I Used to Be Smart.

So there I was, wasting time on my first of two days off. The wasting time thing is an entry in itself, but I’ll skip that now. While I was wasting time, I watched “Made” on MTV — not the movie with Vince Vaughn and John Favareau, but the series where high school kids get turned into something different.

The show always makes me laugh. I think it’s funny how seriously the high school kids take whatever is going on. In one, a super dorky kid is transformed into a “ladies’ man.” Watching how seriously he takes his crush on a girl is hilarious. It’s not funny because I’m laughing at him, but because I can’t help but laugh with the kid. I remember being in high school. I remember what it was like to think that everything was so incredibly important, and how completely unimportant I find everything that happened in high school now. (That’s a bad sentence, I know.)

While laughing at myself, I started wondering if that’s the way life always goes. Does “the now” always seem so important in the moment and so insignificant down the road? If that’s so, shouldn’t I laugh at myself more now?

There are some things that a man never wants to have to admit. I have to admit one of those things today.

I’m going bald. I’m not overreacting. I’m honestly going bald. The haircut I got today made it painfully clear that it’s definitely noticable now. I don’t know if it’s the stress from work, or just me not having noticed it until now. But it’s true.

Hell.

I made a decision while I was driving home tonight.

I was listening to Paul Simon’s “Graceland.” It’s one of my favorite cd’s ever. But, (predictably) it’s a little weird. The production is a little dated (1986), and it’s a little weird, because it’s rooted in an infatuation that Paul Simon had with African music, and it even experiments with a little zydeco. It’s great. So while I was listening to it, I decided that I need to date a girl who will listen to “Graceland.” That’s all. Nothing earth-shattering. The line (which I know will be HUGE), forms to the left.

i don’t want you to be just like me. i don’t. i would hate that world. but i don’t want to be just like you. i’m sorry. it’s not because i don’t like you. i just don’t want to be the same. something happened over the years. i decided to take this faith thing seriously. really seriously. i suck pretty badly at living it out in the day to day, but it’s an obsession. it rarely leaves my mind. i suck at it, but i don’t take it lightly. and in those years, i came to some conclusions about how things work. i didn’t take them for granted. i struggled. i stayed up nights. i’m sure you did too. it was rarely easy. it’s still not easy. but i don’t want you to come to those same conclusions. if you do, then i think that’s pretty cool, we can find solidarity in that. if you don’t, then that’s cool, we can find solidarity elsewhere.

i don’t want you to be just like me. all i want is for you to say the same to me. i don’t need you to convince me. i just want you to accept me. this thing we do is bigger than what i believe, and it’s bigger than what you believe. we have the power and the duy to change the world, and we can do that. with me like this and with you like that. what we do is big enough for us to be different. sure, we’ll learn from each other. sure, we’ll change each other, but it’s not a requirement for community that we’re exactly alike. hell, it’s not even preferrable, as far as i see it. i enjoy it that you’re not like me, actually. it makes me smile when we find common ground.

i have a lot of ideas, ideas that i like to say out loud, and write in my blog. and i usually think i’m right — but who doesn’t? but i never get upset when people disagree. i get frustrated when differences can’t be acknowledged. i hate when a discussion turns from an exploration of ideas to a war of words. if you haven’t figured it out yet, my goal isn’t to convince everyone that what i say is exactly right. my goal is only to say that these are the conclusions i’ve come to. this is the world as best i can see it, or “the world as best i remember it,” like rich said. and that even though we disagree, i still take my faith seriously. very seriously. we don’t have to be the same to be doing things right.

but we’re all still guilty. we all divide. we all alienate. the whole point of this thing is an appeal for you to conform to idea i have about non-conformity. i can’t help it, i am what frustrates me. but i think the point is the same. we’re all bigger than all of this. we’re all in this together. we’re all after the same thing, and we’re all trying awfully damn hard to get there.

i don’t know what the point is. i just want to be honest, and vulnerable. and it’s easier for me to write things than it is to say things. and i’d rather just ramble on about this than worry about work. because even when i’m frustrated in thinking about my faith, it’s still when i feel most whole, and most engaged, and most at home. so you can see why it would it frustrate me for you to insist i’m absolutely wrong, when what i’ve figured out feels so incredibly right — and i know how you would get frustrated if i did the same to you.

so i don’t want to agree to disagree. i just want to make sure you know. i don’t want you to be just like me.

I think there’s a chance this post will make you think I’m an idiot. It’s better you find out now.

“The thought of death it scares me to death and I don’t know why. I don’t know why. It’s just too much to never wake up.”
– The Format.

Is death everything is cracked up to be?

When we lament the state of the world (and rightfully so), there is usually a recurring theme. We believe people are dying before they should be dying, or that people are dying of causes from which they shouldn’t be dying. We become irate over death. Death has become the enemy. I don’t think that’s right.

“For to me to live is Christ and to die is gain.” That’s what Paul says in Philippians 1. And if we believe what the Bible says about death, is it so horrible? If we realize that death is a beginning more than an idea, is death really the problem?

Here’s what I submit — it’s not that people are dying, it’s that they’re being killed. Death is a natural process that is ultimately unstoppable. The problem is that people are making decisions that they have no right to make. Others are acting as God. The problem with genocide, for example, isn’t the deaths, per se, but the way people are being robbed of something. Dying isn’t the issue. It’s the suffering, the unstoppable spirals of poverty. The luxury vs. the squalor. It goes on and on.

There’s another piece of this that I can’t get in words right now. So — discuss, and I’ll see if I can get it out.

Blame it on caffiene that I’ve posted three times today. But I got stuff to say! (So for real, don’t miss the other two new posts.)

Ratings is where the news went wrong. It’s true. If you’ve seen the new CNN commercials, you know what I’m talking about. They’re all about how watching CNN is your first place to see the most dramatic stories, the most exciting videos, the most compelling stories! The marketing is transparent. CNN is using drama for ratings. The end is clear — ratings are king.

For a news station, that’s tragic.

The news has changed. It is no longer of function of desiminating information with integrity, but with ratings. Numbers are the end, not truth. That’s horrible. One of the outlets that is most responsible for giving information to the public is more concerned with profits than with truth. That’s terribly sad! What is really happening has taken a back seat to what sells. I hope someone else has a problem with that.

Additionally, I wonder if this isn’t the reason for the percieved media bias. Everyone points fingers at the “liberal” media. Conservatives are in power. Merely confirming the powers that be does no good for ratings. Finding them at fault makes waves. Waves make for ratings. Ratings are (evidently) good.

That’s pretty damn sad.

Derek Webb has this new song out. Most of you guys don’t listen to him (even though he is definitely the man), but I thought it was relevant in light of all of our poverty conversations. It’s called “Rich Young Ruler.”

Poverty
Is so hard to see
When it’s only on your TV
Or 20 miles across town

Where we’re all living so good
We moved out of Jesus’ neighborhood
Where He’s hungry and not feeling so good
For going through our trash

He says “More than just your cash and coin
I want your time, I want your voice
I want the things you just can’t give me”

“So what must we do
Here in the west we want to follow you
We speak the language and keep all the rules
Even a few that we made up”

“So come and follow me
Sell your house, sell your SUV
Sell your stocks, sell your security
Give it to the poor”

“What is this, hey what’s the deal
I don’t sleep around and I don’t steal
I want the things you just can’t give me
I want the things you just can’t give me”

“Cuz what you do to the least of these
My brothers you have done it to me
Cuz I want the things you just can’t give me
I want the things you just can’t give me”

So there I was, at work. Three guys came in and sat at 2-11. They were wearing suits, talking on cell phones, drinking Bud Light from bottles. They were young. If they were older than me, it wasn’t by very much. They were good looking guys. They had a cute server, and they flirted with her without a problem. I heard one of them talking about plans to buy a house. I won’t pretend I wasn’t jealous.

In high school, I was voted, “Most Likely To Succeed.” It’s 5 years later. I’m pretty sure all those people who voted that I has the best chance of succeeding expected me to be sitting at 2-11, drinking Bud Light, wearing a nice suit, talking about buying a house. They knew better than to imagine me flirting with the server, I’m sure. But I’m none of those things. I’m the guy bringing them food, cleaning the table beside them, spilling stuff on his shirt. They couldn’t even pretend to be jealous.

All of that sounds like a great excuse for self-deprication, and a reason to throw a pity party for me. I want nothing of the sort. I’m happy. I hate my job most days, but it could be worse. I don’t have a lot of money, but that junk is overrated anyway. I’ve got a useless degree, but there’s nothing in the world I would trade it for. I couldn’t ask for better friends. Life makes more sense to me than it ever has before. Things aren’t perfect, but things are good.

I tell those two stories as competing visions of “success.” The people who voted me as “Most Likely to Succeed” most likely had a different version of success. For them, the guys at 2-11 are successful. I am not. If that’s the case, I see only one place to go. Success needs a definition. The dictionary says success is, “2 a : degree or measure of succeeding b : favorable or desired outcome; also : the attainment of wealth, favor, or eminence.” What does the dictionary know?

If we believe that Christianity is the truth, and the way things really are, we’re going to need a different of success. The definition of success needs a turn from the objective to the subjective.

To most Americans, success is defined implicitly. It’s a nice car, a nice house, a beautiful wife/husband (or having sex with beautiful women/men) — “the American dream.” Does success have anything to do with any of that? Are we validated by any of that?

I can’t believe that Christians are made for that. Besides the fact that the “American dream” paradigm has largely failed, it’s simply overrated. Contrary to what America would have us believe, our end is not consumption. We’re not validated by what we own, or what we drive. Rather, success is measured by how faithfully we are to God’s calling. That’s it. Have we examined ourselves and come to terms with what God desires for us, and are we genuinely pursuing that? Are we adding to the cause of peace, justice, love, and other values of God in the world? That’s the ONLY vision of success. Everything else is garbage.

So, am I successful or not? I don’t know. Do I care that I don’t look as “successful” as the guys at 2-11? Not hardly.

I’m afraid of black and white. It scares me to death. I avoid the black and white when I can, and run to fuzzy shades of grey, wherever they may be. Some people are generous and call me “postmodern.” Others are much less generous, but I’ll avoid the sorts of things that they say, but that’s a different story.

The things I’ve been writing lately have been written in dialogue with other people’s ideas. In that dialogue, Robert made a comment about black and white. From God’s perspective, he says, everything is black and white. That comment bothered me. I was inclined to blame it on an inherent distrust of absolutes bred by a postmodern milieu — but that was much too easy. Something else had to be going on.

I’m not sure that the comment is wrong (and notice how I couch all my language here). It is entirely possible that everything is black and white for God, that much is probably the truth. However, I still distrust absolutes. (Take note: I’m not falling into the old “the only absolute is that there are no absolutes” trap.) Why? What makes me distrust absolutes?

It’s okay for God to have access to absolutes. God is, well, God. God knows what to do with absolutes. God’s character is a character of love. God is supremely and completely equipped to deal generously with humanity and to use absolutes in the best way possible — the way that only God knows.

It’s not okay for me to have access to absolutes. I am, well, me. I have no clue what to do with absolutes. My character is a character of ignorance. I am utterly and completely unequipped to deal generously with humanity and I will use absolutes to divide and oppress — the only way that I know.

That’s the first component. I’m not God. None of us are God. None of us have access to the absolutes of God, and we wouldn’t know how to use them if we did. We have the Bible, but but I see as much grey there as I do anywhere. It’s not plausible that any of us can know how to use absolutes correctly and justly.

In light of that, absolutes become a tool to create oppressive in-groups. This is not an indictment of every single person who appeals to absolutes. However, having studied history, and thinking of personal examples, this is what the record shows. Those who believe that they have access to absolutes, and those who have the power to do so often turn those absolutes into oppressive tools. Religion has been one of the main culprits. People have found ways to use their percieved absolutes to divide “us” from “them,” and to convince themselves that they have curried God’s favor. Sometimes, it’s utterly damaging, and it leads to things like genocide. Sometimes, it’s small, and it’s exclusion on a personal level that alienates a person from some in-group based on an edict rooted in a percieved absolute.

However, it happens, the story of humanity has been a story where absolutes and black and white have been used, more often than not, for oppressive purposes. Rarely does an absolute inspire genuine self-reflection, humility, and a change for something greater (though that DEFINITELY happens). Rather, absolutes in the hands of the powerful have become entitlements to some history’s greatest crimes.

Personally, I’ve been at the sharp end of absolutes, and they’ve always been alienating and hurtful. I’ve been told that my claims to Christianity are a joke because I don’t subscribe to someone’s view of (absolutely) what a Christian must be. I’ve felt excluded from conversations because I didn’t share the same vision of what is absolutely true with other people. I feel like a stranger in the church where I grew up because of its rigid vision of what is absolutely true.

That absolutes are used to readily to divide is (obviously) the reason for my fear. If there are absolutes, and if they are God’s absolutes, the point is not to divide. The point of God’s truth is freedom (that’s what Jesus said), redemption, and life. Absolutes should set us free, not oppress and enslave. Rarely is that ever the case. My desire is not to condemn those who use absolutes. If I do that, then I’m using an absolute and guilty. I only wish to outline my own fear of black and white.

So, in light of that, allow me to deconstruct a bit.

I’ve talked several times before about meta-narratives. A meta-narrative is a “big story.” It is some group’s vision of how everyone on the planet should operate. Communism is a meta-narrative. America, right now, is attempting to force a meta-narrative onto the world. We call it “freedom” and “democracy.” Subscribing to a meta-narrative is believing that everyone in the world should accept and live by our ideas. It’s oppressive and it excludes. Everyone else’s ideas are pushed aside in the name of become just like us. It completely disrespects the will, the cultures, the ideas, and people who are not inside the meta-narrative. The Cold War, for example, was a clash of great meta-narratives. (If that’s still not clear enough, tell me, I’ll work on it.)

For many people, Christianity MUST be a meta-narrative. That’s the only way that they can read it. The Revelation, especially, must be the grandest ending to the meta-narrative, where everyone becomes a certain way (American conservative Christian, anyone?), because that’s God’s way. It turns Christianity into exclusion.

This is what we do with our absolutes. We project them back onto God, and we believe that God MUST be this way (like us), and we exclude based on that principle, rather than having a humility that admits that we are not God.

As I’ve proposed before, and inspired by Miroslav Volf, The Revelation (and eschatology in general) must be understand not as the ending, where everyone becomes just like us, but the greatest of beginnings, where how life is truly meant to be begins. The difference is astounding, and difficult to wrap my head around, much less find language for. People are not excluded, but included, regardless of their standing with the in-group. I see it reflected in the way Jesus acted. He included everyone in his in-group. Even those deemed unsuitable by the powerful Jewish in-group. Samaritans, beggars, women, little children, Roman soldiers — they were all worthy of being in Jesus’ in-group. The absolutes that Jesus knew were not a reason to exclude, but a commandment to include. Jesus’ work blurs the line that those in power had created.

That’s the long way around what freaks me out about black and white.
the meta-narrative

So there I was, driving home from work. I turned off the interstate and came down the ramp. At the end of the ramp, waiting in the median by the light was a woman. She held a sign. “Disabled/Widow. Anything helps. God Bless America.” I couldn’t help but see her, and she could definitely see me. I guessed she was younger than she looked, and I doubted life had been good to her. The great internal drama that has played out in my head so many times before unfolded. What do I do? Do I do anything? All the excuses fought hard against all the reasons. I knew that light would turn green soon, and I wouldn’t have to see her anymore. So I waited for the traffic light to save me, and I kept my windows up and my money in my pocket, and drove home, feeling guilty as hell. Like Andrew Osenga said in his song “New Mexico,” I, “Hemmed and hawed until [my] green faded into a scarlet letter.” Just one more line in a litany of failures.

I had no idea how to help her. I didn’t have time to eat a meal with her. There was no promise that whatever I gave her would be used for food. I couldn’t give her a job. I couldn’t reverse the events in her life that got her to that point. I sat behind the glass and felt utterly unable to do anything about the woman sitting in front of me — as powerlessness that I’ve felt many times before.

What should we do about the poor? I’m taking it for granted that we have a major obligation to the poor. I can’t read Jesus any other way. But how that obligation manifests itself is something of a different story. Any examination of poverty makes several things clear. For one, there are many more poor people in the world than rich people. Secondly, those who have, have quite a bit, and those who don’t have, have very little. I’m not statistcally minded, so for a report of how that all shakes out, you’ll have to look elsewhere. However, what is true is that there are billions around the world who live on less than a dollar a day, and there is a tiny fraction of people who have more money than they have can ever spend. In previous entries, I have proposed that is this gap that is the real issue with poverty. I stand by that. These huge statistics, however, are mind-numbing. They’re too big to comprehend, and certainly too big for one person to do anything about.

So I’m revisiting the question. What is it that individual Christians can do in the face of poverty? How do we do anything about? What sorts of responses are appropriate?

Already invalidated is the idea that everyone must become rich, or even “equal.” The issue isn’t for people to reach a state of sameness, or for people to give until they are only marginally better off than the poorest. Furthermore, we know that simply giving isn’t enough. Putting a check in an envelope and mailing it to a poor person is a short term fix. It’s efficacy in the long run is severly overrated. Putting band-aids on puncture wounds does not help anyone.

If we are serious about an obligation to the poor, we must find something else other than oppressive schemes of wealth redistribution and ineffective short term fixes. To use simpler words: selling all of our stuff doesn’t get the job done.

For my friends who keep up with each other’s blog discussions, this will all be a familiar discussion, and much of this is rooted in our discussions in other places, so I am implictly referring to some of those things. I’m going to pull a move that doesn’t make for very good writing, and change my tone in midstream to something more conversational and confessional.

How is it that I can have all of this stuff, and still have any serious obligation to the poor? How is it that I can have an iPod, and a nice 27″ television? A good computer and a 2001 Dodge Stratus? A pile of clothes and shoes so big that I can’t fit it in my room? A collection of cd’s and books that I don’t have enough shelves for? Can I remotely claim to care about poor people when surrounded by all this stuff? It is an admittedly difficult question, and I’m torn. Part of me wishes to directly indict all of this stuff, and blame it for my lack of participation in a solution. Loosening my attachment to all of this stuff would give me lisence to be free, and lisence to do greater things. The less tied down to things I am, the more opportunity I have to go, and to do, and I like that idea. There’s something romantic about selling a lot of this stuff, wearing the plainest of clothes and going to help wherever I may find an opportunity. I’m inherently attracted to that idea, and I’m not sure that it’s wrong.

Some people, however, disagree. They find their possessions to be normal, and do not feel guilty for having them. They feel that it is entirely possible to help the poor in spite of (or maybe even because of) those possessions. For them, the issue where their heart lies, and whether they would be willing to give those things up if absolutely need be. They feel they are at their station in life for a reason, and that their purchases and consumption are responsible and justifiable. I can’t question the ways that God has called them to live their lives. I have no doubt that serious help to the poor can be given by those with six figure salaries and nice cars.

Here’s where I believe we make the mistake: choosing sides. It’s not that one is wrong and the other right. It’s not that one is right and the other is more right. The issue is that God works in different lives in different ways, and uses different circumstances to accomplish different purposes. There is enough room for each kind of person to co-exist. Some can be feet and some can be hands. We can all participate in unique ways in this grand obligation to the poor of the world.

Poverty is a far-reaching issue. The solutions are vast. Economists can analyze data and market forces, helping to find ways that long term, sustainable revenue can be generated for impoverished communities. Lawyers and diplomats can shape foreign and domestic policy that contributes to institutional structures that keep the poor in their state. Scientists, farmers, and doctors, and nurses can work to strengthen food supplies, clean water, and fight disease. Preachers can empower marginalized peoples. Teachers can supply education. Historians can understand why groups are poor and how to overcome such forces. Philosophers can be the checks for the morality of the whole undertaking. Some personalities “get stuff done” while others can empower individuals. Writers can spread the word. Some can go to Africa and change things “on the ground,” while others can shape broader institutional structures at home. The list could continue for days.

It’ll be obvious to my friends that I’m thinking of ways that their specifically gifted in the above paragraph (and trying to find some niche for myself as well). When I think about the talents and gifts that exist just in that small group, and the ability we possess to do something about the way things are, it excites me, and it excites me that there are so many more groups out there with similar diversity and similarly gifted people with the ability to change things and restore creation back to God’s intention and move it all nearer to the goal of redemption. I know I’m game.

This is about poor people.

In a previous post, I ranted a little about poverty. The focus of the rant was the thought that the issue is not THAT people are poor. The issue that such a great gap exists between those who are poor and those who are very wealthy. I didn’t go much beyond that, since Family Guy was blaring in the background, and I’m too much of a noisy American to turn the tv off when I should. So today, in as much silence as I could find outside (I still had to compete with the country station playing next door), I thought about it some more, and redirecting our attention to the poverty problem as an issue with “the gap” doesn’t help a lot. It creates a whole new set of problems.

If the gap is the issue, then what happens? Does that mean I have to get on board with some sort of program that involves a radical redistribution of wealth? Do I have to want Donald Trump to be stripped of his money to have that given to impoverished people? Do I have to be some sort of communist, or (even worse) totalitarian? If the gap is the issue, it certainly seems like that could be a reality. I’m a little scared, and very turned off by that. It’s not a reality in which I wish to live.

The problem with such a strategy is clear. It violates one of my most closely guarded principles. I will not force my morality on to others, especially since it is so deeply rooted in the basis of faith.

(Here’s a caveat on that: I do not believe that all laws are rooted in faith. Some things that are essential to the running of a society and the safety of its members closely parallel with commandments that are made in the Christian religion, and in other religions. I see no issue in that. I think there’s a reason that those commands and laws are universally recognizable and universally applicable. When I talk about morality, I don’t mean those sorts of things. Morality, for me, is how I live my own life, and it is always based on my own faith.)

Embarking on some campaign for radical redistribution based on my belief in God, I believe, is fully inappropriate. I will not be so tyrannical as to impose my own belief system onto those who do not wish to recieve it, even if I believe it is for the betterment of the world. So, a radical redistribution of wealth aided and implemented by the state is completely out of the question. The answer to the gap is not to break every single person down to the same level so that we all exist with marginal differences between us.

There is, however, another option. There’s this community of people. It’s pretty messed up, and it’s got a lot of problems, but there’s some hope for it. It’s called “The Church.” In Greek, it’s ekklesia, “the called out ones.” The Church is different than America. It’s a group of people united in community by common commitments. While a great deal of diversity exists in individual belief, The Church, at its heart, is a group of people committed to the same principles.

But all of that is terribly naive. I know better. The church is fragmented. There are groups that, when compared, don’t even look the same. There are people clamoring the name of God who, if they are Christians, completely rob any desire I have to be a Christian (and they would say the same thing to me). It’s easy to let such a fractured community rip all hope for the church from us, but it doesn’t have to. After all, it’s hope that dies last.

What I’ve discovered is that, though the church is fragmented and jacked up, there are a lot of us who are like minded. If you read this stuff I write, you probably find something that resonates with things you believe. I believe that we are substantial. The last thing I wish to do is create another in-group, or reduce this to an “us” vs. “them” issue, but I can’t find a way to use any other words. If we like-minded Christians can find solidarity, and the willingness to act, then a lot can happen. We’re not forcing anything on anyone, our shared commitments are driving us and compelling us to be an active community with a genuine desire to change the conditions of people around the world. I’m not so naive as to think that we can do the job completely — that work is God’s alone — but we can die trying to do all that we can. I’m not sure what that means. Do I need to sell this computer? This iPod? My car? My guitar and my tv? I don’t know. I DO know that I need to go. I need to go somewhere and do something about it, and that might be the answer for us all. Go, and do something about it (maybe that Jesus guy was on to something). But for now, student loan debt and and low numbers in my bank account have me chained to the ground (and I doubt I’m the only one). As confusing at gradiose as the whole thing is, I am only more convinced that it doesn’t have to say this way. (That got a little preachy. I couldn’t help it.)

On a totally unrelated note, my genocide obsession and I were reading about a guy named Raphael Lemkin today. Lemkin is the man who is responsible for coining the term genocide, and his endless laboring is a big part of the reason that genocide is against international law. Lemkin was extremely more obsessed with genocide than I ever could be. There’s a story about Lemkin, that he was celebrating the ratification of the Genocide Act in the French Riveria, when he met a beautiful girl. They danced all night, and he finally asked her about her heritage. She revealed her South American roots, and her connection to the natives of the continent. To which Lemkin replied that his work should be extremely interesting to her, since much of it focused on the genocide perpetrated on the Incas and other South American tribes. Lemkin remarked that it was a pickup line that the young lady had never heard before, and that he never heard from her again.

I feel your pain, Lemkin. I feel your pain.

and anything i’d want to say has already been said before, by those with more skill and tact and time. so i make the ride home alone one more time, and i take the long way because i like how it feels, and i thank god that i don’t have to say anything that no one’s said before. so as the orangle needle approaches the red hashes, i think about the twenty dollars it takes move it 110 degrees and all the pockets stuffed with money from the long way home and i sing some song that another guy wrote that is all about the life i lead, and i’m happy that i didn’t have to say that myself. and i pull my car into the same old spot, and walk on into the same old house and see that not a damned thing’s changed and part of me likes it that way. so i’ll fall asleep alone in the same old bed and force myself to drive to the same old job, and just keep saying all the things that everyone has said before.

Being poor isn’t really the problem. (There’s your thesis statement.)

It’s okay to be poor. In fact, it may be preferable to being rich. Jesus was drawn to the poor. God is drawn to the poor.

The issue was never been that the poor need to become rich. That’s backwards thinking through American lenses. The problem is the gap between the rich and the poor. The rich have so much, and the poor lack so much. The glaring disparity is the problem.

The problem in Africa is not only that people are poor (though many Africans are something more than poor). The problem is that colonialism and irresponsible foreign policy have destroyed a continent and stolen its identity.

I don’t know what my point is. I should turn “Family Guy” off so I can figure it out, but I don’t feel like it. I think it’s this: the American psyche finds validation in consumption. The American dream is consumption, and our deeply rooted belief is that having stuff is the way to happiness and completion. I’m saying that we’re probably wrong. So I should probably sell my iPod, my Dodge Stratus, and the computer I’m typing this on. Damn it.

This is the second one for today, for what it’s worth.

Last night, I was working hard on the deck, and I got an interesting table. Four women is rarely good news for me. One of the women I had served before, and remembered. She’s young, attractive (though not my type), and obviously from Eastern Kentucky. You can’t miss that accent. If you’ve never heard it, it’s something, and distinctive. The women with her were all obviously from Eastern Kentucky too. While she was well dressed and stylish, they were not. They were significantly overweight. They had no clue about fashion trends. Their standards of appearance and hygiene were vastly different than mine. They weren’t very intelligent, though they were very nice. If you understand Eastern Kentucky at all, you probably have a startlingly accurate mental picture of these women. If not, it’s hard to explain. Eastern Kentucky is Appalachia. It’s very rural (and all that comes with that), often very poor. It’s very conservative, the standard of education is often very low. There are a lot of marginal people, and I had a feeling these were marginal people.

They were hard to love. I noticed how much the attractive girl loved them, I couldn’t miss it. I’m pretty sure they were her family, and she loved the hell out of them, it was written all over her. My desire was to deride them and to be disgusted. I ended up being disgusted at myself. Here, at my table, were people who needed to be loved. They needed to be empowered, and to be made to feel important (and I had the power to help in that process), and instead, I didn’t want to be near them. I’m embarassed by that, and puzzled.

It’s easy for me to love people who are nothing like me. But white people who live an hour east? They’re hard for me to love. I spend so much time and effort making sure that I’m NOT like them that I participate in marginalizing them and making them totally irrelevant. I become what I hate and what I rage against (no, I’m not the machine).

“I am wrong and of these things I repent.”

(If you’re FROM Eastern Kentucky, I hope I didn’t offend you. Call me out if I did.)

I think this is gonna be the first of two entries tonight.

Driving home tonight, I saw a sticker. “You can’t be Christian and Pro-Abortion.” It screamed its slogan in inch high yellow letters.

I was immediatly struck by the grand over simplification of it all. There are only two ways to be, the sticker told me, pro-abortion or anti-abortion. Being familiar with the pro-life/pro-choice debate, I’ll venture a guess that the sticker was motivated by political realities and the groundswell of desire to make all forms of abortion completely illegal. And all of that is fine.

However, there’s more to the story. Take me, for example. I’m pretty opposed to abortion. I don’t think anyone should ever have to get an abortion. It’s a horrible thing. HOWEVER, I do not feel it is appropriate for me to force my morality onto the entire country. I cannot find a substantial anchor for any stance against abortion other than in Christianity. That’s the only reason I think abortions shouldn’t happen — because of my faith. However, I also find it completely unreasonable for me to believe that I should force a faith based stance onto the entirety of the country. No matter how horrible abortion is, I can’t do it. I don’t think it’s the way God wanted us to do things. So does that make me pro-abortion? Or anti-abortion? Either label makes me squirm, and if you apply either one, I promise that I will do everything I can to wriggle my way out of it.

It makes me sad that moral debates are reduced to aphorisms on bumper stickers that completely rip them free from the complexity inherent to the discussions. Such oversimplifaction does damage to moral discourse, and CERTAINLY does damage to people of faith, who should be the first to seek truth and recognize the complexities that are utterly true of all such discourse.

And that frustrates me.

Why are we willing to sacrifice American lives for Iraq, but not for the Sudan?

I still can’t find a good reason.

And while you’re at it, check this out.