Tagged: love
Review of Killing Season starring Bobby D. and Johnny T.
The previews looked like someone had re-tooled Hopkins and Baldwin’s 1997 thiller The Edge. Two elderly-ish men trying to survive, and possibly kill each other in the woods. But what we have here is something new. It is at once a simple action flick–kinda B-movie action at that–and a portrayal of one of the most challenging commandments Jesus of Nazareth issued.
The film begins with scenes of the not-so-familiar Bosnian war. We are shown images of genocide which would be striking if they weren’t nauseatingly familiar. Like Shutter Island before it, we are then shown that even the good guys sometimes commit atrocities. While in Bosnia we think we see Travolta killed. Moments later we are introduced to DeNiro’s character and discover he has taken to hunting in the woods…with a camera instead of a gun. Nothing surprising here.
The fact is nothing too surprising happens for the next hour or so of the film. There is a game of cat and mouse that seems to drag on and on with no point. But then something magical happens–the point appears.
Movies which improve with their run-time are few and far between. I grew up on the idea that most movies can be recognized for what they are in the first minute. This one is a rare exception to that rule.
Now Ma–before you think that you’re ready for this film, allow me to offer a word of caution. There are two surprisingly gruesome scenes that even caught me off-guard. So, just ask me about the movie next time you call and I’ll tell you what is so neat about it.
The rest of you, proceed at your own risk. It’s no Saw, but it still isn’t for the faint of heart. Too bad really, because it’s message is so full of heart.
Ninety Shades of Green
For Janet.
“Oh God, yes! I do, I do,” I confessed, closing my eyes tighter.
Opening my eyes, I could see disbelief in his baby blue eyes as they maneuvered to find my eyes through the tendrils that now covered them. Never having the courage to broach the subject myself, I instantly affirmed his suggestion. After so many years, I was still unable to resist his eyes–those intense, honest eyes.
Immediately, I regretted everything. What if I was wrong? What if this is all he was really after and after he got it he was going to leave me? No. He wasn’t like that. Not this one. At least that’s what I told myself in order to sustain the warmth that had come over me.
“You ready hon? I don’t think I can wait any longer,” I half-heard him say.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I answered, trying to hide my excitement. I wondered if he knew how excited I really was. I felt like a volcano about to erupt. Just think of it. No, I couldn’t think of it. Just the thought of it was too much.
“Michelle! What are you doing up there?” I later heard him call from across the house. I was so thrilled that I didn’t even realize I had stopped buttoning my blouse and taken a seat on the edge of our bed. Flushed, I stood up, straightened my skirt, finished buttoning my blouse, looked at myself in the mirror, pulled the comforter back to perfect, and headed down the hall to the stair case.
“I’m here. Sorry, I still can’t believe this is finally happening,” I burst.
“Geez. If I would’ve known you were into this, we could have been doing this for years,” I heard him say with his decisive, genuine voice; a voice that reminded me why I loved him.
The way he was standing, so far below me, head tilted up, slightly turned–it was striking.
“You’re sure you meant it?” I couldn’t help but double check, feeling ashamed for infecting the moment with doubt.
“Yes. Wow. You really are something. I’m just sorry it took me 35 years to ask. Why didn’t you ever say anything all these years?” he inquired.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
The Building Block
Greetings! How’s everyone doing this morning? It is great to see you today. Let me say that I know you’re taking a risk by attending the first-ever sermon of this church. Thank you. Before we get started, I want to take stock and simply remind you that I love you and I’m glad you decided to show up this morning. What’s that? Yes sir, even you.
I love you because you are.
Alright, I feel pretty good today. How’d you like the music? Pretty great, no? I love those songs we sang today. I love that we always sing four songs. Did you notice how the first three songs crescendo’d and then we ended on a slow one? Yep, that’s on purpose. The music director put a lot of effort coming up with that formula. Oh, I suppose that’s not entirely true. He’s just doing what he grew up doing. The point is, it works. Who isn’t in the mood for a message of hope?
Okay then. How much time do I have? By my guess you’re expecting about 30-minutes in your seats, you’ll be happy if I wrap-up in 20, and you’ll give me a 10-minute grace period if I’m on a roll. Sound about right? Okay, now that we’re on the same page, let’s get to it.
Jesus. The reason for the season as they say. History tells us he existed. At least as much as any person of history existed. The truth is, though, there’s not much support for his existence outside of the bible; John the Baptist actually receives more pointed attention. Oddly enough, this strengthens his message in a way. That’s the beauty of it.
Okay, before we can go anywhere, the inescapable question each of us must answer is this, “Can I trust another person?” Like all of you, I was born a trusting human. Then one day I was hurt. One day someone broke my trust. I don’t remember who did it or any specific moment that it happened, but I’d put money on it having been one of my parents. Or maybe both of them; it’s really just a numbers game. People hurt each other. The people we’re around most will likely be the people who hurt us the most. In either case, for many years afterwards, I unconsciously, then consciously, chose to not trust anyone else.
“Can I trust another person?” Like any great question, the best part about this question is that you are the only one who can answer it. No one can answer it for you.
So I’m going to continue talking for a bit up here, and I’m hoping you don’t think it is a waste of time. More than that, I’m hoping that you find that you’re glad you came. I say this to emphasize that in the end you determine you’re level of involvement. These are big questions; questions that are not to be taken lightly. You’re an adult. No one can make up your mind for you.
Do you know that I’m not even going to say anything new today? That’s right. There’s nothing new to say. You’ve heard the message many times before. I just happen to be part of a group of people who think it is worth repeating. And by your being here this morning, I take it you don’t mind hearing the good news again either.
So what do you think? Can you trust another person?
I’m going to take a risk and tell you that I believe that if we’re all human, if we’re all made of the same parts, then the way I feel must be similar to the way you feel. And if you’re like me, that means that you are silently screaming out in answer, “Yes! There’s nothing I want more than to be able to trust other people again!” That’s what goes through my head most of the time. The remaining time is spent longing to be able to trust myself again.
Today, to start this relationship off right I simply want to share with you that I believe there is hope for us. I believe there is hope for us, but like a fire, this hope needs fuel. This hope-fire won’t start unless each of us deliberately carry some wood to it. Any boy scout will tell you that a fire needs three things. Fuel, oxygen and spark. We need to bring the fuel. Now, nobody needs to do any heavy lifting; instead like any fire, this fire must begin with tinder. Tinder is the smallest of fuels: twigs, leaves, lint, paper, mostly twigs. And the metaphorical twig that you need to carry is making the decision to trust a certain someone.
I know. I know, I know, I know. Believe me I know. 2000 years is a lot of time. The people who have professed Jesus to be trustworthy have really mucked things up. I also know that today, there are still beliefs circulating in His name that strain an educated mind. That’s not what I’m talking about right now. Right now I’m talking about sifting through the entirety of history until only Jesus of Nazareth remains. What did he say? What did he teach?
He taught that people, each of us, make mistakes.
There are a whole lot of synonyms for “mistakes”, like “sin”, that carry a lot of baggage. Maybe in the end it will prove valuable to keep the word and the baggage. Today, I’m asking you to let go of the baggage.
We make mistakes. And we’re going to keep making mistakes. But Jesus taught that if we simply acknowledge our imperfect status, we will inherit what he called “the kingdom of heaven.” Stay with me for a minute. Remember, this is a man who really walked the earth. He lived in a context. The people he preached to understood what that phrase meant. Today, it is not so simple. Is there a heaven? Is there a hell? Fun questions, but not appropriate to today. Today, I am concerned with another part of this “kingdom of heaven” that he talked about. He taught that it exists both in the future and right now. Right now, here in the present, the kingdom of heaven is attainable.
So what is the kingdom of heaven? I have no idea. I don’t. Jesus had a hard time defining it. He’d use parables. He’d use metaphors. Here’s my favorite. “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.” I love it because I can’t figure out why the man would hide the treasure after finding it. Every once in a while I get glimpses of why he would do that, but I’m sure that I would have just taken it and ran.
Speaking plainly, I think of achieving the kingdom of heaven as being able to transcend this life. Transcend meaning to go-beyond this life, to rise above the petty problems and realize the situation with a full awareness. But I don’t really know. All I can offer is that there is a certain peace that I have only ever felt when I trust that Jesus was right.
That’s it folks. That’s all for today. In a moment we’ll sing a couple more songs.
If there’s one thing I want to be clear about it is that this church is going to be based on action. We’re going to have these weekly services which will follow the format you’ve seen this morning: music, preaching, music. They’ll always be that format. Different perhaps than other churches is the fact that there will always be a meal afterwards. Jesus seemed to almost always be eating when he was teaching, so we’re going to mimic that. Also, to emphasize that while sharing the good news is our mission, almost equally important to me, because it appears to have been to Him, is fellowship–so I’m capping this particular church at 200 members. That’s plenty of people to fellowship with. If we get bigger than that, the way we’ll know it’s for the right reasons is because one of us else will step up to lead another version/branch. Jesus told his followers to share the message, but if people reject it, move on. If we never have more than the 30 of us here this morning, that’s fine with me and I’m not going to fret about it. This isn’t about numbers, it isn’t about buildings. It is about people.
Lastly, it won’t always be me up here. Anytime you want to share, just let me know and we’ll get you on the calendar.
This is real life folks. The only one we get. I think it’ll be more fulfilling to live it with each other. If you agree, stick around for the meal and maybe come back next week.
Music Director – lead us in something that’ll immerse us in an introspective mood.
Tomorrow’s Post
I’ve seen this technique used by other bloggers. Writing in italics let’s you know that it’s me speaking and not…me. Either way, I like it. It’s just a short post today, as I want to get to work on tomorrow’s post now. Tomorrow is for me. If I succeed, it may be for you too. I’m going to challenge myself to be vulnerable in a way that I have never been. It is my version of ‘be the solution, not the problem.’
As some of you can tell, recently I have been attending church. It’s the first time in nearly a decade. I never stopped reading and thinking about the whole concept while I was away, and now that I’m back, I’ve discovered that there are some tenets that are difficult to accept. In voicing my criticisms, I feel like a whiner, a critic. That’s got to stop. Tomorrow’s post then, will be my ideal sermon. The trouble is that it isn’t coming as easy as I’d like it to. I have realized this is a very, very personal business. How does one reveal to others one’s most intimate beliefs? I don’t know but it sounds like fun, so I’m going to try. Hope you enjoy.
(Normal posts (ha) will resume Thursday if this isn’t your thing).
Did Jesus of Nazareth Pass Notes?
“If you open your bulletin, you’ll find a communication card. If you’re new to the church or have questions or would like to sign up for a class, just fill out the card and drop it in the offering plate when it’s passed around later in the service.”
He cringed. He wanted to get more involved, he really did. He wanted to be a part of the group. He would love to spread the message that he knew to be valuable, yet he couldn’t complete this simple step. He had been burned so many times in in his life. He wondered, “Does the preacher actually think there is anyone in the congregation who hasn’t been bombarded-to-death with contact after they signaled interest to Gold’s Gym, or Subway, or a Time-share, or a Credit Card?” The list goes on and on. Yet, here he was in a place that offered…well, it offered hope; and he was being asked to formally display interest yet again. How could he not feel once bitten, twice shy? He knew he couldn’t be that different than others.
The contents of the offering plate seemed to prove he wasn’t.
The challenge then: Jesus of Nazareth was different. He was surely recruiting, but he was not starting a business. And he was surely not starting an organization. The picture painted by historical critical scholarship is that the man was intimate. He didn’t pull punches. He didn’t waste time.
“Being the more difficult course of action,” he thought, “this intimacy requirement only adds to the strength of his, Jesus’, argument.”
Standing in front of a crowd and asking them to perform the same ritual they’re asked to perform countless times throughout each day should be shameful. He wondered, “Would Jesus of Nazareth have ever passed notes?”
Walk of Shame
Her elbow as the hinge, her hand lowered the phone to the bed after she finished her morning dose of Dieter. She pushed the sheets off her body, bumping him, and climbed out of the bed.
Pulling her underwear followed by her pants over her hips, she remembered feeling the electricity of his fingers as he took them off only hours ago.
Fully dressed, she closed the door to his house and began her walk. Thinking about the night, she recalled her surprise at his home’s level of décor. At the bar, he was nicely dressed, but so were most of her other conquests. She discovered early on that not many men had the stamina to match the presentation of their home to the presentation of their body. But he did. She liked that.
She recalled that the wine he served her was remarkably smooth. “Then again at 2:00 am, (or was it 3?) what wine wasn’t?” she laughed to herself. They drank it in his wine cellar before he led her upstairs. She remembered thinking that she didn’t need the comfort of a bed. Loving how he was so in control, she willingly followed.
Already 9:00 am on a Sunday, she was sure everyone driving by could guess how she spent her night. After all, her hair was disheveled, she was in heels, and her clothing was not exactly the type women wear for a coffee run. Let them wonder, she thought. They would never guess everything. They would never know her feelings for him. They would never suspect that afterwards she turned his head–always heavier than expected–so the draining blood wouldn’t soil her half of the thousand count sheets as she slept it off.
All Good
Pete couldn’t remember meeting her. He thought that was weird. Then again, a big sister would’ve always been there, wouldn’t she have? I guess he did have some early memories of her. There was the often told bike incident with little Steven. Oh, and for some reason he could remember her displaying shyness whenever it was clear she liked a certain boy. And he’d never forget his favorite memory of their childhood. It was the day he, ahem, stumbled upon a certain diary entry which contained a baggie of gum that she saved after she was given it–handed–directly from the mouth of a crush of hers. (Not having much time for fear of being caught, he only found it because it prevented the book from closing properly).
He was so selfish that he always took credit for initiating his own desire to live with integrity. Today, however, Pete finally took a minute and realized she necessarily would have been a founding influence, even if just subconsciously. She did the ‘right things’ as a child, and not only stayed out of trouble, but was rewarded for it. Rewarded with high grades at school, with being well-liked by everyone who knew her, and with achieving success in her passions. Those were only a few of the things he unwittingly observed growing up with her.
She also never questioned or interfered with his dreams and pursuits.
Their only moments of tension came when he was too evangelical about the need for everyone to be like him. Oh, and the morning when she criticized the smell of the slightly burnt scrambled egg-whites. He was pretty upset at her for that. What could he say? Egg-whites were one of his only meals whose flavor he enjoyed some 60 days into the restrictive pre-contest diet, and she just had to say something, didn’t she? Oh well. On this day he is in no mood to hold grudges–he’s just sayin’.
These days he sees how she raises her family. There is a lot of stress, there is a lot of yelling, there is a lot of frustration. But what her children will remember is that there was a loving mom. Always. And that constancy, Pete and his sister (and their brother for that matter) knew from experience, was priceless. In this moment of contemplation, he realized that her continuing to live with the values she demonstrated as a child should have never surprised him. Either way, for him at least, the story only gets better.
There came a time when he needed help. He needed someone he could rely on no matter what. He needed a partner who wouldn’t judge him and who would hold him accountable. His mind raced through the names of everyone he knew. There was one name with which he couldn’t find fault, one name which he couldn’t dismiss, one name he knew he wouldn’t lie to out of respect, one name he knew would not let him off easy, and one name who would respect him through the journey. There was one name whose unfailing love blinded her to weakness leaving only strength.
That name was Kate. Thank you Kate. And “Happy Birthday!” All Good.
Longing
We used to be so close. Your touch was so soft, so warm. When I needed you, you were always there for me. Sometimes you’d pull away in the middle of the night. Sometimes you’d get all twisted up. Sometimes it seemed like I had to fight to get you back. But return, you always did.
Recently, I feel like the one who has been neglecting you. I’m the one who has been staying away some nights. I’m the one who has chosen a shoddy imitation of you–even though I know better.
When we touched the other night I almost cried. A flood of memories came rushing back. We used to spend hours upon hours together. You don’t know how desperately I want to return to that life. I just can’t right now. There are bills to pay. There are mountains to explore. There is writing to do.
I’m sorry Sheets, but I just don’t think this reduced amount of time together will end anytime soon. I miss you.
A Letter to Racism
Dear Racism,
I’m writing this letter to you to give you notice that I’m coming after you. You’re toxic. Every time I think you’re finally gone, you pop right back up again. Over the years, I’ve learned to cope with your appearances in private capacities, but apparently some inner reservoir of boldness has caused you to gain an increasing amount of state sponsorship.
Do you even know what I’m referring to? No? Two weeks ago, we were required to read Paul Kivel’s The Culture of Power at work. How in the hell did you convince a public school district in 2013 that you deserve an audience?
Hiding between the lines of that article, you entered the room to remind us of some challenges that lay ahead. As it turned out, no amount of wishful thinking on my part would hide the fact that you were just getting started. Once you focused our attention on our differences, you became the predominant theme of the day.
Let me me clear: I have always despised you. In the past, however, I thought if I ignored you that you would go away. That day, you showed me the error of my ways. I now know that my choice to not give you the attention you so desperately desired caused you to misunderstand me. You misunderstood my thoughts about being in the “culture of power.” Allow me to state them plainly: I know that I should be in the “culture of power.” Two of your further attempts to infect me that day illustrate your weakness and will help demonstrate how I know that I’m better than you.
First, you said, “You’re going to be dealing with kids whose parents taught them to never trust white people.” My father never–not ever–taught me such a thing. On the “Things to Teach Children” continuum “Never Trust (fill in the culture) People” is close-minded and weak. Ever read Thucydides? Heard of the US Civil War? Cultures who think like you die out.
Second, you said, “To motivate them, I say to my students, ‘Are you telling me you always want a white president?'” Never have I, nor anyone else I know in the “culture of power,” ever considered skin tone when voting. A worthy candidate is difficult enough to find as it is. What possible good could come from adding clearly irrelevant, meaningless criteria?
I guess the mistake is probably mine. For some reason I projected that because I wanted you to die, you also wanted you to die. Now that I’ve had the time to think about it for a second, I realize that that would be suicide. And not many things willingly commit suicide. But die you must. So no more will I idly ignore you. Beginning now, I’m going on the offensive. I’m coming to kill you. My weapon is constant, consistent correction.
If you want to survive, grow eyes in the back of your head. Avoid public places. If you care for your friends, avoid them. Don’t stay in any one place too long. Get comfortable wearing a different size shoe. I really hope you think I’m joking. I’m begging you to test my resolve. Do it.
Your sworn enemy,
Love
A Letter To My Friend (That I Hope To Write)
To My Friend,
We’ve known each other for some time now. We’ve seen how we each live, how we each make decisions, how we each handle problems. More than most, you’ve seen my relationships with women unfold.
I’m writing to you now because a new day has dawned. People like us, we’re different. Our brains maintain a tighter grip on information than most. We have been given all the tools necessary to accomplish great things in this life, you and I. That’s just a fact. We also know that leading a family must be one of those things. It is a timeless tradition that must be honored by all men aspiring to greatness. There is no escaping this feeling. We’re surrounded by weak men holding their hands out, expecting help. They’ve got it wrong. We’re the ones who give help, not receive help.
The point is, we made it this far, and owe it to everyone, literally everyone, to use the rest of our time to be an example.
Some maladjusted part within us wants us to believe that if a woman would have us, then she could be the one. First hand experience however, tells us that nothing could be further from the truth. First hand experience also tells us that that’s not enough. That’s why I’m writing this letter. We need to help each other stay focused on the goal. Alone, the future is bleak. Together, we can lead a revival.
Only because of you am I confident to share the news. You reminded me of something I once knew; something that over the last several years I repressed, hid, denied, and pretended to forget. You reminded me that I, too, believe ideal women exist. I, too, believe in women of such high quality that they seem unearthly. I’m talking about a quality so rare that it is only whispered about. I believe in ideal women who possess so much more than the ability to attract. My friend, we’ve always hoped we were right. Now I am certain we were, because I found mine. I hope this letter brings you good fortune, and motivates you to stay the course.
Your Friend,
A Mugwump
Captain’s Log 