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"I believe that if you seriously talk to anybody, everybody would be opposed to war… if the war were on their head. If bombs were dropping on their house, they would be opposed to it. Period. The way war is clinically portrayed, through the media, gives people a sense of separation. Think about the kind of panic that spread throughout this country when those three planes crashed. People were terrified. Three planes crashed. In Iraq you had thousands upon thousands of planes dropping millions of bombs. What do people think is going on here? It’s not cartoons. I think that everybody would be opposed to war if they really had to contend with it. I think that any war is wrong. I'm always going to be opposed to it. I understand violence in times may be necessary, but it’s never okay.

As a pacifist, there are a lot of people who call me out and say, 'What if somebody was attacking your mother or someone? Would you use violence?' I would. That's life or death. It may be necessary, but it doesn't make it okay. It has to happen sometimes. At the same time I don't think the kind of behavior that has been exhibited in Iraq and for the past thirty or forty years, has been necessary whatsoever."

-Ian MacKaye (of hardcore and post-hardcore bands Minor Threat and Fugazi; emphasis added)

(source)

"Resembling or showing the spirit of Christ."

-Worldnet (Princeton University Dictionary) Definition for Christlike

__________________________

Yes, I have just started this article with two quotes, one of which is a definition. Crucify me upon ye olde stick of cliches. There is a point though.

I was reading something on gun violence the other day when a crazy thought popped into my head: Gandhi is one of, if not the most Christlike public figure in the past few hundred years. And...he's not a Christian.


Let me call back to a discussion I had way back last year in my dorm. Reynolds, the dorm I stayed in for my first two semesters, was the "Christian" dorm: not officially, but since you had to sign an official document stating that, whilst staying at Reynolds, you would abstain from drugs, alcohol or tobacco (in and out of said dorm) ... well, the only people who that appeals to in the slightest are Christians (or, more accurately, Christian parents). So, a good 85% (that number is arbitrary but looks right) of my hall last year were, at least vocally, Christians.


One night this really interesting thing happened.


A few of us were hanging out, some from Reynolds and some not, and we got onto some political topics, and eventually found ourselves discussing warfare (I swear I had nothing to do with it ... that is a lie of course I brought it up).


The ensuing conversation challenged my belief in God more than any I've ever had before or since (up to now). And here's why: on one side of the argument were two or three Christians, and on the other was a liberal atheist...and me. I was the sole Christian arguing against every other Christian. What were we arguing for?


Love, and peace, and self-sacrifice, and serving others instead of taking command of them. These are the things we argued for. As in, these are the points the Christians were arguing against.


These are God's people? Not to sound too judgmental, but I wanted nothing to do with them.


(I doubt they will, but if those parties involved are reading this, I apologize if you feel insulted and ask only that you keep reading)


Let's talk Gandhi again. Gandhi was far from perfect (in his autobiography he'll remind you of this approximately 14 times per page). Gandhi's life, to him, was purposeful only insofar as his so-called "experiments in truth": the process by which he attempted to seek out what he called "truth".


I can hear the response already: "This is your local pastor speaking, and here's the sad truth about Gandhi:


Gandhi was a smart and good man, and he indeed sought out truth. But he needed only to realize that truth existed, he knew of it, and it could be his: truth is Jesus Christ. Christ illuminates our lives and leads us to understanding the truth of the world that is Him. Gandhi, despite all his goodness and gentleness and Christlike-ness, failed to notice the truth right in front of him, so he is burning eternally in hell."


...


I recently changed my Facebook religious information. At first I just took away "Christ Follower". But I realized that, if I were to be Facebook stalked by any prospective girlfriend who was herself a Christian (I can literally feel the judgment you all inflict upon me), she would see "Liberal" under "Political" and no mention of Christianity (except for Christ being listed as an influence) and promptly have absolutely nothing to do with me. But when I went to write back my religious affiliation, something was bugging me.


Have I really found Christ?


To follow someone, you must know where they are. You must see them very, very clearly, otherwise you may go in the wrong direction. And the truth of the matter is, sitting here 2000 years later in a world and culture that looks completely different, it's really, really hard to see Christ. Do you know how I know this?


Because the people who claim to follow him so often look nothing like truth.


Are they false followers? Do they not read what Christ says? Do they not understand it? Are they deceived, or deceiving?


None of the above.


They're following, yeah, but everything is so blurry they're not following very well. Jesus is way, way off in the distance, and some of us are convinced He's that direction while some of us are totally convinced he's the other direction.


So how do we find him?


We search.


My Facebook page now says "Christ searcher" (a term I apparently made up), and I think it describes how I view myself now. I've struggled much with Christianity over these past few months, and I understand that just by saying I do not have Christ but am instead looking for him, some will group me with Local Church Pastor's Gandhi up there and say I'm destined for hell.


So be it if that's what you believe, but I'm not really sure that it's true.


Do you remember that Ian MacKaye quote we started with? Ian MacKaye says those things, those Christlike things, despite the fact that he's not a Christian. He talks about other things like the importance of community, and his words echo Christ. But he's not a Christian.


People like Ian MacKaye, people like Gandhi, are searchers. They're looking for truth. And the really funny thing is, they're closer to truth than most Christians. Why is that? Why is it that what they hit upon is more Christlike than what Christians hit upon?


Maybe it's because, in our extended analogy of Christ being far away and everyone looking for Him, the "Christians" are all marching off in one direction because they're convinced they've already found the one to follow. There's a whole cluster of them all stampeding one way, so many that they can't really see the person they're following - but they know He's there, because they were told He was this direction by the people in front of them.


There's this funny thing about crowds.


Often they can all be so sure that they're following a specific person, but if you were to back up and look at the crowd from above, you'd notice something amazing: they're not following anyone. The only person they're following is themselves: they're so sure it's not true that they'll fight you to the tooth about it, but it's true. They all march off, farther and farther away from the truth.


There are these other groups, though. Little, tiny pockets of groups of people who know that Christ is far away. That He's there for us to find, that truth exists out there, but obscure, and distant.


In these little groups, the view is much clearer. Everyone can weigh in, everyone can use their eyes, and everyone can look around and say "you know, it looks like we need to go that way". And maybe they'll go that way and realize they're not quite right: but they're so small that a course correction is easy and quick. And they narrow in as best as they can on the truth in the distance.


That's a Christianity that makes sense. That's a Christianity that describes Christians living for Christ, looking for Christ in all things, and not just parroting what they were told to.


I really hope I catch a lot of flack for this, not because I enjoy stirring the pot (...very much), but because I want my community, you, all of you reading this, to course correct.


"Yeah, Jon, truth is this way, but you're going too far East."


"You're completely wrong, Jon - Christ is over here, do you see Him? He's in the distance, between those mountains."


"You're pointed right at Him from what I can see - good eye, let's keep moving this way."


I want to be joined by a group, not of Christ followers, but of Christ searchers.


Because searching is just following on a bigger scale.


"To try to find something by looking or otherwise seeking carefully and thoroughly."

call now and receive "love" for $19.99 - but wait! use your credit card and we'll throw in a second helping, absolutely FREE!!

Earlier today...
Me: "For example: suppose I have a Snickers and a Twix. You have 50 cents, and want a candy bar. I make three offers: you can buy the Snickers for 50 cents, the Twix for 50 cents, or both for 50 cents. Which one do you buy?"
Tom: "Obviously both."
M: "Why obviously?"
T: "Because it's the best deal."
M: "Will you eat both?"
T: "Sure. I like them both."
M: "What if it makes you sick to eat both of them?"
T: "I'll save one for later."
M: "No, not both at the same time. What if it's bad for you to eat both of them, full stop? How do you even know it's alright for you to eat one of them?"
T: "Fine, I'll buy both, eat one, and sell the other for at least 50 cents. Then I profit, because my net monetary gain was zero, and my net wealth gain was a candy bar."
M: "What will you do with the extra money you receive as a result of buying both? For sake of argument, let's assume this economy consists almost entirely of candy bars."
T: "...that's weird."
M: "Run with it."
T: "Well, I suppose I'd buy another candy bar later."
M: "Here's my point: examine why you feel the need so heavily to not miss out on the possible profit of buying two candy bars for the price of one, when in reality the gains from it are marginal and may even be harmful to you."
T: "That sounds like too much for me. Why am I your friend again?"
M: "You're not, Tom. You're just a figment of my imagination. This conversation never even happened."
T: "(chuckles) Sure, Jon. Whatever you say."

Existential questions of literary characters aside: why does Tom feel the need to capitalize on this transaction?

Let's talk Marxism (it's only a reasonably easy-to-read paragraph summary, Caleb; chill out).

Karl Marx wrote that one day (soon) people would get fed up with the oppression inherit in Capitalism and there would be a great Socialist revolution (the Communist revolution would come later). He wrote this in 1848 - 164 years later, and there has yet to be some massive worldwide revolution. Marxists spent most of the 20th Century trying to figure this out, and they came to a remarkable conclusion: rather than violence or coercion, the Capitalist leaders were using culture itself as a means of oppression by changing people's thinking, especially in terms of values. For example, by making it seem "normal" to "look out for number one", not only will people start to act life selfish greedy bastards, they'll actively encourage it. Sounds crazy, right?

...

Let's talk "human nature".

We've all heard it said (especially in churches) that human nature tends towards evil. Or, for the slightly less pessimistic, human nature tends towards "survival" as set down by evolution/nature. We look at animals and see that they do whatever it takes to ensure their own personal survival, and we reason that by every animal doing this the species as a whole survives and has a successful future. Great.

But...do animals ever act selflessly? Are there any signs that nature features such concepts as "sacrifice" embedded in the dna of animals, telling them to do something selfless for another member of their species? Mothers caring for their young is the obvious example, but that's still tied to "survival" and genetic lines and all that. So humans must only ever act selflessly in the face of protection of their children, we reason.

There's never any reason to act totally unselfishly, we reason.

The implications of believing that the culture was forcing us to believe this, even by way of the church, are pretty massive. I mean, capitalism is based on the notion that people will always act in their own best self-interest, right? We've all been taught that this is the natural, healthy thing to do. To break apart this idea would unravel the concept itself, by revealing a fatal flaw in the base of the superstructure. If those in power want to stay there, their best bet is to try an quell any ideas which go against this notion of a selfish human nature.

...

Let's talk history.

What would happen if we were to look at history with an imperfect (and frankly essentialist) understanding of human beings? There's some neato vocabulary word describing the fallacy of prescribing modern-day schools of thought onto old works, but I can't remember it. The point being, it's considered a fallacy: you wouldn't judge Dr. Frankenstein by his inability to adhere to the rigorous scientific models for experimentation and publication now in place, would you? Nor would you criticize the character of Don Quixote for not acting out against the servitude and slavery around him in the countryside, about which he is entirely indifferent and never even mentions. You can't impose modern understandings of the world on ancient peoples any more than people of the future can impose their understandings on you: in a way, it's unfair to the people of that time period.

So say that we are constantly imposing an errant perspective that people are fundamentally selfish across all of literature and history across all of time. How does this shape our understanding of those works and people? We usually will end up reading into the motivations of characters, and explaining away their ambiguous actions as the writer's prerogative to withhold information. Or we'll meta-criticize, and point out the ways in which the writer was esteeming him/herself in their work. Or we'll rationalize some extraordinary person into oblivion and neuter their thoughts by "discovering" how they were working for themselves, fundamentally.

...

Let's talk Jesus.

You knew this was coming - besides several other people in history, Jesus stands as one of the prime examples of "not acting selfishly". But isn't it odd that churches still preach it as being healthy to consider all things in light of yourself? They won't word it that way (certainly), but the concept is there, and subtle, and deeply manipulative. Why are you a Christian? It betters your life, and your afterlife. Why do you give to the poor? It enriches your spiritual health, it makes you feel good, it does God's work and so He will look at you and say "Well done my good and faithful servant".

It gets even more subtle. Why do you tithe? Because God says so, right there in the Bible, His word. Why should you obey God? Out of love for Him. Why should you love Him? Because of all that He's done for you. You're in eternal debt to Him. You can't pay it off, they say, but you still obey Him out of love out of gratitude out of desire to be in His favor.

Why did Jesus help the poor? It wasn't to improve his relationship with God (obviously). It wasn't to change his perspective on the world. It wasn't to make him feel good. It was to help somebody.

When the church participates in the culture selfishness machine, we start to propagate this understanding that the highest consideration in any given action should be what will happen to us as a result. What was the greatest commandment?

"Ensure your own well-being, that you might help others."?

"Look out for number one, as if everyone does we will all lead well lives."?

"Do all things considering your reward in heaven, and what the Lord God will do for you after life."?

Nope.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength and mind. And the second," (not lesser, just next) "is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself."

Christianity filtered through Capitalism is meaningless. It's why the "church" in the United States is dying. It is why it has been plagued with in-authenticity for the better part of 100 years. It continually makes promises of a life based around you, when that's missing the entire point.

Let's envision a world wherein every Christian (at least) is not considering, first and foremost, their own self-interest. Where everyone considers before them God and others. What would happen?

I think Capitalism would break down. Sorry for getting all political on you guys, but I believe it: we live in a self-perpetuating culture/world which overemphasizes selfishness so much that without it everything would just crumble. People would become valuable, not just commodities of which we can take advantage. Transactions would become based on gratitude, and selflessness, and not on "getting the best deal". Everyone would treat everyone else better than fairly: they would treat them as Jesus treated everyone, with dignity and respect.

Now the really funny thing is that I know Christians who would tell me that this vision of the world does not square with their Christianity. People are evil, and living like that isn't practical in a world where we want to protect ourselves or our children or our interest or whatever.

My response: you're in the wrong ballgame, pal.

Jesus didn't tell you to make judgment calls on what you need to do as opposed to what you should do. The book of James even tells us that it is not our place to judge our fellow man. Over and over again this theme is reiterated: live selflessly, for others' sake above your own. We're not called to live practically. We're called to be smart (wise as serpents innocent as doves etc. etc.), but we're not called to take advantage of other human beings in the interest of being smart. Selfishness does not equal wisdom.

I'm not saying you have to be perfect either. As illustration, here are some of the ways I suck at doing this:
- I get irrationally pissed off when I feel people are insulting me.
- I take perverse pleasure out of manipulating others to fit my own needs.
- I overestimate my own abilities (pride), and then get all entitled when the results of my actions don't match my expectations (the fall).
- I often make "exceptions" in my head to the rules above, thinking "Yeah, God, I know I'm supposed to love them, but that guy is really just a total dick, and I think you'd agree that he deserves some punishment. Heck, it'll probably help him in the long run, right?"
- I get far too easily frustrated with people for what I perceive as lack of intelligence.
- I am apathetic/lazy when it comes to doing work I am not personally interested in.

Etc. etc. etc. Now that you are (hopefully) thoroughly convinced I am a horrible person, I hope to get this counter-argument out of the way: "Yeah, but you can't live that way!". You're right. I absolutely cannot, without the grace of God. And even then, I'll never get to be that perfect. But that doesn't stop me from trying! I know I'm an idealist, but to me we should be: we should always consider and act as though we're in the world God wants to exist, and we want to exist. A world where people help people.

Etc. etc. etc.

Review: Star Wars, Episode III Revenge of the Sith (Novelization by Matthew Stover)

So, the obvious question: why review a seven-year old novelization of a lackluster film which contributed to the destruction of many of our childhoods? Because around four years ago I picked up this book on a whim, and it challenged my assumptions about what writing is capable of.

This is a novel that knows the exact strengths and weaknesses of the story set before it, and is totally willing to emphasize that which helps it and sweep all the other stuff under the rug. Stover demonstrates remarkable aptitude in aggressively restructuring the tale as told in the film: the "opening" battle scene in the movie is stretched to roughly a 1/3 of the book's length, giving Stover legroom to properly introduce and breathe life into all the characters before we begin the story proper.

The general story you know well, but where this book really shines is in helping the reader grasp the characters psychologically. That might sound stupid in a soft sci-fi setting like Star Wars, but the execution is so flawless you won't think twice about it. One trick which Stover pulls several times is in using little 2nd person sections of the story to tell you exactly what a character feels or thinks at that particular moment. By describing, say, Anakin Skywalker's thoughts, reasoning, and emotions to the reader as though they were Anakin, the novel becomes incredibly gripping in a way that is really rather surprising. Having watched the film, I didn't think it was possible to empathize with the cardboard-cutout protagonist Anakin, but the novel really does an outstanding job conveying the deep, powerful emotions bubbling just under the surface without seeming tacky or under-developed.

Even beyond this, the novel succeeds in ways that were unexpected. Action, for me, doesn't often work well in prose (especially when someone is adapting a film into narrative), but by employing a more impressionistic-view  of the lightsaber and space battles (i.e. focusing on the fighters' thoughts, styles and characteristics instead of drab hit-by-hit recitation), the confrontations are engaging, while actually adding to the story.

In short, this novel did what the film definitely did not: it made this universe, and this story, real and powerful for me. By shifting the focus away from the inane, confusing, and "too-complex-for-soft-sci-fi" plot and instead drawing our attention to the characters, Stover's book has conveyed the meaning and intensity of this rather dark tale in a way only a masterful novel can.

radical

What was the most radical thing Jesus ever said?

...

That's largely dependent on the person reading, I presume. To a Jewish person in the 1st century, maybe it was the part where he said "the Sabbath was made for man, not man for it."

To a wealthy person (in any century), maybe it's that time he tells the rich young man, "Give away all your possessions, lay up treasures in heaven; come follow me."

(this is not where I'm going with this, but as a sidenote, do you ever worry about the fact that Jesus said it was harder for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, and we Americans represent the upper-upper-upper class of the world?)

To a lover of social justice, whether it be a Jewish man resisting the oppressive Roman rule at the time, or a black man being subject to police brutality during the Civil Rights movement, maybe it's the part where he calls down Zacchaeus, that foul son-of-a-bitch who traded his own people to the Romans for money, and goes to eat with him. Or the part where he asks forgiveness for the guards, and the people, responsible for killing him.

Jesus was certainly more radical than we often give him credit for being.

I think, though, that we often miss the two most radical things he ever said. Miss them for what they are, anyways.

Here's one:

"Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

And here's the other:

"You should love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength; this is the greatest commandment. The second is similar: love your neighbor as yourself."

The thing about these is, they boil everything up there down to a single powerful command. "Love."

Jesus, was ultimately love.

Duh.

But here's the thing: we look over this all the time.

Consider the history of the Church. Things start off pretty good, we have Paul and the apostles doing crazy shit all around the Mediterranean, the Church spreading like wildfire, all this great stuff. The Roman government oppressing the Church pretty much only makes it stronger. There's persecution, yes. There's hardship and trials, certainly. But things are going unbelievably.

Then something horrible happens. Something which set a precedent for the next 1900 years in the Church.

The Church became...official.

How terribly ironic that the Constantine adopted Christianity as part of a last-ditch effort in a losing battle. In becoming legit, we lost some of our credibility.

Then, there was the Roman Catholic Church, and now the Church existed as a political entity (a powerful one, at that), wielding it's supposed spiritual power to guide the ways of man towards their own political gains. Part of this involves the attempted re-capture of the Holy Land, or "Jesus cries as so many horrors are wrought in his name", or the Crusades.

In Europe, wars are fought constantly over Christianity itself: theological and ideological differences tear us apart.

Some people try to escape the fighting and go to a place where they make all religion legal and free (they had a good idea). But they severely fuck everything up by all being Christians. And from there, we have the growth of American-Christian Imperialism, including our insane understanding of moral truths, truths we claim to find in the text itself but really date back to our 1900 year old belief that Jesus had nothing to say about "justified warfare".

That's the brief overview. I left out the parts where we conquered and massacred native peoples all over the world, in Jesus' name; the parts where we cruelly subjected lower classes and racial minorities to horrible welfare conditions or even slavery, in Jesus' name; and the parts where we prayed earnestly for God's blessing over people sent to gain geopolitical and economical power for the United States in the very land where God might be needed the most, in Jesus' name.

Millions upon millions killed, slaughtered, broken, tortured, subjugated, conquered, and hated.

In Jesus' name.

"Love."

How the hell did we screw up such a simple command?

I don't think we did. I think we screwed up an incredibly difficult command. That's why these are Jesus' most radical claims: they're near impossible for us, humans, to do.

Think about your day today (or yesterday). When was the last time you thought "I really hate that person"? (for me, it was yesterday at around 7 o'clock). When was the last time you wanted someone to see a cruel "justice", whether or not it was deserved? When was the last time you found that you would prefer to see someone loved than punished?

Here's the incredible, world-changing, life-changing, impossible truth: as a Christian, we can never use the term "enemy" to describe another human being.

...

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Everyone who is angry with his brother is liable to judgment.

Do not resist the one who is evil...turn the other cheek.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Father, forgive them: for they do not know what they are doing - Father, forgive us: we do not know what we are doing.

the atrocity exhibition

Being an "artist" (we're just skipping right over the pretentiousness of the phrase) is hard stuff. Artist, to make art, to express oneself through any given medium etc. It's a weird thing that so many of the great artists had serious issues in life.

Jim Morrison expressed himself through music, specifically poetry visa-vi singing lyrics. As his fame increased, as they gained more and more spectators, he became increasingly hushed, introverted, and in many ways unstable.

Edgar Allan Poe expressed himself through words, that is, the English language visa-vi stories and poetry. He was ransacked with personal issues the entirety of his life, overcome with grief at his young wife's death, likely a drunkard who died very alone and in mysterious circumstances.

Vincent van Gogh expressed himself through visuals, by way of putting ink onto a canvas. The extent of his mental health problems is debated, but at the least we know he cut off his ear because he thought it would be endearing to a dear woman – so there’s that.

Ian Curtis, again, expressed himself through music, specifically poetry by way of lyrics. We’ll get back to him.

So what came first, the chicken, or the egg? Are crazy people just drawn to art? Is the entire field of expression based solely on the musings of humans who don’t function properly within the world?

There’s a song by Joy Division called “Atrocity Exhibition”. Here are a few select lines from it.

Asylums with doors open wide,

Where people had paid to see inside,

For entertainment they watch his body twist,

Behind his eyes he says, 'I still exist.'

This is the way, step inside.

This is the way, step inside...

“This is the way, step inside.” Joy Division’s song title (and thematic elements) are taken from a “novel” by J.G. Ballard. Ballard’s novel focuses on a protagonist with a constantly changing name who is having a severe mental breakdown. The character is deeply affected by the advent of mass media, and in fact spends much of the novel trying to recast public events in ways that personally impact him.

So what makes being an artist hard?

Ian Curtis, the lead singer of Joy Division, is casting himself as the mass media event. He’s describing a play, or (more accurately) an exhibition, a museum piece for people to come and watch with popcorn in their hands.

An atrocity exhibition.

Because people don’t listen to Joy Division to see the beauty of Ian’s soul on display. Neither do people read Edgar Allan Poe to understand the humane depths of his heart, or connect with Van Gogh’s uncompromised sense of normality and realism.

We line up and we pay money to watch a body twist.

For Curtis, being an artist meant putting the darkness of himself on display. Letting people line up and peer into your very soul and whistle, saying “That’s pretty dark.” And some, most in fact, walk away and nod, pretentiously aloof and unfeeling and thinking “I’m glad I’m nothing like that.”

When in fact…

Some, though, embrace the exhibition. They see themselves in the man twisting on the floor, screaming incoherent nonsense. Their very souls tell them “This is you, if only a little.”

Curtis puts himself on display, invites people to come in and watch, and then hopes they take his musings and personally connect with him. Because this would mean that he’s not alone.

The pain of being an artist: searching for someone as fucked up as yourself. And if you find them, trying to tell them “I know you know this is what it’s like.”

Atrocity on exhibition.

jesus, meet dumbledore

Perhaps I only now sit down to write this out of some perverse loyalty to what this once was - maybe every year from now, as my birthday comes and goes, I'll return here to move the header up by one year and feel obligated to say a little something; like a speech. A speech to a vacant audience, in an old dusty theatre which never held sold-out crowds in the first place. A funny thing about a theatre like that - it ends up meaning more to the owner than it does to anyone who ever visited.

Well. Enough about that. What ideas have I ached to get out for some time?

I guess if there was an obvious place to start, it'd be concerning relationships. Not that I'm in one, obviously, but having exited a 2 1/2 year affair some seven or so months ago, I think my perspective on relationships has changed rather dramatically. While I'm obviously tempted to just claim that they're all futile and will only end in heartache, I don't particularly enjoy being that much of a Johnny Raincloud. I am more wary of them in general, and not just because of the 4+ months I've spent in relatively high(er) levels of depression: moreso because I keep seeing them fall apart around me.

Four. I've known of four couples to have their marriage fall apart...in the last two months. Four. That's eight people I know who had to deal with the heartache of learning that "the one" wasn't, in fact, "the one". Learning how freakish the human heart is, that within a year you can go from "I'd be willing to die for this person" to "I wish this person had never been born" (that's relatively tame in fact). So what do you do with, forgive me, shit like this?

What I want to do is condemn people for being too quick to rush into relationships. Us cynics look around and decide that people, as a general rule, become too quickly enamored. They find someone and look them up and down and say "This guy is perfect! There's nothing I can see in him which would get in the way of us leading a happy life together." We think they should say "This guy seems okay - what is there that would indicate to me that we can be together?" It's the difference between declaring victory because nothing's wrong and withholding victory until everything is right. This is my nature - things (including people) will always tend to be bad, unless they prove otherwise.

But that doesn't seem very Christlike.

Neither, might I add, does it seem Christlike to find everyone perfect, to declare every okay person you meet to be a saintlike, or to throw yourself into someone as their soul-mate just because you see nothing wrong with them.

Balance.

Jesus had a remarkable way of knowing how to hold people to a high standard without thinking less of them. Someone once told it to me this way: "He understood to prepare for the worst in people, but genuinely expected the best from them." Think Dumbledore - he knows, just like we all know, that certain "bad apples" will always make the wrong choice. He knows that most people will just do whatever their base desires tell them, and will act selfishly. He knows this, and he prepares for it. But he doesn't live like it. He's smart (in preparation), but he's also loving (in life). He always gives second chances, he always waits for the people to make the right choice, and he always loves them (even when they make the wrong choice).

Back to relationships. Somehow - and this is pretty hard - somehow, we're supposed to prepare for people being people. We're supposed to understand the risks, understand and prepare ourselves for everything falling apart in the blink of an eye. And we're still supposed to jump in.


Because the idea is, we're never really jumping all the way in. In a perfect relationship, I'm not devoting myself 100%, fully, irrevocably to another person. Me and another person are devoting ourselves 100%, fully, irrevocably to God. Together. With, and in, and through, and several other prepositions, each other.

So, surprisingly, neither the cynics nor the bright 'n cheery gang are right this time. We have to balance, and when we fail (as we will), we have to (sigh) run back to God. He'll, after all, be waiting.