could hold its own with the other dishes, presumably in taste, and absolutely in presentation. The burger is speared with a stack of olives and grape tomatoes, grilled according to the customer's order, adorned with the perfect proportions of complimentary ingredients, and befriended by an ornate tin, lined with a billowing linen napkin, full of French fries seasoned with duck confit.
You wouldn't expect a hamburger to make its way on to the menu at an establishment like this one, but - coming from a devout vegetarian - this burger does itself well. I immensely enjoy setting it before a guest. The visual encounter alone frequently elicits "oohs" and "aahs".
Imagine my surprise, my disappointment, my aghast when I chanced upon something less than appreciation the other night. It was not chagrin or criticism or disapproval that I encountered. I would have welcomed such a response in place of the one I received after setting the delicately crafted dish down in front of a guest.
"Thanks." And without taking so much as a pause, a breath, a moment to actually intend the gratitude just offered, "Could I have some ketchup?"
Some ketchup? You want some ketchup to go with your twenty-five dollar hamburger and fries? Are you a little worried that the chef back there in his "kiss the cook" apron might have, sometime during his culinary education in Paris, failed to learn how to make the food taste good on its own? You a bit nervous that he forgot to include something that would have made the meal better? I'll go ask him for a side of ketchup... and get slapped in the face for insulting him. No, I won't ask him, I'll just see if I can scrounge up some ketchup packets in the back, somewhere next to the creme brulee, or the fondue, or the bruschetta, or the olive tapenade. Honestly, you want some ketchup?
I thought all of that right away, but no more than that because she kept opening her mouth wider and wider and managed to display her ignorance more completely, "And some mustard... and," she looked to a friend, "Should we get some mayo? And some mayo."
It was pretty well precisely at that moment that I went ahead and stopped believing that the customer is always right. The customer isn't always right. The customer isn't always anything. There is potential for the customer to be right, or gracious, or naive, or rude. There are a lot of possibilities. One thing I have come to expect from time to time in the midst of my interactions with human beings is an attitude of entitlement. But the perfectly horrid coupling of entitlement and rash ignorance was nearly more than I could stomach. That the customer is always right is a dangerous myth marinated in flattery. It holds no true merit.
I do believe in customer service, in lovingly wanting what's best for other individuals. I don't believe in telling someone outright that they are stupid (even when the occasion implies it). I cordially tried to talk her out of ruining the artwork that had just been placed in front of her. I tried to talk her into perhaps waiting and trying the food before conceptualizing how she (also a credentialed culinary expert?) might better it. You don't let someone do themselves harm without a bit of a struggle, some effort at interference. Nonetheless, sometimes you end up squirting each of an assortment of condiments into little silver ramekins, arranging them on a small white plate, keeping a smile on your face, and quietly lamenting the poor soul's demise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)