Merry Christmas

Sometimes you just need to breathe, stop talking and listen.  Autumn is a good time for that, so that's what I've been doing.  Advent, "the Holiday Season" for you non-religious types, brings on a surge of commentary.  From the secular world, we are deluged with messages of rampant, unapologetic consumerism.  From the religious world, we are deluged with whining about rampant, unapologetic consumerism.

I have come to the startling conclusion that Christians should be happy that the world does not understand, or give a hoot about the "real meaning of Christmas."  It's where we should be, on the outside looking in, as strangers in a strange land.  I have come to see that the conversion of the Emperor Constantine in the fourth century may have been the worst thing that could ever have happened to a group of people who seek to be disciples of Jesus of Nazareth.

Republicans, cover your eyes: Jesus was poor.  He was born poor, he lived poor, he died poor, he was even poor in the resurrection, though it didn't matter much at that point.  He insistently identified with the outcasts and the losers of society, even going so far as to actually talk to Samaritans and, gulp, Gentiles.  He would have Occupied Wall Street, or Pittsburgh or wherever, and had a good old time teaching all those rude, smelly hippies that polite society loves to mock all about the kingdom of Heaven.

I know, I'm certainly not the first to point out that Jesus was a radical.  But here's the thing: he wasn't one of these bubble-headed, soft-hearted radicals that thought the man was trying to keep him down.  (Though, in fact, the Man, actually several iterations of the Man, were indeed trying to keep him down)  Jeshua had a platform, a foundation, a core conviction, some might say a Holy Spirit that could be equally offensive to those he threatened and those who followed him.

He was difficult, maybe impossible, to understand.

His own Disciples didn't get him.

Why are we surprised that the secular world has turned the celebration of his birth into an indulgent orgy of Mammon worship?

Perhaps that is as it should be.

Perhaps Christianity can now be done with the mess of Empire and go back to being a counterculture that rings with the voice of prophets.

Maybe we can stop whining about keeping the Christ in Christmas and worry more about keeping him in OUR lives the other 364 days of the year.

Merry Christmas.

Are we worth the trouble?

I think what I love the most about science fiction is the ability to ask the questions that simply haven't come up yet: what happens if computers develop feelings?  Would clones have a soul?  If yes, where does that soul come from?  If you travel back in time and mess with the past is it possible to destroy your own existence and therefore never be able to go back in time and mess with the past?  You know the kind of thing.  Most often these questions are downgraded from serious inquiry to gimmicks and "plot twists."  Once in a while though...
Enter the "new" Battlestar Galactica.  I watched the "old" tv show when I was just a wee tike, because my Mom, after seeing Star Wars, became a huge sci fi fan, so much so that she has been able to stomach even the post Deep Space Nine Star Trek series.  When the "new series started a while back, I got to watch the first episode and then, mysteriously, my cable provider moved the sci-fi channel to a package I couldn't afford while I was in Seminary.  A couple years ago I caught back up with the show and enjoyed the last two seasons.  Now in Netflix Instant view, I have access to all 76 episodes and am working my way through them.  I know where the show is going but what I am being surprised by in every episode is the serious grappling with some very deep issues: What constitutes humanity? how do we name our enemy? How do we treat our enemy? What is the nature of God?  I can see why this show got stuck on cable.  There is no way a network was going to sign on for this stuff.  They liked the late 70's space cowboy routine.
In the "new" Galactica, the Cylons have become human, manufactured clone style humans but, thinking, feeling, flesh and blood nonetheless.  At first the Cylons appear sinister and genocidal as they did in the "old" show.  As the show progresses we find that perhaps humanity is the sinister and genocidal group and the Cylons are doing God's work (they are also monotheists, and the God they believe in is loving and forgiving, Hmmm) and getting rid of a dangerous, violent race of pagans.
The show is dark, I don't let my kids watch it with me, my wife won't watch it with me because the people "creep her out."  Fair enough, people can be pretty creepy, and I think that's kind of the point.  In the midst of the darkness is a story that is informed by some startling value judgments (at least coming from a TV show).  Violence as a means to an end (and other utilitarian ethical principals that are tacitly accepted in action genres) is explored and ultimately rejected.  The rejection is often subtle and not at all peacenik preachy.
The question that is asked repeatedly and in multiform ways in the context of a story where the last of the human race is struggling for their very existence is: should we survive?  Should we continue to go on if we never figure out how to live in some form of peace?  Should we go on if brute force is the only language we really understand?  Should we go on if faith is lost and love is trampled?  Should we go on if we fail to see the "humanity" in things that are not human?
The best thing about the show is that it doesn't really answer these questions.  It leaves you with a sense that there is truth out there, but they're not about to tell you what it is.  That would ruin the story.

The Good, the Bad and the complaining

After almost two years of waiting since we got the tickets and nearly 25 years of waiting since I wore out my first copy of Unforgettable Fire, Michele and I got to see U2 at Lincoln financial field in Philly.

It was a great show, up there with the best. I'm not even going to rank them in order but the top five are: U2, Springsteen, Bad Religion, Metallica and Eric Clapton (it was the tour right after his son died and the whole Spectrum sang tears in heaven with/for him).

U2 360 definitely gets props for showmanship edging out Metallica's Black tour, yet not quite topping Gwar and Marilyn Manson, then again that's apples and oranges.

U2 are among the relatively small number of bands, who ala the Grateful Dead, are even better live than on recordings. Bono's on stage antics, obviously getting on Larry Mullin's last nerve as he all but licks the stoic base player, swinging from a microphone and otherwise cavorting like he's not 50 year old guy with a reconstructed spine are really just a little spice to a band that plays together seamlessly and with an artfulness that is almost beyond comparison.

Mix in a few socially conscious sidebars, an uplink to the international space station, a message from the elected but imprisoned (now free) leader of Burma, and singing happy Birthday to Nelson Mandela and you have a show that leaves you feeling light and clean, and just darn happy.

Then you go out to the parking lot and curse the idiocy of trying to navigate the swarm of 65,000 people who are now in their shiny metal boxes heading for home. Curses to those people who charged us $20 to park and then didn't even stick around to help us get out of their lot.

Philly Phan, in true form, calls into the talk radio show the next day (I'm listening in the car on the way out of town) with the following diatribe:

"Dat was da greatest show I ever seen. U2 is freakin' awesome, but dat parkin lot is a cryin' shame! It's like dat for everyting (sic), Iggles, Phullys, everting (sic). It's like no one cares how you're supposed to get home, you gotta just sit there for like an hour, you might as well go to da bar and have a few drinks, wait for da crowd to thin out and den go home."

Amen, Philly Phan, Amen.

The Beautiful Game

I'm trying to figure this out and I just can't do it. After church yesterday I turn on the TV and the end of the Women's World Cup soccer match is on. It's the end of regulation, tied 1-1, hmmm, normally I'm not a big soccer fan, though I did get interested in the men's world cup tournament last year. Well, I think to myself, this is a good time to pick up this game, it's about to go to extra time, if anything exciting is going to happen, it's probably going to happen now.

I have been a fan of American sports since I was 12 or so, football, baseball, basketball, even hockey, but soccer just never caught my interest except for brief moments. But here it was USA-Brazil in the quarterfinals, the US was down a player because of a red card and they give up a goal early in the overtime period. I'm getting emotionally involved and I can't figure out why.

With mere seconds left (or as near as we can tell given the arcane way soccer games are timed) Megan Rapino arcs this beautiful pass thirty yards across the field to Abby Wambach and she heads it in the goal, tying the game and sending it to penalty kicks.

I had a knot in my throat, and I don't know why.

It happened last year when Landon Donovan scored that goal against Algeria too.

I got choked up, and I really don't know why.

I don't like soccer that much.

I'm not really even a bandwagon jumper, I won't rearrange my schedule to watch it or go out of my way to learn more about the players or the rules. I don't understand how and why things happen with regard to red cards or penalty kicks or even time keeping but in these moments I think I understand why most of the world is so slobbery about the Beautiful Game.

Very rarely do I get goosebumps watching the NFL, which I follow quite carefully, yet almost every time I watch an important soccer match, something happens that brings a lump to my throat.

The only thing I can figure out is that it may have something to do with the World Cup, which is a lot like the Olympics in that it's invested with all sorts of patriotic feelings and national pride. I guess I don't know or care much about track or swimming and yet the Olympics hold some interest for me.

Still, I'm mystified by Soccer, there's something that blends raw athleticism and grace with patience and precise timing, and sometimes, maybe more often than I know, it is beautiful.

I have been thinking a lot about how we perceive truth. Particularly when it comes to Scripture but generally in almost any sphere of consideration. I have not come to any broad conclusions but as I was thinking about one of the more common issues of interpretation: which was first, I came across a sparkling example in one of my favorite songs.

There is a common misconception that the "original" is better than the copy. I say misconception because it is by no means a universal truth. It is, in fact, mostly true, that the original is the best and what comes after is a poor copy. However, sometimes there is a flash of brilliance or a slight change of context that takes something that was mediocre to good and changes it into something transcendent. As an example I offer the following two videos.

First we have the original:

Nine Inch Nails - Hurt

You will notice that this is emotionally raw, visually powerful and quite sincere. I fell in love with this song when I was in college. I consider it to be one of the best songs of the 1990's.

However, when Johnny Cash gets his hands on it... well, just watch:

Johnny Cash - Hurt

Watching that video can border on a religious experience. Sometime, if my congregation had a big screen, I would like to just read Romans 7-8, play that video and go home, 'nuff said.