Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts

Saturday, 19 March 2016

Living in a world gone mad

For the moment, we’ll pretend that it hasn’t been over 7 months since I last wrote.  
Join the ranks of my parents, friends and earliest sweethearts to whom I have often provided the gift of opportunities for forgiveness.   Perhaps, in a later missive, I will explain myself.

For now… let us thank Donald Trump for motivating this current phillipic. 
 (we’ll wait while you google it…)  
Actually, I’m being somewhat misleading.  1.  This blog will not be particularly “fiery”.  
2.  There is NOTHING for which to thank Donald Trump.  
Ever. 

And Ever. (Amen).  

But he has got me thinking.  
What does one do when one discovers that he/she is living in a Reality Television show?  Because that’s how I feel as I watch the surrealist theatre and listen to the rhetoric of the Presidential Primaries in the U.S.    Can I simply swear at Gordon Ramsay and turn in my apron? Refuse to shower and get voted off Big Brother?  Is there any way that I can beg the Tribe to speak or simply dance away from the stars?

It seems not. 
This show will not turn off - like “Two Broke Girls” or “Saved by the Bell” no matter how poor the writing, acting or embarrassing the situations, it’s always on!

Living in a world where public figures re-write history on a whim (Donald Trump’s business acumen; Hillary Clinton’s lionizing of Nancy Reagan and her support for people with Aids; when Bewitched brought in a new Darren) I find myself wondering what to do when the nuts are in charge.  How does one live in the midst of evil, stupidity or just plain wrong-headedness?   I respect democracy and I have bought into the idea that the majority have the right to determine their shared future – but how does one live quietly in the midst of those who have been fooled or hoodwinked; lack the capacity or information to make an informed and just decision?  
Do I just grin and go along with it?

As teenagers, sitting in school cafeterias or basement recrooms we would often profess that, had we the ability to time travel, the first that thing that we would do is go back and assassinate Hitler before his rise to power.  We knew most assuredly that the best way to deal with evil was to kill it before it could spread.  However, with commitments to life, justice, the rule of law and the priority of democracy, I have to confess that I would be unlikely to assassinate anyone.  
(I had always believed that there we only two assassination attempts on Hitler, but having recently been informed that there were as many as 47, I’m beginning to wonder if some or my teen age friends haven’t figured out how to time travel and are simply bad a assassination) 

Of course, I could just bitch, moan and post constantly on Facebook how funny, stupid, useless or disappointing everything is.  But, much like my plans to assassinate Hitler, I would like leave my teenage attitudes and practices behind me.  
(Seriously… how ‘bout we give the new Prime Minister a little more than 6 months to fix everything that needs fixing and stop blaming him for looking good in a suit?)

So, what am I supposed to do?

I’ve ruled out assassination.
I’m trying to let go of whining.
I don’t want to live angry.
I’m not moving to Iceland.

French’s Ketchup aside, I’m not convinced that yelling and screaming at the Parliament Buildings, a Trump Rally or Loblaws is really going to affect much change in me or in the world.  But I can’t do nothing, can I?

This Sunday, the Sunday before Easter, most churches will be commemorating the Palm Sunday parade of Jesus.  And thinking about it, has inspired me and will help to inform how I will live in a Trump World… and you may live in a Trudeau world…. How we can live together in a world where we may not be entirely “at home” living with idiots. 

Historically, it is likely that Jesus' little parade happened on the day of or very close to the time of larger parades.  Parades that celebrated the Roman Empire; a least one parade that would have been notable for horses, chariots, loud noises, big crowds and raucous cheers in the name of Rome.  A reason for celebration, but also a reminder to the local folks as to who was in charge, and how they would deal with unrest and disobedience.  It’s all cheers and balloons, unless you step out of line and then these same horses, chariots and soldiers could be turned on you.  

Having been born and raised in Southern Ontario, I’ve never been to parade that frightened me or carried any undertones of violence in my mind – but go to the Airshow with some Refugees some time and you may see a very different reaction to the spectacle of military jets flying overhead in formation.

In the face of this militaristic, double speak world of violence and Empire, Jesus cannot remain silent.  However, he does not go to the parade and throw tomatoes… he does not scream “Fascist” and speculate as to the size of Pilate’s penis (thank you Republican Presidential hopefuls for raising the bar so high…)  He simply lives and presents an alternative.   He puts on another parade at the other end of the city… one with a donkey (or two) and people throwing clothes and waving palms.  There are no clowns, no banners,  no horses, no chariots or soldiers; there is no military or commercial might on display whatsoever.., instead, a parade of people cheering and crying out “Hosanna”.  An alternative to Empire; an appeal to God and peace, hope and love… a simple act that doesn’t dazzle or manipulate, but provides another way.  Kind of like the first the best of Pride Parades. 

images may appear whiter than likely... or even, possible.
I think that this will be my best way forward should I find myself a minority awash in a sea of idiots… or a morally responsible person in the midst of a world gone mad.  I will live and demonstrate an alternative to corrupt privilege of those who rule. I work diligently at loving the stranger, opening my hands and heart to those in need, I will seek peace rather than victory, I will pray rather than deride, I will keep doing what it right and trust God… and I will have a parade - many parades! I will make visible my choices, so that others may be inspired to come out of the shadows and live authentically, even if it is not endorsed by the majority;  I will live and parade in loving opposition to the “common sense” choices of the masses.   And maybe, just maybe… someone will recognize that “Hosanna” actually means “save us”… and our daring to hold true to what is just and loving will eventually be enough to change "common sense" and save us all.


Or we all move to Iceland. http://www.iceland.is/

Friday, 19 December 2014

A Story for Christmas

Steve was getting ready for the Family Christmas... like always.
All of the cousins would be there: aunts, uncles; brother and sisters... Mother and Father, Grandmother and Grandfather...  husbands and wives of cousins, brother and sisters... a former sister in law who was divorced from his brother, but was still part of the family on Holiday Occasions (that wasn't awkward… except maybe for the new wife, the year that both John’s ex-wife and new wife made rum balls and everybody had to pretend the that new wife’s weren't better)

Oh, and naturally there would be 2 parrots, 4 parakeets, three cats, two dogs, little Tina’s Guinea pig (she takes it everywhere) and who knows? Maybe three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree!
If he had his choice he would be one of the Lord’s of Leapin'... leapin' out of there!

It wasn't that he didn't love his family or enjoy Christmas... he did love his family: his sisters, his really successful and popular brother; his brother’s ex-wife and wife; his brothers in law – his mother and father... nearly ALL of the cousins (especially little Tina with the Guinea pig)  But it was a long drive to Ottawa, the weather was always a problem this time of year, the highway around Kingston was murder... and.. and..
Well, he wasn't.. he didn't...  well, measure up well.

He didn't have a good job.

He didn't have kids... he didn’t even have a partner.

He didn't know how to act. 

The gathering used to be at his Grandparents place, they had this big old house in Ottawa.  And everybody would dress up....  but Steve didn't have a whole suit and had only one tie... brown shoes.  Brother John, he wore a tux... and danced with the aunts...  They would gather in the Living Room around the grand piano and sing carols... and if you didn't want to sing you were expected to go to the kitchen or somewhere else to converse.  Steve knew the first verse to most carols; John was able to sing O Come All Ye Faithful in Latin:  Adeste Fideles (all the verses).  Most years, Steve was asked to leave because he clearly was more interested in talking than singing.  A song sheet might have helped!!!  And what’s so wrong about wanting to sing Frosty the Snowman?

Eventually the gathering moved to Steve’s parents place.  Brother John, who lived in town and worked for the government, did a lot to help getting everything ready; Steve’s sisters had made special food... Steve was coming from far away, so there wasn't much he could do. He offered to help pay the caterer but Mom and Dad just laughed... nicely... (but it was still laughter).  That year, Steve took his meager savings and invested it wisely: He rented a tux.  And he got one of the girls at work to teach him to dance (a little).  This year: New locale and a new Steve – he’d be suave like his brother and he’d make his old Aunts swoon when he invited them out onto the dance floor.  He showed up ready for a great evening...   he could smell the mulling spices wafting down to the street as he walked from his car to the house... careful not to slip and spoil his beautiful tuxedo... he imagined the surprised look on everybody’s faces as he entered the house.. “Steve!” as they took in the tux (and the haircut)
“Yes, Steve... Steve, Bond”

If only someone had told him that the change in venue also meant that everybody was invited to come in jeans, casual clothes and Christmas Sweaters... so that those less resourceful wouldn't feel peculiar....


But now, THIS year... this year would be different.

Steve could never measure up gift wise. His sisters would buy him clothes with labels that Steve couldn't read (which is how they often ended up in the wash with his jeans... never to be worn again).  Last year, his brother bought him a Flat Screen TV, apologizing that it was only 42 inches (15 inches bigger than his old one).  Steve got his sisters bath salts and a Simon and Garfunkel DVD for his brother.  The Concert in Central Park may have been 30 years ago, but it was still good.  And affordable.
Everybody loved their gifts... but Steve knew that they didn't compare... he was tired of being a Shepherd when everybody else was a Magi.

This year... Steve got a bonus at work: $3,000.
Maybe not a lot to his brother... but a lot to him.

He thought about saving it...

He thought about paying off his student loans a little faster...

He thought about taking a little vacation...

He considered buying 1000 Lotto 649 Tickets...

But then he decided to buy presents for his family.
Presents like they bought him every year...

He went to the Shops at Don Mills and spent $300 on designer Vinegar for his sister, the wanna-be chef...

He bought a coat for his fashonista sister... at some Archaeology place that he’d never heard of... so it must be good.

He bought for his Mom and Dad... not sure what to get them, because up to now the only way he knew how to shop was to look for something in his price range, not something that might knock their socks off...  he wondered “WWJD”:  What would John do?... and as if channeling his brother, he bought his parents, his and her silk Pajamas and Velvet Robes.

And for John... his inspiration and his hero (his downfall and his nemesis)... his brother... an $800 bottle of wine! (you knew that John would be wine connoisseur).

Steve also managed to buy a few things for the cousins – a first for him – and spent a whole evening wrapping everything up perfectly.  Pink bows for the girls, Blue knots for the boys... and bubble wrap for the bottle..

The next morning he packed everything carefully and lovingly into his 2001 Corolla and started the drive to Ottawa... the smell of a Tim Horton’s Dark Chocolate filling the car... the sound of Christmas Carols filling his ears...and what surely must be “joy” filling his heart.

He would get to his parents about dinner time on Christmas Eve... time for a meal and then a Christmas Eve service with Mom and Dad... and the party on Christmas Day.

The party when he would finally fit in... he had the right clothes and nobody would look outside to see his car.  He knew the words to all the Christmas Carols (he had been practicing).  He would not be asking his aunts to dance, but he had gifts for them... gifts for the whole family... finally they would know how much he loved them... he would measure up... he would really be part of Christmas...

Driving along the 401, Steve saw a big pet shop in one of the malls... and was inspired.  He’d do something extra special that no one had ever thought to do before... he’d get something for little Tina’s Guinea pig... that’s love!  Remembering somebody’s pet... Brilliant.

He got off the highway, parked the car and all but skipped into PetSmart... checking the aisles until he found a tiny set of reindeer antlers, sized for a Guinea Pig.
Nothing says Christmas like a pet in plush antlers.
$11.95 and he was on his way...
Singing as he went out to his car...
Over by the lamp post..
Other lamp post.. 
Near the front of the store?  That can’t be right...
At the end of the row??

Steve looked for his car...  the one with an empty Tim Horton’s cup in the cup holder... the one with the Christmas Carols playing on the radio...  the one with $3,268 in gifts for everybody... the one with his salvation packed neatly in the trunk and back seat.

It was gone.

The police were too busy to come to the scene.
Mall security drove him to the Police Station.
Paper work was filled out...
Sad pathetic looks were exchanged... Sad tidings were in store...
There was no comfort... No joy... 

Steve caught a bus into Ottawa.
Got in around 2 in the morning.
Slipped into his parents’ house and dissolved into the guest room.
In the morning, he couldn't bear to face his parents... or watch the hordes descend upon the house for Christmas breakfast... Christmas lunch.... finally, Christmas Party and dinner...  so he slipped out and went to church (it was affordable).

God hated him.
He’s blown it.
He would never understand Christmas
He would never be able to express his love in a way that his family would understand.
He would never fit in...  he should have taken the bus back to Toronto instead of Ottawa.

Then he heard the Christmas Story...  the one that we hear every year about a pregnant unmarried teenage girl, some confused shepherds, unbelievable angels and foreign visitors called Magi...  he heard about people who didn't fit in... he heard about a journey that was dark and bumpy.... he heard about things going wrong... he heard about gifts...  he heard about God revealed in a small, vulnerable child....

He spent most of the day at church... not because he didn't want to go home, but because he wanted to hear the story again (he seemed unaware that there is a take home version of the story as well)...  but he did make it to the party.

And at the party, Steve didn't take his cue from the Magi... and he didn't take his cure from the Shepherds.... he knew that he didn't have the wardrobe to be an angel...  he, instead took his cue from the child, the baby... Jesus.   

Steve dared to be naked and vulnerable....   He told everybody his story...  he laughed and cried as he told it... so did they....   and then, he went around and embraced his family... each one, even Tina once she put down her Guinea Pig with the Reindeer Antlers (the one gift that was not lost) ... one at a time and he would whisper to each member of his family what made each of them so special to him... and then he told them, “I love you”

He would probably have years when he was a Shepherd at Christmas again... he might even get to be a Magi one of these years – but nothing would ever compare to the Christmas that Steve dared to take the story seriously and become Christ-like himself... naked and vulnerable.  For the first time – Steve finally “got” Christmas


Whoever you may be this Christmas – I wish you Christ-Child moments… and a very fulfilling, eye-opening,  heart-warming season.
Merry Christmas



Thursday, 18 April 2013

Hard to Belieb

I was about to post this when the bombs at the Boston Marathon went off… It seemed to flip to publish that day.  However, it is still rattling around in my brain and on my hard-drive, so here it is:

It’s everywhere…
   I posted it on Facebook (so you know that it must be news)…
      Justin Bieber said something really stupid.
Shocking, I know.

Stephen Harper was secretive
Thomas Mulcair was confrontational
Justin Trudeau was really pretty
(more things that you just didn’t see coming…)*

So, the young Mr. Bieber visited the Anne Frank Museum for a private tour.  At the end of the tour he was invited to write in the guest book and wrote the following:  “Truly inspiring to be able to come here. Anne was a great girl. Hopefully she would have been a belieber."

Really?

Now, you might defend the statement by thinking that it was great that Justin was able to recognize Anne Frank as a little girl; a child who had dolls and toys and should have grown up to giggle about love and go on a date.  Justin’s ability to see her as “girl” and not just as a tragic icon reminds of the horrific loss to all of humanity: millions upon millions of little boys, girls, men and woman who were exactly like you and me lost to mass murder.

But, it still came off as flippant -  as if our Pop Star believed that if not for the genocide, she would have been so into his crazy dance beats.  How unlucky for them both.

It bothers many of us, that in face of the atrocities of the Nazi regime, Justin is still thinking about his music; his celebrity: Himself.
But should we be surprised?

No doubt, he is surrounded by all manner of “handlers” and assistants… people to fetch his water, make his breakfast, plan his day, fix his hair, keeps annoying strangers away, tell him how wonderful he is, keep his secrets and basically cater to his whims… For all intents and purposes, the world that Justin Beiber lives in IS all about him.

AND he’s not alone.

The M.S. St. Louis with 937 Jewish Refugees was not allowed to land in Canada in 1939… We didn't want them.
After two months and 1600 kms, a group of Cree youth were not greeted by our Prime Minister, because he was having his picture taken with Pandas in Toronto (a much better photo-op).
My cat comes calling at 6am each morning, and if I pretend to be asleep, she will wake my wife -  who can then get up and feed the cat, leaving me to luxuriate in my own bed.

To varying degrees, it always seems “to be about me”.  (or us… or him…  them… you know what I mean)

Our society certainly supports and promotes this attitude, as advertisements arrived through the mail, television and social media telling me that “I’m the one”… “I deserve this”…  “My future is important.”…   Facebook even tailors ads directly to me based on my history of “Liking” and commenting.  (still not sure why I’m getting so many ads for Lipitor and Cialis… what did I say? And to whom??)  In a Facebook and Twitter world it is all about me.

However, before I lay it all on the shoulders of Social Media and Coercive Capitalism, I think that religion deserves a poke, too.  I will speak only for my faith tradition, but feel free to adapt to be critical of your own.  In Christianity we have put quite a premium on and have a long history of emphasizing personal salvation.
Have YOU been saved?
Are YOU born again?
Is Jesus in YOUR heart?  
             (and he walks with me and he talks with me... and he tells me I am his own...)
Why weren't YOU in church last week?

I enjoy the looked of confusion when people apologize to me for not having been in church for the past few weeks and I reply, “I’m not really one to judge, after all, I’m paid to be here… “  But they have a serious sense of obligation; that somehow it is their job to get their bodies into a place of worship every week.

I can do whatever I pleases,
‘cause I’ve got my plastic Jesus,
on the dashboard of my car…           
  (here ends the sing-a-long portion of this blog)

It really is all about us.

I was asked recently by a very intelligent, committed individual as to the purpose of church.  She said, “If we’re all love by God – and I do believe that – than what’s the point in going?  To be reminded that we are loved?”

I offered that hearing and being assured that we are loved is important… we wouldn't let our children grow up without being told frequently how much we love them.  I added, however we can further mine this parent/child God/humanity metaphor when we consider the way that we love our children.  We want what’s best for them, we want them to make good choices, we want to offer our insight and experience as they decide… we hurt for them, we get upset with them and we sometimes hold their hands through hard times… so on-going church experience can mirror that.  The give and take of relationship… the sharing of love, more than just a statement of fact or condition: YOU ARE LOVED.

But, more than that, I added… we also go to church to be reminded that it’s not all about us.  We aren't just in this world to be personally comforted and saved.  We are in this world to be free… free for the other.  We are in this world to announce, promote and be the Kingdom of God: A way of being that is not coercive or violent, but just and loving.  Justice and Love are abstract notions until they are enacted; lived out by people.  People like us… and church equips us to be loving and just.  It challenges us to make a difference in the world.  It picks us up when we fall, encourages us when we doubt… it opens our hearts and minds, so that we can love one another, fully and completely.   Church exists to celebrate that it is NOT all about us…  And if we could really embrace that, truly live such an attitude and perspective, we might soon discover that hunger is not impossible to eradicate,
Violence need not be prevalent
Justice can be real
Passion and commitment can be honoured
Photo Ops can wait.
Refugees can be welcomed and embraced.
I can get up and feed the blessed cat
And Justin Beiber can visit the Anne Frank Museum and be left speechless.


At least that's what I believe (of course, it's not all about me)



*With apologies for foolish exaggerations and caricatures … I know that Prime minister Harper is not just secretive, Mr. Mulcair can be more then confrontation… Mr. Trudeau is not THAT pretty.

Thursday, 28 February 2013

Struggles with an Omni god


I struggle with an Omni-god.
Not a god that reads a defunct Sci-Fi magazine; or one that drives around in a vintage 70s Dodge automobile.   My problem is with a god who is Omnipotent.  I think that I can embrace a god who embraces all possibility and novelty; who is “already there” in the reality that my decisions create (already there in the alternatives, too)-  but still leaves the decisions to me, making me a co-creator in reality.  Perhaps that is a kind of Omniscience – all knowing… but it is in my choices; and choices of the others that the knowledge becomes evident and/or relevant.  God simply knows everything, because that is God’s nature.  Big Deal.
I suppose that’s more of an Omnipresence.  God is already “there”; always “there”… there is no “there” without God.   Again, it would seem to be a feature of God’s nature; or the nature of reality… so, again: Big Deal.
But, when I get to Omnipotent, I get into trouble.  Not simply because I am become very disappointed in a god who hasn’t fixed the things that vex me; hurt the world; make lives tragic.   But because the construct creates an untenable reality.
In trying to come to grips with the God that inspires “awe” and wanting this “awe” to be extreme, we decided that God was the smartest, lovingest, bestest, fastest, strongest thing in reality  (for brevity let’s go with the acronym SLBFS).  In fact, God is not a thing (as a thing exist within something else), but God IS reality.  And we live in God.  Except that we don’t, because we can sin and wander away from God… so, how can we wander away from that in which we live…   so, as a working hypothesis, God is IN reality, but is the smartest, lovingest, bestest, fastest, strongest for all time  (which doesn’t exist for God either).  Cross our hearts and hope to die.  (which can’t happen to God either).  Do you see how hard this all becomes??? So we settle for an Onmipotent God.  At least that we can understand.  The strongest that there can ever be!  No matter what you think the ultimate power may be – God is bigger and more powerful.
So, living with this God who is so powerful and all-knowing… when bad things happen, it must be part of God’s plan.   When thousands die in an earthquake, it must be God’s plan.  Surely, God could have save them… but as God did not, there must be a reason.  God is not cruel… (refer back to the SLBFS god), God knows it all, sees it all, controls it all… So, those that perished did so because they either deserved to die or because their deaths provided a greater benefit to the rest of us.   Sucks to be an object lesson.
With this god, there is no chaos in the universe; no random occurrence; no “real” novelty (already known by God)… but, instead, a whole lot of seemingly wanton and capricious acts of cruelty.  
And along comes Jesus and reminds his disciples that the blind man is not the result of his parents’ sin; that those who died when the towers fell were no different than those who survived or lived nowhere near… in other words, Jesus would seem to indicate that there is a random element in the universe: Shit does happen.   And there is God.
God who is revealed in Love, not in power.  The great thing about Love is that it will out… love always find a way.   Strength and power fade, it is in their nature; but Love need never fade… We can be distracted from love, waylaid and pre-occupied, but when we return, when we discover the limits of power, love comes back to life.  Again and again… and will do so always. 
I don’t know… my thoughts are half baked, as I emerge from the cocoon of my bed… there may be an Easter sermon here… at the very least there is a sense, for me, that Jesus struggled with an Omnipotent god, too – which is why he always seems to point to a different God, one of compassion and love.