Thursday, January 22, 2009

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.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

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.