goodbye

When I was a freshman in college, there was a group of us that formed a sort of ‘pack’ that did most things together: we  ate, laughed, fought, traveled and slept (as far as I know, in the most Platonic of senses) together.  As the years have worn on (haha, it’s really only been three, but ‘worn on’ seems so much more mature) some of us have left, other have married, some have grown apart and back together, and some of us have stayed together for this whole time (such diversity is the nature of friendship).  Well, last night some of the original crew and some  new members of this now waning ‘pack’ got together to bid farewell to one of us who has been with us for the last three years.  We talked and sang, all mutually enjoying (as far as I could tell) each others company.  And as our departing friend sang, we smiled sadly as we knew it might be a long time until we saw him again. His played a song about growing close and tearing apart and I could feel the looming pain, for I will be soon leaving this place and these people just as our friend has just done.  Then, the hint of pain I felt last night will no longer be a hint, but profound.  I hope our friend fares well, and must believe he will, if not for his sake, then at least for my own.

Gethsemane

The pastor began the sermon by telling us that evil will eventually touch all of our lives.  I was happy but distracted at the beginning, but the words interrupted me.  Then the weight of all the anxiety I’ve pushed to the side with optimism began to press down.  I thought my path was the one that rose above this world-that buying a woman’s groceries at Wal-Mart when she didn’t have the money was the right thing to do, and that worrying about money was evil.  The path I have been skipping down has required little, save the sacrifice of common sense.  And only now, when my next destination looms ahead of me in future fog, does my optimism falter.   And it falters hard.

I know that Jesus walked a harder path.  His closest friends couldn’t understand him, his hometown mocked him, and he had no place to call his home.  He was abandoned by God-cursed for our sake.  I know, know, and know.  My troubles are pathetic in comparison, and I am weak for succumbing to such miniscule anxiety.  Instead of relief I feel embarrassed-like a kid crying about his fallen popsicle to his newly widowed mother.  Of course I have shame in bringing my complaints before this God.

Jesus was in Gethsemane and even after coming so far, suffering humiliation, loneliness, and hunger-when he saw the next destination on his path, he begged God to take it away from him.

I can’t see what’s next, though.  I can’t help but wonder how much of my own anxiety is self-inflicted.  Jesus knew he’d done God’s will.  He knew what he’d done was right, and that his punishment was unjust. is my ominous future fog a result of obedience or irresponsibility.  Has what I thought was a test of trust been an unheeded call for action all along?

Welcome Back

A new season of blogging has opened for me.  It could have been the caffeine, but it was probably the Kierkegaard.  I had to find a paper topic last night and in my haste, as chance would have it, I fell upon Kierkegaard and the art of purposeful existence.  Ha! what an arrogant thing to proclaim, especially after such prolonged silence from this blog.  I do not mean that I have achieved a purposeful existence, because the idea is a state rather than achievement-and my existence continues until someone tells me differently.  I only wish to reflect more formally, and this blog (I hope) will help cultivate this habit.

One thing about WordPress that I enjoy is that I cannot continue the same blog under a different name.  I had wanted to change “Apples of Gold” but keep my old posts.  It is all too appropriate, however, that this is not an option.  The reason I wanted to retain the old posts was because my past expression is part of who I am now. Yet, I didn’t want to sound as pretentious as I was when I named this blog after Proverbs 25:11.  This pretense (which I still think was well-meaning) is a part of who I am just as it was a part of who I was.  I cannot and should not deny who I am, even if it was a younger me of whom I am occasionally embarrassed.

That being said, I do not regret the name of my blog after all, because when I named it I wasn’t stating a fact, but presenting a goal for this blog, much like I have done today.

Continuity.

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true religion does not suppress, but liberates humanity

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Music at sunset

Here’s my chums showin’ what’s what.  I’m really escited to have my camera back, and hopefully this means I’ll do more posting of pictures here.  This was a very enjoyable time by the way, friends putting music to the sunset, it’s just plain hard to beat.  Thanks Jesse and Lauren.

Trying again.

I had a mini revelation today about myself.  I was eating french toast with some friends, and they were sharing stories about their childhood (elementary school traumas and the like) and we were all laughing and happiness was dripping in the windows, and then I was asked, “What kind of kid were you in elementary school?”

Dernt.

I was stumped.  I could barely summon up any kind of story, let alone give any kind of complete answer about who I was as a child.  I think it is common to think of your past self as a completely different person from who you are now.  Even when I think about Sophomore Joey, he seems pretty far removed from Junior Joey; and when I think about 3rd Grade Joey, he is so far removed from my consciousness that I hardly believe he existed.  It’s as if the few stories I remember from 3rd grade have become this person folk-lore and whether or not the events took place is not the point anymore.  I am not sure whether this is usual or not, but think perhaps my disinterest in the past-especially my personal past is unusually apathetic.

This thought has made me realize how little time I spend in the past, and also that this manifests itself in a few ways in my life.  The most significant result of my “now-ness” is how poorly I keep in contact with other people.  If someone is not geographically close to me, someone I can see often, I often fail to communicate well with them. Obviously, this is a problem, especially with people who are better at remembering what is not right in front of them.  My theory is this: everyone is given a set amount of “awareness” and each person is in charge of delegating where they will invest this awareness. Some people invest vast amounts of awareness in the past.  Some invest in a future awareness, these are idea people who like improving and inventing.  Some people are very outwardly aware-noticing details or subtle undercurrents of social interactions.  Still other people are very inwardly aware and know just how they think, and what things trigger their emotions.  I think that my awareness is all used up on the inner and outer awareness and therefore am neither looking forward or backward-just around.

It could be that I wanted to write this to just start blogging again, or maybe I really have been thinking about this all day, but I think the most likely option is that I am going to all this trouble to say, “I’m sorry I haven’t talked with you in a while, it’s not that there’s something wrong with you, and it might not even be that there is something terribly wrong with me either, I just suck at keeping up with you.”  One other result of always looking around instead of backwards, is that I don’t take time to write down what’s going on with me, either in my blog or in my journal, so I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, but it’s just really heavy.

Also, this band called SHEARWATER is eating my universe right now.  [but watch out not very people dig them]

New.

Perhaps the drought is over, perhaps I will quit again after starting it up.  Who knows?  I’m like the Brett Favre of blogging.  Ok, that might be  a lot arrogant, but it seemed so right to say.  I think it’s strange that I only feel motivated to start blogging again once classes are a few hours away from starting.  I guess the nice thing about the past is that you don’t have to worry about it anymore, although I can say that just because nothing aweful has happened me.  Oh, this feels so good to just type whatever pops into my head, bad for anyone who reads it, and good for the one person who typed it.  But I think a lot of blogs are only really for the benefit of the author, so why should I pretend to be any different.  When I think of blogging I think of Ecclesiastes, and this is why:

“That which has been is what will be, that which is done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.  Is there anything of which it may be said, “See this is new”?  It has already been in ancient times before us.  There is no rememberance of former things, nor will there be any rememberance of things that are to come by those who will come after.”  [1:9-11]

Oh, the honesty of a brisk wind.

doing what I don’t want

I have had the immense privilege of seeing two really nice movies during consecutive nights.  Sunday, I allowed  myself to be distracted by The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou.  And tonight my distraction was Where the Wild Things Are.  I think I liked how easy both films were to look at, very artistic, in my mildly ignorant opinion.  One thing both movies did really well was to develop a main character (especially in Wes Anderson’s Aquatic) using universal elements of the human spirit.  When I watched these movies I saw how much conflict there is in any interesting character, particularly self-inflicted conflict.  Both leads in the movies watch themselves become what they do not want to be despite what appears to be their best efforts.  Steve Zissou (not to ruin the ending or anything) eventually accepts who he is, becoming less frightened of  how he is perceived and more at peace subsequently.  Max (in Wild Things) resolves [I think] to try harder to understand the people he affects, and to stop being as selfish as he was.

I have experienced my own personal war with myself for most of my self-awakened life.  I have seen many times how I do what I do not want to do, and how the best of things are  all too often the things that I convince myself to put off and avoid.  For example, this post.  I knew on Sunday I should write something down, but I refrained and the longer I wait the harder it becomes.  In fact, on Sunday morning as I sat in church analyzing my thoughts/emotions I knew that they would change-probably once I am even out of the building.  I think that having church so close to meals is maybe a bad idea, because hunger clouds judgement like desire.  However, I wrote some of my Sunday thoughts in my journal, and I will put them on this post, before I create a distracting excuse.

The Bible gives me no answer to the question of “Why am I here?” other than to involve myself with the work of the Church.

Perhaps Satan’s greatest accomplishment in America is his work to cultivate a pervasive distaste of “the American Church” that extends to both Christ-followers and the Lost alike.

These quickly scrawled thoughts were written with so much passion, I scarcely believe that I am really the author.  I sway so quickly.  Lord, help me.  I would say that perhaps this “personality at war” characteristic of many, if not all Christ-followers, is misunderstood or flat-out rejected by many who do not follow Christ.  I think the way humans abuse God’s communion with us is one of the major turn offs to “the Church.”  There, after all seems so much to hate about organized religion, especially the way that Christians have handled it.  I so many times think that there has to be a better way to love God and love people than through a Church.  But, God set up the Church to be the Bride of Jesus, and a living organism of organisms, by which His p Kingdom is brought to earth.  And as all of this fell upon me anew, I was blown away by how mundane Church had become to me.  I was absolutely blown away that I was taking part in the most important function of my life.  Church, as defined as the community of believers reaching out to those outside, and building up those inside, does not matter; rather, it is The Matter with which I am to concern myself above all else.  My role as a member in the universal community of followers of Jesus, matters more than anything else in my life, and quite frankly, I often do not care.  Even now, I am not stirred up with zeal, I’m only typing out of remembered passion, hoping that it might be re-lit.  Still, I am confident to say that God loves the Church, and He said that He’s going to work through it, regardless if I choose to take part.  I hope that perhaps someone will read this and realize that they have been taking their time as a part of the Church lightly, and bring themselves before God and ask Him to give strength to love and serve as Jesus.  Perhaps I am that person.  And if someone reads this and they are totally turned off by it (for one they probably didn’t get this far) I sincerely apologize if I or one of my brothers or sisters has hurt you, especially if we have done this while claiming the name of Jesus.  This misrepresentation is a tragedy if ever there was a tragedy, whether you realize it or not.  God help us.

the danger of empathy [2]

I should have known it would be another week, make that 2,  before I would get to this post.  My motivation consistently undermines my ambition, and this is no exception.  I was talking about how my sympathizing with a point of view sometimes leads my mind into strange places where it may have not independently wandered if uninfluenced.  Ok, Basically what I’m saying is that I’m REALLY impressionable.  Sometimes good, sometimes bad.  Here is an example of my softness working against me:

I am riding my bike home from work, and I stop by the baseball field to see the score.  The next thing I know it I am talking with a coach from high school about God, Christianity, Muslims, evolution, hatred, and freeing the mind.  We talked about believing things just because that’s what we’re supposed to do, and how in some ways, God makes this life a lot more complicated, and wouldn’t it be easier to explain things without Him?  Why, after all ,would He  make a place where there was even a possibility for suffering, or an eternal suffering after life on this world?

Questions of the like are hard to answer, and I had no kind of  answers for my thoughtful, intelligent coach, yet I was glad for the conversation, if only to see some things from his point of view.  However, subtly, I began picking my faith in God apart.  Not methodically taking out the bits of my belief that were unfounded, just overly critical of everything I had been comfortable with because I was comfortable with it.  I think there is a downward cycle of cynicism that one slips into if they are pushed just so, by the right person at the same time, that can result in disquieting doubt of things which once gave you a place to stand.

I was in the midst of cynicism and doubt, actually to be more precise, I was in the middle of a workout, and the song “Paperthin Hymn” [Anberlin] came through the speakers.  When the song ended, I played it again.  It would end, and I would play it again-two or three more times.  I don’t really know why this song struck me so strangely, I would guess that it was just the desperation in his voice that drew me.  By the third time through the song, I just gave up.  This has happened before-I begin with good questions, that eventually take over my mind, I slip into a restless critical state of mind, and then eventually I can’t withstand all of my doubts and I just stop.  I suddenly came to an end of my questioning alone in the weight room.  Something in me couldn’t stand to be at such odds with myself.

When I let the next song play, it was “There is a River” [Jars of Clay], and suddenly I realized that perhaps God really has picked Joey Morningstar for something, and at the very least-He’s not going to let him go off the deep end.  I think that last week in the weight room was the first time I felt like I couldn’t get away.  The first time I really felt chosen.  I don’t know why I was, it was as seemingly random as being born in the American middle class to a good family, with good genetics.  I have thought about how much has been just given to me, without any effort on my part, but this time I felt like I was being held on to.  I felt like child trying to escape his parent’s grasp, and the Father leaning down, looking me in the face saying, “I’m not going to let you go.”  And it is the most wonderful feeling.

the danger of empathy [1]

I have realized that empathy and understanding other points of view (or at least a desire to understand) sometimes creates personal inconsistency.  I have experienced this many times in my life, and two times this past week.  One of these instances arose out of my devouring of The Kite Runner (I got it last Monday, and finished it Friday).

I was totally absorbed, I would read my book at work, as we drove from job to job-and then was expected to actually put  down the book and work, which in my opinion at the time, was totally unreasonable.  What would happen, is I would go about the necessary tasks of laying wood or tile floors, all the while solemnly thinking about the world of Amir, which honestly, at times felt closer than actual reality.  I wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, and had a very quiet, almost depressed demeanor for the entire day, broken up only by brief periods of excitement right before I started reading again.

This infatuation lasted most of the week, but I still can’t decide whether I was more closely connected with book while I was reading it, or after I finished it.  The story, and more importantly the emotional side-affects have lingered with me over the weekend, and I suspect they will continue to resonate.  In this case, letting myself become absorbed into the book wasn’t really a bad thing.  The Kite Runner is a heavy book to be sure, and melancholy comes onto me more frequently since I finished it.  This has happened before, and I think that being pressed by sorrow every now and again is a good thing.  I have enjoyed my trip with The Kite Runner, and a little surprised by how far it drew me in.

Like I said at the beginning of the post, empathetic understanding can sometimes betray, and the second instance this last week is an example.  However, I have been distracted by House and siblings, so I will have to record the conversation and it’s aftermath tomorrow, or the day after.  I apologize to anyone who reads this-I have caught myself rambling all but too late.