Love With A Capital L

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

catfish — March 7, 2019

catfish

Today on MTV, Catfish in on. If you are unfamiliar, Catfish is a terrific show where people who think they’ve found true love online discover, with the help of host Nev Schulman, that the objects of their affections are not at all the people they believe them to be. It’s pretty great tv, where the drama is in the search to find the actual person, then the reveal and subsequent confrontation, and finally the tears and broken heart resolution. Who knows what all is real? (Only children still believe that reality tv is, in fact, reality. It’s more of a ‘based on a true story’ situation, probably.) But there is an undercurrent that is very real, that is too easily missed as we watch shows, detached and judgmental – the judgment either taking the form of sympathy for the fished or disgust for the fisher.

It’s interesting how quickly we can dismiss the Bible as outdated and irrelevant, stories about ‘they’ and ‘them’ and not ‘we’ or ‘us.’ It is much the same with programs like this. The lines that separate us are nowhere near as defined as each of us like to think, and the more we can dismantle these structures and erase those lines, then there is the chance for understanding and genuine connection.

It’s not surprising that we draw these lines of comparison and condescension, it’s all part of the foundation of Catfish. The people who are fishing, deceiving those on the other end of the screen, are creating images of themselves. They are actors on a stage pretending to be someone else, someone they are not, to gain acceptance and belonging. And I watch, pretending to not be just like them, pretending that we are very different. Now, I have never used your pictures or lied my face off to waste years of someone’s life, but I have a loooooong history of image-building. I have been what’s called a pleaser, trying desperately to fit what I think you want, to be cool, smart, funny, mean, trendy, or whatever.

I shake my head and say, ‘these people.’ But like so much, there is no ‘these people,’ there is only ‘me,’ only ‘us,’ and the weight of the show is in the mirror it uses to shows us how unsatisfied we are being who we are. I need better jeans, a better job, a better car, more money, clearer skin, bigger biceps and a smaller spare tire, to find fulfillment, peace, happiness, peace.

Who am I? is The Question that is always looming, just beyond fake plastic filtered smiles and sunshine instagram posts. Not everyone’s food (or workout or pants or marriage) looks that perfect all the time.

Ok, so I am a catfish in all kinds of ways. But I am the catfished in more (and the truth is, everybody is.) I do all of these things, contort myself into more desirable positions, for the same reason everyone has ever done, since the beginning of time – for that beautiful bond, for a hand to hold, for love. That’s why the unbearably naive victims on the show believe EVERYTHING, because they are willing to close their eyes and cross their fingers in the hope that this time it might be true, that they might not be alone. Of course, the paradox is that as long as we wear masks, we’ll never find the authentic relationship for which we are wearing the masks in the first place. But we have to wear the masks because we’re all so busy trapped in ‘us’/’them’ theology, and this catch 22 rolls over and flattens us all.

But yesterday is not today and today is not tomorrow. Just because we have always done it this way doesn’t mean we will continue. It is not just what it is. The revolution starts when we say it does.

 

 

Slippery When Wet — February 16, 2019

Slippery When Wet

My favorite Christmas present this year, and maybe ever, is a poster my wife bought for me called 100 Albums Scratch Off Bucket List. The poster has 100 squares, covered in silver like convenience store lottery tickets, for 100 great albums, and as you listen to them, you scratch the silver away to reveal a clever cartoony depiction of the spirit of the cover art.

Today I’m listening to Slippery When Wet, by Bon Jovi (but surely you already knew who recorded the classic Slippery When Wet.) Right now, it’s track 3 – ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ (and probably you already knew what track 3 was, too.) It’s my 21st favorite song of all time. (‘There Is A Light That Never Goes Out,’ by the Smiths, is #1, ‘I Can’t Help Myself,’ by Gene, is 2, ‘Half A Person,’ also by the Smiths, is 3, and ‘Good Enough,’ by Sarah McLachlan is 4. Incidentally, ‘I Remember You,’ by Skid Row, is #7.) You probably don’t remember how good ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ is, maybe you’re unfairly judging it by the lack of the ‘g’ in Livin’ or the hairstyles & tight pants, now that you’re older and Bon Jovi stopped being considered awesome after the New Jersey album. You’re wrong, though. But it’s ok, we all bought that then. It’s time to move past that, now, make our own paths, write our own stories. This is as good a place as any to start.

(Wanted Dead Or Alive is on now. So much better than you remember. I promise.)

I’ve heard so many of these albums, but I’m listening to them all again before I can scratch them off. I started with the Arctic Monkeys, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not. I missed it the first time around, disregarding them as just one of a million poor copies of the Strokes. I was wrong, it’s a terrific record.

Jon sings, in ‘Without Love,’ “I see my life, some things I took for granted.” I wonder what else I missed, what else I took for granted because of my misguided convictions. Because of my snobby elitist judgmentalism. Because of my blindness. I guess I’m not talking about Slippery When Wet or the Arctic Monkeys anymore (well, maybe just a little.) It’s the kisses, hands, conversations, moments I may not have given the attention they deserved that can haunt me. Wrapped up in busy-ness, anxious about what had been or what would be, worried about what I looked like or the image I was projecting. Do you know I used to wear a shirt to the beach, too self-conscious of a few extra pounds to exhale? Can you imagine?

(I just discovered that it’s impossible to type while ‘Never Say Goodbye’ plays.)

I don’t want to miss anything, but I know I will, because I’ll forget. And when I do, it’s nice to have someone walking with me to point things out, to tell me to breathe and sing out loud and dig in the sand with my shirt off. And sometimes, she will buy THE COOLEST POSTER EVER to remind me.

 

How It Ends — January 31, 2019

How It Ends

So, my friends, here is how it ends:

First, I am a little unfamiliar with spoiler rules for books. Are books the same as movies or TV shows? Because some of them have spoilers that never expire – like The Sixth Sense. This book was written in 2014, how long do I have to wait? Well, I’m going to ruin this book for you. 6 pages from the end, a sentence begins, “At the bookseller’s funeral…” and it was exactly as devastating as you think it was.

I sent this text to my wife, earlier, BEFORE I got to that sentence, “I’m going to be in our room crying over this book…I won’t meet you at the door” because we meet each other at the door every single time we leave or return.

It’s interesting to know how much to share with people, right? You probably had a picture of me in your head and maybe that picture didn’t include me crying in bed over a book, but that’s apparently who I am.

Then, last night, we watched the Incredibles 2 (because it’s amazing and it was also the sort of dangerous cold that makes watching movies under blankets the only thing to do.) Pixar movies include short films that, theatrically, run before the feature and are sometimes as good as the main course. The one packaged with Incredibles 2 is called Bao… sigh.

It’s about 5 minutes of honest, heart-breaking perfection.

As the credits ran, my son asked me, “what happened?” because I was wiping heavy tears from my eyes. He asked me to explain and I tried, I really did, but it was about children and them growing and entering new seasons and being thankful for those new seasons while mourning the ones that are passing/have passed and how wonderful they were and how sometimes it’s hard to do that in a healthy way and and and

So.

What I’m trying to say, I guess, as I overshare, is that my heart is in perfect working order. I cried like crazy over the A.J. Fikry book and Bao because they were gorgeous, and there isn’t quite enough of that – I’m glad I’m not so calloused as to not recognize what a heart is supposed to do or feel. Mine is soft and mushy, it jumps for joy and is often painfully wounded, it celebrates and mourns easily. In other words, this beautiful heart works just fine, thanks.

 

A New Thing — December 29, 2018

A New Thing

Well, good morning! This is a new thing – I think I know what it is, I guess we’ll see.

It’s interesting to think that you have something new to offer the world, something of value. The impulse can appear vain and self-aggrandizing, and that’ll be something I work through (probably here… out loud), because it is also an expression of a gift. We are all gifted in certain ways – being created in the image of a wildly creative God makes us wildly creative. Only, so many of us have decided that, though this may be true for others, it is not for us. We say things like, “I’m just (whatever)” or “I’m not the creative type,” and we are wrong.

Because we are gifted, it is vital for our growth and development that we use these gifts before they atrophy and we forget that we have the image of God on us. Namaste, right?

So.

I write for the faith community I pastor, and recently published a book. This space is different. I mean, it’s virtually impossible that I see the world any type of way other than through a spiritual lens, through a prism of love, but those avenues have a structure this one will not have. I love music and movies and culture, opinions on religion and politics and art – this is where I will explore those things any way I choose.

It’s pretty exciting to see where we go, right?