I was really bitter and cynical last week during the inauguration. Of course, I'd have been bitter and cynical regardless of who got elected. To my shame be it said that I let my bitterness get the better of my charity, and to the person who had to put up with it that afternoon, I apologize.
As Diane pointed out to me at the time, politics is marketing, and people buy into the brands. I like people. I like being around people, knowing their stories, and just watching their behavior. It's a curiosity with me, a fascination. This is why I like cities. Sure, I prefer the open air, the peace of a blue sky and a spring breeze, but there is something to be said for spending time with your fellow man, for they are also beloved by God. What hurts and saddens me is when I see people whom I genuinely like led astray, either by smooth talk, or selfishness, or power, or what have you. I cannot worship a country, or an idea, or a word or emotion or politicians, and to me that is what politics is all about. Ideals - they are beautiful - hope and change and prosperity are lovely notions. Yet I have learned to much history to forget that ideals are what inspire men to kill without thought. Passion, resting upon the ideal of some higher good, and ending in the use of violent force to deprive another child of God of life or liberty, this is what has driven so many of the atrocities of the last century.
I am not willing to believe that the majority of people are completely and totally given over to evil. No, I am convinced that we have let ourselves be led astray and deceived. We allow ourselves to be whipped into a frenzy, hungry for power, hungry for blood, blinded from seeing the crimes done in our name, the innocents who suffer as a result of our passion for choice, for change, for freedom and democracy. Most Americans seem to me to be guilty of this blindness, and on occasion it infuriates me. Mostly, though, it merely saddens me. Indeed, it behooves us all to remember that we are none of us perfect, we have all, at one time in our lives, offended another child of God, and in so doing we have broken the heart of Him who loves us. It breaks my heart to see the blind cheer thoughtlessly for an ideology.
I have long leaned towards the libertarian thought pattern. A distrust of the state, of government of any sort, seems to me to be a rational approach, for to give someone power and then trust them not to be corrupted by it is foolish. At the same time, there seems to be something missing in libertarian thought, and I think I have finally begun to understand what that is. It is a misunderstanding of man himself, and of the spiritual nature of the world in which we live. One cannot operate on the assumption that by acting selfishly in all things we may achieve perfect harmony, with no government, no laws, but only our own selfish interests and the mores of society to restrain us. This presupposes, first, complete knowledge of our own interests, and, second, a lack of malicious influences in our world (or at least the assumption that they will balance each other out). It is this arrogance that has finally brought me to disenchantment with so many of the libertarian ideals.
Intellectual arrogance is another stumbling block, perhaps as harmful spiritually as unbridled passion. What is gained? True, we ought to oppose evil, by naming it, by fighting it, but too often we fail to name the evil and only name ourselves superior, and then what good have we done? Selfishness rears its ugly head once more, and the struggle never ends, until the end of time.
So what is the point? Fight on, fight for right, for truth, for truth is there. Fight for the innocent who cannot defend themselves, fight passionately, but wisely, with discretion and never in blind devotion. And always, always, fight with charity, for to fight evil with hatred and pride is counterproductive.
Lord, teach me always my own insignificance and failings, lest I think myself better than others, and remind me always of your Love, lest I despair that my life be worthless.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Another Auld Lang Syne
Living like a gypsy, and dreaming like a kid
Can make you old before your time
There comes a time in every man's life when he must, as a friend once told my brother, "sack up." Or, as K-Bo was fond of saying, "don't be a b****, man up." There's more of K-Bo in me than I used to think, and there's more of my brother in me than he ever knew. There is a constant, biting itch, a longing to escape, to get up and go, as God told Abraham to do. Yet I feel that the itch is less of God's call then my own refusal to face life. How happy I am and have been. Why, then is there the desire to pack and leave, to tell my friends they can do without me, that I'm for another time and another place? Responsibility is what separates a man from a child. Boyishness has its delight. Responsibility brings cares and troubles. Yet, viewed another way, when we answer God's call and take responsibility for our own lives and our own actions, is that not the only way to find joy in life? For, to be sure, one cannot run forever. We spend our lives searching for a way out. We run from God, from Truth, and from Holiness. We seek our comfort in sex and booze and money, in people, in things, in work (aye, for the constant drive to always be doing is an escape as well).
Antti once told me I have at least ten years before I have to settle down, and that I should live it up and enjoy life while I'm young. There is a protest in my mind and in my heart, though. For if I live the so-called good life now, will I not have to face up to the real world later, and perhaps with regrets for the time I wasted? It is one thing to experience life and the world, to go places, to try things, to learn people and gain friends and memories. And indeed, what is there for me to leave behind in my childhood? Certainly, I should leave behind the foolishness, the selfishness, the ego. Should I also run from the people who have shaped my life? After this Christmas, I think I cannot.
And it was Christmas that showed me the folly of the old saying "you have to grow old, you don't have to grow up." Too many people never grow up, and so much pain and darkness is the result. Too many never face their God and answer his call. Too many live their lives for themselves. Even a dear friend of mine once told me that, in the end, I should do whatever made me happy, never understanding that those who follow their own will are rebelling against the natural order, and demonstrating a profound lack of care for their brothers and sisters, strangers and sojourners together on this earth.
Six friends and two brothers made my Christmas what it was. One, older than I by six or seven years, just began working as a missionary. She was an assistant youth leader when I was in highschool, and was one of a few that I have always respected tremendously. I saw her joy with life, and I was happy for her.
Another, a girl only in the eighth grade, comported herself like a fine young lady almost twice her age. I have known her since she was seven, and it brought me a smile to see her growing up so well, though she is no child of mine. Thinking of her, and of the other younger kids I know from the times I was in A Christmas Carol, I can only hope that as they grow older, as they face the turning points in their lives, that they face them well, stand tall, and never fall away. To see my friends grow up beside me, or perhaps behind me, and to see some of them fall astray, it hurts. I cannot imagine the care that a father must have to see his own children grow old, to see their mistakes, their triumphs, their failings and their graces. Could I someday bear that burden? If so, I hope I bear it well.
And then four more, much closer to my own age, though indeed Emily Sue is yet in highschool, and Shane is but a freshman in college. To see them and know the changes we have all been through in our lives, to know even a tiny bit of their stories, and to know that still, through it all, we are friends, though our roads are different and we often bear our troubles alone, there is still a care there.
And my brothers, one facing his own trials as a man, another standing on the verge of becoming a man whom I would have proud to walk with his older brothers, that we three, separate but always together, may face the world out there. I hope he is the best of us. He is certainly no longer the baby. I find it strange to think that he will finish growing up without me there, but I look forward to seeing him a better man than his elders.
All this has given me pause to reflect, and to find in the road ahead some joy at the thought of taking responsibility, of being a man - not of making my mark on the world, but of making some small mark in the hearts of those I meet. I stood at midnight last night with my new friends, and though I've known them but a short time, they, too, mean so much to me. In my head and in my heart I drank with them, with Chad Hillhouse, with Katherine Heil, with Nancy and Rachel and Doy, with all the old faces from my childhood, here and gone, I raised a glass and drank a toast to innocence, a toast to time, and a toast - to old times and new times, first times and last times, and the times we've never had.
Can make you old before your time
There comes a time in every man's life when he must, as a friend once told my brother, "sack up." Or, as K-Bo was fond of saying, "don't be a b****, man up." There's more of K-Bo in me than I used to think, and there's more of my brother in me than he ever knew. There is a constant, biting itch, a longing to escape, to get up and go, as God told Abraham to do. Yet I feel that the itch is less of God's call then my own refusal to face life. How happy I am and have been. Why, then is there the desire to pack and leave, to tell my friends they can do without me, that I'm for another time and another place? Responsibility is what separates a man from a child. Boyishness has its delight. Responsibility brings cares and troubles. Yet, viewed another way, when we answer God's call and take responsibility for our own lives and our own actions, is that not the only way to find joy in life? For, to be sure, one cannot run forever. We spend our lives searching for a way out. We run from God, from Truth, and from Holiness. We seek our comfort in sex and booze and money, in people, in things, in work (aye, for the constant drive to always be doing is an escape as well).
Antti once told me I have at least ten years before I have to settle down, and that I should live it up and enjoy life while I'm young. There is a protest in my mind and in my heart, though. For if I live the so-called good life now, will I not have to face up to the real world later, and perhaps with regrets for the time I wasted? It is one thing to experience life and the world, to go places, to try things, to learn people and gain friends and memories. And indeed, what is there for me to leave behind in my childhood? Certainly, I should leave behind the foolishness, the selfishness, the ego. Should I also run from the people who have shaped my life? After this Christmas, I think I cannot.
And it was Christmas that showed me the folly of the old saying "you have to grow old, you don't have to grow up." Too many people never grow up, and so much pain and darkness is the result. Too many never face their God and answer his call. Too many live their lives for themselves. Even a dear friend of mine once told me that, in the end, I should do whatever made me happy, never understanding that those who follow their own will are rebelling against the natural order, and demonstrating a profound lack of care for their brothers and sisters, strangers and sojourners together on this earth.
Six friends and two brothers made my Christmas what it was. One, older than I by six or seven years, just began working as a missionary. She was an assistant youth leader when I was in highschool, and was one of a few that I have always respected tremendously. I saw her joy with life, and I was happy for her.
Another, a girl only in the eighth grade, comported herself like a fine young lady almost twice her age. I have known her since she was seven, and it brought me a smile to see her growing up so well, though she is no child of mine. Thinking of her, and of the other younger kids I know from the times I was in A Christmas Carol, I can only hope that as they grow older, as they face the turning points in their lives, that they face them well, stand tall, and never fall away. To see my friends grow up beside me, or perhaps behind me, and to see some of them fall astray, it hurts. I cannot imagine the care that a father must have to see his own children grow old, to see their mistakes, their triumphs, their failings and their graces. Could I someday bear that burden? If so, I hope I bear it well.
And then four more, much closer to my own age, though indeed Emily Sue is yet in highschool, and Shane is but a freshman in college. To see them and know the changes we have all been through in our lives, to know even a tiny bit of their stories, and to know that still, through it all, we are friends, though our roads are different and we often bear our troubles alone, there is still a care there.
And my brothers, one facing his own trials as a man, another standing on the verge of becoming a man whom I would have proud to walk with his older brothers, that we three, separate but always together, may face the world out there. I hope he is the best of us. He is certainly no longer the baby. I find it strange to think that he will finish growing up without me there, but I look forward to seeing him a better man than his elders.
All this has given me pause to reflect, and to find in the road ahead some joy at the thought of taking responsibility, of being a man - not of making my mark on the world, but of making some small mark in the hearts of those I meet. I stood at midnight last night with my new friends, and though I've known them but a short time, they, too, mean so much to me. In my head and in my heart I drank with them, with Chad Hillhouse, with Katherine Heil, with Nancy and Rachel and Doy, with all the old faces from my childhood, here and gone, I raised a glass and drank a toast to innocence, a toast to time, and a toast - to old times and new times, first times and last times, and the times we've never had.
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