Andy, I'm sorry.

I never really liked the kid.
I suppose, I never took the time to like him.
He wasn't the kind of kid that was easy to like.
He had problems.
We all have problems, but Andy’s problems were different;
more extreme, less tolerable, more numerous, and less solvable.
So, he never put effort towards solving them. Life isn’t fair, so what’s the use?
Victim or victimizer… those were his choices.
Andy made a choice.


I never liked the kid or his choices.
He had a way of making his problems the problems of others.
If someone wronged Andy, he would complain bitterly to any who would
offer a shoulder to cry on.
A shoulder placed him within reach of his next victims throat.
That was Andy's indirect method of problem distribution.
His direct method was far more insidious and destructive to his victims.





Andy lacked empathy.
Empathy is the natural whisper within that urges us to,

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Empathy allows us to feel another sentient being's pain, joy, loss, sorrow, and victory.
Without shimmering empathy, people like Andy are very hard to like.
We “speak” empathy on the spiritual, social network Nepesh.

(Go ahead and click it or you'll miss the whole point, just like Andy. Remember, it's an action, not a thing!)

Empathy was gibberish to Andy.
The whisper from deep within 
which restrains us from barbarism 
and all other valedictorian studies 
at the Serpent school fell silent. 
His sins became more egregious, 
more irritating, and without a doubt, 
less forgivable in the world of the Living. 
He was a corpse. 

Someone planted a feral seed 
in Andy the victim. 
That crooked sprout tormented the boy 
in which it took root. 
Given darkness and time, 
rage and age metastasizes like cancer. 
Changing victim into victimizer.
Before the Bitter harvest could reach maturity, 
some tried to intervene 
by battering, disciplining, or transforming 
the foul maturing fruit. 
Others tried to sweeten the nectar 
from within and through Nepesh, 
but Andy’s isolation fire-walled intimacy. 
Love finds no safe harbor, 
only embargo by a swift and strong unnatural Defense. 
Strength through Power projected, fabricated Strength.

Down, down the spiral, 
a victim steps into the skin of perpetrator 
to seize a crown by force.
Force through fabricated, overrated Strength.
Power; his lost crown.
Down, down into Darkness go.
Into battle go.
Pierce the flesh below.
Hunted is now the hunter.

A veteran blooded by his own… blood 

and of those who lingered near his cold, dark hollow.
A forlorn bunker home once made of flesh.
The space where he was armored 

and invulnerable to all those alien feelings. 

Feelings not his own.
His castle had been like ours, 

just more sullen, ever thinning, and dimming.
Isolation is a mindset, 

and his mind was set in twisted iron and jagged concrete long ago.

He was a castaway 

and sole survivor of a tragic shipwreck 

He began as crew and eventually took the helm.
But his vessel had taken on water, 

tattered sails, and an empty galley.
He was weighed down, dragged down. 

He couldn’t catch a following wind 
with his best attempts.
He was always hungry.
Starved ravenous to the point of madness.
Nothing could fill that breach.
Everything could not fill that chasm.


I never really knew the kid, 
and I never made the effort to know him.

If I had, would it have made a difference 
in the course he set?

I will never know, 
because he took his own life the other night.
That was the last choice he made 
and my first regret 
concerning Andy.

No one spoke his praise,
No one bore his tears,

and no one noticed that his cold, dark hollow
was empty. 

Andy, I'm sorry.

A Friend of God

In this Christmas season, I took the time to reflect on Christ. I know it sounds antiquated. The modern permutation of Christmas is just good old-fashioned consumerism and buying shit we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't even know. This is in deep contrast to the original Christmas concept celebrated by the Faithful of Rome in Fourth century (336 AD, if you must know). Christmas wasn’t the High and Buy, Buy, Buy Holiday it is today. Epiphany took top billing until the Ninth century.

Don’t press eject on me yet. This is not going to be a dry, scholarly piece because I simply don’t know how to write like a scholar. I won’t bore you with the etymology of the word "Christmas" which reads,

"Christmas" is a shortened form of "Christ's mass.” It is derived from the Middle English Cristemasse, which is from Old English Crīstesmæsse, a phrase first recorded in 1038 followed by the word Cristes-messe in 1131.  Crīst (genitive Crīstes) is from Greek Khrīstos (Χριστός), a translation of Hebrew Māšîaḥ (מָשִׁיחַ), "Messiah", meaning "anointed"; and mæsse is from Latin missa, the celebration of the Eucharist. The form Christenmas was also historically used, but is now considered archaic and dialectal."

If you wanted that crap, you could just as easily copy and paste it from Wikipedia, as I just did. Technically, I didn't bore you with that etymology, it was Wikipedia's responsibility following modern logic. While you consider your misdirected anger, I was reflecting on Christ, the demystified, "commonized" son of the Galilee He would have appeared at first glance.

What was He like during an "average day" for an off duty Messiah? Perhaps, sitting around a campfire and drinking from wine skins with the Disciples He knew more as friends than the revered apostles we are familiar with. What did He do in his downtime when there were no demons to drive out, Pharisees to school, or crowds in need of ministering? Did they sit under a shady palm near the Sea of Galilee and joke with one another? They must have.

Did Jesus have a dry wit, or was he more of a Soupy Sales kind of Savior? Did he ever annoy the Disciples with a “made you look” variety of inside joke? He would have been the best at this kind of humor.

Look Elijah! Made you look! 

Come forth Abraham! Made you look! 

Get behind me Satan! Made you look!

You can see my point.

All humor aside, what did Jesus see when He looked into His friend’s eyes? Did he see them in the present they shared or the road He was putting them on which would lead directly to their deaths? Probably both and everything else, as well. Try to get your head around that one. Relationships are hard enough for us, and we only have our own biased views of the past to contend with.

What games did they play together, or did they? What were the Disciples aspirations for the future? How did Jesus demonstrate love for His friends who, by outside appearance, were peers? Did Jesus cook? What were his hobbies? What of His silent childhood years ?

The Bible gives us no clues regarding the answers to my questions. The private friendships between the Disciples and the Master, like Jesus’ childhood years, will remain secret. It belongs to them alone, but I wish I could have shared in this  experience. Don't you?

As I contemplated these things, it occurred to me, in the way traffic accidents occur with screeching breaks and whiplash impact:

Christians are supposed to be in that very kind of friendship relationship with Christ and each other.

1. We are connected to one another by Christ.
2. He is our most trusted friend
3. We are His disciples and He is our Master
4. As we travel through life, we are to spread the Gospel.
5. We can even sit under a shady palm near the Sea of Galilee and talk to Him, providing you can cover the airfare. 

Yet, Christians do not share this relationship with one another. We quibble and fight over one minuscule point or another. We are ready to kill over the placement of a comma. Isn’t our God bigger than these things and everything else? Isn't true Faith trusting God to do the heavy lifting? It was called GOOD NEWS for a reason, wasn't it?

Instead, shouldn’t we be emulating our God by trying to become as forgiving as He is?
As loving as He?
As tender as He?
As trustworthy as He?
and everything else we consider Holy and Righteous?
Shouldn’t we?

Look at me, I am...
Made you look!

Have a very Merry Christmas to all and know that I Love you,

Michael

The Unmentionable

We have no word in any language for the sorrow which engulfs a man upon the loss of his partner. We do not give a name to that which we most dread. Although Zoe and I were divorced when she left us, I have spent many of my days in that terrible unnamed place where you are now. What Jean and all the rest of us need you to know right now is that you are not alone in this darkness and there is Light ahead.

All my Love,
Michael

Metanoia

Here, we are born on this misshapen sphere of water, rock, and molten iron careening through a mindbogglingly vast chasm containing little more than a faint microwave echo of a colossal explosion 12.75 billion years ago. Here, we are given a myopic sliver of history and cultural customs tightly bound within sacred rules and rituals painstakingly preserved on fragments of decaying vegetable fiber and told, “This is who we are, what we do, how we do it, and why. This is what we kill and die for, cheat, swindle, and lie for. This is us.”

I tell you there is something far more in store for you, and you, and you too, if you but Love. Love fiercely. Love invincibly, unabashedly, unstoppably, furiously, eternally. Love without measure, without remorse, without fear of loss. Love and never count the cost. Love.

Here and now, this is who we are. This is what we do. This is how we do it and why. Because on this tiny fragment of minerals filled with vegetables and animals speeding through the frigid bled we rose to our feet and shouted to the Heavens, “We can never Love too much and I Love all of you. Every last one of us. We are them. They are us. I am you. You are me too. We Love all of you!”

This is who we are. This is what we do. This is who... I AM... LOVE. So are you.

A Silence for a Seven

I haven't posted anything for seven months because I have had no need or desire to do so. While the Spirit has remained, the words that burn from the inside which can only be extinguished by the flow of ink on paper have been silent... until today.


The loss of Art hit me much deeper than I would have expected had I considered the prospect of his passing eight months ago. Aside from the reality vs. concept aspect of his death, it was the shock, the guilt, and the anger that tore into me. Art was eighty and that is about the life expectancy for an American man on the actuarial tables, but no matter how statistically foreseeable and mathematically probable his loss may be, I was still deeply shaken. 

Perhaps, I realized that Art and I shared the same "Immortality Project"(1), volunteering at our local food bank. So, if Art's Immortality Project failed, which it obviously did at his time of death so would mine in time. 

Maybe, it was that Art was a big part of my motivation to jump out of bed on Monday morning. 

Maybe, I just loved the old coot. 

Seven months later, I remain undecided, but I have found the Faith that God knows and this is sufficient.

Over then course of these past months, I've been afforded the opportunity to explore these feelings of guilt and anger. Understanding such feelings when they are understandable is not only a journey within oneself, but an exploration of those "deep waters" in which we all swim. When we return from our journey, we are better equipped to help others navigate their own deep waters. Here is what I found many fathoms down...

• THE GUILT was pervasive because I should have been more aware of his persistent cough. I could have asked him about his heart a week earlier. I know that a persistent cough often precedes a heart attack. I could have done or said something. I failed. 

That's me applying for the part of God, and feeling guilty for not getting the job.

• THE ANGER, that's so common I shouldn't have to explain. It makes me angry just considering how damn angry I was, and it's not soothing in the least that I have to confront it rationally right here, right now. 

That's me being mortal and at the core of my mortality lay my rage for not being more than an ordinary man. 

My good relationships, like the one I shared with Art, should last forever because that's exactly how I plan them. Don't you? 

So, when we hit a terminus that shouldn't be there, we get angry. It wasn't in our plan. That's the plan we're following. Aren't you?

But...It's God's Plan and we are just a mortal men and women. Here is the place where we must find the Faith to trust in a God who knows what He is doing and this is sufficient.

A Perfect God has a Perfect Plan. We don't have a competitive product, but that's not how we behave. As the Apostle Paul wrote many failed plans ago...

What remains is Faith, Hope, and Love. 

That's the raw materials that we have to work with. Prescience, flawless planning, and deft execution are not among them.

Faith, Hope, and Love. That's all we have and that is sufficient. 

Faith that God has His Hand in our every breath. Which He does. 

Hope that we will see the Resurrection of the living ad the dead.

Love for our God and one another. We should plan and perform a lot more of that because we'll be spending eternity together.

Art is one mighty step closer to the Almighty and that, my friends, is the purpose of His Plan and our Path. 


Now, We move on.




(1) Thanks to Ernest Becker for the concept

A Lost Art

I have lost a good friend, a loyal brother, a dedicated father, and a wise Grandpa. All of whom fit in a man who stood just five-foot three. He was the hero I called Arthur Hobbs. I feel his absence and I've filled the cold space with warm tears many times.  Five times while writing this single, insufficient paragraph, and I know there are more to come. Throughout this intolerable, heart-rending process, from my place behind the tears, I am reminded; Love is worth the pain. You see, the lessons I remember best are earned through suffering. From the deepest waters of my soul where the Breath of the Living God dwells I hear a whisper, Love is worth the pain.

I first learned this bittersweet lesson reading Matthew's gospel Chapter twenty seven. An image came to me of Jesus lying upon the Cross. A Roman soldier brought the hammer down and drove the nail home. In that moment, the Spirit opened my eyes to a startling fact, Jesus Christ willingly took the nails! The Lamb of God chose to be the Sacrifice. So that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting Life. Jesus made the conscious decision to show His Love through crucifixion. It's been there for all mankind to see through two-thousand years of human history. The lesson of Calvary reads: Love is worth the pain. Amen.

Today, I study this lesson once again. Here and now, with all of you who feel Art's empty space. We earn this lesson together; Love is worth the pain. Art was a humble man who put others first, and that reminds me of Christ. Art was humble but he did amazing things for ordinary people, even complete strangers. Whenever I really needed Art he was always there. That's Christ-like, too.

Art was a breed of hero in short supply. He wasn't faster than a speeding bullet, but he walked the distance plus a mile more. He wasn't more powerful than a locomotive, Art's prowess was demonstrated on the field of service to his community, his church, and our God. Art came to serve. He couldn't leap tall buildings in a single bound, but performed above and beyond the call of duty. Art loved God and Loved others as himself. Art was never a master, instead he was like the Master. Art never earned a degree, yet he possessed a wisdom that many great scholars never gain. The lesson is: Love is worth the pain.

Over the past weeks I've spent much time reflecting on my relationship with Art. My introspection has led me to another profound awareness. I remembered the fellowship, mentoring, common sense advice, and honest concern Art had for me. These were…no, these are the reasons I love Arthur Hobbs. Once more the Spirit opened my blind eyes to realize that Art Loved me long before I Loved him in return. That is the exact relationship history I have with the Crucified Rabbi from Galilee. Since history repeats itself, I will say it again, Love is worth the pain.

If there is any doubt that remains, ask a birth mother holding her child for the first time and she will say the same. Love is worth the pain.

I am in mourning now with many others. I weep with no shame. We are in darkness now, but like the Son we will rise again. So my friends until then please remember, Love is worth the pain.

Where Art is now,  there is no more pain, there is only Love.

Amen.

Preaching to the Chorus Line: Part IIl

This is the final straw...

The training wheels are off...

I believe that contemporary Christianity needs to look back to the Early Church, to a time of personal worship, small group fellowship often gathered in or around the intimate settings of the home. A spiritual hupostrephō, a “turning back” to the living relationship with our Living God as an alternative to the well rehearsed yet still wooden liturgy acted out before a choreographed mass of a hundred or more well-dressed semi-participants.

A look back two millennia to a infancy of Christianity when “Ekklesia”, the word we use to refer to the institution we know as “the Church”, meant an assembly of people. The Ekklesia/ Church/ Body of Christ was not a building in need of constant care, not a hierarchical power structure ruled from on high (rather than on High), not a human machination with a myriad of programs, outreaches, sub-ministries, and missions all led by capable handlers with the right skill set, presentation, and educational background to handle their "principality" in the kingdom of Man.

The Ekklesia was, and should be again, about and for the people. The more affluent the Church has become, the more its focus has been on broadcasting satellites, building edifices, and civil engineering in distant and exotic lands. Just look at all the amazing stuff we are doing! They're but monuments unto our own (ostensibly God's) Glory. The people could almost be mistaken as just a revenue source by which all these "great works" are accomplished.

It is the people which need constant care, maintenance, and support. It is the people for which Jesus Christ took the Cross, suffered, died, was buried, and on the third day rose again. The institutions and hierarchies shall pass away as all earthly things surely will, but the people (the Ekklesia) in Christ are eternal and everlasting.

Jesus kept his Ministry simple, authentic, personal, and he did it with First Century technology. Our God is an intimate and personal God, this is why we call Him "Our Father", the setting for Worship and our Faith should reflect the same. Our Fellowship should reflect the care for His sheep, not a clubhouse where a memorial feast is reenacted which was first performed in a (most likely) rented room. I understand that many may disagree with my opinion based upon maintaining the Dignity of God and the Church. However, may I remind those voices that God tore down His own Temple three times (Solomon's, Herod's, and His human body). Perhaps, He was trying to make a point. The Temple was never about the building or God needing a mailing address, it was always about the people, His People. 

Megachurches are in fashion today where showmanship, excellent makeup, and studio post-production is quite nearly as important as the Word of God. Smooth delivery is almost equivalent to substance, and that all comes at a price, like any well managed show.

We're on the air on my mark in... three… , two… , one...

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Welcome to God's Gospel Network! Blah, blah, blah. Have credit cards ready. Operators are standing by. Amen!

Jesus used the technology of the day, but He wasn't focused on it. What He did do without fail was personally acting out the things He spoke of to the people, His People. The people right in front of Him witnessed simple acts of love and compassion like washing His Disciple's feet to the Miraculous event which followed Christ speaking the words "talitha koum".

Yet, for many, Christianity has become a weekly passive spectator event even more remote than the game that follows. We love our local sports teams. We wear their jerseys as if they were our own. Their colors, our colors. Their triumphs, our victories. Their defeats, our heartfelt losses. We follow their statistics, injuries, and personal lives. They symbolize everything we wish to project, and what we wish for our children. We are invested in our home team. Maybe more so than the God we claim.

Do you play that game? 

Are you starting to get nervous reading?
Are you sensing a visceral queasy feeling?!

Before you feel like you have dropped the ball.
Keep in mind we're only human and we can't win them all.
Jesus was and still is a home team enthusiast, too.
He went first to the Jew, and then to all of you. 

Perhaps, the Church should be working on a different equation than bottom line accounting or long distance ministry. How about finding the X, Y, and Z axis point where your Spiritual Gift(s) (X) cross your personal skill set (Y) and your passion (Z). That is where your local devotion lay along with God's Purpose for you being right here. Miracles can happen at those crossroads.

I'm a Cubs fan, so I have no problem believing in Miracles...

It's Game 7 of the 2016 World Series, bottom of the 9th...

Cubs - 6

Indians - 6

...as I push