Thursday, October 10, 2013

Trolls vs. God

Every so often (and those 'often's seem to be increasing in number) I stumble upon an online article, or Youtube video; or sometimes watch a movie or run into a coworker, who announces with supreme conviction: "YOU ARE AN IDIOT! THERE IS NO GOD! GOD DOES NOT EXIST!" Phrases like this seem to be standbys of horror movies and disenfranchised Walmart employees.

It is, of course, natural to respond with a sort of visceral rage to such inane comments. But as goes the internet gospel:

"Don't feed the trolls."

But on a deeper level, it makes even less sense to respond with more vitriol and pissy-ness. Sure, giving into raw emotion without reason is bad. Yes, feeding the trolls is bad. But what is even more illogical is becoming angry at someone who is clearly insane. This just doesn't make sense.

Would you argue with a madman? Do you take a holiday to Arkham Asylum every autumn to engage the Joker in deep philosophic debate? No? Why?

Because he's crazy. But even more than that, he is incapable of seeing the world through your eyes, and is incapable of reasoning with you. He may very well declare that the sky is green and that all dogs like to climb trees, but it would make no sense whatsoever for you to be incensed by his rambling. If anything, you should feel pity for him... not rage.

The same is true of your coworkers and internet trolls. Feeding rage with rage will only result in bad work relations and flame-wars... not the spread of the gospel.

Remember: never wrestle with a pig... you only get dirty, and the pig learns nothing.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

What I Am Not... (Part II)

Looking around Facebook can be a confusing and demoralizing past time. It, more than perhaps any other modern invention, makes us focus on what we aren't and what we do not have. This can go the way of lusting after what we have, or the way of that stuffed shirt Pharisee from Jesus' famous parable. "Dear Lord, I am SOOOOOO thankful I'm not like them." Neither are healthy... and by not healthy, I mean that they are the spiritual and metaphysical equivalent of eating a greasy spoon burger with a pound of cheddar and a slab of bacon on top.

One dude did get the whole "I am not" thing right though. His name was Dave. He was... smart, to be sure. A bit of a boss and a whole lot of righteous indignation. As is usually the case with those who get righteously angry a lot, he failed to get righteously angry with himself as much as he did with others. It only got worse as he got older.

He was pretty much the cream of the crop by the time he was 55, had the whole world in his hands, you could say... and then he made a critical error: he stayed home from work.

Small mistake? Maybe. But if there is one thing that I have learned over the past several years, it is that bad things happen when you are in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Anyway, he ended up staying home. He ended up chilling on his roof. He ended up ogling some dude's wife while she was taking a bath... and then things pretty much went downhill FAST. There was some hanky-panky, there was some murder and then there was a kid. And only after that did Dave finally figure out that maybe he should have gone to work that day after all.

Sound familiar? Good. King David of Israel? 1000BC-ish? Ruler of most of the Mediterranean at the time? Yeah... that guy.

David, while chosen and beloved of God... had finally pulled the rug out from beneath his feet. He was standing over nothing, and realized how far he was about to fall. Confronted with this, he realized what he was not:

He was not righteous. "There is no one righteous... no not one." We can only fool ourselves for so long. But then, realizing his own inability to pull himself up by his own bootstraps, he fell upon the mercy of the court:

"Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Your steadfast love; according to the multitude of Your tender mercy and loving-kindness blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly [and repeatedly] from my iniquity and guilt and cleanse me and make me wholly pure from my sin! For I am conscious of my transgressions and I acknowledge them; my sin is ever before me." (Psalm 51: 1-3, AMP)

When you are facing death, spiritual or physical, you reevaluate everything. You realize there are things worth living for... and perhaps the only shot you have at life is admitting how small you are.

"Against You, You only, have I sinned and done that which is evil in Your sight, so that You are justified in Your sentence and faultless in Your judgment. Behold, I was brought forth in [a state of] iniquity; my mother was sinful who conceived me [and I too am sinful]. Behold, You desire truth in the inner being; make me therefore to know wisdom in my inmost heart." (Verses 4-6)

But this is what we all hate: losing control. We are consumed with our haves and our wants and our lust for power. I am in control... and even if the stupid government is out of control and war is everywhere... at least I can rule my own life and emotions and my crap is my crap and no one elses!

Wrong. You are not. Let it go... breathe.

Breathe, and embrace the "am not"s. 

You aren't in charge... and don't let that be a curse. Let it be a blessing. You don't have to rule the world... you are free. Free to live... and move... and have your being... all while finding your "haves" in the Almighty Creator of every epic story ever told.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

What I Am Not...

One of the most problematic problems I have discovered over the past few years is how little the platitude of describing yourself as only a Christian really solves. TL;DNR: \

Skeptic: "Who are you?"
Good Christian Boy: "I am a Christian." 
Skeptic: "What does that mean?"

We need new ways to elaborate and describe ourselves, and often I have found myself describing myself in the negative. Not "oh, I am a horrible person," but more "I am not an X, Y, Z."

I know, I know... the age old piece of advice is that we are to describe things in the positive. Give people solid projections to grasp. But sometimes deduction can be so much more fun.

If I say that I am not "X," then I have successfully narrowed down what I AM. If I say that I am neither "X," "Y," or "Z," you have an even BETTER idea of who I am. Let me give you two examples:

Person A: "I like puppies, rain storms and ice cream."

Person B: "I don't like running, Jane Austen and I have never owned a cat."

Right off the bat, I have a clearer picture of person B. Maybe this is just me, and maybe it's just that I used a bad example... but to me at least this makes sense. And in a world where I am bombarded with information for a good 16 hours a day, it is useful to know what you are not and thereby establish what you are.

I am not a political savant, nor do I hate the military.

I do not hold that the entirety of the Levitical law still applies today.

I do not agree with PETA and their views... even less their advertising.

I do not hold that anyone but God has the ultimate right to end a life.

I do not believe that climate change is bad.

I do not understand Obamacare.

I do not study as often as I should.

I do not leaving my backpack at home.

I am not perfect.

I do not like sinning.

I do not know how to stop of my own accord.

I do not know how to live as I ought to.

I do not always know how to talk to God.

...and then... you are left with a few certainties: the primary one being that falling to your knees in humility is the only way to figure out what is going on.

I am finite. And therein lies the ultimate "I am not...":

I am not God... and now I know where to start.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Zuko: Ode to a Fish

I hate it when things die... even if it is just a five dollar fish that Leslie bought me from Walmart. He had a name, I even learned to love him... a fish. This is exactly why I didn’t want a fish, something that would live only long enough for me to bond with it before it died suddenly. Micki, while a pain at times, sticks around long enough to be a member of the family, piss off a few people, endear herself to a few more, and eat, sleep and poop her way through several years before passing on into the Never never. Years.... get that? Not weeks. Not days. Years.

Zuko, I named him Zuko. He was a beautiful blue and red crown-tail betta. After a week or two I even got to see that he had a distinct personality for a fish. He was feisty, angsty and wild, loving to display his enormous wing span of a tail for me whenever he could. He was a show off. And that was the first tell that he was sick... he stopped showing off.

At least he gave me a good amount of time to prepare myself... at least for a fish. There were about three days of worrying, during which my wife urged me not to. I tried, but then Zuko refused to get better and the “white ick,” as it is so scientifically named, started to grow around his muzzle. (I know fish don’t have muzzles, but that’s the best name for what I saw.) So after a few days the medication started. Two days on this fishy medicine, then the tank got cloudy and apparently toxic from too much medicine, and he started thrashing about one night. Leslie switched him to a travel tank for the night, and then the next day went out to buy him a brand new tank, then we started him on a different medicine.

The next morning? He was dead. Just dead. No movement, just the wiggling back and forth of a dead body in water whenever I moved the tank even slightly. You know the motion I’m talking about, the swaying back and forth with a current that clearly displays a corpse as a corpse.

I had hoped that he would get better, I really did, but I think that somewhere deep down in my heart of hearts I knew that he was going to die young. It’s more than likely that I loved him to death with my good intentions. Moving from your first home to a temporary one and then a new one after that while on two untested drugs over the span of 5 days would probably be enough to kill a sizable human... no matter how well meaning his doctors may be. But a human would have said something... for that matter, so would a dog or a cat... even a rat would have been able to scream in pain or bite you.... clearly informing you that “Hey! This sucks! Leave me alone for a while so I can get better on my own!” I don’t understand fish. I just can’t talk to them. I don’t have that ability. I am not a fish whisperer like my wife. I’m just not.

Micki sits next to me, silently watching the morning, as Taylor showers and Leslie sleeps. Micki, while whiney at times, at least lives. I can respect that. She has a life and all that entails: opinions, goals, desires, feelings, urges (the the urge to scratch on my door at 7 AM every morning, or to poop right beside the litter box). Zuko, and the other fish that my wife has adopted, seem to just... swim. They exist, and this is why all those months ago I firmly decided not to buy one. They are not my kind of pet. I cannot cuddle with it, I cannot play with it, I cannot do anything but form a faint bond with it before it dies suddenly and violently. This is why I bought a cat. She eats, poops and overstays her welcome... and while she is quiet much of the time, and enigmatic in that special way that cats are, Micki is about as subtle as a jackhammer; just my kind of animal. We understand one another.

Perhaps one day, when we are all good and dead, I will have a nice sit down with Zuko and Micki, as well as Gunny and all the other animals that I have loved and have passed on during my life. We’ll talk about this and that, small talk about how awesome heaven is, and then we’ll get down to brass tacks: what did they think about me? What did Gunny really mean when he put his paw on my forearm? Was Micki really as much of a prissy, spoiled princess as I thought she was, or did she have sweet spots? What was Zuko thinking while he was in pain? Did he forgive me? Did he love me back? Did he know that I was trying to save him?

Or maybe, like the divine voice of God, he would look at me from his serene, crystalline lake and say: “Silly human, of course I know that you loved me. Your heart broke at the death of a fish. Despite all the death and sadness and despair around you in your mortal  life, you chose to morn a fish. Your compassion and high regard for life are precious, and that is why you are now here with us, because you placed your faith in the One who created that precious life. Now... let’s go swimming!”

Attempting to understand something as strange and alien as a fish will never come easily to me. Perhaps, though difficult, I will continue to try. Regardless, Zuko is dead, and I loved him. His was a life, through brief, composed of fins, fury and righteous indignation. I will miss him.

Micki: Ode to a Cat

During the period of “I have no idea what the crap I’m doing in this town anymore" when I first moved to Lynchburg, Leslie took me to a pet store. The honest truth is that neither one of us entered the store with any intention of buying a pet. Well... Leslie told me later that her original plan was to convince me to buy a fish. Obviously that didn’t exactly work.

See, I’ve never really been a fan of fish, and after nearly killing hers the DAY BEFORE I PROPOSED, I was understandably hesitant to buy one for myself. I’ve always been a fan of, how should I put it... hardier animals.

To appease Leslie, we did indeed go look at the bettas. They are beautiful fish, to be sure. I picked up a few of the small tanks in which they were displayed as Leslie discussed the merits of “having a connection” with an animal; and as I put each cup down she would eagerly ask me: “Did you feel it? Did you feel a connection?”

I honestly said that I did, once... sorta. It was a beautiful fish, one of those bettas with a frilled tail and vibrant colors. He even swam up to the edge of his cup and stared at me. I don’t know if the “connection” was simply one of hate on his part, due to some gargantuan creature picking up his home, or whether he was genuinely curious... whatever the case, I put him back down knowing full well that his fate would be more secure with a girl who poked his tank and screamed “I’M A PARANA!!!!!!”

Relaying this information to Leslie, she shrugged and I suggested that we go over and look at the SPCA cats instead. She looked up at me with these eyes, very much like the cats, begging me to keep her from buying a cat. Leslie, no matter how rough and tough she can be (and believe me, she can be rough and tough), has a penchant for all things fuzzy. Knowing her own frame, she pleaded with me that I prevent her from buying a cat. I promised that I would, and we went over to look.

There were several very lively kittens in the cages; bouncing around, swatting at random objects... you know... kitten stuff. There was one calico that Leslie was particularly drawn to, perhaps because it reminded her of herself in a playful state. She got one of the managers to open up the cage and let her play with him.

While Leslie was occupied, I decided to look around at the other cats. Kittens were all well and good, but not my style. In a home environment I needed something a bit more calm... a bit more my pace.

Then, in the lower left hand side of the cages, I saw her, an incredibly fat and depressed looking cat with a very tempting price-tag. Micki didn’t move. I made noises and waggled a finger at her. Micki didn’t move. I opened the cage. Micki didn’t move. Eventually, the SPCA volunteer got a little brush, and began to run it down the length of Micki’s back. Micki sorta moved.

It was obvious that Micki had been in the cage for far too long. Her tag said that she was 10 years old, and had lived in a house with multiple other cats. Being in a cage did not suit her. In time I would discover just how many things did not suit her.

At this point, Leslie, who had initially not been interested in the depressed cat at all, came over to pet Micki. We tried to liven her up with a bit of catnip, to no avail. Eventually Leslie began to pet her, at which point Micki actually started to roll over so that Leslie could scratch more of her belly. This was the first sign of actual life we had seen yet, and suddenly it was Leslie who was feeling “the connection.”

Mere minutes before we had been promising ourselves that we would not buy a pet, and now we found ourselves discussing prices, logistics and I myself called Michael and my landlord to OK the idea of buying a cat. It was all such a blur that I am still surprised it all happened within the span of a few hours. Before I knew it, I had gone to an ATM, gotten the money, driven back to Petsmart and was picking up the cat.

As soon as Micki was in the crate and on the way to my apartment, she instantly came alive; and I don’t mean in a good way. I had no idea an animal could protest so much. Once the gate on the crate had been closed and the crate itself picked up, Micki started meowing like one possessed. The patrons of the store would have been within their rights to assume I was murdering the poor cat.

Once we finally got to the apartment, I took her right into my room so as to minimize the allergens that Michael might be exposed to. Free at last, Micki scuttled under my bed, and did not come out for a good two days. She didn’t poop, pee or eat for longer.

At first I was extremely worried that she might be sick, but Leslie assured me it was nothing quite so serious... she was just terrified.

In the following several months, Micki and I developed an interesting relationship. Having never been a cat owner before, I was shoved up against a rather steep learning curve. Micki became accustomed to relieving herself and desiring food around 7 in the AM, which caused me no end of frustration. Waking up to the smell of cat dung and complaining animals is something which I will probably never fully adjust to.

Another thing that I discovered rapidly is just how much a cat is like a woman, and how much dogs really are like men. When a dog comes up to you, he either wants affection or food or attention. He is very specific about this, and knows what he wants. A cat, on the other hand, will brush up against you, and this could mean any number of things. She could want you to feed her, but she may just want to play, or perhaps she wants you to pet her tummy so that she can bite you, because she enjoys inflicting pain. Or maybe she is genuinely lonely, and has been missing you as of late. But more than likely it is all of these things in equal and chaotic measure.

I discovered this within the first week.

I also discovered why cat owners put up with all this nonsense... cat tummies are sooooo fluffy! (Luckily for me, Micki’s front claws have been removed. However, to compensate, she has become quite adept at scratching me with her rear paws.)

We have now reached a mutual understanding based on fear, trust and companionship. I feed her, she keeps me company. I have also discovered just how far reaching a cat’s desire for distant companionship is: despite the fact that Micki often acts as though I am a lumbering oaf-beast (which I have yet to refute), she never wants to sleep far from me. No matter where I am... bed, couch, floor... Micki will find me, curl up close by and pass out.

No one likes to be alone.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Harder, Better, Faster, and More Afraid

I don’t have internet in my apartment right now, and it is wonderful. Life has slowed down considerably. I go out of the house to a coffee shop if I really need to check my internet for some reason, but other than that, I stay at home and write, pet my cat and enjoy life.

When I do step out of my home, however, it is made obvious that the rest of the world is paying entirely too much attention to the internet. How can I tell, you ask? Easy: gas prices.

Since moving to western Virginia a month ago, the price of gas has gone up 10 cents nearly every week. Over the past five years, I have seen the price go up and down quite a bit, down at just below 3 dollars, back up to 3.54, back down again, and round and round it goes. But something happened after we “hit the fiscal cliff” in January. My guess? It’s all fictions.

Don’t get me wrong, I have no doubt that the “fiscal cliff” is real. What I doubt is that anyone outside of yuppies in congress have the faintest notion as to what it is.... let alone people who own gas stations.

What does this lack of knowledge produce? Fear. What does the internet provide? An enormous quantity of information. Put ‘em together and what’ve you go? Bibbity, bobity.... misguided panic.

The internet, for all its genius, has stunted our ability to process information in any reasonable way. For thousands of years, news and information has travelled at a pace that the average human brain could process and understand at a reasonable rate. The internet has not made us smarter, it has made our knowledge infinitely broad, but incredibly shallow.

So since we know ABOUT everything, and yet know NOTHING about individual topics, everyone is an expert, despite the fact that no one has any idea what they are talking about. Groups like Anonymous, LULZSec and other have seen this, and along with internet trolls, have made it their personable business to make sure that no one takes the internet as “serious business.”

And they are right. Increasing the number of blind men leading each other around, does nothing to increase anyone’s ability to see. There are simply a larger number of people falling into holes. Granted, the greater numbers also increase the odds of someone stumbling upon a loaf of bread... but there are still more people than not falling into holes.

As a result, the fuel market has fallen into the hole of misguided panic. If I am to believe the Bible as a Christian (and I do), then I take the Scripture’s word that there is nothing new under the sun. People today do the same stupid crap that they did when King Solomon commented on how everything is meaningless.

But just like our inflated egos are so quick to accept the evolutionary lie that we are better than all those who came before us, so too we are quick to deface our time and say that no one has ever had it harder than us.

Both are equally false. As my history professor sagely informed me: “There is no such thing as ‘the good old times.’” There were fools thousands of years ago, there are fools now. There were wars thousands of years ago, there are wars now. Christ was in charge thousands of years ago, and He is still in charge now.

Fear profits a man nothing.

Ultraviolet No No

There is something really wrong with these... and if you want my advice: steer away from them.

Oh... sorry, let me explain what they are first.

In today’s wonderfully modern age, we have all sorts of ways to enjoy life, entertainment and storytelling. Now that things are becoming increasingly digital, things are more instant and “now, now, now!” than ever before. Movies have experienced the effects of this change probably more than any other medium.

For example, 40 years ago, the only way you could enjoy a movie was if it was running on one of the three stations you could get from your television set. It was either that, or shell out cash to see a new flick in the theater.

20 years ago, a shift had taken place with the invention of VHS, and now you would take the fun with you and watch the movie of your choice in your hotel room, bedroom or living room.... provided that you have a VHS player and television, of course.

13 years ago (ish), we saw the rise of movies on disc... something that had previously only been able to host music files, now packed enough data to store an entire film.

Then, around 2006, movies became available through the internet, due to increasingly large quantities of data that could be projected through digital cables. And now, we have digital rentals, downloads, purchases, bit-torrenting and a whole host of other options. Ultraviolet, however, is the worst option of the lot.

You may noticed that a lot of DVDs being sold in stores now-a-days are advertised as giving you a plethora of options in which you are able to view your movie. Sometimes you can even get a movie pack that gives you the movie in digital download format, regular DVD, high quality DVD and 3D DVD..... that is.... if you want to shell out 60 bucks for a movie.

But not all digital copies are equal. At first, when the bonus digital copy editions came out, there was only one version (pioneered by Disney). As time went on, there arose a format war ala Beta vs. VHS, or HDDISC vs. BLURAY. While companies like Disney, Universal Studios, and Lionsgate Films made the Digital Copy standard on their DVD releases, other film studios such as Warner Brothers and Sony Pictures decided to introduce a new format of “digital download”... the Ultraviolet “Movies in the cloud!” While Disney’s Digital Download format could actually be downloaded to your computer and put on MP3 players, laptops, harddrives, thumbdrives, bake sale drives, as well as your little brother’s cat.... Ultraviolet instituted a series of steps that were ten times more complicated than putting a DVD into a disc tray.

Digital copy required no information from your or new account to keep track of you. Ultraviolet did.

Digital copy let you upload your movies to external drives and players and discs. Ultraviolet did not.

Digital copy required no internet access after you downloaded your movie in order to watch it. Ultraviolet did.

Digital copy required no other software be downloaded in order to access your movie. Ultraviolet did.

The digital format war is still going on. Ultraviolet is inferior in every way, and Warner Brothers needs to learn to play nice with others. Say no to Ultraviolet.

Monday, February 4, 2013

Lies That Tell the Truth


One of my favorite lines from a movie ever comes from V for Vendetta. The two protagonists, hiding from a dangerous dystopian government, have taken refuge in V’s underground lair, and are discussing the value of art. Eve remembers her father, a rebel leader who was killed by the oppressive government, and quotes one of his favorite phrases:

“Artists use lies to tell the truth, while politicians use them to cover it up.”

That line has always stuck with me. As a Christian, a politically active member of America and as an artist, those words strike at the very marrow of my being, and many times I have thought that I understood them rightly. I have not always been correct. In fact, I have often been incredibly wrong.

See, one of the things that these words can cause you to justify is living a life of endless entertainment, because “artists use lies to tell the trust.” This was the line I sold myself, or something very nearly like it, for most of high school and a large portion of college as I spurned news coverage and world reports in favor of movies and television. At least what I was watching was better for me and more wholesome than the lies and panic that I would be sold by buying into “the man.”

That was foolish.

Now, the quote is correct... there are indeed lies that lie and lies that tell the truth. The proverbial rub lies (heh) in discerning between the two. A lot harder than you might originally think. 

I have realized that there are more than just two different kinds of lies... in fact, there are many. But for the purposes of this exercise, I will limit the number to four: (1) lies that say they are the truth, (2) lies that tell lies, (3) lies that tell truth and (4) truth that looks like lies. To be fair, the fourth isn’t really a lie at all, but is included for purposes of symmetry and in order to illustrate a point a bit later.

First things first: lies that say they are the truth. This is the most obvious one to those who are naturally suspicious of lies, and is why many people hate the evening news. Sometimes, as the example of television news shows, these are not straight up lies, but exaggerations meant to play upon our emotions or feelings in order to get what someone wants out of us. We realize this, sense the manipulation, and resist. This one usually works poorly against the strong willed, and this is why Satan uses it the least often. 

The second takes a little bit more unpacking to understand. Lies that are lies are a bit more pernicious, or “sticky” as someone once described that word to me. Lies that are lies are the little things that we KNOW aren’t true, but because we come at them knowing that they are falsehoods, we assume that they can’t really hurt us. We know the bear trap is right there, so it won’t catch us.... right?

What kinds of lies take this form? Easy... McDonalds. Whether this is literally McDonalds or a metaphysical McDonalds makes no difference. These are the things that are bad for you, and you know it, but you like them anyway. Perhaps the most prevalent form of these lies come in the form of entertainment. A movie, a TV show, a novel... we know these things are “lies” in that they are fiction, and because they are fiction and we approach them as such, we assume that they cannot hurt us... what we fail to realize, however, is that fiction shapes our reality. Fiction tells stories about the world around us, because even though the places and faces change... and sometimes even the laws of physics change... the metaphysics of love, truth, hate, humanity and morality do not change... and every story... fictional or not, plays by a set of rules that elaborate on these principles.

And often.... far too often in fact, these “lies” (works of fiction) lie about the metaphysical aspects of reality. They are lies that lie, and we don’t even pay attention or care.... all because they are fiction..... they can’t “hurt us.” This is one of the greatest lines that Satan has sold us as Christians.... and we are paying for it out the nose.

I will skip to the forth kind of lie next, or rather the truth that looks like a lie. Truths that looks like lies usually become this way because of too much exposure to the first and second kind of lie. Even if you recognize the underpinnings of lies number one and two, if exposed to them long enough, you will start to question the truth when you see it. It will look strange, like a word you have spelled out far too many times, it will begin to look like an unfamiliar scribble which no longer holds any grasp on reality. This is a sad sad truth.... the truth of the truth that looks like a lie. It is a result of deadening yourself against truth. It is a disease.... a disease that is self-inflicted. And often times, there is only one cure. 

That cure is lie number three, the lie that the quote from V for Vendetta describes: lies that tell the truth. Lies that tell the truth are far more elusive than you might think, but they can be found. When I say “lie” in this context, I am again referring to the idea of a “fiction” not a straight up falsehood. Because we as modern 21st century humans have deadened ourselves with fictions that are rotten through and through, we need to reinvigorate ourselves with fictions that portray metanarratives that are TRUTH instead of falsehood.

Ok... enough vague mumbo-jumbo. What the hell are you talking about Josiah? Speak plainly for one!

Alright, I will. This is what I am talking about. 

Lies that tell lies = stories that say that Satan wins.

Lies that tell the truth = stories that say that Jesus wins.

It is really as simple as that. This is why I am such a big fan of happy endings, because happy endings (while not always the case) exist in a universe where good wins and evil is defeated, where sad endings (again, not always the case; it depends on the story) exist in a story telling universe were evil triumphs. The obvious counterexample to this would be Oceans 11, but that is exactly why such wisdom is called for when choosing which “lies” (fictions) you listen to.

We live in a time where what we believe is being increasingly dictated by what we watch on TV, listen to in music, and read in books. We are surrounded by fictional universes, and all of their creators have an agenda.... they are all pointing towards a greater metaphysical goal.... whether for good or ill. It is more important than ever to be someone who can discern which is which. 

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Movement is Required


This evening, in a moment of inspiration after hearing a Mark Driscoll sermon, I decided to make a playlist of all the blatantly Christian music that I have in my iTunes library. I was able to come up with 156 songs........... out of over 7000. Supremely worried does not really begin to cover it. As someone who wants to join the ministry to either write Christian literature, teach the gospel or counsel those in trouble by pointing them to Christ, these are not encouraging numbers.

“Josiah, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just music, right?” 

Yes, and that’s the point. Music always has been and always will be an enormous part of my life. And cliche thought it may be, “garbage in, garbage out.” As my best friend often reminds me, the only reason we have cliches is BECAUSE they are so true.

It is nigh impossible for me to consume that amount of music and not be effected in some way or another. Some of it might be harmless enough, country songs about growing up in a small town, little rock ditties about falling in love, etc. etc. But I wonder how many of those songs encourage rebellion, lust, anger, etc.... things that I struggle with enough already.

One of the things I value more than any other quality in those I choose to surround myself with is honesty. Yes, it may burn my ego all too often, but I would rather someone I love be honest with me and bruise my honor or offend me, than to have them hide the truth because they think it will hurt me. I have always wanted to take this approach if and when I came to the ministry as well, and I know that in that instance, it will probably offend many people. I’m not sure how many people in orthodoxy are going to want a preacher stand up on his first day and say: “Hey, guess what? I struggle with X, Y and Z... and I am going to be your pastor!”

I think that the philosophy of creating the kind of art that you want to see in the world applies to preaching too. Be the kind of preacher that you would want to listen to. Or put another way: be the kind of preacher you need to hear. One of my favorite lines from the movie Luther is when Martin Luther’s father (as in monk father) is sending him to seminary, and Martin begins to protest:

“Why would you send me away to preach when I am questioning my own faith?”

His father just smiles and says: “Martin, we preach best what we need to learn most.”

How true it is.

So, what do I need to learn most? That stasis a good Christian does not make. For months now I have been content to look at my sin and atrophy with a certain bemused gaze of apathy. 

“Oh, hi.... you’re still here?” I drawl as I stare vacantly into the middle distance.

It’s as if I am in a battalion invading Nazi Germany, and we are trying to defeat them by looking at them like curious lemmings and wiggling our rears in their general direction, only to be surprised by receiving butt wounds. Sense.... it does not make.

So what is the solution? “If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off.”

I have heard several sermons on that particular verse now, and I am still not sure how vicious God expects us to be with ourselves. Sometimes I feel like hacking limbs off might be the wisest option... it would certainly cut down on the sin faction. (hehe.... cut...)

But whatever the case may be; whether you take the extremely literal reading of this verse, or whether you are only taking it as an exaggeration of what Jesus was really talking about, one thing is certain:

<MOVEMENT IS REQUIRED>

And this is something that I have most certainly not been doing. I have not made an attempt to curb my music collection. I have not made an attempt to add more Christian music into my diet.... nor have I made any sort of attempt to add more fruits and veggies into my diet. My diet has been poor in generally every area of my life... spiritually, mentally, physically, emotionally. In fact, it is a wonder that I am doing as well as I am right now. Common grace truly is lathered on with a wide brush. Or perhaps, more likely than not, I am experiencing the last part of TULIP in the extreme. (The “perseverance of the saints”... in that God maintains grace and salvation in those that He calls to be Christians.)

Movement.... movement is required.

Now, if you will permit me a little rabbit trail... it will be worth it, I assure you:

I’m a big sci-fi nut. Sci-fi games, sci-fi movies, sci-fi books... even a large portion of the toys I have collected are science fiction related. Because of this I am rather familiar with a fictional invention called the “stasis pod.” I am sure that many of my readers need no explanation further than its name, but for those of you who do not live and breathe science fiction, let me explain:

The stasis pod (otherwise known as a cryo-sleep chamber), is usually a staple part of science fiction universes where faster than light travel has not yet been discovered. Due to the fact that intergalactic travel is possible, yet still takes inordinate amounts of time in these sorts of stories, it is impossible for one crew to pilot a ship from one end of the galaxy to another. If you were just doing travel the old fashioned way, you would have to have your crew procreate and train up a new generation of crew members, and on and on until the ship finally reached its destination. Cryo-sleep is a convenient way to have the same crew who leaves the port wind up at their destination looking exactly the same as they left. (I am quite sure that the main reason for this was so that they wouldn’t have to hire a whole slew of new actors for certain movies and TV shows. It’s purely mercenary... but what isn’t these days?)

So everyone gets into their little pod after programming the ship’s coordinates, they take a long nap, and then the ship automatically wakes them up once they reach their destination... ready to fight, explore and procreate as soon as they leave their little tubes. Handy, no?

But because of all this, I have tended to have a somewhat warped sense of what the word “stasis” means. It does not, in this universe, mean that you can enter a state of perfectly maintained manliness, ready to snap out of it at any moment when your ship arrives. No.... in this world, as Blake Snyder so pointedly tells us in his book Save the Cat!: “Stasis = death.”

It would be incredibly nice if we had the sort of stasis that one might find in Robert Heinlein novel, but no. We must keep moving, lest we die.

The sad part about that idea of continual movement is that not all actions are suitable to all people, something I have had to come to terms with recently. See, stasis is comfortable, but not only for the reasons that you might think. Yes, it exerts a minimal amount of stress upon the body, yes it does not cause you to have to process critically and make logical inferences and deductions, but it also keeps you from offending people.

Granted, there will always be people who will be offended, but my point is that my remaining still, by not rocking the boat, you will be able to offend the least amount of people possible. This is very handy for people pleasers like me, but it certain does a number on your own health and well being. 

So while there will be a few people who will get on your case for staying still, there will be far, FAR more who take offense at any direction you try to aim yourself in. You are either taking too long, or going far too fast. The job you are taking is either beneath you, or there is no possible way you could attain such a feat. That’s a horrible church to go to, they are far too strict, but don’t go to that one either, they are all wishiwashy. I could go on. 

But in the end, that is not the point at all. Movement causes reactions, but sitting still is worse. Going back to more nerdy analogies, most of the video games I play require a certain amount of movement... at quite a rapid pace. In fact, many of the levels in my favorite video games involve running away from a certain impending deadly force, until you reach a specific goal. 

Move, or you die. Stasis = death. Movement is required.

So now what? When the ruts are dug so deep... when the clay is hardening around your ankles. When your son is throwing you a big, fat python and you can’t grab it to pull yourself out of the pit you’re in. (Yes... that was a horrible reference to Indiana Jones 4... please hold the tomatoes.) When you are just.......

..... stuck. What then?

MOVE!

Yes, sometimes any movement at all is good. Right now? I’m going to move over 200 miles away from everything I know right now, and start over in a new town, with new friends, a new fiancee, a new church, and maybe even a new school. It’s going to be freaky scary. 

Of course, simple movement does nothing. Just moving from one place to another can become running instead of improving. And as we all know from every western and gritty action movie ever: running away from your past solves nothing. Actually, that’s pretty Biblical too. I’m pretty sure there was a guy named Achan you tried something similar, and he got his family dead for that one. (Joshua 7:1-26)

My point is, however, that when the wagon ruts become so deep that you think that you will never be able to break loose, just jump the track... and once you do, you may find that making other adjustments may come easier as well. Don’t leave anything undone though..... don’t just run. Running leaves wounds that will simply be harder to heal. But do change... change is good.

Change is good. Listen to me.... I doubt I EVER would have said that a few years ago. I hate change, but I have been changing so much lately that it would be impossible for me to deny that it is an important part of growing and learning. 

One last example, and then I think I’ll lay this horse to rest. What is the Great Commission? 

It is essentially Jesus saying:

“MOVEMENT IS REQUIRED.”

Take the message to the ends of the earth, and not only that, but the very battery that keeps us moving, the very thing that keeps us from the despair and apathy that would cause us to enter that deadly stasis is the message that we carry. Christ is alive, Christ is well and true and free. He was one of us, He came and lived and died and didn’t stay dead. There is only one character in the entirety of history that died and then came back from the dead of His own power. 

Only One who kept moving when the ultimate stasis had been reached. If there is no Christ, I would go so far as to say that stasis is the only option. If there is no Christ, then why not just stay in one place for the rest of your miserable life? Give up... there is nothing else. Life sucks, and then you die. There is nothing but stasis without Christ.

But Christ? Christ is the ultimate movement. He is the ultimate goal. He is the ultimate game, the ultimate adventure. There is nothing outside you besides Christ... at least nothing that has any sort of meaning. King Solomon, the richest and wisest king ever... of all time, said that in a sort of famous book that he wrote called Ephesians. “Meaningless, meaningless... everything is meaningless. A vapor, and chasing after the wind.” The only solid thing that he finds worth chasing at the end of his little book? Christ. The ultimate goal.

And even that king lost sight of his goal. Even he lost momentum and stopped moving... and look how far he fell. 

Christ is movement. Movement is required.

Christ is required.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Best Films 2012


Ok... here we go, my top 10 films of 2012. I am sure to offend and surprise, so let’s just jump right in, shall we?

10. Django Unchained

Sure, I was holding my fiancee very tightly through most of the last act, but there is no way to deny that Django is 2/3rds of an excellent movie. It is impossible to ignore the moral queasiness of the film’s end game, but it takes cajones to let Dr. Schultz die an honorable man, sticking to his guns (literally). In the end, this movie was too polarizing to leave off the list. Just because I disagree with someone’s creation does not mean it wasn’t well done. Think of Tarantino as a modern Nietzsche.

9. The Dark Knight Rises

Dark Knight 3 got a lot of gaff from a lot of people for being too big, too hopeful, too full of plot holes. Personally? I think they are full of hogwash. The Nolan Brothers successfully pulled off a Batman trilogy, and they pulled it off WELL. Not only that, but Chris Nolan has also successfully proved that he is NOT a nihilist... either that, or he proved that America still doesn’t shell out the big bucks for nihilistic films. Either way, I think that’s a win.

8. Les Miserables

I was a bit emotionally drained when I first saw it, so it is safe to say that I didn’t appreciate it as much as I would have had I been well rested. In retrospect, however? Definitely one of the best of the year. Yes, the critics are right, the music is dodgy in places, and it does rely on sentimentalism quite a lot (although it is helpful to keep in mind that Victor Hugo’s original novel was criticized for the exact same thing 150 years ago). But that is not the reason it is here, rather, it is because it is the only movie I can think of this year that leaned so heavily on the idea of God’s grace conquering all. No, not Rob Bell’s kind of grace, because Les Mis doesn’t shy away from making it clear that some reject this grace and end up in hell. No, this is grace and love and redemption through fire and brimstone.... no wonder so many critics are all twisted up in knots about it.

7. The Cabin in the Woods

Now for one that will probably turn a few heads. Yes, I just included a horror film on my top 10 list... also, yes, I did just imply that Cabin in the Woods was better than Avengers, and no, The Avengers isn’t going to show up in the next six on my list. Now, before you rage quit this essay, let me explain. Growing up watching a new Saw movie come out every Halloween, I too wondered when it would ever stop. Why the fascination with blood? Why the lust for more? Why all the pointless violence? Whedon successfully answers that question.... in a rather Greek way to be sure, but he at least attempts. And to be fair, he also keeps Cabin in the Woods in his Buffyverse. I won’t say anymore, except that this film also falls into the realm of “disagree with you so much, but well done.”

6. Premium Rush

Wow, has this been an amazing year for Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and where would an up and coming star be without his own action movie? Premium Rush isn’t nearly as serious as most of the other movies on this list, but holy crap did it get my blood pumping! There is not some great message here besides "dude on a mission" fodder, but boy does it deliver. My fiancee almost had a panic attack in the theater, it was so intense. The bad guy is deliciously villainous, the action scenes are well filmed... it’s just well done. If you are going to make an action flick, call David Koepp.

5. The Hobbit

Stop complaining... stop it now. The supposed “Tolkien-phils” who have gone completely rage-tastic over this film have completely missed the point of the exercise.... this is not SUPPOSED to be LotR. It is based on a kids book, a children’s book. Also, please keep in mind that The Hobbit came before LotR. After The Hobbit’s success, Tolkien’s publishers asked him for a follow up, but when he delivered LotR,  their reaction was basically “What the crap is this mess?” Now we are dealing with the reverse expectation, and for a man who promised to develop one of the most beloved kids books of the past century, tie it into its much larger film predecessor, and expand upon the author's additional works.... Peter Jackson did a bang up job. Stop complaining and just admit that it was good.

4. Wreck-it Ralph

It happened, regular Disney finally had a year where they outdid Pixar Disney. I don’t know how it happened, but it did, and Wreck-it Ralph is spectacular. By the very nature of the film itself, it is bound to draw comparisons to Tron and Toy Story, but it is so much more than that. In fact, after watching the movie, it seems more like the eye candy was just there to draw in an audience, and then after you’re in the theater, it hooks you with the story. It didn’t help that I related instantly to the interplay between Vanellope and Ralph, the relationship being eerily similar to my relationship with most women. If this movie doesn’t win best animated film of the year, I’m the queen of England.

3. Goon.

So.... much... fun. Warning, do not watch if you are offended by raunchy language, Canadians or hockey. I discovered Goon pretty early on in the year, and instantly fell in love with it. I have a digital copy on my iPod, and whenever I’m having a bad day, I can usually turn it on to almost any scene and have a good laugh. But more than that laugh factor, the reason I love this movie so much is how the main character maintains his honor, humility and kindness despite being surrounded by jerks and ********. At any point in the movie, you are worried that he will snap and being just as mean and nasty as those around him... but he doesn’t. The only thing that makes him snap is when someone attacks a person he loves. Yeah... I can’t relate to this movie at all. 
</sarcasm>

2. End of Watch

I watched this movie for the first time just a few weeks after finding out that my little sister was dating a cop. I talked with him afterwards about it, and he said that it was pretty true to fact, except as a beat cop in eastern Virginia, he didn’t see nearly the amount of depravity that is on display in Los Angeles. We have both agreed that my sister probably shouldn’t watch this movie for a while, at least until they are engaged. The movie itself is similar to Mel Gibson’s We Were Soldiers, in that is bounces back and forth from the cops’ home life to their life on the job, and boy is it brutal. Beautiful, but brutal. One of the few movies of the year that made me laugh, cry and cringe in terror. Powerful stuff.

1. Ruby Sparks

Here it is, the best film of the year. No other movie comes even close. Silver Linings Playbook tried to vie for the quirky rom-com of the year, but it falls woefully short of attaining these heights. Ruby Sparks is a rom-com written by a woman for men, and boy does it deliver. This was another one of those films that became intensely personal for me: the premise being similar to Stranger Than Fiction, except in reverse: man begins to write book, female character becomes real, man falls in love with woman, man tries to control women he has “created.” Actually, it shares far more in common with the myth of Pygmalion than it does with Stranger Than Fiction. This movie tore my heart out and stuck it on a pike.... and I cannot thank it enough. A beautiful morality play, the best parable of the year, and by far the best film. Period.

Heroes, Cinema and ADHD


There is something intoxicating about film and stories that are shown on a screen. Stories have always gripped us as humans, but there is nothing quite like seeing a story acted out in front of you. You are not merely hearing words, you are not only seeing pictures, this is not some bard singing you a tale of glorious battle; you are watching the story as if it were happening before your very eyes.

It is as if it were real. As if it were fact.

This is one of the reasons that I handle messy stuff in books far better than in film. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo as a book was gripping and a rather fun read... the movie, however, nearly traumatized me. 

Now, I’ve made it no small secret that I am a fan of Quentin Tarantino’s films. I’m not really sure which one is my personal favorite, but there is a certain energy about his movies that fascinates me. (I’ve discussed this before in my essay “Lust for Life.”)

So when his new movie, Django Unchained, came out and won rave reviews, I was eager to see it. My new fiancee, being a fan of heroic type, bloody action movies, seemed more than willing to go see it with me. So, with a free evening on our hands the day after Christmas, we decided to go see it.

One other thing that you should know in order for the following to make more sense: my fiancee has ADHD. For several years I was extremely skeptical that any such thing existed. America is overmedicated, I am sure no one will disagree with that, and I had always assumed that ADD and ADHD were just parents going crazy and not wanting to train their children properly... choosing to drug them instead. 

...I was wrong.

Until about 12, Leslie had undiagnosed ADHD, which mostly manifested itself in causing her to become overloaded with stimuli far too often. At 12, however, she had meds prescribed in order to control the rapidly firing synapses, and generally calm her down. Being an extremely bright child, my fiancee began to notice how much different she acted while on medication and how much she hated being on medication. Being the bright lass that she is, she discovered that she teach herself to control her brain and act like a normal person without the meds... thereby foregoing the need of them. So, the meds lasted for six or so, and she has self-medicated with self-control ever since... something that she tells me not all ADHD people can do.

Under good circumstances she can control how focused she is, and is generally very good at paying attention. Also, being a woman and ADHD, she is also incredibly good at multitasking (something that continues to perplex me to no end). However, when there are TVs blaring, people rushing by, horns going off and other such noise... she can become extremely distractible and it is often impossible to carry on a conversation with her. This is why watching movies at home is sometimes hard for us, because I will inevitably hone in on the movie, while she will be paying attention to everything and anything but. (Of course, because of her aforementioned ability to multitask, she usually knows exactly what is going on in the movie.)

In a movie theater, however, her ADHD works in the complete opposite direction. Because in the case of my dear fiancee, her “attention deficit” is more like “pay extremely close attention to everything that is going on around you.” And what is the only thing to pay attention to in a movie theater where everyone is behaving themselves? The screen.

In retrospect I should have known better than to take her to see a Tarantino film. Several months ago we went to see a David Koepp action flick. I personally loved it; it was perfect for an adrenaline junkie like myself. Leslie, however, nearly had a panic attack. I failed to realize that the movie, taking up all of her ADHD, overanalyzing, hyper-focused nerves, caused her to become super focused and invested whenever we went to see a movie on the big screen. So of course, anyone knowing anything about Quentin Tarantino could have guessed how she would react to the third act of one of his films.

As I write this now, however, I am actually quite grateful to her. If she hadn’t tagged along, I might have a far less critical view of what is sure to be one of the most talked about movies for the next few months. My reaction leaving the theater might have been more akin to a fanboy’s than a discerning movie goer’s had she not been holding my hand as we left the cineplex.

Now... on to my review... and as always.... spoilers to follow.

If I recall correctly, Leslie laughed harder than almost anyone at the opening scene of the film... which involved a German dentist, a tooth bobble-head, and two slave traders getting shot. Yes... this is a Tarantino movie all right. And in fact, the first 2/3rds of the movie unfolds like a hilarious, yet bloody, buddy comedy featuring Christoph Waltz and Jamie Foxx.

But then, of course, the third act kicks in, predicated by a classic scene of only dialog and no music or bullets. At this point, Leslie, having never seen a Tarantino movie before, knew that something bad was going to happen... even though no one was doing anything remotely violent. It still amazes me how Tarantino does this. I was even shaking a bit, and I wasn’t the one entering a sensory overload induced panic attack. 

A rudimentary summery of the plot might go like this: Bounty hunter buys slave, slave helps bounty hunter, bounty hunter frees slave, slaves tells bounty hunter about his missing wife, slave and bounty hunter save said wife. Simple, no? Simple enough in a way, but it is in that very last plot element where the film so drastically changes from buddy comedy into morally queasiness inducing bloodbath. 

Let me explain: for most of the movie (the parts that Leslie liked) there is this sort of warmth between Django and Dr. Schultz.... nearing a father/son relationship. There is some genuine chemistry between them, and I am sure that Leslie was hoping they would walk off into the sunset together, as was I (although she told me afterwards that given the way the movie was set up, she knew one of them was going to die).

There are three linch pins which swing the movie from comedy to tragedy, however: two conversations between Django and Schultz, and a man being eaten by dogs.

The first conversation takes place when a reluctant Django fails to shoot a wanted criminal because the man’s son is present. Schultz tells Django that in his world, the world that Django has now entered in order to rescue his wife, he must “get dirty.”

And so the morality grays a bit.

The second conversation transpires as Django and Schultz are on their way to the plantation where Broomhilda, Django’s wife, is being kept. In order to get into the plantation, Django and Schultz are passing themselves off as two slavers looking to buy a prizefighter of a man. This is all a ruse, of course, but in order for it to work, Django must pass himself off as a black slaver... the “lowest of the low” as he puts it. Schultz has instructed him several times now that when in these positions, he must NEVER break character, no matter what. And Django doesn’t.

He plays his character so well in fact, that Schultz becomes uncomfortable, and asks Django to tone it down a notch. Django simply retorts that it was Schultz himself who told Django that he needed to “get dirty.” Schultz backs off, and they proceed towards the plantation.

The morality darkens further.

The third pin is the kicker, though. As they are making their final approach to the plantation, they stumble upon a slave who has been caught running away. The plantation owner (who is escorting Django and Schultz) toys with the man, pretending to have sympathy, while at the same time threatening to do him in. Schultz, feeling sorry for the man, offers to buy the runaway slave outright in order to save him. Django, however, interrupts Schultz to tell the owner that they don’t REALLY want to buy the slave, Schultz is just tired of the owner toying with the man and wants to move on.

The owner grins maliciously and then sics the dogs on the poor man. Schultz, while hurt and disturbed, says nothing. It is at this point that Django’s transformation from a man trying to save his wife into a monster like the slave traders around him becomes complete. His “charade” has become so convincing that even he nearly believes it himself. No one’s life matters anymore, save for his wife.

This is the reason, I believe, that it is in perfect keeping with the theme of the movie that Schultz dies before the end... because he has become less violent, he has become soft and kind... and there is little room for such people in Tarantino’s films. As has been said by his long time collaborator, Samuel L Jackson, Tarantino’s films are a peek into the minds of violent people. 

So, in the end, Django is classic Tarantino. And that is why Leslie had such a negative reaction to the ending... and I must confess that I have had similar reactions.... (especially to one Doctor Horrible’s Sing Along Blog). Hyper focused, and hyper invested, she wanted Django to turn into something other than a monster, but in order to survive in the world of Tarantino, one must become a monster. 

As was said in one of the trailers before the movie: “One day, kimosabe, good man must wear mask.” Schultz, the only truly honorable character in the movie, refuses to wear a mask... and as such, he dies.

To quote another movie: “You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” 

Tarantino as explained by the Nolan brothers. You’re welcome.