Leaving

"...The sun is going down
I say we follow it out of town
--We've been here for far too long.
(But will they know we're gone?)
And in the morning, when it rises
Maybe it will shine for us..."
~Stavesacre, "Sundown Motel"


"Life gives you openings both false and true, and...one of the measures of true genius is knowing which doors to walk through and when."
~Haven Kimmel, The Used World


"Not all those who wander are lost."
~J.R. Tolkien


I just got back from a fine Christmas spent in DuBois, Pennsylvania with family, but, alas, I am leaving again, this time with a sense of permanence, and hoping the sun will shine for me. I say permanence not because I will never come back but because this time it feels so much different than leaving for boarding school or college. Much has been written about leaving--leaving home in particular--but for some reason none of the writing I have read has resonated with me as much as that written by Mark Soloman and his SoCal band, Stavesacre, which I quoted above. I am leaving this little Indiana town (Culver) that has become my home (and maybe always will be?). I love it here. I have a great family. And Culver people are friendly. But the social life is limited for the 20s-types, and the job prospects are...actually it'd more accurate to say it in the negative: they aren't. But I leave with the comfort that I will always have a warm place to come back to and with the solace that I have chosen the right time to leave.

So I head, again, "to the big city," our nation's capital, Washington, D.C. I spent a semester there in college, and head back to live with some friends I made, to intern (hopefully) for Dr. Steve Garber at the Washington Institute for Faith, Vocation, and Culture and to work wherever someone will take me, a coffee shop, a bar, a grocery store. I will only be in D.C. for a few months before heading to Atlanta to start training for Teach For America. Next fall, I'll be teaching in Jacksonville, FL.

I am not used to having things so planned out, so "set in stone." It's weird. And even though some things are settled, there's plenty enough uncertainty to keep things interesting. I won't have a computer for a while, so I don't know how much or when I'll write again. (Hopefully, I'll be getting a laptop soon). Anyway, should be fun. And I hope to see you along the way...

Responding to Hitchens

"Don't criticize what you can't understand."
~Bob Dylan, "The Times, They are A-Changin'"


This truism, in Dylan's context, was a warning to the Vietnam generation of parents about their interactions with and judgments of their hippy and activist children. But it was in a different light that I recently picked up the book God is not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by Vanity Fair editor Christopher Hitchens. It was, however, this same pursuit of new understanding that I also read Sam Harris's Letter to a Christian Nation and that I have been drawn to (but not read) Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, and purchased (but not yet read) Bertrand Russell's Why I am not a Christian.

While there is some great literature in the Bible and written since by Christians that I will continue to read, I think that if all I (we) ever read is Christian stuff, then we're not really exploring at all, and perhaps that we are even insecure about our convictions and lifestyles, so much so that we don't even want to consider the possibility that we might be wrong. You see, unlike many leftist secularists who talk about open-mindedness and critical thinking without really believing or living them out, I actually think we should practice them, for real. I believe that if God cannot stand the toughest of questions, then He isn't real, but if He can, then He is real, and we ought to fall on our knees in humility and beg for mercy. Though my understanding and experiences with God are undoubtedly filtered through the Christian lens, I acknowledge fully that had I been born in Iraq, I would probably be a Muslim, or in India a Hindu. But though socialization affects religious preference, I believe the true God reveals Himself to people of any faith tradition, and that He loves them all.

According to the book of Jeremiah, God told the Israelites, "You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart" (29:13). St. Paul tells us in the first letter to the Thessalonians to "Test all things and hold fast to that which is good" (5:21). And as even Hitchens quotes, Paul also writes, to the Philippians, "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report: if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things" (4:8).

But the reality is, we cannot truly decide what is "good" and "pure" if we never venture beyond the bounds of Christianity. Does anyone else out there ever ask the questions, "Is this all a game, all something we made up, all something my parents and churches have indoctrinated me with?" I think those questions are healthy, and faith never really became my own until I started asking them. Like I said, I think God is big enough for the questions, but unfortunately too many Christians think we have to isolate ourselves from any real and honest public discourse for some obscure reason that I really cannot reconcile with the Jesus of the New Testament.

Of course, we are limited by our humanness and there will probably always be unanswerable questions. I acknowledge that. The one that always gets me is, where did God come from and how long has He been around? Christians use creation as evidence for God, but if we were created by God, who created God and how long has He been around? How did He come to be? I don't know. And I don't think I ever will, at least on "this side." And I definitely don't think Christians stand on more convincing ground to say that there must be a God because of creation. It strikes me as equal ground--both sides being imperfect and limited--to those who say that creation came from nothing/chance/science.

The thing that makes Hitchens pretty compelling is that he has experienced many different aspects of religion and seems to have a pretty good grasp on the Bible. He is sort of the opposite of agnostics-to-Christians like C.S. Lewis and Josh McDowell. He writes, "In the course of my life, (I have been) an Anglican, educated at a Methodist school, converted by marriage to Greek Orthodoxy, recognized as an incarnation by the followers of Sai Baba, and remarried by a rabbi..." (195). He has seen almost all of it, and rejected it in the end. What can you or I really say to a guy like that?

Unlike some wackos, such as Sam Harris, Hitchens acknowledges that religion is here to stay. And he wrestles with questions we should all consider: "Why if god was the creator of all things, were we supposed to praise him so incessantly for doing what came to him naturally? If Jesus could heal a blind person...why not heal blindness? What was so wonderful about his casting out devils, so that devils would enter a herd of pigs instead? With all this continual prayer, why no result? Why did I have to keep saying, in public, that I was a miserable sinner? Why was the subject of sex considered so toxic?" (3). The list could certainly go on...

I was so hung up on the prayer question at one point--I thought there was no utility in it--that I quit praying for a time during my junior year of college. My thought was, if God is sovereign and makes his own decisions, why even ask Him for things? He's going to make His own decisions anyway. Now, there are some verses in the Bible that suggest that He does respond to our prayers, but in general, I do believe He is sovereign and makes decisions independent of our pleas, but for our own good. It was an evolving (still evolving) view on prayer that I began praying again. Paul tells us to "Pray without ceasing" (1 Thessalonians 5:17). This might be a weird view of prayer, and I'm sure someone somewhere could rip it to shreds, but I think prayer is more to foster our relationship with God, sometimes as a sort of comfort for us, than it is to really change the mind or actions of God. Kind of like venting. Sometimes we talk to our friends simply to get stuff off our chest, not because they really can help us. The listening is all the help we need sometimes.

But anyway, Hitchens also does a good job of shattering Christian claims that atheists are evil and cannot be moral people, although I'm not quite sure how one gets to morality intellectually without a Creator. A point that is well-taken, and I think Christians must do a better job of engaging, is that if God created our complex and capable minds, why such condemnations on the intellect? Reason, religion, and spirituality could and should be embraced with equal vigor.

Hitchens also criticizes the Christian concept of a "miracle," which of course implicates everything from Moses parting the sea to Jesus's resurrection. He points out a few examples, one involving Mother Teresa, of Christians claiming a miracle (by definition something of the supernatural) when time and close investigation showed nothing more than something of the natural order taking place. While I believe God is capable of those things if He is omnipotent, and C.S. Lewis's Miracles is on my short list of books to read, I am always a bit perplexed about why people are so desperate for God to do things that we can do for ourselves. For example, I have a cold today. Is it really necessary for God to perform a miracle when He has given me the resources (my immune system, some tea, and the herb echinacea) that will overcome the cold? God created those things; He deserves the glory with or without a so-called "miracle"!

I think this tendency, again, is out of insecurity. We long for God to "prove" Himself, to vindicate our faith. The man who's evil spirit Jesus drove out, exclaimed "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!" (Mark 9:24). And we all know the story of "Doubting Thomas." I think God is more understanding than we'll ever know. But where are we ever guaranteed certainty? And why do we really feel that we need it? Doesn't the very concept of "faith" hint at uncertainty? Hebrews 11:1 defines faith as "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

As I quote Mark, I should also recommend that everyone out there read Hitchens' chapter of criticism of the New Testament, which to me didn't discredit it as much as further my own thinking that neither the Bible or Christianity is perfect, and we shouldn't be threatened by criticism. I believe the Bible is divinely-inspired but certainly not inerrant or free of human bias. To be honest, I don't see how any serious or objective study of how the Bible was created could come up with any other conclusion. For the record, he also criticizes Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, and all other religions with equal candor and passion; he is not one of those politically correct types who won't say anything bad about Islam.

In no way did I agree with all or even most of what Hitchens said. Though it would take a much greater scholar than I to dispute him point by point, I come to much different conclusions than he does, obviously. And at different points of the book, he bashes Gandhi, Mother Teresa, C.S. Lewis, Dr. Martin Luther King and even questions whether Jesus ever really existed. My thought was, 'Really?!!' Most of them were fallen and imperfect (except Jesus as far as I know), yes, but is it even disputable that all those people contributed much more good than bad to society?

In sum, I'm glad I am reading the book. I am a better Christian, and more importantly, person, because of it. If all I ever read were books that reinforced my own thinking, I would not change and would not grow.

Second Chances

Last week, on a slow bartending night at the Culver Cabana, I was able to watch quite a bit of the Notre Dame men's basketball win against Kansas State, their first big win of the year. In the last few minutes, as ND's lead dwindled down to two points, junior guard Kyle McAlarney hit the big shot--a three from the top of the key--to "put the nail in the coffin."

What made the particulars of those facts significant is that McAlarney is from the northeast, and had about 200 family and friends at Madison Square Garden--where the game was played--watching him complete his redemption story. You see, McAlarney was suspended from his starting point guard spot for the second half of last season, and even had to leave school for getting caught possessing marijuana. As I understand it, the final decision was made by a student council, and that his punishment was much more severe at Notre Dame than it would have been at many other schools.

As I heard announcer Dick Vitale and later Coach Brey talk about it, I couldn't help but agree that though McAlarney definitely made a big mistake, he had earned my respect by the way he handled it. He didn't transfer, didn't blame other people. He faced his mistake head on and is in the process of overcoming it. Doing that is difficult; it means looking people one has let down square in the eye. It means trying to restore one's reputation by doing the hard work of living with integrity. Now obviously I don't know McAlarney personally, and maybe he is still smoking pot, but I hope not.

Thank God for second chances though, eh? If we didn't have them, we'd all be screwed in this life. As Romans 3:23 says, "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." I don't know McAlarney's religious or spiritual leanings, but I hope that he has learned from his mistake and that he keeps nailing clutch 3's to make obsessive fans like me happy!

New Poetry and Why I'm not a Poet

Per request, I'm going to post a recently-written poem. But first, let me tell you why I don't do this very often.

Basically, it's because I don't write poetry very often. I write poetry in phases, meaning I write several of them in a few days then I don't write any for a few months. To be completely honest, most of the presentable poems I've written come from either right before, during, or after my high school creative writing class or the two poetry classes I took during college. Don't get me wrong, I've written easily over a hundred poems; it's just that there's only a select few of those that I can even bear to read myself, let alone let someone else read them.

I AM NOT A POET. I don't say that looking for some sort of reinforcement or validation so please don't feel the need; I'm actually ok with the fact. You see, real poetry, the good stuff, is a craft, rather than a casual hobby, which is what I make it out to be. My approach (mostly free verse, random thoughts spilling into some sort of poetic form) is sort of disrespectful to real poetry, I think. If you think what so many of us do is what poetry really is, check out some of the greats like Robert Frost or Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman or countless others. When you read their stuff, you realize that every word they use is carefully selected for a meshing of their content and form, and that rhyme schemes, syllabic patterns, and countless other poetic devices are utilized in a methodical manner that must have taken time and hard work, things I don't put much into my poetry.

Also, most of the best poetry attacks from a micro-level angle, about a shoe or a desk or a characteristic or a tree or whatever. Rather than talk about the broad themes of life like love and death and joy and grief and friendship and and hope and love. Of course, like most things in life, there are exceptions and one of the great things about poetry is that people who know what they're doing can break the rules. But I am more of a conceptual thinker than an artistic expresser, which is why I write essays and articles better than I write poetry. With that said, however, it's definitely helpful for my writing to work on creativity and to experiment a bit in poetry.

So anyway, here's my latest. Happy, Kim?



Confessions of a Generation Yer


When tragedy becomes monotony,
Tears no longer cure
And probably won’t even surface
Because we’ve accepted the current state of affairs
With our generational response: apathy.

Can you blame us?
Our fathers left, mothers are poor and addicted.
Our teachers lack integrity, businesses are corrupt,
And politicians want to send us to war.

There’s excuses and there’s reasons and there’s
Festering wounds and scars.
We’re frozen—Unaffected by more abuse, more brokenness, more death—
Cruising through life and distracting ourselves with virtuality:
Shopping, video games, and cell phones.

Do not burden us with your honesty or your criticisms or idealisms or religions.
You’re a voice among many, and we'd rather not think about it:
It’s easier this way, trust us.

God died with the Jews at Auschwitz;
Love died with the hippies;
Humanitarianism died with Carter’s presidency;
Freedom died on 9/11.
What is left to save us?

Go ahead and quote the Golden Rule and John 3:16,
And we'll throw Nietzsche and Vonnegut right back at you.

We can coffee shop with the best of ‘em,
Some of us are articulate, compelling even,
Which makes this hopelessness more enticing.
But underneath it all, the tide of pain is coming in
And not even our denial can deny:

That even we need real, lasting relationship…

Why we Lie

Last night, I finished Never be Lied to Again, which I would recommend for all of you to read, not because you will be able to prevent anyone from lying to you after you read it (you definitely won't), but because I think David Lieberman offers a lot of valuable insight into human behavior, and upon reading, I think you will, as I did, learn a lot about others and yourselves.

One of the most striking things in the book was a statistic he offered that 90% of decisions are based on emotion rather than logic. Now, I don't know how he came up with the statistic or how accurate it is, but after thinking about it, I believe it. Frankly, it was sort of a light bulb for me. Because I am the type of person who uses logic to determine way more than ten percent of my decisions, and I'm continually awestruck at the decisions people make and how they are surprised at outcomes and consequences. You see, I am over-analytical. I think about everything, probably to the extent that I think about stuff too much. People in my life would probably verify that. In general, I could probably benefit from making a few decisions based on emotions, while, according to the statistic, most people should base their decisions a little more on logic. I could be wrong, but I think good decisions probably take into account both emotion and logic.

Another part of the book that I benefited from was the part about how we lie to ourselves, which is probably the worst kind of lying. He claims that our emotions, opinions, attitudes, and probably most of all, our desires cloud our perception of reality. He says that guilt, fear, ego, our desire to be liked, and love are some of the most common reasons we lie to ourselves. I certainly cannot deny these observations in my own life, as I am definitely guilty of lying to myself at times. And I think that lying to others often starts with lying to ourselves.

Consistently Pro-Life

I wanted to provide some clarification to my post yesterday.

I am not a pacifist, though I seem to be closer to one as I get older. I'm about 90% pacifist maybe. But I think evil triumphs when good people do nothing (yes, that was a paraphrase from a common cliche). So it's hard for me to believe that in the example of U.S. involvement in World War II to help end the Holocaust was not the right decision. There's a part of me that also believes sometimes regime change initiated from the outside is necessary, and that it takes guns to do it. Lately, I sometimes think we (we being the UN, an international coalition, or a U.S.-led coalition) should march into Sudan and straighten that shit out (though obviously the U.S. does not currently have enough international credibility to do that alone). American hegemonic arrogance? Maybe...

But there's also the part of me that says, as I did yesterday, that evil will not defeated with evil tactics. War will not be ended by more war or terrorism by more terrorism. For that matter, lying will not be defeated by more lying, or any other sin. I am reading a book right now called Never be Lied to Again by Dr. David Lieberman, and though he makes some keen observations and offers some good advice, some of his methods in pinpointing a liar are deceptive by nature, and I just cannot except that as the best way to approach someone who is dishonest.

I have heard a few people (one being Jim Wallis, author of God's Politics: Why the Right gets it Wrong and the Left Doesn't get It, at an Anderson chapel) speak compellingly about being pro-life across the board. This worldview implicates us in issues such as abortion, capital punishment, euthanasia, poverty, nuclear nonproliferation, federal spending, terrorism, treatment of prisoners, war, and more. Now, I admit: I'm not completely there yet, but I'm close. My parents are both Republicans, and I have been raised with Republican ideology. And it's not that all Republican principles are bad; I definitely still hold on to many of them, but my first allegiance, as a Christian, must be to Christ. As a result, I have long abandoned any thought that the death penalty was a good idea. To me, Jesus answered that question directly a long time ago: "You who are without sin, be the first to throw a stone" (John 8:7).

I believe that to throw the stone is to take the undeserved place of God, who is the "author of life." I also believe that to take a baby's life (no matter what you choose to call it) anytime after conception, or to assist an older, sick person in taking his or her life, is to assume the role of God. *I am not talking here about keeping someone hooked to machines to continue as a vegetable. In that instance, I believe the machines are taking the role as God, which isn't any better.* Those are not places I want to be. But the war question is so much more complicated, as I see it. Too often, it is a question of the lesser evil, which isn't ideal at all but is very much real.

I don't think I'm all there, knowing how to believe and live in a completely pro-life manner. Yet. But I am moving in that direction. And it is my hope that people from both major political parties will separate themselves from that allegiance and move toward a consistently pro-life view. We'll all be better off.

Religions of Peace or War?

Seems like I've had more time to write (somehow) lately, and that's awesome.

I went to see The Kingdom a few weeks ago with my dad and wanted to write about it but forgot. Until now.

The movie was fictional but set what I think was a pretty realistic picture of parts of the Middle East (Saudi Arabia specifically in the film) and the U.S. involvement in intelligence, oil relationships, economics, military, terrorism, etc. Basically, the story is about a terrorist attack that occurs on a U.S. military compound and the time that a few U.S. FBI officials spend on the ground investigating the incident. It reminded me, in some respects of TV shows like Law and Order or CSI. But the most compelling part of the movie, to me, was the ending. If you haven't seen the movie, you might want to stop reading, but the end completely shifted the rhythm and tone of the movie.

In what seemed like a fairly objective view (if not with an American slant) of the socio-political setting, the story as a whole seemed to steer clear of moral judgements and criticisms. But then, in a sudden ending, it juxtaposed two scenes in which someone from each side of the conflict whispered into another's ear what was supposed to be comfort because "We're going to kill them all." Stunning words.

But isn't that realistic? Don't we naturally flock to vengeance? Don't we hope it will comfort us, lesson our pain? Think 9/11. Or whatever event cause you the most personal pain. Was there someone you wanted to direct that pain toward? I know I usually do.

And yet, it's that very mentality that is fueling the fire, furthering the cycle of violence, death, and anguish. And it's so counter to the message of Christ:

"Blessed are the peacemakers..." (Matthew 5:9).

"You have heard it said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy,' but I say to you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" (Matthew 5:43-44).

Now, I'm no expert on Islam and I've read very little of the Koran, but it is my sense that most Muslims do not adhere to the "Slay the infidels" (compare to an Old Testament of God-ordained war and "eye for an eye") mentality that some American Christians tend to stereotype them all into. And as not all Muslims are not ruthless killers, not all Christians are greedy warmongers. I have no answers to why our religious texts seem to, in certain contexts, allow if not even mandate violence and war.

If we (as Christians, Muslims or whoever else) that God is a loving and peaceful God, how can we possibly morally accept bombs dropping on civilians? Planes crashing into buildings? Assassinations? Executions? Torturing prisoners of war? From a Christian perspective it seems clear: Evil cannot be fought with evil; it must be fought with good. And war isn't good for anybody, at least in a personal sense. I add that last phrase because we all know that war might be beneficial in a political, geographic, or economic sense.

And it is these extremist "We will kill them all" mentalities that we must fight against, but with nonviolence. We must fight at grassroots levels against root causes. While wars will create more terrorists and terrorism will lead to more wars, developing right relations across cultural, religious, economic, ethnic, and racial lines will heal future generations. I'm more convinced of this more and more every day.

Sparks are Flying

Warning: What you are about to read may diminish your view of my masculinity. I guess it's a risk I'll have to take.

So anyway, you know those Nicholas Sparks romance novels? Yes, the ones you've probably seen girls reading in coffee shops or libraries or around college campuses? The ones that girls love (because it increases their romantic expectations) and guys hate (because the standards of their dating lives are increased)?

Well, I read four of them recently. Yes, four.

Ok, so actually I read three of the romance books; the first Sparks book I read was his memoir, Three Weeks with my Brother per recommendation from a friend a couple years ago. The book was about a three-week trip he took with his older brother, Michael, the only surviving member of his immediate family. Predictably and poignantly, the book turned into an exploration of his experiences with family, faith, friendship, life, death, tragedy, sustenance, careers, and so many other things. The book, as I see it, is about healing and living well.

I loved the book, and it had me on the verge of tears more than once. One part I will always remember was when Nick and Mike's sister was depressed because no guy was asking her to prom. Both brothers responded by asking her to prom at different times and without knowing the other was going to do it. Granted, I'm sure it wasn't what she wanted but to have that kind of love and loyalty for family is awesome. Like often seems the case with the books I read, I read it at the perfect time for me to learn what I needed to learn at the time, and to be challenged, impacted, and changed.

So, as I often do, I picked up a few other titles from Sparks, determined to read them. Like most fiction writers, Sparks draws much of his literary inspiration from his own life. The three books I picked were all mentioned in the memoir: The Notebook, Message in a Bottle, and A Bend in the Road.

I had seen the movie The Notebook and liked it. I think the love story is cool, but I also think it's a great story of manhood. The main character (I forget his name at this point) had the integrity of continuing to live out his own life and dreams even after his girl left, and in the end he got her back anyway. But there was no guarantee that he would ever see her again as he restored and lived in the house he always said he would.

The other two stories were also love stories, unspectacular novels perhaps, but definitely unique stories. In Message in a Bottle, the two lovers do not end up together (sorry if I am spoiling here), while in A Bend in the Road they do. All three stories include a large degree of tragedy along the way, much like life, I think.

The one thing that I really don't like about Sparks is that he seems to accept the worldly view that sex is the ultimate expression of love, at least in his stories. I think the ultimate expression of love is giving up your life for your lover, not only having sex with him or her. Anyone can do that, and most people want to, even people that aren't in love. Sex is a part of love, not the culmination of it. But anyway, enough about that.

What I do like about Sparks is that he believes in love. Like, he really believes in it. Real, lasting, romantic love. Not the kind of love where two people eye each other in a bar, share a few drinks, have sex that night and then try to squeeze love in later. But the kind of love where you get giddy thinking about or seeing the person that you love, and you can easily talk a night away or just as easily sit in silence and be okay with that. The kind of love that creates new memories every day. The kind of love where you can be yourself. The kind of love that does not diminish but actually increases when the "puppy love" stage is over.

Another book I read sometime in the last few months (I forget which book it was) alluded to Danish philosopher and theologian Soren Kierkegaard's discussion of love in which he apparently draws a distinction between passionate love and dutiful love. I think we as Americans are good at the passionate part (at least in the beginning) because it's natural. We are attracted to the opposite sex with sexual instinct. But the dutiful love, that's harder because it's not natural. It involves the giving of ourselves, even the parts of ourselves that we're most self-conscience about. It means giving up our selfishness and making someone else's needs and desires as important or more important than your own. Dutiful love involves a commitment to vulnerability, sacrifice, and honesty.

I believe that healthy relationships have both passionate and dutiful love and that when these two loves are juxtaposed, a beautiful phenomenon emerges. That phenomenon is what Sparks tries to write about. That phenomenon is both a feeling and a choice. My guess is that the only reason Sparks is able to create it in books is because he has experienced it with his own wife, Cathy. I have seen couples in my own life who have this intense kind of love, and it's appealing.

In a society so full of divorce and unmarried couples having children together but raising them separately, it was refreshing to read Sparks' books. It renewed the hope that I will experience real self-giving love someday.