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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

Later today my wife and her family are going to be putting their dog down. SoCo, yes he is named for Southern Comfort, has had a life full of love, but also a life of health problems. It is no shock that his time has run out as he has been struggling immensely for the last few months, but still, he has carried on and it seems as though he can carry on no longer. His life may not have been what my wife’s family had dreamed it would be, but it was a good life for a dog.

It seems as though a lot of things in my life are turning out different than I thought they would. Back when I was a freshman in college, some 7 years ago this August, I did not know what I was even doing by going to college. I did not know who I would meet or what I would do. Over time I began to think that I was destined, along with my close group of friends, to affect change. To bring down walls and break down systems. But 7 years later I can tell you it wasn’t me or my friends who brought the system down, it was the system who broke us down.

The groups I was a part of were once vibrant and alive, now they are nearly nonexistent. The adults in charge were once perceived as bulletproof, but I have seen them take their hits. This ebb and flow of life, while not unexpected, forces me to continually redefine or re-imagine my place in this world. Once I did not see my self as amounting to much. As time went on I thought that maybe I could have an impact. When I went to sem I was broken in two and left for dead. But now, as I live a life renewed I realize that there is actually no place I’d rather be than the one I am in. I have a great job, a loving wife, and I am going to school to finish what I started. Sure it isn’t in the same place I thought it would. And yes, the people I was once close to are now nowhere to be found. But the fact remains that I am being pushed and challenged in ways I never have before.

This morning I had a chance to catch the commencement address that Conan O’Brien gave to the 2011 graduating class at Dartmouth. If you have not watched it I suggest you do. (CLICK HERE). Despite the hilarity that emanates from the comedic genius that is Conan O’Brien, he notes something that I have experienced to be true. Your dreams will change, and that’s ok. Whatever you think you are now, wherever you think you are going, this too will change. I know it has for me. And rather than sit back and seek to go back to some romanticized version of the past where everything seems to be better than it really was I want to keep moving forward. Building up and tearing down. Deconstructing and affirming. Doing all of those things that challenge me and push me to arenas I didn’t know existed.

As cliche as it sounds, things change. But rather than run from the fight I want to run to it. Rather than sit back and defend that which I have, I seek to place that in harms way. So here goes…

I am a postmodern. I do not believe this excludes me from Christianity as some claim. I admire satirists. I seek to change the way people see, understand, and interact with theology, the church, God, and each other. I am a husband. A son. A student. Sarcastic. Jaded. Perspectival. Open to challenge and questions. Unfinished in my thoughts and philosophy. Constantly evaluating where I am and where I am going.

And although this is where I am today it doesn’t mean Ill be there tomorrow. And thats ok. Life does not need to be figured out, it need only be experienced.

So I just finished watching the latest episode of South Park and I couldn’t help but think, wow, thats me. Its an episode about cynicism. Stan starts to see everything as “shit,”  literally. Comedic value of the episode aside it brings to light a reality that I face everyday, the older you get the easier cynicism is to come by.

I am a romantic idealist, often imagining the possibilities that could improve a situation. But as the years have gone on my idealism, while stronger than ever, manifests itself in a deeply jaded cynicism. Take tonight for example, I stumble across a website for a church and less than a minute later I catch myself ranting. Over what you ask? Coffee. Yea thats right, coffee. This church put on its website that they have two locations, one a little more traditional one and the other a little more contemporary.  As the descriptions of each followed the latter included a quip about enjoying a cup of coffee. The first thing that popped into my head was, “why is it that so often being relevant is so closely associated with drinking a cup of coffee?” I then proceeded to soap box about how being relevant doesn’t mean you need to have coffee.

Being the idealist that I am I cannot stand it when I see or hear such an asinine statement. It is tough for me to walk the path of someone who highly values perspective especially when I see what I would call stupid  informing or forming a bad decision. Or when I listen to a sermon, its like hearing nails on a chalkboard. There is a hint of arrogance to my cynicism. A hint of superiority and not one of humility.

I dont know why cynicism is my knee jerk reaction. I also dont know if cynicism  really is as bad as I or other make it out to be. I feel like there needs to be  a line. One that recognizes those who have gone before and then looks toward what one day might come. A line that has a lot of room for simple and complex answers, for open and closed ways of doing things. Perhaps if there were such a line I wouldnt be as cynical.

Probably not. I have a feeling that I will always carry with me the cynicism. It has been there since before college and will more than likely be there in the life to come. The question is though, how will I direct my cynicism. Should I silence it? Offer my services to the highest bidder? Be an equal opportunity cynic? Somehow I think I won’t have to choose because there will always be plenty of cynicism to go around.