2024-09-06T15:17:11+00:00

Judgment

September 6, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

This post, I imagine, will touch on lots and lots of different topics. So, we’ll dive in and see where this takes (and leaves) us.

I recently resuscitated my Netflix subscription, and immediately dug into the documentary wing, devouring one on Laci Peterson and another on Ashley Madison. Laci Peterson (and her unborn child) was (were) murdered by her husband, Scott. Ashley Madison is a website where married people can find other married people with whom to share their infidelity. Both of these situations are significant to me, I am married to the Angel, and I also wrote a book on marriage (called Be Very Careful Who You Marry, that you can get on this very website;).

Scott, who appears to be without any form of actual human emotion, is in prison serving a life sentence, largely due to the testimony of his extramarital girlfriend, Amber. Ashley Madison was the victim of a hack that revealed its customers and a nearly endless well of fraud. (I know, it’s shocking that a company that exists to facilitate deception and betrayal would deceive and betray it’s users. Shocking.)

Many of the participants in both docs repeated the mantra, like the chorus in a pop song, “I don’t judge,” or some version of that particular command of Jesus. It’s always interesting when we choose to refer to the Scriptures. But Scott’s family doesn’t think we should judge Scott, Ashley Madison doesn’t think we should judge it/them or their clients. Is it judgment to think dishonesty is a bad thing? Is it judgment to abhor the act of killing your family? Is it judgment to notice the emotional destruction that comes from infidelity?

I wrote about Oppenheimer a few weeks ago – is it judgment to think that, even if we can blow up the whole world, maybe that’s not something we should do? And if we do, maybe that sort of thing is wrong? And while we’re there, is it judgment to believe in the notions of right and wrong?

I watched an episode of Ashley Madison with my son and we discussed it afterwards. Is it judgment to watch this wreckage and learn a lesson, so he doesn’t have to suffer in similar footsteps? Is it judgment to tell him not to cheat on or murder his wife?

All of these questions are somewhat facetious – I’m not honestly asking. The purpose is to expose the ridiculous nature of a culture that has misidentified ‘judgment’ and has turned it into some kind of catch-all rationalization for bad decisions. To call a bad decision a bad decision isn’t judgment, it never was and never will be. To learn from other’s mistakes requires that we categorize them as mistakes, and not simply different equal paths.

I understand judgment just fine, and that’s for a few reasons. I was born with empathy coming out of my ears, so it makes me uniquely qualified to see your perspective (or anyone else’s). However, if you get to live long enough, you see too much of the fallout of this kind of relational dynamite. And you can easily begin to get a little hardened by crying so much, so often. So, like quadriceps, you’ll have to train those muscles, so they don’t completely atrophy. These documentaries are the gym for me. I watch and my heart still breaks everytime. And I can see (sometimes from a great distance) why they may have made these particular decisions.

Inside the Ashley Madison story, there’s a couple who became internet famous as Christian marriage YouTubers. “This is how you have a healthy marriage…This is how you love God & each other…” Except he was not what he pretended to be. So.

To live an honest life of faith, or a human life, fully present and engaged with the world and those around us, it’s integral that we get comfortable with the dichotomy. He was a pretender, who was completely disrespectful to God, his wife, family, the women he cheated with, and himself. This is true. But he isn’t only that. He’s also a child of God, created in His image. And his story isn’t over. The thing about judgment is that it assumes it is over, etched in stone. He doesn’t have to continue to be disrespectful, he is not exiled, confined to that locked box forever. There is forgiveness. He can change.

Now maybe I don’t necessarily think he should get the privilege of returning to his beautiful wife, but that’s not judgment, that’s consequence. I don’t think someone needs to continue to be a punching bag in the service of a mis-defined non-judgmentalism. But my opinion doesn’t matter too much to these people I’ve never met. She thinks he should, and we can all pray he can/will change.

On this, Scott Peterson is in jail for the rest of his life for his actions, but maybe he isn’t that same person anymore. I don’t need him to be. In fact, I really really hope he’s not. I can hold both things. He did this and there are consequences, but while this is legal judgment, it’s certainly not mine to carry for eternity. Right & wrong are real (murdering your wife is wrong) AND have nothing at all to do with our status as human beings (Scott Peterson is a child of God, dearly loved, he’s a son, brother, friend).

I can see why people join cults or sign up and give their credit card information to sleazy websites or listen to Coldplay or CrossFit or go vegan or vote for either party. It doesn’t mean I will. It just means I can see why you might. (Ok, maybe I can’t see why you’d listen to Coldplay, but they’re the exception.) And when we choose to start there, and keep training those muscles, we can consciously choose our values and avoid the pitfalls that come with sleepwalking through closed-minded lives. And love somebody, love everybody, instead.

2 Aching Muscles

September 3, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

On Friday, I pulled a muscle in my back. This, I suppose, isn’t the most surprising thing in the world. It happens. What’s embarrassing about it is that I did it while throwing frisbee. Or rather, disc golf. That sounds much cooler than “frisbee.” We’ve been playing quite a bit lately, and it was a pretty good time, until I felt like I got stabbed in my back and now it hurts to breathe too deeply or dead lift or get up or move quickly or walk around like a normal person. Sigh. So there’s that. I don’t know when I got this old. I used to be able to throw frisbees with no consequence. Sheesh, its just a frisbee.

If I take some ibuprofen, it’s not too bad. I bet nobody knew on Sunday morning or yesterday visiting family. Maybe they did, you know I can be very dramatic in my self-pity.

Today it’s better – I haven’t taken anything for pain yet today – but maybe that’s because there is another thing that is affecting an entirely different muscle in my aging body.

My youngest son just left for the first day of his senior year of high school. This has been only the first leg of the “lasts.” The last high school summer league in basketball. The last summer vacation of high school. The last first day.

There’s a meme (the wisdom literature of our time, our proverbs) that says something like “one day you’ll carry your child to bed and it’ll be the last time, and you won’t know it at the time.” And it can be anything. These 2 boys used to sleep on my chest. We walked them to school, drove them to practices, watched band concerts. I used to put them on my shoulders, or better yet, in a backpack for walks, like Yoda. If I sat them on my shoulders now, there would be many more than one muscle pulled. (My older boy is bigger than me in every way, maybe I should get on his shoulders to see now.)

As we all get older, we get the gift of knowing it’s the last. I knew the last time I’d coach each of them. I knew when I handed the championship trophy to this now-high school-senior and hugged him, that it would be the last time I would ever do that. That’s why I cried in front of everyone. We know today is his last first day of high school. We know the next first day of school, he won’t be living in this house. I cry a lot in front of everyone. (Today, though, with this pulled muscle in my back, it hurts A LOT to cry, more than usual.)

I talk a lot about a 2 hands theology. We are asked to hold the sadness – in this case, the sadness of the loss of my little boy – AND the celebration and joy – in this case, he’s a cooler, better person than I could have ever dreamed he’d be. Both of these boys are, and that is more wonderful than I can tell you. Except they’re not boys anymore, they’re men, and that hurts worse than I can tell you. My tears are a holy mixture of pain and joy.

That mixture has a name and is, simply, gratitude. More than anything that I can’t tell you is how thankful I am. My sister & I were talking, awestruck at these lives with which we have been blessed. This is certainly not to say they have been easy or without struggle or without times we doubted and there were times we might not have felt so grateful. But the thing about a 2 hands theology is that we have always been honest about those times, and the truth is, that’s probably why we’re so thankful today. We have been there for all of it.

I remember tearing their artwork from the walls of our old house as it went underwater, but I couldn’t get it all. And I prize what I took and mourn the loss of what I left behind. My aim has always been to live a fully present life, showing up to the pleasure, the wins, and the suffering, the losses. There have been so many of both, and I wouldn’t trade any of them.

So yes, I am celebrating with an ecstatic heart at this life I’ve been given and what I get to see and experience…and there is no amount of ibuprofen that can ease the hurt of what I get to see and experience. But the best thing is that there is no world where I’d want to.

THE TV Show

August 26, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site prompt is, “What TV shows did you watch as a kid?” This is very easy, because the answer is as true for when I was a kid as it is now. I watch(ed) Three’s Company.

Now, you’ll snicker and joke that it’s a dumb show about misunderstandings and outdated humor. Maybe those 2 things are true, but it is certainly not dumb. I’ll never agree with you on that. The foundations of me – and no doubt the reasons you love me so much – were forged in the late 70’s & early 80’s with Jack, Janet, Chrissy, Cindy, Terri, Larry, the Ropers, and Furley.

Does that sound ridiculous? Probably. Whatever.

But listen, the outfits and silly plot lines (some used and re-used over and over) were simply the structure for the real purpose: the relationships. The love they had for each other was the show. They argued and made up. They threatened to move out, and they fought for, cried with, and protected each other – like a beautiful cocoon of love in a world where love is forever in too-short supply.

There was never enough money, the rent was always late, eviction was always right around the corner, bosses harassed, they were hired and lost jobs, made dumb purchases, dated the wrong people – just like us. We have bills and conflict and money that runs out too soon. But what we might not have, and desperately need, is a tightly knit group surrounding us to face those monsters together.

Of course, I learned that I am heterosexual and have a type – maybe I was genetically predisposed to be wildly attracted to all Janet Woods, or maybe I am because of Janet Wood/Joyce Dewitt. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. Chicken & egg, right?

But much more than sexuality, I learned that we aren’t made to live alone. We are made for each other. Probably I am impatient with separation because the anxiety I felt when the roommates fought was over in 30 minutes. 30 minutes that felt impossibly long. Nothing was ever more important than the connection, than the ties that held them together, and I still believe that.

I cry with them when Janet marries Philip and when they turn the lights out for the last time. Everybody does. But I also cry when Jack buys Janet’s pendant back from the pawn shop for her birthday, when that scumbag dance instructor tears Janet up and Jack is there (of course, he’s there) to dance with her, and when Jack chooses Bernice for dinner. And I cry for different reasons altogether over a hammock or roller skates.

It’s the best show ever, and it’s not close. And I’ll fight you over that fact, as long as we make up in a half an hour.

Small Towns

August 22, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Jenny From The Block filed for divorce from Batman yesterday. We probably all knew this was coming, as they were having multiple weddings (some very, very public), telling anyone who would listen, and making movies of their unstoppable love. Most likely, this news was met with an eye roll and the assignment of blame. Each of us know who’s fault we think it is, right?

I am an animal of the popular culture, and I have always been interested in things like this. I like details, and am embarrassed to say, gossip. Today, though, I feel different.

I grew up in a small town, went to college in a small town, and then stayed in that same small town. Pretty much everyone knows each other (and their business.) Maybe we don’t know their names, but we kind of know our neighbors stories, hear them fight, see the sirens of their recent DUI’s, and guess at how many times they’ve been divorced. (J.Lo will have been divorced 4 times after this one.) Batman and his soon to be ex-wife live in this kind of small town, too, except it’s comprised of the whole world.

We still don’t know what exactly happened or why, but we kind of do, we read online quotes from “sources,” and we are all armchair psychologists, reading into each facial expression, and injecting each holiday spent apart with inferred meaning. I think, while he might not hate fame or wild paychecks, he hates celebrity, and she absolutely does not, and that creates a certain tension that is difficult to navigate. He seems like you’d love to be his buddy, but that you might not love to be his partner. Like me. She seems like she would need a lot of attention. Like me. I guess I’d guess it’s his fault (because my default position is ‘it’s his fault’). But who knows???? I only know, for sure, someone who doesn’t know, and that’s me.

Small towns can be really great. I love mine, but I bet I wouldn’t quite as much if I knew what everyone thought of every decision I made without ever having as much as a conversation with me. But this is the curse of a small town. I do wish them peace, broken relationships are very hard, no matter how much money is in the bank. Maybe this sort of thing would be a little easier if our ‘small towns’ of voices and opinions were only made up of those we actually know.

The Oppenheimer Situation

August 16, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I hadn’t watched Oppenheimer until yesterday. I would’ve told you that I just hadn’t gotten around to it, but now I know it was probably on purpose. This is the same reason I don’t re-watch Inside Out and will never see Inside Out 2; they’re excellent, but simply too heavy for me.

Oppenheimer is the account of the creation of the atomic bomb, and might be the best film I’ve ever seen. This is not to say I liked it, I don’t think I did. It’s perfectly written, directed and acted, there is no imaginable way upon which it could be improved.

Every now and again, with truly great art, immediately after closing the book or the credits roll or the final notes fade into silence, I cry and cry. In most cases (like, say, “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out,” by the Smiths, or My Grandmother Told Me To Tell You She’s Sorry, by Fredrik Backman), it’s just the overwhelming beauty that does it. A newborn baby or a sunset are much the same sensation – a gift perfectly created, like a hand that reaches through your chest and pries open your heart just a little to pour some new flavor of love, forcing it to expand and grow 2 sizes in an instant. You wonder if you’ll survive, if you can physically take this, but you can. In fact, you’re made for this, you just forgot for a minute. The impact leaves you different, in every good way, like a return to who you are.

…Obviously, words aren’t enough.

Oppenheimer is that sort of thing, but it’s also something else. It’s the account of man’s inhumanity to man. Progress, in this instance, is the ability to kill more and more in less and less time, most efficiently. In the last line of the film, Oppenheimer reminds Albert Einstein of a conversation on if the explosion would set off a chain reaction that would destroy the world, then says, “I believe we did.”

This movie is like the inverse of the climax of The Dark Knight. In that film, the Joker outfits 2 cruise ships (1 full of Gotham citizens, the other full of Gotham prisoners) with explosives and the detonator for the other. Then, he gives them 1 hour to act, to destroy the other before they could do the same to you. This is the principle motivation for Oppenheimer: kill them all before they can kill you.

Where the Dark Knight was Nolan’s hope for our good, for our redemption, Oppenheimer is much more cynical. One side actually pushes the detonator. The most disturbing thing is that the Dark Knight is a work of fiction, while Oppenheimer is horrifyingly real.

Dancing Lessons

August 15, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The Angel & I are taking dancing lessons. We’ve learned the foxtrot, rumba, and swing – and when I say we’ve learned them, I mean we’re learning the most basic steps. Level zero. Our instructor shows us the positions, the steps, the beats, the building blocks, explains why, and hints at all of the possibilities with the higher levels (higher than zero;). It’s super fun, we like each other, laugh a lot, and I always love the way the Angel moves.

I am the leader – I recognize this is quite old-fashioned and so-not-2024, to have a man lead, but that’s how it goes. I decide where we’re going and what we’re doing, if she’ll turn or not, and if she does, under which arm she’ll go. And she’s supposed to follow.

You can see that this might present a problem. If you have ever had the pleasure of spending any time with the Angel, you know she is a born leader, an alpha, and she is the leader in nearly all of the spaces of her life. She does not like to be led, often for very good reason. (It took many years of our marriage until she was comfortable enough to trust me in any significant capacity…also for very good reason.)

So we’re dancing and our instructor, Artur, is encouraging my leadership and her following where I lead. It’s the only way it works, there can’t be 2 leaders, and even if I don’t exactly know the steps, I will, and it’s impossible for either of us to learn the dance without the basic structure intact. This week, he said to her, “You are not following, you are anticipating. You are going where you want to go, or where you think you should go. And when you do that, he cannot lead you.”

I became a much worse rumba leader, because that lesson was teaching much more than dancing, and my mind started to wander. I thought of my relationship with Jesus, and how He is the leader, only I fight Him because I think I know where we should go, what we’re supposed to do, I know what the steps are, not Him, and I’m actually trying to force Him to follow me. Right?!!!??

[Maybe Jesus isn’t who you’re dancing with. I hear people call their dancing partners the Universe, an Energy Source, their Higher Power, whatever name you choose, you are dancing and you do have a partner. Like Bob Dylan said, “You may be an ambassador to England or France. You may like to gamble, you might like to dance. You may be the heavyweight champion of the world. You might be a socialite with a long string of pearls…But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.” I dance with Jesus.]

We’re dancing this life He’s given me, and instead of smooth graceful sweeping purposeful movements, it’s a power struggle. Well, it’s probably honestly not much of a struggle, if I need to drive this car into a ditch, He’ll probably let me. (Like that parable of the unforgiving debtor, the King forgives, but when the forgiven won’t, He says, ok, if that’s really what you want, I guess we’ll do it by your rules.) So our dance doesn’t look beautiful, it’s wooden, clumsy, and dis-jointed. It’s visual noise, and looks like neither of us know what’s going on and neither of us can hear the music.

These dancing lessons are great, we’re having a terrific time, and I’m wondering how my life would look and feel if I just stop fighting the flow and let Him finally lead.

A Deadpool & Wolverine Review, sort of

August 5, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I’ve made no secret of my love of superheroes. At the genre’s best, it presents issues of class, race, sex, integrity, principle, relationship, and on and on, in a very relatable way. This sounds ridiculous because we’re talking about super-powers, monsters and space aliens. But really, it’s only the context that is fantastical. Thor discusses worth v. insecurity, ego v. selflessness, and finding our place in families, communities, and the world(s) around us – this is a discussion that is happening in almost every one of us from grade school to the grave. Captain America is a love story, where the main character (a misfit in a world in which he doesn’t belong and that he can’t possibly understand) fights evil, but is also betrayed by an organization that he serves, while pursuing his best friend at any, and all, costs. Who couldn’t understand that? The Hulk is a never-ending battle to reconcile his anger. Spider-Man is an unsure, insecure teenager (is there any other kind????) trying to figure out how to balance passion, duty, romance, love, and using his great power responsibly. The more we see, it wouldn’t be crazy to suggest Hallmark movies and rom-coms have less in common with our real lives than the MCU.

That is, until this multi-versal business.

The Infinity Saga introduced characters we loved learning themselves, living as heroes, sometimes very uncomfortably, while one big bad wolf, Thanos, loomed over all of the individual films with their individual villains, collecting stones for a completely rational purpose. Each seemingly unconnected story was tied together by these stones. There was consequence and depth.

Endgame eliminated a little of the consequence, bringing back ‘dead’ characters, but we understood. Those 3 hours were a gift to the invested, serving us exactly what we wanted. And we are grateful.

I saw Deadpool & Wolverine last week and loved every second. (I don’t think we’ll get into the Christian uproar just yet, maybe we never will.) But it did clear up why the MCU has lost some significance lately, at least for me.

It’s dumb.

My mom saw it, also loved it, and admitted that she didn’t really know exactly what it was about, and as I explained (anchor beings, time rippers, TVA agents, Dog-, Lady-, Head-pools, etc), I honestly felt pretty silly. She was right, the plot had almost nothing to do with the movie. And that is the problem with the multi-verse.

It’s all stupid (plots are wholly nonsensical). There’s no relatability (I could try to connect flerkens with our love for pets and their unpredictability, but why?), no consequence (if a character dies, who cares, we’ll see them later, from another universe – as Luke Skywalker said in The Last Jedi, “No one’s ever really gone.” Sure, Robert Downey Jr’s Iron Man is dead dead, but is coming back anyway AS A DIFFERENT CHARACTER!), and appear to exist only as vehicles for the next gimmick (Wolverine’s dead bones, a million Deadpools & Dr. Strange’s, the place-shifting of the Marvels, hyper-evolved ants in the Quantum Realm).

I liked Quantumania, really liked The Marvels, and Dr. Strange & The Multiverse of Madness (we’ll get back to this one in a second), but didn’t care about any of them. I still cry when Steve & Bucky fight on a falling aircraft, maybe I’ll cry right now as I type the line, “because I’m with you to the end of the line.” Sheesh. We really cared about that, about them. Thor sacrificing himself to the destroyer in the 1st Thor, Tony Stark giving his life in Endgame – these things mattered. Do you think there is a multiverse where anyone could possibly care about She-Hulk? Of course not. It was the worst.

The 2 exceptions are Loki and Wanda. Loki sacrificed everything he’d ever be so that all of us can have a future. Maybe we’re not holding the tree of time together, but how can we not understand the conflict of offering ourselves (time, money, opportunity, etc) for others. Wandavision and then Multiverse of Madness served as meditations on grief and the lengths we’d go to spend one more moment with the people we love. It’s heartbreaking and real and, sure, she’s a witch, but she’s me and you, too.

Those 2 exceptions give hope that the MCU could regain some of it’s former beauty and significance. Or maybe they’ll become what they have become, exceptions, and the meaningless buffoonery of Love & Thunder (when I say She-Hulk is the worst, I do it realizing that it’s a tie with this piece of garbage) will be the rule. My guess is that it’ll be somewhere in the middle. It’ll be Deadpool & Wolverine. There will be scenes that mean something (like when Deadpool asks Wolverine to help just because he wants to rescue those he loves) and we’ll enjoy it. It’ll be like a Snickers bar. There are peanuts, which do have protein and substance. But mostly it’s delicious and we’ll love it while we eat it, and then 30 minutes later, we’ll be hungry again, as if we never ate in the first place.

A University Tour

July 30, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

My youngest son is deciding on where he will spend the 4-ish years after this one. (First, that clumsy sentence refers to him being a HS senior, we know where he’ll be this year. And second, HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??? Yesterday, he was coming home from the hospital as a newborn and today we are visiting colleges. Sigh.) Anyway, we visited a small liberal arts university in northern New Jersey. To be honest, none of us had very high hopes, but our expectations were quickly demolished and this cool little campus in the woods became the front runner.

These “welcome” days are a bit like a timeshare presentation. For a few hours, a team of admissions counselors try to sell you on their wildly over-priced institution and give you some swag and lunch if you manage to make it through. The day begins in a room with a perfectly produced video and ends with a campus tour.

[Lunch was sort of horrible. We ate in a cafeteria filled with a million soccer-campers, sweaty, dirty & screaming, running amok like in a comedy movie about an overwhelmed substitute teacher who, by the end, discovers how to reach these hellions, teaching them about themselves, self-worth, cooperation, and learning about himself in the process, before running to the love interest he has overlooked for too long in the climax. We never got to the redeeming part, we only suffered through Act I.]

They split us up and assigned us to a leader. Our tour guide introduced herself. She was a lovely young woman, who was seemingly active in every club and activity they offered. And as we started, I realized how mistaken I was about the nature of this tour. She ran ahead, pointing and gesturing, possibly about the information she was maybe giving. It’s impossible to know for sure, no one could hear her. We could barely keep up. We flew into a couple of buildings and out the other side. I wasn’t aware of a time limit or a competition between the guides to finish first, but one clearly existed. Maybe she told us about it. Who knows? I stopped to use the bathroom at the end and came out to find my group gone. I retraced my steps and walked outside, hoping for a glimpse of someone/something I recognized. My son called to me from the porch of a building I had never seen (I still don’t know what the building was).

I’m thinking about it today and laughing. Especially as the school advisors hit such home runs as to make the silly, pointless tour race unimportant.

A few observations.

She would sometimes turn around and say, “Any questions?” And it was hilarious, reminding me of how the Angel will sometimes say, after compiling a list of some kind, out of the clear blue sky, “Anything else?” I have no idea what is on the list, making it impossible to know if there’s anything else. As for the tour, questions about what? How about, “what is this building?” “Where are we? What is this place?”

And that reminds me about life. If there is a guide, they seem to have a different objective. Where am I? What am I doing here? My son and I wandered off the path a few times to explore, I waited for a woman who stopped to fill her water bottle, we all connected over our shared circumstance. It’s confusing, but the people make it all worthwhile. Maybe the stated plot isn’t what we’re doing at all, and the side trails and parentheticals are where the learning takes place. Are we the kind of people who run through our responsibilities, chopping wood, getting the tour done at any cost, or are we open and available for others? What is this place? And why?

We were in one room, and as the Angel took her camera out to snap a photo of our son, the guide (maybe unaware of her intentions?) turned the light off and left. I wonder if our guide sits down to eat?

What are our expectations for things, people, activities? Are we able to see past them, to see the beauty in what is actually there, instead of the static notions/beliefs we have in our heads? (Those questions make me think of political debates and the new Deadpool movie.)

What are we doing here? Everywhere we go, every situation, is asking, isn’t it? But maybe, yesterday, my boy heard and will, ironically, end up finding out his answer there, in the very place where a lovely young woman posed the question to all of us during her ridiculous running tour.

July 22, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site is asking what I’d change about modern society. Probably a lot. But that’s not what I’m thinking about this weekend. You already know I’m a man that reads the Bible, and one of the passages I came across last week was one where Peter said I am a slave to whatever controls me. Passages and verses in the Bible are different as we are different. We don’t ever read the same book twice, because even as the words stay the same, we don’t.

So. What controls me? I’ve decided it’s food, the gym, and sex. This is complicated because all 3 are wonderful gifts from a Loving God.

To not make any of us uncomfortable, I’ll use the gym as the example we’ll discuss. I lift weights (and do a small amount of cardio). Exercise is a healthy lifestyle, fitness is positive, it’s a good thing to take care of myself. I should tell you I’ve always had a weight problem, and this is still sort of true. (I am classified as ‘morbidly obese,’ if you listen to the doctor’s charts.) Sometimes, the thing that gets me to the gym is not fitness, not positive, it’s the outpouring of an angry heart that is operating out of old tapes in my head. It is punishment. It is not a choice, or even a reward, the local Planet Fitness is my master. Or rather, the mean voices in my head that tell me I’m not enough, unless… or that I’m whatever and I’ll always be whatever, they become the masters of me.

The gym is awesome, and I love it. I don’t even so much mind that it’s not really a choice anymore, in a manner of speaking. It is so much a part of the fabric of me that I don’t have to. However, a rest day is not evidence of some defect, it’s a necessary facet of self-care. But too often, I spend rest days with some level of guilt and shame. These feelings are no longer oppressive, but I’d be lying if I said they weren’t there at all, and they are often the impetus to get me to the gym instead of beauty or gratitude or pleasure or even agency. This is mastery.

Food is a little different. It’s healthy and nourishing, relational, a blessing. But I very often don’t choose what to eat out of self-care and thanksgiving, I choose out of simple primal desire for whatever tastes best (like processed sugar-laden junk) that will damage me. Maybe it’s not that different, it’s a master that isn’t concerned with my well-being, and is, instead, bent on the opposite.

Anything we can’t stop, or that distorts our moods and emotions when we do stop, is a master. And we are it’s slave.

These things are gifts, I am not a slave to the socks I got at Christmas. I am not a slave to the Church, or Three’s Company, or my favorite songs. These are gifts, they add color and texture, and make my life so much better. So does food and sex and the dead lift. Until they don’t. Until they are the stern task/master that is holding the keys to me.

So now what? What do I do with this? I can’t cut them out, nor would I want to. I simply want them in their right place, as blessing instead of curse. Maybe that means more rest days. (It’s funny, most people’s New Years Resolutions are to go to the gym more often, mine would be to go less often. Weird.) Less sweets, or more mindful sweets? Maybe it means more and more sex, though. Haha. Probably it means that. But maybe “mindfulness” is the solution to all of this. If I am here, now, rooted in my identity, making conscious decisions, instead of some animal led around by unquestioned natural instincts, then I might be able to break free of their chains, and who knows? Maybe these things take on new meaning and overwhelming beauty that was impossible to see from underneath them.

What Bothers Me

July 15, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site is asking, “what bothers me and why?”

There’s a song by the criminally underrated Kate Nash (if you don’t believe me, listen to “Foundations,” or “Later On,” and that’ll settle it) called “I Hate Seagulls.”

Here are the lyrics, “I hate seagulls and I hate being sick. I hate burning my finger on the toaster and I hate nits. I hate falling over, I hate grazing my knee. I hate picking off the scab a little bit too early. I hate getting toothache, I hate when it’s a piss-take. I hate all the mistakes I make. I hate rude, ignorant bastards and I hate snobbery. I hate anyone who, if I was serving chips, wouldn’t talk to me.”

That’s a pretty good list. I don’t like rude, ignorant bastards or those who don’t talk to those who they see as less than. I don’t like being sick, and don’t even bring up toothaches. I wouldn’t say I hate seagulls, but I see why she might. I am bothered by unkindness, injustice, and kids who hog gym equipment with no regard for the rest of us.

But I am not thrilled with the question. I now hear this song as a response to this site, who asked her the same question. And as we begin the list, it becomes clear to both of us that we aren’t really interested in answering it anymore. There’s a new list.

[Once, in college, a terrific professor gave us an assignment for an essay, and I wrote on a completely different topic. At the end, I wrote something like, “it’s true that this was not what you asked, but this is what I care a great deal about, and I think you’d rather read that than something I don’t.” I resigned myself to the F I probably deserved, and when he handed my paper back and stopped and called my name to the class, I knew he was right. My insubordination was perfect for him to make an example of. But he didn’t. He told everyone to remember my name, because I was an artist. My paper was an A+ and it’s impossible to understate the significance of a fresh word to a boy searching for himself and his place in the world. His actions meant more than I could ever have expressed. His name was John Synodinas, and he was the greatest.]

Anyway, we decide we don’t want to think about the things we don’t like, so we answer a new “site prompt.”

Ms Nash continues, “But…I have a friend With whom I like to spend Any time I can find with. I like sleeping in your bed. I like knowing what is going on inside your head. I like taking time and I like your mind. And I like when your hand is in mine. I like getting drunk on the dunes by the beach. I like picking strawberries. I like cream teas. And I like reading ghost stories. And my heart skips a beat every time that we meet. It’s been a while and now your smile is almost like a memory. But then you’re back and I am fine. ‘Cause you’re with me and I’m in love with you. And I can’t find the words to make it sound unique. But honestly you make me strong. I can’t believe I’ve found someone This kind, I hope we carry on ‘Cause you’re so nice and I’m in love with you.”

Right? That’s a muuuuch better list. I don’t like ghost stories, and I really really really hate drunk, but that doesn’t matter. This is her list and not mine, and one of the best thing about other people is that they are different than us. They’re weird and quirky and care about all sorts of things we don’t, and that is awesome. A monochromatic world is so dumb and boring. I love that she likes reading ghost stories. We all love when your hand is in mine.

The once (and probably future) President was shot yesterday, and there are a million things I could say about that (and at the end, you’d still not know who I vote for or what party is on my registration card). But what I’ll say is that the person who decided to go to that event and pull that trigger probably spent the last several weeks and months compiling lists of all the things he hates, unable to see the absolutely necessary second half. He had people who loved him, he loved macaroni & cheese (because everybody does), he’d love Kate Nash. And when you have a great 2nd half, the first gets very small very fast. Of course, there is always a first half, we all have things that get to us, but sheesh, it’s that wonderfully beautiful second half that makes everything worthwhile.

People who have great 2nd halves usually don’t shoot at somebody. Like John Synodinas, they’re too busy loving us and speaking life into our dark places to have any time or energy for tearing anything down.

Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world