Tagged: relationships

Review of Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston

Push through the first chapter.

Anyone who has worked through Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights knows how rewarding sticking with a book can be.  Zora Neale Hurston’s classic Their Eyes Were Watching God is nowhere near as difficult, but the eventually transparent phonetic spelling of the dialect along with the introduction of several female characters does make for a slow opening.  Push through the first chapter.

We are quickly introduced to Janie and her life in the deep south.  From the start we are told about Tea Cake, who is apparently the man Janie loves after two less-than-successful marriages.  Hurston uses the familiar start-with-an-intriguing-end-then-tell-how-it-came-to-be formula, and–as usual–it works well.

The book reeks of female-empowerment, which can be off-putting at times, but upon completion, the reader discovers that that notion was ancillary to Hurston’s sure message.

I’ve always assumed that good books are considered good for a reason.  (I say this to emphasize that I’m a half-full reader when it comes to highly recommended books.)  For me, what separates a book from other artwork, is the work that’s required to intake  it.  Reading is interactive, to say the least, and unlike other art-forms, the power of a book rarely fades.  Add to this perspective the notion that there really aren’t that many eternal truths, instead just a few that require a steady river of reminding, and it is clear why this novel resonates with readers of all backgrounds.

The setting, characters, and drama are all believable and compelling.  Janie’s concluding wisdom conceals any would-be flaws.  It is a lesson as old as time, but as refreshing as sweet tea just poured into a glass of crushed ice on a sweltering summer afternoon.  Maybe you’re looking to read something new.  If so, be sure to check out Hurston’s classic.

****

Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God. New York: Perennial Classics, 1998.

I Love You

From Warrior:  “I’m sorry Tommy!  I’m sorry… Tap out Tom!  It’s OK! It’s OK!  I Love You!  I Love You Tommy!”

From Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves:  “I have a brother?  I have a brother!”

From Tommy Boy:  “Brothers don’t shake hands.  Brothers hug!”

From Lion King:  “Scar!  Brother!”

From Brother Bear:  Hell–the whole thing.

From Dances with Wolves:  “Do you see that I am your friend?  Can you see that you will always be my friend?”

From Rocky 5:  “Home team.”

Seems like there’s been more trying than doing between us.  I wish this wasn’t the case.  I guess that’s what we get for being so similar.

I’ll tell you what I know.  The summer before I left was probably the best summer.  You forsook your friends for me.  I’ll never forget it.  24oz Code Red’s.  Either Hot’n’Ready or Pizza Maker pizzas.  And enormous bowls of ice cream.  Every night.

There’s something in me (I think most people call it “asshole”) that wants to forever be your guide through this world.  I do apologize for that.  When I think how old you are now, I am kinda stunned.  The good news is the old people I like have shown me there is plenty of time.  Maybe we’ll get to our Tombstone yet.  (“Virgil!  Morgan!”)

I’m really at a loss here.

You’ve always meant the world to me.  Watching you “come into your own” these last couple years has been nice.

Happy Birthday.

A Letter to the Victims of the Aurora Theater Shooting

To the Victims of the Aurora Theater Shooting:

“If I had my way they’d take metal altogether out of this world. Every blade, every gun,” says Natalie Portman’s character in the classic film “Cold Mountain.”  Maybe I’m just a sucker for movies, but when I watch that one–and that scene in particular–an “Amen!” or “Preach it!” escapes my lips before I know it.  I can only imagine that you feel the same way.

I’m writing this letter to you today because I want you to know that I do not believe a letter like this is what is needed at the moment.  But, at the moment, I have to write a letter for a class and I wanted to write to you.  I’ve been taking undergraduate courses in writing recently, and a large part of writing is rhetoric.  Rhetoric is the term used to describe the tools writers use to affect their audience.  I’m told a writer uses rhetoric—these tools–to persuade people to agree with him.  Sometimes the use of rhetoric isn’t deliberate, sometimes it is very deliberate.  Like I said, though, I don’t believe words, especially not the words on this page, can help me persuade you to believe anything at the moment.  “So why the letter?” you may ask.

As you know, Colorado, in large part because of the tragic events of July 20, 2012, is currently in the spotlight of a larger movement across the nation.  I’m talking, of course, about the state legislature’s recent revisit to its gun policy.  There’s no denying that without guns July 20th—more importantly, your lives–would never have been tainted by this unbearable act.  Just the same, I can’t help but wonder if changes are being made too quickly.

Here’s what I’m proposing:  For the last year I’ve been hosting a dinner series of sorts at my home.  I’d like to invite you over to the one scheduled for July 20, 2014.  If you can believe it, July 20th is my birthday.  As July 20, 2012 approached I’d been excitedly anticipating the movie for a year, knowing it was coming out on my birthday.  My brother can confirm that I bawled on the phone that morning as I heard the news.  I had called him to discuss whether we should still see the movie that night.  He was on I-70, driving to Denver from Kansas City so we could see the movie together as a birthday present.  This July 20–July 20, 2014–I’m inviting you to a dinner at my home.  The dinner will be a place where we will share ourselves.  You don’t know me yet, but rest assured that disrespect has no place at my home.  I want to know what you think, and I would like to share some thoughts with you as well.

So, what do you say?  I have a little saying that I stole from the Oracle of another blockbuster trilogy: “The only way to get there is together.”  I believe my time in the Air Force allows me to own this phrase as it’s essentially the positive way of saying, “You don’t crash in compartments.”  I feel like you and I are separated by more than space, and I don’t think that’s necessary or valuable.  Please contact me if you agree and would like to join me for an event that your presence will enhance substantively.

Yours sincerely,

//signed//

Pete

There’s Got To Be A Word For It

There’s got to be a word for it.  You know what I’m talking about.  You’re talking to a friend, and then they pull out their phone.  They peek at it, and then something on the screen captures their attention.  You keep talking, hoping they aren’t actually more involved with their phone than with you.  Then something in your voice triggers something in their brain to command their head to turn your direction.  The look they give next is what I’m thinking has to have a word.  The look which says, “Uh huh.  Yep, I’m listening.  I know you think I was looking at my phone instead of you, but you’re mistaken.  I was listening and can still listen even as I return to looking at my phone.  Promise.”

Oh.  I know.  The word is disrespect.

We all do it.  Let’s all stop doing it.

The only way to get there is together.

Another Vote For Living In The Moment

“But!” he said, finger in the air, ready to make a point, “If Jesus and his message were so important, and God knew we’d invent video cameras eventually, why did God send him in a time period before technology could capture his life?  Heck, not only did he never write anything himself, he probably couldn’t write.  Isn’t that a strike against the whole thing?” he said, not wanting to offend him, but seriously wanting to discuss the issue.  “I mean, all of this could be settled by a single video of him, right?”

“You know, I thought things like that for a long time myself.  I would even go further than you just did and point out that precisely because there is no recording, the story’s fantastic nature was able to gain traction.  I really wanted to believe that Jesus was followed by people and gained notoriety because the people of that time were ignorant and looking for answers etc., etc.,” the man replied.  “But then a thought hit me–what if the timing of his life contained a truth in itself?  What if God purposefully sent Jesus to reveal the gospel at a time before wide-spread literacy, much less technology?

“Starting there, I found something striking.  If the general population Jesus lived among was illiterate and didn’t have TV, movies, or screens upon screens that prevented actual relationship from occurring, surely they had a more grounded existence.  Whether they did or not, Jesus would have had to actually meet and greet people.  Without sound amplification, his audiences would have been smaller.  Without DVR, his speech would have had to be simple and clear.  Without YouTube’s ‘I’ll record myself once and then put it out there for the world to see’, he would have been required to live with perfect integrity daily.

“For all technology’s benefit, we are clearly not reaching our potential as a group.

“Who would argue that talking on the phone is the same as in person?  Who would rather skype than eat a meal together?  And that isn’t even opening the door to the world of nothingness that is tweeting and texting.

“So, that’s what I tell myself to explain why God sent Jesus before things that would have helped ‘prove’ his divinity.  Maybe a video would have helped with the miracles, but I think a lot of his message would have been lost in the process.  As I understand this world and Jesus’ message to it, he was a man who wouldn’t want anything to come between him and us–including time and space.”

Review of Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis

The back cover C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity has the word “Religion” printed in the upper left corner.  This should be the first clue as to who the publishers thought Lewis’ audience would be.  Mere Christianity, which is mostly the printed version of several radio talks Lewis gave, does little more than preach to the choir.  Granted, every writer or speaker must choose a target audience.  And in this book, Lewis chooses Christians.  Throughout the 192-page book, concepts familiar to Christians and lay-theologians abound.  Lewis’ voice is clear and his intent, noble.  When it comes to religion, though, results seem to be more important than intent, and here is where we begin to question Lewis’ work.

At every turn Lewis remarks, “If this is useful, use it.  If not, skip it.”  It’s all very heart-warming until we stop and consider the repercussions of failure.  As a Christian, Lewis relentlessly forces the reader to acknowledge the unpleasant parts of Christianity, most notably–though he never addresses it outright–an afterlife in hell.  We find it disconcerting that a book would be geared towards those who have already avoided this hell.  We can’t but think of Sunday school stories of Jesus seeking out the sinners, not the saints.  Instead of mirroring this trend, Mere Christianity decides to tackle such high-brow concepts as the nature of God, the Trinity, Jesus, predestination, usury and more.  In fact, he offers commentary on such a breadth of topics that it would be impossible for him to come out squeaky clean.  Take the following example.  At one point Lewis tries his hand at explaining why Christianity hasn’t fared better throughout history, assuming it is true.  He writes:

You will find this again and again about anything that is really Christian: everyone is attracted by bits of it and wants to pick out those bits and leave the rest.  That is why we do not get much further: and that is why people who are fighting for quite opposite things can both say they are fighting for Christianity (81).

With this assessment Lewis opens the door to debating why Christianity hasn’t/doesn’t/isn’t (fill in the blank).  Our own unending curiosity already led us to an answer that even Lewis can’t top.  To be specific, in his own attempt at clarity Tolstoy infects his readers with idea that Christianity has continually missed the mark because, as a religion, it harmonizes that which was never intended to be harmonized.

And herein lies our most pointed criticism of Lewis’ “beloved” classic.  Our problem with his enterprise comes after reading many of his eloquent metaphors which do kind of make sense.  A man of his skill should have recognized his limitations.  A man of his skill should have recognized the problem as it stood in front of him, and stands in front of us today.

C. S. Lewis can’t offer us salvation.

Christianity can’t offer us salvation.

There is only one man who can offer salvation–and his name is Jesus.

In the end, Mere Christianity is nothing more than another misguided, divisive attempt to unite a religion seemingly set on a path of unending fragmentation.

****

Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity: Comprising The Case for Christianity, Christian Behaviour, and Beyond Personality. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996. Print.

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.”

So You’re Dying To Hear What It’s Like, Eh?

Well, I’ll tell ya.  Working at a car wash–for me–is like listening to a broken record on which is recorded Mr. Miagi’s “Wax on, Wax off,” Improved-George McFly’s “Now, Biff, I want make sure that we get two coats of wax this time, not just one,” and Chris Rock’s “Scrape, scrape, scrape…surely two hours have passed…WHAT?!  Only 15 minutes!!  AHHHHHH!!!!!”

In other words, it’s kinda fun.  Thanks for asking.

Do Your Job, Come Home Safe

“Music?  Where we going to music, daddy?”  

He constantly worked to perfect how early to tell her that they would be doing something a little special.  If he shared the news too early, there would eventually be tears when he confessed, “No, not yet.  We’re not going for three more hours.”  If not early at all, he felt like he was robbing her of anticipation’s joy.

One of the churches downtown was putting on a musical tribute to veterans.  He liked hearing the songs, and not usually being one to indulge in veteran events, he felt that, of all days, Veterans Day was an appropriate day to reminisce.

Taking her already extended hand in his, they moved from their car towards the small bottleneck of people.

Reality hit and hit hard.  The pair of them, his daughter and him, were among the youngest attendees–by decades.  Guiding her to the general area he wanted to sit, he let her choose the exact pew.  Taking their seats, he didn’t want to look around.  In front, there was not a single younger person.  The enormous sanctuary was far from full.  The choir was smaller than expected.  The brass section, even smaller.  And he couldn’t help but notice the age of the participants.  Maybe five out of the 50-ish musicians were under the age of 40.

He knew that the greatest generation was basically gone.  As a veteran of the Iraq war, he knew that Iraq and Afghanistan veterans couldn’t compete with Vietnam veterans regarding duration and intensity.  This knowledge carried a bit of shame.  He really wanted his efforts to have been necessary and valuable.  All signs pointed to the opposite.

Regardless, he also knew something more.  He knew what every veteran knows–that he was lucky.  And tied inexorably to this knowledge was the fact that some…were unlucky.  Moreover, there was no escaping the inner turmoil captured by the persistent yet unanswerable question.  “Why?”

****

Support veterans.  They need it.

Thinking It Was Not Worth The Energy

Thinking it was not worth the energy it would take to say “bye”, he looked simply looked at the screen to confirm the call was over.

With an uncommon hunger for clarity, he mindlessly walked to the kitchen.  “Hah,” he chuckled, expelling a little air from his lungs, amused that there were always dishes in the sink.

Today should’ve been a good day.  He had accepted a new job.

But now?  Now he just wanted clarity.  He had to trust himself.  “Focus man.  Focus,” he lectured himself.  “Just like you, she’s hurting.  You know the truth of the situation.  You know what you value, and you know how you came to value it.  Look to the Truth.  The solution is living in the present.  Don’t let yourself get distracted.  You know how to filter out the chaff.  The conversation was just chaff.  Filter it.  Filter it.”

Before he knew it, he felt the stainless steel faucet handle, cool and sterile, giving in to his fingers request.  The pot, soiled by left-over spaghetti sauce, filled with warm water.

“Time to do the dishes,” he breathed, his energy building.