Only six more months of mariginalizing

Sitting with coffee, and having the day off from work, I light a cigar and see what there is to see on facebook.  
What I see is that the political season has begun...

My Republican friends are posting about Democrat lies and failures.
My Democrat friends are posting about Republican lies and failures.

My friends have convinced me:  Both parties represent lies and failure and so do not deserve my vote-- and so will not get it.

So now what?

So now we allow liars and failures to define our own ideologies for us, tell us the polarized options, teach us how to demonize one another so as to silence the make-believe "them" -- all so that known liars and failures remain in control?

Show me a candidate who wants to unite-- NOT as "us against them" but FOR one another (I and Thou); seeks to share our hopes and dreams, and articulate those for us; will acknowledge the reasonableness of widely disparate ideologies, and show us how to do the same.

You won't show me such a candidate because you can't. Our system does not allow such candidates into power.

And until enough of us are outraged by that-- our votes hurt us, separate us, and disappoint us.

Wall Climbing

Because it is important to teach our children what they will do much of as adults.

From Wikimedia Commons

My response to unexpectedly having a week off.

Masks for sale

My mother and her close friend were shopping at the original Nieman-Marcus in downtown Dallas when I was a child.  Nieman's was then, as it is now, notorious for snobbishness-- but the unaccustomed rightly take that as simply the rudeness of some of the store's employees.

So, at a cosmetic counter, and having difficulty drawing the attention of the not-overly-busy girl behind the counter, my mother and her friend begin to bristle with annoyance-- you know how it is to begin to feel invisible to someone who obviously knows you are waiting for them?  Another pair of women are also having a similar experience at the counter.  My mother overhears one of those women say to the other, "It is because we are Jewish that we get such treatment." 

My mother is trying to figure out how on earth the girl at the sales-counter could possible know the two women were Jewish -- thus the old joke, "Funny, you don't look Jewish!" is being played out before her eyes.  My mother says to her friend, in ear shot of the other pair and the woman behind the counter, "I wish I was Jewish because, then, when people are rude, I don't have to take it personally."

A poignant observation about how we all blame our masks rather than our own identity for how we are treated. 

At Nieman's, of course, the effect on many patrons of the store is to worry that one is not of properly high social standing to be treated with respect-- and the irony in that is the fact that it is exactly the marketing intent of Nieman-Marcus to set such a perception-- seeking to associate their store with rich, famous, and powerful-- and so the wanna-bes will shop there for status and pay the premium for the self-painted "mask" they take home apart from the actual purchase.

On hearing a lullaby for the city.

A railroad engineer is playing a soft nighttime song for us who are still awake as he winds south and then across the bridge.

The single-note tune carried from the lake and up the creek-bed by me.

That sound and the huge machines... I like the world a little better when I hear them; and, tonight, the musician knew his craft.

Stereotypes

WalMart stereotypes: I needed a new belt (due to one of the understated benefits of Lenten fasting). I was in the WalMart parking lot and decided I would give it a try.

Most of the hundreds of belts ranged from 50 inch down to 40 inch waists. Not one my size. My size range was found only in the "Boy's Department." That just isn't right.

I got the one with dinosaurs on it.

WCG+ 26-Mar-2012

Eight Years Toward Thou

Eight years ago yesterday, I woke up as at-home-Dad, Priest and Vicar of small-town-Texas, Chaplain of USAF Axillary, reporter for small-town-Texas local paper, moonlighting as a school bus driver.

"A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half dead. "

Eight years ago today, in spiritual terms, the sniper's bullet missed, and instead of taking my life in an instant, left me for dead, mortally wounded, behind enemy lines.

Eight years ago today, in spiritual terms, the arson's match lighted the fire which consumed all that I knew, all that I owned, and as I ran through the house trying to save those I loved, found that the arson had saved the children from the flames, but none had searched for me.

Eight years ago today, I woke up as a Daddy without children, a Priest without a church, a neighbor without a home, a son without parents, a husband without a wife, and grieving without being grieved.

----

There was a time, lying in the forest, blood seeping from the wound, when I raged at the dawning that none had come to search for me.  The sudden, bitter awareness that those I had considered "us" were, in fact, a "them."

I had always wanted to be the Good Samaritan, but it had not occurred to me that I would be the one left for dead on the side of the road-- that I would be the one to lay in an almost unconscious state to hear and see the priest and then the Levite walk by, shunning me for my misfortune.

But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was; and when he saw him, he had compassion, and went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine; then he set him on his own beast and brought him to an inn, and took care of him.  And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, 'Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.'  Which of these three, do you think, proved neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?"  He said, "The one who showed mercy on him." And Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise."

And wise men have written that the two denarii are the two Dominical Sacraments:  Baptism and Eucharist-- water and bread & wine which become the Body and Blood of Christ.  In other words, for what the world does to us, leaving us for dead, it is the mystical Church-- the Bride of Christ nourished by Christ himself which are given us.

Great, a fine mystical teaching of the purpose of the Church-- but it misses the point.

The point is that while we are told to be the Good Samaritan, we are also told that we are the traveler who is striped, beat up, robbed, and left for dead on the side of the road.

Who in the Church wants to hear that?  I didn't.

----

So, for a while, I waited for the Good Samaritan to come by, take me to bind up my wounds, take me to a safe place, and know that whatever the innkeeper would spend in my care, would be returned to him when the Good Samaritan returns.

Still waiting.

Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him he passed by on the other side.  So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side

When the priest passed by, even taking the trouble to cross to the opposite side of the road to avoid me, my hopes were abused.  When the Levite did the same, I took it personally.  I was an "us" but they were a "them."

For a while, my rage haunted me-- mocked me, taunted:

"You!  Here you are unable to help yourself, and your rage is therefore both impotent and silent! 

"Ha!  When you had the power and raged against injustice, you contented yourself with action-- but now you see what it is to be empty of such power, but full of the rage! 

"Learn the lesson of life and the world! You are nothing!"

And I learned that lesson and in it, saw myself even more as a lonely "us" in a world of "thems."

There were a few "us" milling about-- the walking wounded with their distant stares-- half shock, half choosing not to see. 

And when I looked in the mirror, to my horror, I saw that same stare.  The realization that those powerless, voiceless, almost invisible "them" were my "us" and that my former "us" were really a dis-compassionate "them."

I didn't ask for it, I didn't desreve it, and the losses I had suffered were not too great to count-- but they were too great to concede.  But, conceded or not, the reality of it did not care.  The last part of the delusion was the hardest of all to admit as such.

My delusion was that such things only happened to those who deserved it-- it is the delusion of my culture, of society, and of the modern, western, affluent Church. The delusion that the world is just, that God rewards the lives of the good and punishes the lives of the wicked-- but that Satan (lies, hate begotten by fear) has no role, no power, and no say in it.

And then there was the second delusion that believing the first would not cost me my life-- and that denying the first delusion would not cost even more.

Rejecting that delusion ever more fully, I have begun (only begun) to realize that the many priests who I have seen crossing to other side of the road to pass by me, suffer more greatly because of their delusion than I do because of my wounds.  It is the delusion which blinds them and causes them to ignore what their souls scream out for them to do.

And for every Levite that passes me, looking the other way, it is the fear that if they look, the delusion will evaporate and they may find themselves striped, robbed, beaten and left for dead if they dare doubt the lie.

So it is that the delusional ones are pitiable in their blindness and are my "us" after all.  

They believe the lie only because they have not been stripped, beaten, robbed and left for dead by it.

---

So if I am their "them" but they are my "us" then how is that reconcilled?

With patience?

Yes, but not with an expectation that my own "us" will ever embrace me.

In eight years, my silent rage is turning into a silent love-- a willingness to embrace those who would need such an embrace, but requiring them only to lie beside me for a time because I cannot go to them.

---

The Good Samaritan to come-- He has come and is yet to come.  The two denarii spent. 

Some who received their wages for my care knew the Source of their payment, some did not, and some merely demanded more before they would provide more care.  The delusion is rampant, but not total.

But as for the robbers who strip, rob, beat and leave for dead-- the Good Samaritan has left nothing for them, has He?

Not unless or until one or more of those come to lie beside me seeking an embrace-- which I think after eight years, I just might want to give.

----

 I-Thou.

I lie here on the side of the road for thou.

It is not a position of power. or self-direction  No place for smugness.  I hate that I cannot reach you over there on the other side of the road. 

I was traveling on that side of the road (but, perhaps, traveling to a different place than you) when I ended up here.

I still remember my former journey; but, now, I only long to find myself in the Inn where the Good Samaritan will bring me.


---

And in the quiet of the night, I wonder...  are the robbers, those who strip, and beat, and leave others for dead-- are they perhaps the most pitiable, the most lacking-in-embrace and the most delusional of all?

No, because they, most of all, know the reality of this life and the worldly value of the Lie which they serve.

Yeah, that day.

It was five years ago on Valentines Day. She was my pretty and soulful "spiritual friend" and co-worker. She stopped by my office at quitting time, and suggested we take our two shredded hearts out for a drink.

Walking along the busy sidewalk, we stopped before a shop window and looked at a t-shirt design mocking Valentines Day. Wordlessly, she took my hand, and we walked along knowing the other understood. I look back on this day with such regret of missed opportunities, and I with a bitter-sweet hope, like to think she does, too.

What could have been... What I should have done... How things might be different if only...

Yes. I know, now.

I should have bought that shirt.

;-)
WCG+ 14-Feb-2012