Ode to Lake Travis

The sun
Sucked Up Lake Travis –
High Pressure --
Into the cloudless blue sky
Of the New Summer.

Yachts and cigar boats
Litter now permanent
Sometimes islands,
Left as fossil remains
Or to be picked up and stowed away
Like the toys of youth
In some forgotten attic.
Icons of days gone by.

We pray and petition
For something different,
Like the past.
But the changing seasons --
Like Justice --
Are inevitable.

Convicted of history,
We pack our bags
For a Journey
Perhaps toward Purgatory –
The curse
Of the Promised Land
Chases us
Into the desert.

While the clean blue water
Of Lake Travis
Flows freely
In a majestic wave
Across time and space,
To quench, for an instant,
The incomplete metaphor
Of a thirsty universe.

Service

Last week I participated in a camp for kids. I bring music equipment and let them play on real guitars with real microphones and real amps. The kids here were kids in an apartment complex/shelter. Most of the kids had some kind of background of severe family troubles. I do this camp with a wonderful group of people in a nonprofit called "A Spacious Place" You should look at its website. I wrote the following about my experience"

I am so grateful to be associated with A Spacious Place. Last Friday was a very hectic day. I worked straight through till the last minute to leave for camp, got to camp and the afternoon was a blur and then got home hungry, tired and, frankly, wondering a little bit about why I had come to be that way. Was it worth it? It seems that I can often make out things to be more complicated than they are – less important than my ego would like – less successful than my own sense of evaluation dictates. I had looked forward to this camp since the time it started coming together. Months of expectations became a lot of mental/emotional baggage to carry into camp along with the equipment. In just a short time after the beginning, I felt frustration; I was being overwhelmed. So we all just picked up a percussion instrument and banged away for a minute. Jimi was supportive and upbeat and, well, just right there – that helped. I took a deep breath and tried to just give it all up. We were all just going to beat on some guitars, listen to Nickolas’ rap and just see what happened to avoid the heat, the office, whatever they had going on at home and all of that. That is pretty much what we did. I got a lot out of it. I will remember the kids’ exuberance and curiosity. I will remember looking up and seeing several of the boys hugging and crawling all over Jimi. I will remember the kids running in on Friday after we had been gone hugging me and asking breathlessly, “Where’s Nickolas?” It was touching that they knew we had been gone… that they were glad we were back and that they missed Nickolas after knowing him for only 2 afternoons. I will remember the smiles. I will also remember that slightly uneasy feeling of being just on the edge of chaos, the concerns I felt when I looked at these kids wondering what they would face in the future, what they had faced already – what they are up against in their lives. That ambiguity as to whether my desire to reach out and grab them was to show love, to protect them from the world, or, oddly, just to make them still and quiet for my own peace of mind…

I have no idea what, if anything, we “accomplished.” I have no idea how my methods, actions or plans would be evaluated as to “competence” or “effectiveness.” I do care about those things, and I will think about that and ask for input and try to do better. However, I think it is important to keep that evaluation in perspective. It is those concerns that can lead to fear that can lead to intimidation that can lead to the mental conclusion that I really shouldn’t try to do such things. I know that service is hard work. I know that service is often uncomfortable. I know that the rewards of service are very often quite intangible and ambiguous. Thinking about all these things I know about service, I come to realize that service and creativity are really the same thing. How we are compelled, as creative beings, to become involved in situations where all the rules of logic, our own experience and propriety don’t quite work, and we have to interact with each other and with God to cope. I think that in the middle of that, sometimes I get my clearest glimpse of God, sense a little of what God is about. Just for an instant. Then, it is time to look up and realize that one of the kids has just run out the door toward some kind of adventure that we can only perceive as sure trouble.

Again, I am so proud to be a part of a group that is willing to take such risks for service, for creativity, for God.

I am recharging my battery for the next one!!!

Ghosts, Campfires and Other Faint Aspirations

Ghosts, Campfires and Other Faint Aspirations

Over and over and over
Just doesn’t cut it anymore --
‘Cause Wikipedia has all the straight facts,
Instant access --
And faith isn’t worth a damn or a dollar.

I watched the natives of someplace last night
On the Discovery channel --
Singing and dancing around the campfire.
Poor bastards
Don’t have 1-800, or text mail –
They will never have a winner,
Or know the score.

They performed anonymously
In the dim light of the torches
That flicker and blink,
Like the eyes of the anonymous gods
They dance for.

To the children of the sand,
It’s all
1 or 2 –
Yes or No –
Win or lose –
Right or wrong –
For everything.
No one needs an explanation,
Or a clue.
Hypothesis for History,
Computation for Comprehension.
Factual Fundamentalism.

I think
Simplicity is merely amusing anymore,
In a dream about falling –
I wake up,
I get up out of bed
And fall some more
In someone else’s dream,
Until they wake up.
On and on,
I sense
Faint rustling of the wind
Through my hair.
Destiny calls.

I like to dream.
All the dreamers and I
Dream
The stories
Drifting across consciousness
Like ghosts –
Perhaps holy.

I like the wind
That whispers and howls
Rumors and Proclamations
About movement and direction,
Perhaps perfection.

I like to dance
With the natives,
‘round a campfire.
In the dim light of the torches
That flicker and blink,
Like the eyes of the anonymous gods
We dance for.

The King of Pop

I am struck by the change in images that occurred during the lives of Elvis Presley, John Lennon and Michael Jackson -- all "Kings of Pop" in their own time. The obvious metamorphosis and even deterioration that the "real" people underwent; obvious "deteriorization" from the idols of the popular image. Having never experienced the process personally, I can only speculate about the feelings that might prompt one to run away from, conceal and even "deface" the popular image, when that image has been taken, blown up and idolized by the public. I cannot imagine the pressure on a real person to attempt to live up to the image and expectations of a god. Ultimately, the fantasy overcomes and extinguishes the reality; the person withdraws into oblivion or we kill the real person to preserve the image we treasure. Then, we can remember the "King of Pop" and forgive or even forget that person behind the mask; the sad and macabre reality is irrelevant to our needs. I remember Michael Jackson as a child prodigy singing and dancing joyfully on The Andy Williams Show. He was plainly an angel, as are all children, a spark of life from the overwhelming heat of God's love. That is easy enough to see in the flush of youth, and obscured over time by our own efforts to capture, to become that angel in our human consciousness, our own self-created image. It is a hard lesson so public when the real Michael Jackson dies. Yet, I think it is vitally important when we truly look for "The Man in the Mirror."

Trifling Realities Against All Odds

Trifling Realities Against All Odds

Our biggest tree in the backyard
Is just beginning to put out,
Swelling buds,
And shriveled, purple-looking
Leaf wanna-be’s.
Fig tree
Back near the fence,
Is decked out already,
Laughing in the spring breeze,
Derisively.
I knew it wasn’t dead,
Though I thought it would be a bitch
Without shade
On the deck this summer.
There hasn’t been a frost
In a month or so,
Almost certainly won’t be another
Until October earliest.
All kidding aside,
We need all the relief
We can get,
When the heat sets in…
So, I’m thankful,
Even in my ignorance.

I think about my mother sometimes.
Yesterday was Easter,
Under a magnificent blue sky.
My daughter’s disability
Creeps into my heart
Like a ragged, tired fog.
Our rituals,
Broken shadows
Against a mottled backdrop
That is racing by to some destination,
Unknown
But very far away.
And I realize
Our movement is simply relative.
I can only hope
The destination
Is better for her,
Like my mother’s embrace
That I can barely remember,
But know so well.

The sirens
Are calling me again…
Ropes taut
To restrain me.
It is not so much music,
Like Nero’s violin --
But rapt attention,
While the flames are
Dancing…
Beckoning.
The crew around me
Is anxious.
Not that I will fly away
But that I will stay,
And they will have to endure
The melody
That I dare not describe
Or play.

Easter 09

Easter 09

it was a huge full moon last night –
storm clouds two counties to the east.
another low pressure near-miss.
burn ban’s still on
so we won’t ignite everything --
at least until summer.

someone on the internet
says the crucifixion was a fake –
“cruci – fiction”
the vinegar was really a paralysis drug,
and Jesus escaped to Egypt
to make babies with Mary Magdalene.

water into wine…
I thought,
“if He couldn’t change us,”
“maybe He outsmarted us instead.”
I said to God,
“it’s still better than what You did to Job.”
We laughed together,
it was funny
‘cause it was an honest prayer.

the devil’s on a three-day weekend,
maybe shooting nano particle rapids
in a black-hole somewhere,
or doing something else just as relaxing
in a recreationally nihilistic sort of way.
Easter is his Halloween Holiday,
when the hobgoblins do all the work –
eggs
for the children to hunt.
services at sunrise,
to divert our attention
from the rest of the day.

i prayed and prayed
last winter,
when there was just nothing
else to do…




waking up,
going to sleep –
anticipations of
the times in-between --
like Easter.

and then there’s Jesus
up there
on the cross –
thinking about making babies with Mary Magdalene.

“Blessed Be The Children”
“Blessed Be You And Me.”

knowledge and Belief in God

It is certainly harder for me to believe in the devil than it is for me to believe in God. I think this is the problem for many atheists and agnostics. Perhaps subliminally, they ignore the undeniable and universal experiences of God in the nature of things, and challenge me to prove that God exists. It seems strange to me, admittedly in the context of my training as a lawyer, that the atheists appear to have been granted the power to impose the burden of proof regarding God. Consider, for example, a basic component of nature that almost everyone agrees upon – gravity. Any knowledgeable scientist of today will agree that there are situations in nature in which all our equations and understanding of gravity do not work; in those situations, they could not satisfy any burden of proof that gravity exists. Nevertheless, we do not have “antigravityists” running around accusing Newton and Einstein of being superstitious idiots. We continue to cling to our belief in gravity just as the soles of our shoes continue to cling to the surface of earth; Hawking and the other best and brightest of scientists continue to postulate that there is a “theory of everything” which will, after all, prove that our experience of gravity is not the figment of anyone’s imagination. They are skeptical of the proof, the understanding, but have no doubt about their experience. The experience is tangible and real in their lives, beyond doubt even when the equations, explanations – “understanding” – the way we express the tangible and real experiences remain suspect.

I recently heard an ardent contemporary Christian philosopher, Peter Rollins, expound his strategy that he doubts God’s existence, but does his best to act as if there is a God in his day-to-day affairs. We might characterize the “doubt” as an observation about our equations, explanations, “understandings” of God, like the scientists who distrust the explanations of gravity. We walk around affixed to the ground, the planets orbit around the sun, and what we experience is tangible and real. It doesn’t make much sense, in my opinion, to surmise that we “doubt” gravity, but act as if gravity exists.

One might attack this analogy because we cannot think that there is any other way to act other than consistent with gravity. I would respond by asking: “How do we know when we are acting as if there is a God? and, “Where do we get the idea that we can act any other way?” Just as in the case of gravity, I would say that we (all people) call on a great deal of experience and history of experience, “laws” (like the “laws” of gravity) and other objective circumstances to educate our collective “beliefs” in God (like “beliefs” in gravity).

In the case of gravity, we expect that some brilliant scientist may well come up with new equations, theories or explanations that put our concept of “gravity” in some new context; on the other hand, we do not expect that this new “understanding” will have the result of people and things flying off the face of the earth willy-nilly. I believe that the same is true with respect to our belief in God, and the derivative understanding of the way we relate to God and nature, including the way we relate to each other.

Of course, Rollins is very well justified in aggressively challenging our understanding of God, and our articulation of God’s ways, just as the physicists have continually challenged our understanding of gravity, putting that understanding to test in all situations we can experience. However, I believe that this process is mischaracterized if it is considered as an attempt to “prove” God’s existence, which existence I think we all know just as surely as we know that gravity exists.

Perhaps I am dancing on the head of a pin. I think not. I believe that there is an important element of “knowing” past “understanding” or “belief” that is essential even as we are critical and challenging toward our articulations, underlying assumptions and understandings of the source of “understanding” and/or “belief.” Perhaps that element creates a level of confidence vs. cynicism, a level of hope vs. despair, and a level energy vs. the lethargy of depression, a level of meaning vs. nihilism.

Atheists often attack theists by emphasis on the way theists, often defined as “christians” in these dialogues, have acted in many of the atrocities of history – for example, wars, genocide, slavery -- and have adversely responded to the empirical findings and implications of modern science – for example, evolution, birth control, environmental protection. I cannot in good conscience, assert that my actions do not fundamentally indicate what I believe in. On the other hand, I would respond that people, including me, do not always act in conformance with beliefs, because my volition over my actions, and my beliefs (and “understanding”) are both admittedly imperfect. Nevertheless, I would assert that it is impossible or very improbable that we can act other than in conformance with what we know; when I screw up, I somehow inevitably know that I have screwed up; I somehow know that I need help in some fundamental way; I somehow know that the help is available in the nature of things. Thus, I instinctively get on my knees and reach out to God with an open heart and open palm. The atheist simply reacts to that same instinct in a different way – reaching out to God with palms facing outward.

My Creed

My Creed:

I believe in one God, who is the Creator, who is personally in relationship with me, and whose operating ethic, process, influence and force is Love. I am in awe of God and his Presence, and acknowledge His primordial leadership and model for all people.

I believe that I am blessed and beloved and strive to share in the experience of God’s Goodness and Bounty with everyone, through the celebration of my own creativity, which is bestowed because I am made in the image of the Creator.

I believe that God is revealed by prayer, critical thinking, discussion and education. I believe that God is obscured by ignorance and revealed in all things through disciplined, honest and humble observation.

I believe that my meaning and purpose is realized and revealed in my service of others. Orthopraxy is the most important element of orthodoxy; what I do is the true reflection of what I believe.

I believe that health and self-improvement are mandated by God, and a commitment to healthy habits and excellence in thought and deed is the soul of God’s law.

I believe that God actively participates in our world in tangible and intangible ways, often beyond my powers of observation, comprehension and/or understanding.

Liturgy of Emerging Faith

Liturgy of the Journey of Emerging Faith

“Worship” is the process we adopt to incorporate faith into the reality of our lives. “Worship service” is an intentional time by which the elements of our “Worship” are remembered and examined.

Elements of Worship and/or Worship service:

Reverence

Joyfulness

Discernment

Commitment

Rejuvenation

Mystery

Sacraments Associated Primarily With the Elements

Reverence – candles, darkness, quiet, incense

Joyfulness – angels, art (or artifacts)

Discernment – Bible, stories of faith

Commitment – Offering, sacrifice

Rejuvenation – feast, Sabbath,

Mystery – Cross, Communion, Resurrection

Orthodoxy Related to the Elements

Reverence – We believe in one God, who is the Creator, who is personally in relationship with us, and whose operating ethic, process and force is Love. We are in awe of God and his Presence, and acknowledge His primordial leadership and model for all people.

Joyfulness – We believe that we are blessed and beloved and strive to share in the experience of God’s Goodness and Bounty with everyone.

Discernment – We believe that God is revealed by prayer, critical thinking, discussion and education; God is obscured by ignorance.

Commitment – We believe that our meaning and purpose is in the service of others. Orthopraxy is the most important element of orthodoxy.

Rejuvenation – We believe that health and self-improvement are mandated by God.

Mystery – We believe that God actively participates in our world in tangible ways beyond our comprehension and/or understanding.

Activities, Enactment of the Elements

Reverence - Primarily Prayer
Head – Mantra, Quietness, Reflection, Meditation, Yoga, Consideration beyond consciousness
Heart – Respect, Submissiveness, Connectedness, Awe, Calm, Warmth
Body - Prayer, Stillness, Breath, Openness

Joyfulness – Primarily Creative Expression (as in art)
Head – Analogy, Perceptiveness, Inquisitiveness
Heart – Happiness, Appreciation, Expression, Celebration
Body – Singing, Dancing, Painting, Writing, Playing, Watching and Listening

Discernment – Primarily Bible Study/Journey style
Head – Critical Thought, Observation, Research, Verification
Heart – Affirmation, Mutual Respect, Safety
Body – Discussion, Reading, Observing, Participating

Commitment – Primarily Service
Head – Social consciousness, Consciousness of the environment, Marshalling resources
Heart – Sharing, Concern, Inclusiveness, Love (in emotional sense, perhaps)
Body – Tithing, Participation in service to others, Joining

Rejuvenation - Primarily rest and “time off”
Head – Relaxation, Playfulness, Frivolity
Heart – Relief, Calm, Happy
Body – Rest, exercise at play, healthy habits

Mystery – Primarily Patience
Head – Openness, Belief in unknown, Humility
Heart – Hope, Acceptance, Anticipation
Body – Healing, Intuition, Prophecy, Inspiration

Liturgical Cycles – Seasons of the Elements

Reverence – i.e. Fall (i.e. Beauty and death of dying leaves)

Joyfulness – i.e. Christmas

Discernment – i.e. Winter

Commitment – i.e. Spring

Rejuvenation – i.e. Summer vacation

Mystery – i.e. Easter, Halloween

Wal-Mart

Driving down the freeway,
Listening to sports radio.
It occurs to me –
America is
The Wal-Mart of the world.

Big boxes everywhere,
With benefits,
Computer communication coordination,
And old people
Saying “hi” and offering you a cart
At the door.

It’s all right there,
Aisles 1 – 1,000,002.
Gleaming, glittering
Inviting the purchase of 2 for 1.
Generic stores -
Generic stuff –
Generic staff –
Generic marketing -
Generic prices –
Generic people.

Wonderful, wonderful
Wal-Mart.
There atop the
Evolutionary pile of production
Of free enterprise,
At all the busiest corners
In the world.

My granddad,
He must be laughing –
‘Bout how the Piggly Wiggly supermarket
That spoiled his grocery
Got squeezed –
And his little town’s
Not even there anymore.
He would probably say “hi”
And offer them at cart
At Wal-Mart’s door.


Me
I never worked for a living.
I just peddle empty time and hot air,
And take the paper proceeds
To Wal-Mart.
Cheese balls
To give the kids --
And wicker chairs
For the patio.

Some people seem mad
Some people seem surprised.
Some people say,
“It’s the end of the world!”
I think I’m a little tired
Of all this negativity.
I’m going to “Returns,”
In front, right next to the exit.
What I got here is broke,
And I didn’t need it anyway.

Terror

Terror

I have suffered night terrors most of my life. As a young child I often slept on the rug at the foot of my parents’ bed. Even as a teen I used to bribe my little brother to come in my room and sleep with me; then I told my parents he came into my room because he was scared. I peed on the floor because I was afraid to leave my room to go to the bathroom. Many, many nights I have sat or laid there shaking, sweating, heart and mind racing and I have simply given up all hope for the light of the next morning.

A psychiatrist friend of mine tells me that night terrors can be associated with brain activities or dysfunctions that are not unlike epileptic seizures. Today, they might be treated with medication -- a circumstance that might have changed my life significantly.

On the other hand, how could I have ever suspected that the night terrors would, 50 years later, prepare me in some ways for my life events in a culture that has become preoccupied with terror? Considering the information from my psychiatrist, I am also led to speculate about the medication (perhaps like soma) that might vastly reduce the hysteria of today’s world. It is always hard to separate the good breaks from the bad ones in any true circumstance.

There is no real story I can relate in night terrors – no recurring pattern of thought or horror, vision of monsters or demons; I have approached that feeling at times at a scary movie or reading a Stephen King book, in an airplane in stormy weather or on a roller coaster the first second of its first descent; none of that ever really gets there.

For a time, I was afraid that my son, Wes, had inherited my penchant for night terrors. He would wake us up regularly, crying and afraid in his bed. One night as I was walking by his room I discovered the villain, a huge raccoon staring into Wes’ bedroom from the window perch outside his room. Case closed, night terrors abated.

So, you might be able to distinguish my night terror from Wes’ situation (and the purportedly similar experience of thousands or even millions of people evoked by the destruction of the buildings and loss of life in New York on 9/11); at least they had (have) a raccoon and/or Osama to blame. On the other hand, maybe that is no true distinction at all. As my doctor says, I may have a brain dysfunction to blame, or my delusion of being Jesus, or demons, or even God. Under any objective analysis, anyone can find an object of fear; more importantly, regardless of the icons, we all find ourselves simply in the dark, and often anxious and afraid about it.

I read that many of the marines shit their pants as they left the boats to run on the beach at Normandy. A WWII pilot I talked to told me that an aircraft carrier looks like a cigar butt floating on the ocean when you first spot it for a landing. Yet, it does not seem accurate for me to think about them in a state of terror. It seems that terror is something different than fear, and terror may dwell in the comfort of my bedroom more comfortably than in horrific firestorms of war.
Curious is the apparent lack of relationship between terror and courage. History is full of examples of heroic actions by fearful people. Likewise, moments of insight, perception, and/or enlightenment usually are in fits of fearful circumstance, like the presence of an angel, a demon or even God Himself. In contrast, the images of terror run more to the pathetic – fetal positions under the safety of a wool blankets, and airport lobbies full of metal detectors and drug store cops – symbols of those who are “gripped’ in terror.

“Pathetic” is not to be confused with “harmless.” I set my little brother up for derision and scorn almost without remorse to protect my teenage pride; just as my culture sends its kids into rains of fire and bullets for some perceived safety of their ideals. We might say, then, that if fear is often about self-preservation, terror is often about self image-preservation; it is one thing to be afraid and to act in reality (a state of courage), and quite another to act in defense of being or even appearing to be afraid in anticipation or in delusion of a real threat (a state of terror).

Curious also is the almost mysterious power that one can invoke to aid the infliction of terror; one person, or a small group of persons evoke mass terror, even among those who have very little if anything to fear. It is hard to imagine the collapse of our economic system resulting from having no World Trade Centers. Then again, maybe we have something to fear… What if we have something to fear? Is it possible that we have something to fear? Shouldn’t we be prepared as if we have something to fear? Amber alert! Danger! And so it goes.

It is not as if nobody has any legitimate fear. But people deal with fear all the time in courageous ways; people with cancer, people who are hungry, soldiers, doctors, astronauts, mothers, people in the twin towers, drivers who get on the on ramp to the freeway... It is the rest of us who recoil in terror, cast suspicious eyes all around and unleash rage indiscriminately on innocents (the brothers) and random misfits (the raccoons).

Jesus, me or the real one, apparently left the building during my night terrors. Not one of the uplifting words of the sermons I preached to mom and nan dared to cross my lips; nor did I have the slightest inkling of the fervor or conviction of those other times, while I was there in the dark -- when the wind was blowing, the walls creaking, the end was nearing. I could judge that in the crisis I simply lacked faith. Yet, my dad and mom were, without any doubt, present in the very next room and I didn’t cry out to them either. So, it wasn’t merely or even mainly that I didn’t believe in God or that God couldn’t or wouldn’t help me. Indeed part of the grip of my terror was to disable that part of me that could perceive the situation and alleviate it; i.e. pray or call to mom and dad, or, even, get up, walk across the room and turn on the light.
It seems like a lot of what Jesus, the real one, said was simply, “Hey, get up, walk across the room and turn on the light.” It was called healing when people actually did it. As circumstances would have it, however, the ones who didn’t killed him. Again, it wasn’t fear when the nailed him up, he had never hurt anyone. It was terror. Jesus was the brother who had to take the rap for coming in the room and sleeping with us.
For many, even or mainly christians, the terror has not abated. Terror lurks in our religious orthodoxy when we react intolerantly and in rage to unorthodoxy or to other orthodoxies, when we rationalize outrageous and inhumane acts against those “disadvantaged,” against those who are “different” and against our very environment, and when we willingly live in grand delusion to avoid the risk of seeking the real truth of the here and now. We see the same terror in our other orthodoxies – politics, morality and the law.

As I lay there in terror in the dark, the object of my dread was certainly delusional. It wasn’t about the real, mundane risks and fears in that room; it was about the grand drama of the unreal unknown -- the titanic resting point between good and evil. Like judgment day at death – heaven or hell. I may act with courage overcoming the fears of my circumstance, good or bad. But how am I to avoid bowing in terror to such primordial forces of evil? You see, it couldn’t be that I was just a scared little boy laying there in the dark; I am after all, Jesus, and a victim of circumstance. To avoid the demeaning seeming image of me, it was necessary for me to invent evil and the devil himself. I think that most of you do the same thing.

There has been a lot of thought and discussion about the problem of evil. How do we cope with bad circumstance? How do we explain it? How can we keep our faith in good in spite of it? Why must we endure it?

It seems possible that this discussion mostly misses the point -- that the real problem of evil is to prove that it exists at all. Perhaps the very concept of evil is delusional, conjured in those moments when are captured in terror, like when I was locked under the covers in my bedroom in my night terrors – scared of the dark.

When I finally fell asleep and morning came with the light, it wasn’t that the light didn’t illuminate anything scary, it was just that I was no longer terrified by the scary things I could see. When my brother came in, or when there was someone else in the room, it was not that the darkness was gone, it was just that I was no longer there to face the evil alone. It turns out that evil is not so powerful after all, to be so easily and readily dissipated.

Terror and evil are dangerous even if there is no devil and even if they are ephemeral. If we do not wage war against evil, are we destined to be victims?

Jesus, the real one, said that the victims would inherit the earth, the ones who have mere reality, which they cannot own, and not delusions, which do not exist. The ones to whom courage is more useful than self-image. I think that it is important for me to find and join them, when morning dawns.

Fitting

Fitting

I have always tended to be “stout,” as they say; “fat” to someone who is inclined to make such judgments. As a kid, I could not wear blue jeans; in order to get some that would fit me in the legs (thighs), the size would have to be hopelessly too big in the waist and/or too long.

Apparently, this predicament was common enough, because by the time I was 10 or 11 years old, the jean companies marketed jeans that were tailored to my situation.
I have imagined the scene at the jean company. The guy in product development, who suffered a “slacks wearing” childhood, develops the jeans that would fit, and the company loves his idea. Imagine the designer’s mixed feelings of joy and shame when the marketers decide to designate his new jeans (and him) as “HUSKY.”

The coaches took delight in referring to me at times as “heavy hocks,” but the cut of my jeans was impeccable.

And so I learned, as a well-dressed HUSKY, that the circumstance of “fitting” or “not fitting,” like most circumstance, can be an elusive and ambiguous matter indeed; consistently, I learned the importance in conventional wisdom of “fitting,” as well as the circumstance of “not fitting” that has made me at various times a malcontent, a sociopath or a prophet, or something of all of them.

I observed a time from my adolescence in the 60’s and 70’s when “not fitting” was all the rage: “Tune In, Turn On, Drop Out.” Even then, it seemed obvious to me that it was far too important for the hippies to “fit in” by “not fitting,” and to follow the “counter” conventional wisdom of the “counterculture” As a result, it was not completely surprising to see that group elect Ronald Reagan as president and become some of the staunchest “fitters” of American history; the group that set the humankind record for irony by tearing down the Berlin wall in the name of peace and love, only to establish the MacDonald’s Empire worldwide, “One world, under FREE ENTERPRISE, with a Big Mac and french fries for all.” A part of me was right there with them – there in my HUSKY hip-huggers – until I traded them in for a three-piece suit and an office at Fulbright & Jaworski law firm. I never voted for Reagan, but I marveled at the end of the cold war, the apparent peace and the spoils of victory – covered, of course, with lots of ketchup.

It turns out that it is not so easy not to fit, even among the HUSKIES and the hippies.

Also interesting is the relationship of “fitting” to “being fit.” No matter how hard the “fitters” try to control events – how much they invest, how many policeman and soldiers they have -- who their friends are – the “fittest” seem to be the ones who don’t quite “fit.”

The survivors, heroes and progenitors are often freaks. My favorite hero, Jesus, is perhaps the best example; the Sermon on the Mount is something like Jimi Hendrix’s “raise your freak flag high!” Who “is fit,” for the Kingdom of Heaven? – those who do not “fit” in the Kingdom of Earth. No one less than God could make this stuff up.

I have to ask if “fitting” is such a dubious distinction, why is its importance so tenaciously advocated? Why are the important ones, the misfits, so persecuted? Why do we turn nature on her head to persecute the “fit”? Don’t history and Jesus tell us to celebrate the nonconformists instead (and not just posthumously)?

Closely related to the preoccupation with “fitting” is the fear of being “lost;” The “fitters;” shake their heads at the misfits and bemoan, “…the poor soul is just lost.” An interesting concept, I think – one either “fits,” or is “lost.”

I preached to mom and to Nan about being “lost” long before I had any notion of geography or, for that matter, philosophy. “Lost” meant not believing in Jesus. To me at that time, believing in Jesus meant believing in myself. As it came to occur to me that I might not “fit” in some way, the thought of being “lost” became more ominous; husky and imperfect, I was not to be counted on. Of course, that development opened many doors – husky jeans and the real Jesus could come along and I could be “SAVED AT LAST.”

That is, I was taught that the antidote for being “lost” was to be “saved.” Regardless of the nomenclature, “lost” was geographic – not on the road to heaven -- and “saved” was simply following directions. So, whether it was husky jeans or the real Jesus, “saved” was a process of fitting – following the prescribed sartorial, philosophical, moral, cultural, religious, social roadmap for the promised reassurance of good grooming, eternal life, goodness, beauty, heaven or what other goodies might be unavailable or unattainable for a “lost” soul. Yet, whether it was husky jeans or Christianity, “saved” or “fitting” didn’t do much to change the qualities of my body or my character; at the point of that realization is when I think I could truly appreciate the feeling of, and meaning of “lost,” and the consideration of “lost” as a way of life.

A few years back, my wife and I were in Paris; it was a first-time visit for both of us. We happened on a little square near Montmartre, a hill with a beautiful cathedral. In the square there were a number of artists painting all kinds of wonderful things. After the fact, I found out the significance of this spot for artists, the likes of van Gogh, Picasso, Degas and other notables had occupied those spots we saw on that day. We came upon an artist who was painting portraits from photographs, and came up with the wonderful idea of commissioning a portrait of our grandson. Of course, the photograph we needed was back at the hotel. We rushed with great excitement to the hotel and en route back for this great adventure. We had prided ourselves on mastering the Paris subways but, despite all skill and efforts, found ourselves unable to locate the square.

“You are lost,” Kathie stared at me.

No doubt in a manner of speaking she was absolutely right. Yet, I was taken aback by the accusation. Here I was in an utterly foreign place, with only the vaguest notion of my location and, for that matter, where I was actually going. It struck me that “lost” was a very odd way to assess my/our predicament. That is, when you don’t know where you are, and you don’t know where you’re going, “lost” doesn’t seem to have much relevance. The particular situation was soon exacerbated in my attempts to ask a Frenchman directions in English.

On the other hand, I believe that is the sense of “lost” for which the true antidote is being “saved.” It is a matter of condition rather than location. It is a place in which what is needed is not so much a set of directions, which might be utterly unintelligible to me in my particular circumstance, but rather a change of perspective or orientation. Perhaps it is like a point of consciousness on an infinitesimally small particle in a near infinite universe asking, “Where Am I?” or “Why Am I here?” or “Is There Some Other Point of Consciousness – Maybe God?”

My sense of this condition of “lost” has evolved over my life experiences. I do not believe that I am unique in that regard – we may see this development in many contexts – failed relationships, disease, death, career setbacks, even good luck or wealth. It is not surprising that we go to our doctors, our pastors, our lawyers, our parents and ask for a “prescription,” “orthodoxy,” or the law. Like the french roadmap handed to me in the middle of Paris, it is also not surprising that these directions often simply do not work to “save” me from being “lost.”

So it is that “fitting” may not necessarily “save” me from being “lost.” Maybe that is why we say, “Misery loves company.” Maybe that is why Jesus said that the misfits are blessed, and would “inherit the earth” – a particularly reassuring vision of the rapture in which most of the rising souls are wearing husky jeans…

Crying

I feel like crying right now.
The heaviness on the edge of my eyes,
That means it’s dangerous to blink.
It’s not that I can’t take it like a man,
I just can’t seem to take it any other way.

Mad as hell,
I sit here staring
In both directions,
Out there,
In here.

A man feels that way,
When he can’t fix it.
A man might cry
When “it” seems like everything.
Everything is like
The heart within me.

I read that we hiccup
Because we are still part fish.
Ancient lineage.
I wonder, “Is that why
We have to cry?”

Adam might ask Jesus,
“Was it worth it?”
Jesus might ask Adam
The same thing.
Neither answers,
And God’s not talking again.

I think I’ll cry right now,
Like an old woman
At the wailing wall.
Spirit given up,
Tears falling down,
Worship and Sacrifice.

Inauguration

It is ironic that we have become a nation of slaves, and that we would now turn to a black man for liberation. We are addicted, indentured, indebted, stripped of fundamental rights and ruled by terror - slavery by any estimation. And so perhaps Obama is truly one of us, or we are truly within his heritage. In any event, it seems that Obama's message speaks to us out of the spirit of the civil rights movement which spirit is now not so much about color, though it is still that, but more about raising our spirits out of the chains that bind us. The shackles are strong, the masters, they are mustering their power and caucusing in the big houses. We must consider the ends and the means. Freedom is more than security or economy or even democracy. Freedom is about integrity of the spirit, responsibility, respect and even love. Such things cannot be institutionalized nor imposed lest they lose reality and meaning; such things cannot be won by the sword lest the fundamental principles be fundamentally corrupted; such things cannot be awarded or bestowed, but must be earned by the sweat of our brows, the earnest application of our intellect and unpretentious and humble respect and commitment to the will and the nature of God. I believe that this is the calling and I pray that we will hear and take up our plowshares.