Tag Archives: philosophy

I wait for you Matthew Coleman Nix…

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The last few weeks are pretty much a blur at this point. I realized today that its been 18 days since I last decided to blog. I can’t seem to really remember what was going on 18 days ago other than my friend being in the hospital having blacked out on his birthday. Of course there was Thanksgiving which came and went almost without notice. That was quite the relaxing week actually, I had no classes to attend, worked once, and spent some time at a coffee shop writing a paper. It turned out to be the most relaxing bit of time I’ve had.

Last week I got a phone call. Things with my friend were not looking good. Even though I knew things were looking grim I didn’t entertain the idea that he would not get better. After all, this is the kid who no matter what he does excels at it. Why should fighting cancer be any different? As long as I knew him, it didn’t matter what it was, he was good, and by good, I mean miles ahead of the competition. Take golf for example. While for me, and many others, it is a good walk ruined, for him it was effortless. In high school he was a scratch golfer. I remember going to the driving range just to watch him show off. It was fun. People would “oohh” and “aahh” as he launched the range balls 30 feet higher than the fence. I would sit there, in awe of his talent and proud to be his friend.

But it wasn’t just golf he was good at. It was anything and everything. Guitar, a phenom. Art, a savant. Sleeping, a perfectionist. I mean it, this kid slept like it was his job in college. It pretty much happened anytime when he wasn’t slaving away in the art studio or plucking the strings of his guitar. He had many interests and was able to walk in many different worlds and so the thought never crossed my mind that he would succumb to something. Not him. No way in hell.

Then a week ago tonight I got a phone call. He passed away in his home. It was almost to surreal to deal with. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know how to react or what to say. I thought I would have been so overcome with tears, and those tear would come, but right after that phone call I was too shocked to do anything. But I did, my wife, my other best friend, his wife, we started calling people to inform them of the news. And then, we had a drink. It didn’t do much to numb me as I felt numb already. That numbness lasted the night and the next few days. Make no mistake, those next few days were excruciatingly painful and slow. I kept hoping the news I had heard was wrong. That this was all just some sick nightmare, but it wasn’t. He was gone. Funeral and wake information was released. Slide shows remembering him were created. People got together to begin the grieving process.

And then we attended the wake. He looked so different. Not the guy I had coffee and lunch with so many times over the last few months. Not the guy who stood up at our other best friend’s wedding and gave a surprising yet inspiring best man speech. Not the guy who would randomly text me about the lewd Paula Deen comment or random movie quotes.  His face was distorted, skin almost waxy, and a smile on his face that didn’t quite belong. I don’t mean that the funeral home did a bad job or anything, I just mean I looked in that casket and almost didn’t recognize my friend. It was hard. It made it harder to believe that everything that was going on was real.

But it was real. And the next day came the funeral. Up until Tuesday I had never been a pall bearer or given a eulogy,  that day I did both. Emotions were difficult to contain during the service. Especially when my eyes would find the casket decked out in flowers, one of which containing the phrase “Ey Yo Dirk.” That was the one that got me. It was from his brother and it was a nickname they shared. I don’t know how both were Dirk but they were. They were close too. I’ve never known brothers that close, which is what made it hard for me to look at. But it was not the hardest.

Carrying the casket isn’t difficult physically, but it tests your emotions. On the one had you are carrying your friend to his final resting place, ensuring he makes it there safe. But on the other you are putting him in the ground, only to be raised on that last day. And even though I know the story hasn’t quite ended for him, it was the sight of his coffin above his grave that caused me to loose it. I wouldn’t get to text him randomly. We wouldn’t go out for coffee or lunch. We wouldn’t hit up Kappy’s again or do a Taco Bell and John Wayne night. We wouldn’t get to randomly drive around or have a fire in his backyard just because we were bored. This was it. The finality of it all hit me in a way it hadn’t before. A way I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

As much as I think about my own sense of loss seeing as he was a dear friend, I wasn’t the only one.  He wasn’t my brother, he wasn’t my son. But he was Steve’s brother, he was Charlie and Bev’s son. And how they or anyone else made it through this last week and how they will make during the weeks to come I do not know. I keep telling people it feels like he still here. Like the “phantom limb” syndrome where people who have lost limbs still feel like they are there. I keep waiting for a text that I know is never coming. I keep hoping that we will all get together at his house or all go out to kappys tomorrow.

But it won’t happen. And I hate it. I miss him. I miss going out with him. I miss the stupid Ric Flair videos and chats about who the top 50 WWE Superstars of all time are. I miss the passing out in his basement not because we were actually tired but because we are bored. I miss the random movies he’d watch or the stories he’d tell about his trips to the goth club. I just miss my friend. All this week I have heard it time and again, “He’s in a better place.” Or, “He isn’t in pain now.” Or, “Now he’s with Jesus so everything is ok.” But everything is not OK. He should be here.

Death is not natural. If anything has convinced me of this it is this past week. Death is the ultimate enemy because of its finality. Death is not some grand part of the plan, it is what is resultant of the story taking a bad turn. People might argue that if Adam and Eve hadn’t sinned and brought things into the world like death then there would be no need for a Savior. But that only serves as an attempt to lessen the blow felt by death. It serves to soften the harsh reality that death confronts us with. It is a theological marshmallow and while it may taste good it offers nothing to sustain you. Frankly, Im sick of hearing things like that, because I want my friggen friend back. I don’t care if death ended his pain. I don’t buy that garbage about God wanting him in heaven more than I want him here. But I don’t get what I want. And it sucks.

Only the situation is not void of hope. Because one day I will get what I want. I will get to see him live and breathe again. That is the hope of Christianity, the hope of the resurrection of the body. Even though his body was placed in the ground, one day it will be made whole and alive. The work of Christ, his suffering, death, and resurrection assures this. Not because I have the ability to claim it as my future, but because Christ has authored the story. He isn’t some plan B that happened about or some cosmic get out of jail free card. He is the one who broke through the other side and rendered death powerless. It is He who sends out the Spirit to comfort those who mourn with the hope that he purchased and won. It is he who reminds me that the story has not yet ended for my friend or any other friend that is a partaker of the resurrection to come.

And so I wait. I wait for the pain to go away, though Im not sure it ever will. I wait for the text I know will never come.  I wait for my hope not to disappoint. I wait for the return of the one who wrote the story. I wait for the resurrection of the dead and life of the world to come.I wait for the moment I get to see my friend again, alive and well. I wait for you Matthew Coleman Nix because I miss you and I love you. I wait for you knowing that one day we will get to have another cup of coffee or whatever they serve that side of the resurrection. I wait for the moment I know will come, I just wish I didn’t have to…

hey jude

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Social media is buzzing right now with news of the Cardinal victory. I have seen more status updates related to the World Series than I have ever seen before. For some this World Series will go down as one of the greatest ever played, for others, well they could give a rip.

Although I am always intrigued by baseball and especially those games played in October, when my team doesn’t make it, I tend not to care all that much. Only this year I feel a little slighted. Although the Cardinals won with determination, I’m not sure game 7 was as fairly called as it could have been. This is one of the most wonderful yet frustrating things about baseball, the lack of a replay system. While the Rangers failed to score after the first and it was the home run that made it 3-2 that really was the deciding factor the subsequent runs scored by the Cardinals were less than fair. Watching replays of a 3-2 pitch called a ball clearly showed it was a strike which loaded. More blown calls led to another run and the rest as they say is history. I am not saying you can or should blame the umps for the game. Texas had more than enough opportunities and the Cardinals fought hard and won that game, but it makes me wonder what the game would have looked like if that pitch had been called as it really was, a strike.

It always makes me wonder as I look back on the events of my life if I had changed one decision here or there if it would have ended up the way it is now. Take for example my decision to leave the seminary in St. Louis. This is by no means a small decision. Had I stayed my time in seminary would likely be ending in May rather than December. I wouldn’t have to worry about the potential colloquy process. And while there stands a list of things I wouldn’t have to worry about there is an equally impressive list of things that never would have happened. I wouldn’t have worked for Whole Foods or Apple. I wouldn’t have ended up at a great internship congregation. Friendships I have made here at Northern would not exist. Yet they do, and here I am.

I am always amazed at how life seems to change directions whether I like it or not. Sometimes it is as a direct result of my decisions, other times it isn’t. Regardless of my culpability, change cannot be avoided. Surely people try to avoid it though. Even if the means and opportunity are there some would rather sit back and stay put, often times because it seems like the easier thing to do. However, sometimes the cards are stacked too high against someone to see the possibility of change. Sometimes the means are not there for it to take place. And even in those situations where change seems like an impossibility it rears its ugly head whether we like it or not. So the question then is not how can we avoid change but how do we react to it?

Different people respond to life differently. Not an overwhelming statement I know, but one that needs to be restated. Just because I do things one way does not mean it is good or right for someone else to do things the same way. I may be ready for something you are not and vice versa. So what? Who cares? Why talk about it? Because so often people get caught idealizing a response to a situation and that ideal paralyzes them.

Take the example of Luther for one. As Protestants everywhere remember Martin Luther and other Reformers this weekend they often view those examples as ones that cannot be imitated or duplicated. Martin Luther stood up to too big of an enemy how can I do the same thing? Is it even possible. And then there are others who see that example and feel it is incumbent upon them to do likewise and stand up for things even when nothing actually needs to be stood up for. But what people forget is that Luther was a guy who lived life his own way. Sure history remembers him a certain way, but his life is no more important than mine or yours. His life is no more important than the child starving overseas or the homeless guy down the block. His life is no more important than the person battling those inner demons of self deprecation or the one battling cancer.

Therein lies the point, no one life matters more than another yet we often act as though it does. We look up to sports heroes, shapers of society, and archetypes of altruism in an effort to teach ourselves how we should live because these people apparently had it right. Sometimes we don’t even look in reality for heroes. My childhood heroes donned jumpsuits and proton packs and battled a demon named Gozer and a Carpathain madman named Vigo. In fact their examples so impacted my life that during college I was asked to write a world view paper and that world view was based off what I learned from Ghostbusters.

I wasn’t the only one who reached back to something from their childhood to define a worldview either. My dearest friend, next to my wife of course, wrote about a song that had shaped his life. Hey Jude by the Beatles. “Take a sad song and make it better.” That sad song my friend knew was the one about his own life, a life similar to my own. Divorced parents and financial struggles. Self image issues and self deprecating attitudes. Yet he found a way to make a sad song better when he married his best friend. Even now, as struggles continue and new ones pop up I know he can adapt to them, not because of the heroes of his past, but because of who I know he is and who surrounds him, whether he sees it or not.

Yet the struggles don’t go away. Not for him. Not for you. Not for me. Not for any of us. We are often caught wondering how life would have been if this or that had not happened. We wonder what we could have done differently. We pretend that we now know the best course of action and if we could only get back to that moment that changed us we could fix life as we know it. Only theres one problem with that, it won’t happen. We cannot change the past. Apart from wild dreams and imaginative movies we haven’t figured out how to go back in time to right the wrongs or fix what was broken. All we can do is look forward.

As I survey the situation in life I am in right now I know that at any minute all of it could change. I could lose it all. And even if that happened I know I can make it through. Not because of the great examples of others, but because of the presence of others in my life. It’s amazing how much we actually do matter to each other whether we recognize it or not. Those great examples we look to often have others whom they relied upon and gained strength from. So rather than reach for those examples we should reach for those around us. Even more so, we should reach out to those around us to make known the love and support they might find if they need it.

Even now as I sit back and think about how life is always going to change, sometimes for the very worst. Even now as I think to myself how great it would be if we all realized how interdependent upon one another we really are. Even now as one day comes to a close and another is about to begin I am reminded of those words that talk about taking a sad song and making it better. Sure we can try to do it on our own, but we don’t have to. In the end that might be what taking a sad song and making it better is all about.

for the craziest one of us all, Steve Jobs…

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Many of you know that I spent near a year of my life working for what I consider to be the best company, ever. Never had I felt so valued by those above and beside me and never was I so full of purpose that every day I came to work knowing I was going to change lives. The time I spent at Apple contains some of the greatest memories and friendships I was ever privileged to cultivate. Even though its been a couple of months since I was last lucky enough to pull on that shirt and lanyard todays news hit me at a deeper level.

I never met him. I never knew him. I never came close. But being a part of the Apple family made me feel like he was the patriarch of our clan. The one we were all somehow connected to and the one we all looked to for the next big thing. And although he stepped down six weeks ago and the torch was successfully passed to Tim Cook, he was always the one we looked to fondly for inspiration.

Being a part of the retail section of the company came with its struggles. Launch days aside, it seemed most days we never had a free moment. Busy as busy can be and even then some. Feet hurt, voice almost gone, but we still pushed on. Helping people, repairing relationships, and creating new ones so that someones life might be changed. It was what we did. Its what Apple does. Its what made Steve who he was in the minds of all of us who have been affected by him.

And now he’s gone. Like everyone else eventually will, Steve has passed. As the world began to mourn the loss of one who irrevocably changed it, a friend of mine posted this on his Facebook. “Steve Jobs was an inspiring man and I loved his products. But I think it there is something telling about hundreds of thousands of people tweeting and status updating him in memoriam with their expensive Apple tech while daily thousands die hungry, cold, homeless, lonely, Godless, amidst war, terror, famine, and strife, having never made a buck, much less millions, or a popular impact. But the question is: Should they need to do those things in order to garner our blood, sweat, and tears?”

At first I was a little frustrated because of the connection I felt to him. The connection I know others who have or still don that blue shirt feel. But despite that frustration I knew he was right. People die every day. Young. Old. Rich. Poor. Death happens every day to those who know its coming and to those who are surprised by it. And although I am not one to romanticize death and pretend it doesn’t suck I have to admit that sometimes I feel one death matters more to me than another. But it shouldn’t.

John Donne famously penned…

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

This quote has shaped me in ways I cannot begin to explain because it recognizes that we are all a part of this broken thing we call humanity. We are all involved. Steve Jobs. Matt Borrasso. The guy on the street. The kid in the mansion. All of us. And when one of us goes, a part of us all goes with them. Its easy to forget the masses that die each day because they often perish away from news cameras and social media outlets but their deaths are no less tragic.

One of the hallmark ads of Apple was “Think Different.” That famous campaign epically changed the landscape of Apples image and launched it into the next decade. But for me its not the computer that makes the ad powerful, its the notion that there are crazy ones. There are those who think different and they are the ones to change the world. So the question is, if Steve did it, if MLK did it, if so many others have irrevocably changed the world why can’t I? Why can’t we all?

The world will never become a utopia. It will never be the idealized society thought about by many visionaries and philosophers but that doesn’t mean it can’t change and it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. We may never be able to end abuse but we can make a difference in the lives of those who experienced it. We may never be able to end world hunger but that doesn’t mean we can’t feed those in our neighborhood who hunger. We may never be able to end poverty but that doesn’t mean we ignore those who don’t sleep under a roof or have a computer to blog from.

So often I think its easy to be blindsided by the big picture. Problems are too big for me to handle. The situation is too far gone. Its a futile effort, after all we are all going to die anyway. And speaking of death, I’m so afraid of it I can’t actually get past the idea that life isn’t about me. That fear is paralyzing. That fear that we won’t be remembered. That once we draw that last breath its all over so I need to get the most of my life that I can. That fear that reminds us the problems are too big.

Perhaps its is best then to return to the man that I started writing about, to Steve. In his address to Stanford in 2005 Steve spoke the following, “Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.”

Death and fear are not something to run from, but something to confront. That is truly what thinking different is all about. Knowing that life is going to throw you more curve balls than you can hit. Knowing that problems are too big for one person to handle. Knowing that in the end I might actually be forgotten and choosing in the face of that to change the world is truly revolutionary. But it isn’t easy. Its going to take the crazy ones. The square pegs in the round holes. Those who defy conventional wisdom. The ones who think they might actually be able to change the world.

and when necessary

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All I can seem to think right now is WTF. Last week brought into my life a perspective that had been missing for so long and tonight, one that has plagued me is back in full force. I really don’t know where to begin or if you even care to hear the tale, but tonight I feel like I did in seventh grade, only this time it matters.

Way back then I was in one of those grade school relationships that never go anywhere but you think are everything. Well I can’t remember how short it lasted but I do remember how it ended, with a phone call, from her friend. Thats right, the girl never called me to tell me it was over, she had her friend do it. Tonight I got a different phone call, not from the person who should have done it, but from someone else with the answer I didn’t want to hear.

As part of my master’s program I have to participate in two ten week long internships. These internships require me to be involved with some sort of ministry and spend time, at least an hour a week, with an advisor. You don’t have to have a fancy title or get paid, you just need to be a part of something bigger than yourself for 15 hours a week.  I wanted my internship to be at the church I grew up in. The last couple of months have been sort of a healing process for me. Over a year ago I walked away from my church’s seminary never wanting to engage with that group of people ever again. I was hurt and felt betrayed. The two quarters I have spent back in a different seminary environment have allowed me to reassess where I am and who I am and were truly instrumental in rebuilding the fractured person I had become. In the last couple of months I finally worked up the courage to go back to my home church, something I feared because I didn’t know how they would react to finding out I left the sem. It was good, I was hopeful, and thought there was no better place to do that internship than the place I grew up in, too bad they felt differently.

Like I said, tonight I got a phone call, but instead of hearing news that the board of elders approved my internship, they simply felt it was too much for the church to take on as it is in a period of transition. Rather than go into the gory details I’ll simply say that it has been in this period of transition for over two years. In fact, there is a long line of broken and hurting people who would say its been going on a lot longer than that. Tonight my name was etched onto that list. I feel betrayed, like someone else was chosen over me. Instead of working toward a both/and (as all I was really asking for was the chance to help out, without monetary compensation, and take up only an hour of someones time for 2 separate ten week periods) the either/or decision was made and I get the raw end of the deal.

Last week, when I was processing all that transpired I wondered if I had made the right decision to leave the sem.  There was still a part of me that wanted to believe that place, not only the sem but the denomination, really cared. That I mattered to them. What better place to go to find that assurance than the place I grew up? But all I found was another taste of the drink that makes me bitter. The drink that reminds me why I left. The drink that shows me the either/or means more to them than the both/and. I don’t know if I will ever understand that. How can we choose one over the other? Why do we say there can be only one?

I know that I am hurting right now. That I am bruised. That I feel betrayed. That I am probably being naive and idealistic in thinking that if they really cared about me they, or someone, would have found or fought for a way to make it work. Frankly though, I hope I never lose that idealism. I believe in a better way. A way that fights for people and does all it can to help those who need it. A way that doesn’t choose between an either/or but accomplishes the both/and. A way that doesn’t care about the past but seeks always to move forward. A way where we all, regardless of the identities we hold,  walk alongside one another, and when necessary, carry those who do not have the strength to walk.

thank you Sarah…

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Tuesday of this week began like any other. I woke up early, as my wife and I have lost the ability to sleep in. I stepped out of the room for just a minute to find one thing or another and upon my return noticed a missed call and a text. Most days I tend to ignore things like this, a “if something is important they’ll call back” approach. That morning my approach was buttressed by the fact that the missed call was from someone with a young child, and I figured the kid accidentally dialed me. But the text, this was one I couldn’t ignore. My response to the text was met with a, hang on I’ll call you soon, but I could not wait for that so I cooked up a story about being at work, which was going to happen, just not until 1pm. It was then I was told that a friend from college was found dead in her apartment the day before. I was shocked.

My mind began to race with questions. How? Who found her? What happened? But at the time little was known and if it was known, people weren’t saying much. Those questions gave way to others. Who knows? How are my other friends taking it? How can I help? After texting a few other people and making some other phone calls I realized that there was no way I could handle going to work that day. Needless to say my mental and emotional state became compromised and it would stay that way for the next 48 hours.

To be sure there were others closer to her than me. In fact, I hadn’t seen or heard from her since graduation a couple of years ago. All I knew was that she ended up working out in Colorado and seeing as I was no where near there, she faded from my mind. Going to the small liberal arts college that I did, it was hard not to know just about everyone. She was part of my larger group of friends throughout school. We would all eat meals together in the cafeteria, watch movies together, and of course, shoot the shit at the bars every once in a while. But like every group of friends there were those times when conversations became heated, sarcastic remarks were made, and feelings were hurt. And as much as I would love to believe that I never really hurt someone with my sarcasm I know I’ve pissed off and hurt more than a few. My relationship with her would vacillate between the former and the latter all throughout college. That day of graduation was the last I would see of her, never giving it a second thought until I got that text letting me know she had passed.

This is the first time in my life I have dealt with the death of someone my own age. I did not know how to handle it. In a word it was surreal. It did not seem like the conversations I was having throughout the day about her were real. Surely someone from that group of friends could not all of a sudden be dead, I mean, we are all mid twenties, on the way to starting our post collegiate lives. In an instant though, it all changed. The meaning of certain things in life was suddenly no where to be found. My job for example. I love where I work. I have never worked for a better company or have known that I am valued by my managers and coworkers, not only as an employee but as a person. Yet, the 48 hours that followed that text called in to question the value of what I was doing. I even considered quitting my job because of the lack of meaning it suddenly held for me. After all, essentially all I do is sell people things, things they can’t take with them. Sure now the toys are wonderful and enrich your life, but in an instant all of that can change.

Throughout my college years I wanted to become a pastor in the denomination I grew up in. I saw so much corruption and became jaded and full of disgust for both the theology and practice and thought it was up to me to change it. And as I went to sem and saw other people chewed up and spit back out by the machine I decided I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was not going to waste my time with a bunch of people who care more about protecting their own collective rear ends instead of caring for those entrusted to their care. So I left. I quit. I gave up. I got married, found a job, and almost walked away from it all completely. But inside me I knew I couldn’t stay away from those theological circles. I have a mind for it and I know it is my place. So I came back to a different sem to finish what I started and hopefully move on to another arena. But these last few days have showed me something else, something I don’t think I could have learned without that text. Philosophical and theological assertions matter, they do, but its not worth fighting over. Its not worth losing people over. Its not worth pissing people off just to be right. What matters are not ideas, not systems, not assertions, but people. Flesh and blood.

I want anyone reading this to know that I love you. No matter who you are. No matter what you have done. No matter what your stance on an issue is. If I have ever pissed you off, frustrated you, or hurt you I am sorry. You matter. Your life matters. Your existence enriches mine because we are both a part of humanity. For so many years I have hid behind a veil of sarcasm because I was afraid to let people know how much I actually care about them. But life is too short. I can’t hide anymore. I cannot change what has happened in the past. I wish I could. But the fact remains she is gone and that is one relationship I will never have a chance at deepening.

I don’t know where I go from here or what any of this means for my life tomorrow and the next day. But I do know this…

Sarah Walker, your life and death have impacted me in ways nobody, not even me, expected, and in ways you will never know. Our friendship, the way I treated you, good and bad, taught me more in the last couple of days than I have learned in the last couple of years. Thank you for teaching me its ok to show people I care because now I know that I may never get the chance.

it is what it is

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It has been well over two weeks since I last stared at the blank box on the screen hoping to be imbued with some sort of coherent thought which may or may be of value to someone other than myself. While Id like to think I was too busy to take the time the truth is I have had plenty of time. I spent off days watching movies, reading books, playing games, and doing whatever else suited my fancy. Sure there were a few days of work in there and a couple days of feeling sick to my stomach but by and large I know I had the time to write yet for some reason I could never bring myself to do it.

If only it were a lack of ideas, a desire not to sound pedantic, or some other valid excuse I had for not putting my fingers to the keys, but no, I just couldn’t do it. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because after that time of reinvigoration I found myself confronted with some old skeletons in the closet that have a way of draining the life out of me. I came back from vacation relaxed and ready to take on the month of July no matter what it brought. Yes there have been some really fantastic times but still, those skeletons found me.

Friends struggling with, losing or quitting jobs, others battling cancer, and still others people being pressured to do something or act a certain way because, as we all know, we all live lives in a fishbowl and there is always a party line to tow. Rather than waste time writing about each and every situation, which I did consider doing, I let those situations fester. What else could I do? I was not in any position to change the circumstances and blogging about it would just have been another adventure in being jaded.

But as I sit here tonight, punching away at the keys, the faces and names of those in my life who are struggling keep flying through my mind. It is here that those skeletons rear their ugly heads in the form of questions. Did I do the right thing by walking away? Was there something I could have done if I would have stuck it out in St. Louis? Now that I am going who else is there to protect and defend those whose voices will never be heard? Is there a way back? Should I even attempt it? I don’t know. The altruistic idealist in me has an answer, so does the jaded cynic. And so I ask myself yet again, what am I to do?

Recently, a turn of phrase has worked its way into my regular vocabulary, it is what it is. There are those with whom I interact who could never hear that phrase again and be happy about it because I have been using it so much. But the reason I am is because of the need I have right now to remind myself that I do not have control over the situations I so desperately want to. But beyond that need to remind myself of my lack of control this phrase urges me on to deal with things as they come at me. It pushes me, forces me to interact with those situations as they are, not as I would like them to be. It would be really easy for me to sit back and magically fix things and change them to the way I want or think they should be but reality doesn’t work that way.

Things happen. People change and so do circumstances. Rather than run from them, be afraid of them, or think that I could have done something to prevent it, I need to engage it, as it is. I need to stand along side my friend and remind him that he is stronger than he thinks. I need to be there for those who have been hurt and are jaded like me, because I know that pain and that road is too tough to walk alone. For every person flying through my mind right now I know there is something I can do. It may not be much. It may not fix anything. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be who I need to be, where I need to be, for who I need to be.

Life.

It is what it is.

But that doesn’t mean we have to go through it alone.

the reality is…

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I should probably be in bed right now seeing as I have to wake up in a little less than 6 hours to make the 12 hour drive back to Chicago from the “Commonwealth of Virginia.” But instead of falling asleep my mind is running a muck and so here I sit before my computer screen trying to process the vacation that was. It was, in a word, relaxing. I didn’t have to work. I didn’t have to do much of anything other than go swimming and fix the occasional dinner for the family. I got to play some cribbage with my wife’s grandpa and father and go see a couple of movies. All in all it was a great vacation, one I don’t want to come back from.

But the real world beckons. I need to get back to work and make a little money to help pay some bills. I need to get some things in order for the upcoming school year and I need to spend some time with my wife. And so once again I am faced with a reality, one that may not be everything I want, seeing as Id rather get paid to do nothing any day of the week, but one that I need to embrace if I am going to continue living on.

This was something I was reminded about on the fourth of July. Rather than go off and party, as we had done that on the second, I spent this past fourth with my wife who caught a stomach bug and believe me it was an all day event. Seeing as I had some time I decided to find a copy of a now famous speech Frederick Douglas gave on the fourth of July back in the 1850′s. (Full copy of the speech here) In that speech he posed the following…

“Fellow-citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? and am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us?”

He was speaking of course about the irony of a black man speaking on a day about independence and freedom when their lives were full of anything but. The fourth of July has never really held a special place in my heart. That is not to say I am not grateful for the freedom I enjoy every day, its just that the fourth of July was never my favorite of holidays. I tend to find the massive displays of patriotism trotted out for a few days a year to turn my stomach. Despite my  cynicism, this year, as I read that speech I was reminded of the fact that as we celebrate a day of independence and freedom there are those who experience too little of that. I thought about all those who aren’t allowed to marry and all of those who, while free to choose, are bound by guilt, embarrassment and shame and forced into a situation that might not be the best choice. I also thought about those who aren’t free to sleep under a roof because a roof isn’t free. All around as a nation celebrated its independence and freedom there are those who are not able to experience it.

And then, as the day turned from the fourth to the fifth I read something else, a not guilty verdict. And then something equivalent to a social media atomic bomb went off and everyone had something to say about it. I guess what struck me the most is that one day we laud freedom and the next we scorn it. Where is our responsibility to her or any other perpetrator of a crime? Should not our love and compassion extend to her as well? Sure the case could have been clear cut, but guess what, the jury of her peers found her not guilty and so she sleeps tonight not guilty. What you or I think about her innocence matters little.  But that does not mean we cannot use this example to spur us on to something else.

So here we all are faced with a reality we may not want but one we have to embrace if we are going to keep on living. What reality is that? One that forces us to action. Unless I am moved to make a difference in the lives of those who cannot experience or embrace the freedom so many of us live in every day then thinking about it is worthless. Rather than complain about the not guilty verdict, which will change nothing, we should be concerned about the situations so many other young children and older people are in and try to do something about it. This is the reality we are faced with, a broken, hurting, violent, mean, scared world. One that will eat us up and vomit us back out. But it is one we face together.

All of this is to say that the end isn’t written yet. The story isn’t finished. Tomorrow I wake up and drive back to Chicago and then Thursday is a brand new day. But what am I going to do with that day or the next. I can choose to go through life thinking about those I did on the fourth, or that poor little girl and her mother or I can embrace reality and be moved to do something about it. I hope I have the courage to do the latter.

let the adventures begin

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Last night, as I attempted to finish the book I was reading, I found my eyes wandering from the sentence I was finishing to the toddler on the TV screen. One of my wife’s guilty pleasures, and mine too, is watching trashy TV. In this case “trashy TV” manifested itself in the form of Toddlers in Tiaras. This episode was particularly intriguing to me because of one the parents insistence that her “conservative Christian faith” plays a pivotal role in pageantry.

I couldn’t help but scoff throughout each scene when this woman espoused her fanatical fundamentalist perspective. I about lost it when the woman uttered the following… “I had to pray real hard about the spray tan.” I could not stop laughing. This was the apex. She prayed about everything from the costumes to the routines her 6 year old daughter would do and it reached its zenith in the spray tan. I had to share my awe with people and so I tweeted/posted a status on facebook relaying the hilarity of the situation I was witnessing.

Immediately though I was confronted with the arrogance of what I had done because after my tweet I went back to reading that book. What book? Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margins of Error by Kathryn Schulz. **(To watch a short video about the ideas in the book click here) Ironic to say the least. Here I am reading a book about how embracing error helps to fundamentally change the way we interact with ourselves, the world, and others because it opens us up to new possibilities and I am delighting in the (perceived) error of another. I say (perceived) because who is really to say that she is wrong in that notion? From my perspective she’s an idiot, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees her that way but that doesn’t mean she really is an idiot.

This is one of the ways Kathryn Schulz describes how we treat people when we think they are wrong. We either think they are ignorant, idiots, or evil. If I take a minute to think about people I think are wrong I tend to put them into these three categories. This is especially true when I think people are wrong theologically. I am notorious for being a smart-ass and in college I was even more notorious for being a condescending smart-ass when I disagreed with you. I can think of several scenarios where I labeled someone ignorant, idiotic, or an evil piece of… work.

For good or for bad theology is the discipline I have found a home in. For the last 7 years I have studied it at both the undergraduate and graduate level. I have the ability to interact with the text in its original languages. But all of that training does not mean I am going to get everything right. Even those with more letters after their names who have even more training than I do, they too will not get everything right. Being someone who is perspectival I have, at least over the past few years, grown in my appreciation of other perspectives. Still though, not every perspective is one I embrace and I still find myself calling people idiots or ignorant because of their inability to see beyond their own perspective.

This is not their problem though, its mine. Theology as a discipline prides itself on being right, on having the truth or at least being able to explain it. It is no wonder then that people speak the way they do and it is also no wonder that I become so frustrated by their (perceived) wrongness. So then what can I do? I can either keep getting pissed or condescending because they don’t see things way I do or I change the way I interact, not only with people, but with the discipline itself.

Being wrong is something we run from because from an early age we know that being wrong is a bad thing. This is the notion that Kathryn Schulz challenges. Rather than seeing wrongness as something we should shy away from it should be something we embrace. Think of it this way, when we are kids everything is an adventure because we dont know everything. Wrongness puts us back into that same position. Being wrong opens us back up to the adventure that is life.

So what does this have to do with the theological task? First, I am not right about everything. Second, neither is anybody else. When it comes to theology this is most certainly true. Not Luther. Not Calvin. Not Walther. Not Zwinglii. Not Even Paul. Or John. Or Peter. And rather than shy away from this or try and justify some longheld belief we need to enter into theology as a kid enters the world. Not with knowledge but a sense of adventure. I know I am going to be wrong about a lot of things. But this is not something I should fear because being wrong doesn’t mean I’m evil, it means I’m human. So rather than approach theology as a place where truth reigns, I want to approach it as a place where adventures are had . As a place where I’m surprised by what happens. A place that doesn’t see wrongness as a thing to be avoided but sees it as integral to the discipline as it is to life.

no more runnin…

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770 miles later here I sit in an old favorite coffee shop of mine. No, I did not make the road trip just for the wonderful coffee they serve here, it just so happens to be a bonus. This is not to say that there aren’t plenty of coffee shops that offer succulent variations of the coffee bean, it just so happens that I like the atmosphere here and the coffee is wonderful. It reminds me of a place I used to frequent back in my days in St. Louis called Kaldis. It has been quite a while since I set foot in one but the coffee and atmosphere of a Kaldis is unforgettable. It really was one of the bright spots in an otherwise tumultuous campaign at the sem down there.

To be sure there were other bright spots. I don’t mean to sound so overly critical of my time spent in St. Louis but if I were to be honest it was two years that broke me down emotionally and spiritually. There were those people though, the ones who were the bright spots. They kept me sane, they pushed me further, they challenged me to become something better than I was. You fellow scoffers, you know who you are, I will never forget you guys. So much time has passed since we last sat out by the chapel, smoking cigars, having an adult beverage, our conversation dripping with sarcasm and discontent. So many days and nights have passed since then but in some ways I feel that I am right back in front of that chapel. Why? Because sometimes the only way for me to process what I am experiencing is by having a good sarcastic session of word vomit.

Take last night for example. My sister-in-law had a dance recital which lasted 3, count them, 3 hours. I could not help but be overly critical of what I was witnessing. I found it so ironic that the same parents who would clamor about teens being too sexual and TV being responsible for that sex drive put their kids in a program like that. And yet, I know I am overly critical, but sometimes I wonder if people are critical enough. Thats why I really appreciated that old group of scoffers, we were the critics. Sure, no body outside of our group heard the critiques so who knows if it was even worth the time, but if nothing else we helped each other process what was going on.

But sometimes I feel like that is all I ever do, process. I sit back in my chair, critique anything and everything and don’t throw my hat into the ring because I see it as a lost cause. To be sure there is a reason for this, its called college. Back in college I threw my dog into every fight I could. It didn’t matter if I really cared about the subject or not, I had something to say and I said it, especially when I knew it would take things too far. I felt it was my duty. However, in the end all I feel like I did was piss a lot of people off, except my friends and sometimes even them too. Then came seminary. Every day fellow students and even faculty openly and mercilessly ridiculed people and positions I held or respected. It was funny for them to scoff at people who were pro-choice or pro equal marriage rights. To them those people were just dumb. I knew where I stood and so I began to sink within myself. I wasn’t the only one, my best friend quit and another close friend was forced to leave because he didn’t fit the mold. We were all broken.

However, over the last few months I have begun to find my voice again. I dont know where or how, I am sure it has something to do with the place I am at in life both literally and figuratively. I may not always agree with the positions of my current fellow students or faculty but the difference now is that its ok to disagree and they at least are willing to listen.

But beyond the new sem I am at there is something else different. Its like I am settled. For the last year I have been running from the person I know that I am. Running and hiding because I was scared something would try and break me down again and I would lose even more than I had before. I feel a little like the browncoat hero Malcolm Reynolds of Firefly lore. Broken and for a while just trying to fly and be free of anything that would seek to force him to be something he is not. The sem is my battle of Serenity Valley and to be sure it was one I lost. But now I am in a position to be me again. The group I meet with on Mondays is just a start, I feel like more is to come. Now more than ever I am critical, but the difference is I know I need to use that critique to affect change. I need to use that voice I once lost. And as the great Malcolm Reynolds once said, “So no more runnin’, I aim to misbehave.”

bungle in the jungle

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Tonight as I made my way to meet up with some folks at a nearby coffee shop the song of which this post is titled came on to the radio. I have always been a fan of Jethro Tull, judge me as you will, and I have always found within their lyrics some sort of philosophical handle or idea toward which I gravitate. Tonight was no exception.

I am part of a group currently reading through Love Wins by Rob Bell. Most assuredly the book has ruffled a few feathers amongst the orthodox Christians out there because of Bell’s intense desire to ask questions and because of the answers at which he arrives. Say what you will, what I really appreciate about the book is the fact that it asks questions, it brings up for discussion those things which seem to have been long forgotten.

This is not foreign to Christianity. The history of Christendom is full of people who asked questions and dared to purport a position in opposition to an accepted belief. For every picture of God Christians paint there is another hanging right next to it in the gallery. Every affirmation comes with a negation and every position with its counterposition. After all, the Nicene Creed did not just appear for no reason. For as long as there has been those who purport differing ideas there have been those who stand in opposition to it. Arius is not unique in history because he stood in opposition but because of how he did it, rather, because of what he stood for. It was his position the Nicene Creed attacks and then affirms the contrary. But again, this is not some strange phenomena, it has happened time and again.

Ask two people in America what “the story” or “the point” of Christianity is and you will get two different answers. Sure there could be agreement, but even among those who agree there are differences. For every affirmation of a position there seems to be a negation. It seems as though Christians straddle the line between orthodoxy and heresy and actually uphold both positions quite well sometimes.

Take for example the bible, long held to be the inspired inerrant word of God. For many this book is just that, a book. You can touch it, hold it, pull it off your shelf, dust it off, open it up, read it, and then put it back. This is a relatively new experience for Christians because of the fact that until the 16th Century bibles were not written in the language of the common person. If you go even further back, 3oo years existed when the church didnt even have a codified New Testament. Some books were affirmed, others were questionable. Even those that were the authors are in question. The text itself can even be questioned. And somehow the church has survived. Now it seems Christians base everything off of this book which didn’t even exist for a good portion of the early days and for most of history was not accessible to most people and at best is a collection of works that may or may not have been written by those who claim it if that text is really even the text originally written. How then can that book be the basis when for a majority of those who went before the book did not posess the same authoritative nature? As John Caputo would say, the archive has become the arche, the icon the idol. Any position contrary to that orthodox one of inerrancy is heresy right? Yet there is so much evidence to the contrary.

So I come face to face with this paradox. On the one hand you have a long held position or belief, traditional orthodoxy. On the other hand though, you have dissention and differing ideas. You have interpretation winning the day. Not just about the bible but about Christianity itself. Can all the pictures we paint be true? How do we navigate between the two seemingly contradictory assertions that Christians have an orthodox position and continually question that position? This is why that Jethro Tull song was so apropos for tonight because…

he who made kittens put snakes in the grass

let’s bungle in the jungle, well thats alright by me
i’m a tiger when I want love and a snake when we disagree

So maybe then the way  I am approaching things needs to change. Am I open to questions about both? To real attacks that penetrate the surface of both my orthodoxy and my deconstructive nature? Am I willing to hold my beliefs so loosely that I can straddle the line even closer than before. Am I willing to stand in that place? To embrace the paradox and ambiguity amidst the certainty.

Maybe the point is not what I believe but how I believe it.