In Search of a Hero

From the Scrolls: Why Luther Still Matters

2012-02-09T14:14:00.000-08:00

When we look back over the past five hundred years in the West, it’s easy to wonder at the battles between Catholics and Protestants that dominated the landscape. From our perch of plurality, the idea of Christians killing other Christians seems absurd. (For many of us the idea of killing over ANY religion – my story of God is better than your story of God – is more than absurd, it’s insane.) For centuries, however, especially in places like England (The battles continue in Ireland to this day), Catholics and Protestants fought a vicious, bloody battle that see-sawed through a long line of Monarchial reigns and caused the deaths of tens of thousands of innocents.

The question then, is why it still matters. What importance does Martin Luther, the figure at the heart of the Catholic/Protestant split, hold in a time where a Lutheran church and a Catholic church can be found within two blocks of one another? And what does it matter for those of us who aren’t particularly religious, except to make the point that “fighting over religion is stupid.”

Protestants, of course, lionize Martin Luther, even when he is criticized. (His anti-Semitism, for example, is often brushed aside.) But they regard him for his religious ideas, for his theology that forms the bedrock of their faith. What we miss when we discuss Luther’s revolution, however, is not only did he crack the Catholic Empire with his theology of “every man a priest,” he did so much more. The issue regarding diversity of opinion was seriously challenged for the first time. New feelings of nationhood came into effect. Our attitudes regarding work, art, and human failings all changed. We saw the first effect of mass media. And two centuries later the Protestant revolution would twin with its secular cousin in the Enlightenment and form the basis for the concept of Western Democracy.

***

So who was Martin Luther? Well, he was a miner’s son from Saxony, a devout monk and professor of theology at Wittenburg. For seven years he had wrestled with his faith, agonizing about the state of his soul in his quest for purity. When the sale of indulgences, a kind of certified check drawn by the pope on the “treasury of merit accumulated by the saints”, became a regular fundraising practice of the church, Luther was abashed and angry. (A person could buy an indulgence to lessen the term of a person, either themselves or a friend, in Purgatory.) For Luther, the whole concept of forgiveness rested on grace. This was not a trivial issue for him, but the core of the Gospel. How could true penance be bought in the open market? He was thirty-four years old when he posted his 95 theses on the door of All Saints’ church at Wittenberg, though at the time it was hardly a rebellious act. (The equivalent today would be posting a provocative article in a scholarly journal.)

What happened, however, changed the course of history. Word of his ideas spread like wildfire through Germany and beyond through pamphlets. The printing process had advanced enough to allow thousands upon thousands of Luther’s arguments to be disseminated and absorbed by the masses. Politically, Germany had been looking to break free from the papacy, and so the German princes backed Luther. What happened next, of course, is a matter of history. Later, Luther himself would persecute the early Anabaptists, who had some radical ideas of their own.

The Protestant Reformation was as much about politics as it was about theology, but in the end, it was the power of an idea that made the difference. Luther changed the common narrative. For tens of thousands living under a hierarchical and oppressive rule, particularly for the peasants, Luther’s greatest accomplishment was giving them a different story. A story that said they mattered as individuals. That God loved them despite their low station. And that they did not need to follow the dictates of corrupt, power hungry officials to be accepted by God.

When we track history, we often track individuals. Great figures that somehow stand out in their time. But usually, it isn’t the person so much as it is the idea that brings change. Martin Luther still matters because he reminds us that our struggles are often shared. That the pain we experience (in this case, it was his desire to worship devoutly and sincerely) is usually felt by those around us. And that our choice of narrative is perhaps the greatest decision we will ever make.

Who are you? What story have you chosen to live by? Are you a pawn in the masses, a person with no voice and no importance? Is your value minimal, or can you accept a new narrative that sings with your importance? Martin Luther believed that you and I were important. That we were born free, free to pursue our passions and purposes. Free to worship and live without waiting for our “betters” to tell us what to think or intercede for us. (“Every Christian is a free lord, subject to none.”) Luther believed that and changed the world. Five hundred years later he remains an important figure, not only for his accomplishments, but for the questions he asked. Questions we’d do well to answer.

-Steve

Tuesday Link Love: Super Bowl, MIA and Harrison Ford?

2012-02-07T05:16:00.001-08:00

    So how was your first day of the Monday Challenge? If you're not sure what I'm talking about, you can find it here. Good luck and have fun with it.
    Over the past week or two, I've been working on a plan for this site, regular features that will appear on certain days. This makes it easier for you to figure out what days you might want to check in (all of them?), and easier for me as it provides at least a loose grid to center my ideas. I may post on other days, as well, but here's the schedule moving forward.
    Monday – Encouragement, Facing Challenges, etc… Your weekly post designed to encourage you and push you towards your dreams.
    Tuesday – Link Love: interesting articles from the previous week that you might find interesting with a minimum of commentary (there has to be some, right?)
    Wednesday (or Thursday) – From the Scrolls – As a fantasist, I read a lot of history, so this day will be a post on something I've read recently that I think you might find interesting. Hell, it might even be relevant. We tend to be a surficial culture, what with the plethora of information continually being thrown our way. These posts will be short but deep digs into the past, both recent and ancient.
    Friday (or Saturday) – Entertainment Blog Top Ten List – A weekly top ten list from the entertainment world. Movies, Books, TV shows, Sports, and Music are all in play here. Feel free to send me your ideas for future lists.
    All Other Posts – It will all depend on my schedule, need to vent, excitement level, etc… As always, send me an email if there's something you want me to write about.

Okay on with the Link Love…

     The Super Bowl set a record for ratings again this past week, peaking with Madonna's brilliant halftime show. Wow. Kind of put the Black Eyed Peas to shame, didn't she? Unfortunately, one of the "singers" she chose to perform with her, MIA, apparently gave the crowd the finger. I don't remember that part, but when you consider the source (MIA, not Madonna) it makes sense. If you're not familiar with MIA (her big hit was "Paper Planes"), or if like me, you thought she was just another 'indie' darling, read this NY Times piece and you'll realize that she's yet another artist doing more harm than good. Balancing this need for fame and attention with authenticity is usually a bad mix, especially when it comes to geo-politics. Sigh.
    And you may have heard that Gisele Bundchen, Tom Brady's wife, was getting ripped in the press after the game when some classy Boston reporters blamed the New England loss on Tom Brady. (A ridiculous sentiment, by the way, that he somehow damaged his legacy. Michal Rosenberg has it right.) Cornering her at an elevator, she wondered if her husband was supposed to "throw the ball and f****** catch it too." Frankly, I loved her response. I know reporters have a job to do, but sometimes you wonder if these "reporters" are just idiot fans in disguise. The journalists I know are professional and would never do that. It is Boston, however, and you have to wonder if there's something in the water. Cathal Kelly had good take on the whole thing. I say good for Gisele. Go get 'em.
    Oh, and for the Super Bowl commercials. Meh. Do we really need another GI JOE movie, even one with Bruce Willis? The one movie I am excited about is John Carter of Mars. I read the 12 book series a number of times as a kid and loved it. I wonder what ERB (Edgar Rice Burroughs, also the creator of Tarzan) would have thought to see his creation up on the big screen in all its glory. Here are the movie trailers that appeared on Super Bowl Sunday. Enjoy.
    ***
    Last week, my Eblog was the Top Ten Science Fiction/ Fantasy Movies of all time. Blade Runner was number 10 on the list. Apparently Harrison Ford is in talks to reprise his role for a sequel. Interesting? Well, it'd be interesting to see where they take it, and I'd probably see it. The difficulty is that the first Blade Runner was based on a Philip K. Dick short story. Who's writing the sequel? The best science fiction usually comes from novelists and short story writers. (Usually ** cough ** Star Wars ** cough **)
    That's all for today, folks. Feel free to post a link below in the comments if you saw something interesting this past week.
    -Steve

Change Your Life: Take the Monday Challenge

2012-02-06T08:42:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, I used to love reading stories about characters that changed their life. Either they were athletes who trained and practiced and after initial failure, eventually found success. Or, they were fantasy characters sent on an unexpected journey who discovered they were capable of more than they imagined. Those stories still touch a deep part of me. (I’ve spent the past three years writing a story like that.) I suspect they connect with many of us. And when you’re young, they seem more plausible, don’t they? Life hasn’t become a complicated routine yet and everything is in front of you. Change, a new life, doesn’t feel so impossible. Your dreams are there, just outside your reach, and with just a bit of work and luck, you know that it’s only a matter of time.

But the years pass and you never get any closer. You feel trapped in this life that has developed around you seemingly without your consent. University and high school are well into rear view mirror, and we find ourselves working at a job we don’t love. Some of us assume the responsibilities of marriage and parenting. We have no regrets, but we know something is missing, and somewhere inside the routine is slowly bleeding us to death. We find that we’re angry, even if we manage to keep it hidden so it’s not easily visible to everyone else. We want to change, we want excitement in our life, but we don’t know where to start. And when we do make an attempt to break out, to do something different, we soon get discouraged by the enormity of the task and end up flowing back into our old routines. And when we hear people talk about “changing our life”, we scoff at the notion. (It doesn’t help that companies use this powerful idea of changing our narrative by promoting shit like Viagra or vacations or a new household appliance.) The years go by and we become people who are shrinking instead of growing. Our fears crowd us into a corner, and we justify these feelings by assuring everyone that “it’s just the way things are.”

But the idea that we can’t change is pure bullshit. Of course we can! We just have to take off our skeptic’s goggles for a few minutes. Will you do that for me? I have something that might help. I call it the Monday Challenge.

The rules are very simple. Every Monday I want you to pick something in your life that you will do differently the upcoming week. You can pick anything, but I would suggest small things to start. What route do you take to work? Pick another. What TV shows do you normally watch? Skip them, and pick up a book at the library to read during the time you normally watch that show. Go for a nightly walk. Learn a new board game. Go to bed at a different time. The key is to pick ROUTINIZED items, and change them. Don’t go for the big things at first, necessarily, the idea is to readjust to variation in your life. (You’d be surprised how difficult that becomes.)

Make sure you write it down. Open a file in your phone or on your laptop, and mark the week and your Monday Challenge that week.

At the end of the week, reassess. If the change you picked is working for you, try to do it another week, but only to a maximum of four weeks. Now obviously, you can continue with the changes, but after 28 days you want to pick a new challenge as well.

Throughout this challenge, remember that attitude is very important. Whatever goals we set, make sure you hold them lightly. NO GUILT IS ALLOWED. Have fun with it. If the change doesn’t happen one day, or you forget another, don’t worry about it. Try again the next day. It’s only a week, and if it doesn’t work, choose something else the next week.

Changing our life often seems like a daunting task because we try to tackle everything at once. The voices in our head and in our life compete for our attention and we become exhausted just thinking about it. With the Monday Challenge, we’re not worried about the entirety of your life, we’re only thinking about the next seven days. Take one small thing, chart it somewhere, and see what happens.

At some point in our lives, most of us have been told that we shouldn’t dream, that we shouldn’t challenge ourselves, and that we just need to accept things the way they are. The implication is that we can’t be responsible and still live a life that pushes us forward. Why not? Why should we live in fear of change? Why should we accept a life without dreams, the same dreams that propelled us when we were kids?

Look, life will never be perfect. It will be filled with tragedy and heartache and sadness. Unfortunately, that’s the human condition. But there’s joy in humanity as well, especially when we challenge ourselves, contest our own ingrained status quo, and start stepping outside the box. Whatever you’ve been told; let me assure you that you can do it. There is so much out there for you, so much more than you realize, just waiting to be discovered. All you have to do is take the first step.

Steve

PS Fill me in on your challenges below if you like, or email me, and let me know how you’re doing. Good luck, my friends!

Eblog: Top 10 Science Fiction/ Fantasy Movies

2012-02-04T16:49:00.000-08:00

Fantasy and science fiction are different genres. Yes, they’re lumped together sometimes (as they are here) and there are similarities between the two, but they are different literary approaches used primarily to provide social commentary. Science fiction is generally predictive, and comments on current society by using a futuristic setting. Fantasy is generally reflective, and comments on current society by using a loosely historical past. There are novels that mash them together. And yes, I’m aware of the explosion of non-traditional-fantasy like urban or steam punk that really are a combination of the two. Hell, Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files crosses mystery and fantasy. But generally speaking, the two genres are separate, and if this was a list for novels, hell would snap, crackle and pop and THEN freeze before I would lump them together.

However, fantasy never translated well to the big screen until the leaps in CGI about fifteen years ago. Science Fiction meanwhile has carved out a nice niche for itself. An, ahem, very nice “niche.” And so for the purposes of this list, I’ll swallow my fantasist’s pride and combine the two genres.

THE RULES: The rules of this Top 10 list are simple. Due to the dominance of trilogies and series, I was allowed to pick only ONE movie from each trilogy or series. So if a certain LOTR movie is not on the list, you understand why.

THE LIST: Perhaps more than any two genres (particularly fantasy), any attempt to translate a SFF story to the big screen requires a certain amount of graphic capability. That’s why you’ll notice a dearth of older movies here, like The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951). Movies are a visual medium, and if the movie now looks cheap or campy, regardless of how it was received back when it was first released, I left it off the list. In the best Science Fiction and Fantasy, setting is not merely decoration, it’s usually the core of the story. So if the movie looks like shit, it ruins the story. For these two genres especially, the ability of the viewer to engage the settings matters a great deal. And so some SFF films that might have been highly regarded twenty years ago are not nearly thought of in that manner because of the dynamic nature of the medium itself.

10. BLADE RUNNER (1982)

Remember when Harrison Ford wasn’t a grumpy old man? Back when he was cranking out great movies? Apparently he clashed on this film with director Ridley Scott quite a bit, so maybe he was always cranky. I'll be honest, I respect the power of Blade Runner, but I never loved it. The visuals could use a Lucas like upgrade as well. Still, I respect the depth of what they accomplished here.

9. STAR TREK (2009)

I can already here the muttering by the legions of Star Trek fans in my choice of JJ Abrams version over the likes of WRATH. I’m sorry, but the older films in the series look campy, and even when their budget increased, the storytelling doesn’t hold up to an origin story like this one. (Origin stories always have an advantage.) The actors are uniformly excellent here, no need to highlight one over another, although Zachary Quinto as Spock is particularly good. STAR TREK is science fiction royalty, and for good reason. It has spun off a number of excellent TV series and movies, and it deserves to be highly regarded. When it comes to a single film, however, there simply isn’t one that rises near the top. Still, I loved this movie and highly recommend it.

8. 1984 (1984)

If we were judging science fiction films based on their source material, 1984 would be closer to the top of the list. However, we’re judging movies based on their merit as films alone. Even still, 1984 the movie is a haunting cautionary tale about the power of an organization or government that desires to control its population. That idea still resonates today. Conservatives would argue (wrongly) that the idea of “political correctness” is a form of thought control. (When in actuality it simply means that we need to be more inclusive and be careful not to stereotype people based on race, gender, sexuality, etc…) And liberals would argue that means censorship, which we have seen again and again over the past century with books like Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer banned. (Something Orwell witnessed backed when he was writing the novel) Closer to the mark, however, would be the tradition of communist Russia in the 20th Century, now carried forward by the ruling communist party in China. John Hurt is the perfect Winston Smith, and the washed out look of the film is a visual metaphor for what happens in a world where we no longer control our own destiny. Stunning.

7. AVATAR (2009)

“It’s such a simple story.” This is the most common complaint for AVATAR, and I heard it a thousand times even after it continued to smash records to become the biggest box office draw in history. It would be a reasonable argument if AVATAR wasn’t a work of art, but the visuals are so entrancing, the world so well drawn, that the argument doesn’t hold. As I mentioned above, setting matters greatly when it comes to fantasy or science fiction, and so to argue that the story is “simple” implies that the other, less visually compelling films on this list are deeply complex. I find it interesting that James Cameron referred to Edgar Rice Burroughs in his interviews regarding the story, and AVATAR certainly recalled that for me. I read most of ERB’s novels as a teenager, and there are definite allusions to John Carter of Mars and Burroughs’ four book series on Venus. So yes, the plot is not especially complex, but the message is a good one, and the film takes you to another world, which is exactly what the best SFF material attempts to do. It should probably be higher on the list.

6. ALIEN (1979)

I hesitated to include ALIEN because it’s a horror movie first and a science fiction movie second. Technically, however, it makes the cut, which means it has to be included. ALIEN is a riveting, scary-as-shit story with tremendous pacing and large swaths of silence through the film which serve to build the tension. I love the way this movie takes its time. Sigourney Weaver kicks ass in the lead role, her first, and the other (older) veteran actors provide gravitas to a fairly unsophisticated “alien in outer space” story. I should note here that the same people who accuse AVATAR of being “simple” never make that criticism of ALIEN. Why not? If you’re going to criticize certain SFF movies of simplicity, you probably have to start here.

5. HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN (2004)

Okay, so being able to pick only one from the biggest money making fantasy series of all time was daunting. But the first two were for kids, and it isn’t until the third installment, with Alfonso Cuaron on board to direct, that we had a fantasy series for adults to dig into. Much darker than the first two (and the fourth, which sucked), this was the defining movie of the series. It promised what was to come, and visually it works on a much different scale that is later replicated in the later installments. I’m shocked when I see lists of all-time great fantasy movies and Harry Potter is left off the list. How is that possible? The themes in these books are as dark and complex as anything you’ll find in literature. This isn’t Twilight. (An idiotic and morally challenged series about whether a girl gets the boy and what she has to do to “keep” him) At this point, keeping Harry Potter out of a top ten list smacks of jealousy and vain pandering. I’m guilty of those things occasionally, but not this time.

4. CONAN THE BARBARIAN (1982)

Fantasy can be broken into many categories, and continues to splinter. Unlike LOTR, Conan is considered Sword & Sorcery, a very different subset than typical epic fantasy. I read the original Conan books as a kid, including the ones by L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter and later Robert Jordan’s six Conan novels in the eighties. (This was before he became famous writing the Wheel of Time series.) If I have any problem with putting this movie on the list, it would undeniably be due to the themes reflected in the film, many of which are disturbing. The Nietzschean epigraph is easily evident here, as it is in the source material, with Schwarzenegger as Howard's Aryan ubermensch. Women are portrayed as little more than sexual companions, including Valeria, who is clearly submissive. (Look at her position in the posters) While some of this is reflected from the source material, the original Howard stories held Conan’s female companion (Belit or Valeria) as someone who could drink and fight and hold her own with him, and so the outsized misogyny is disappointing here. The themes of American individualism are also evident. (We need only to will ourselves to be greater, and that when we do, we will see victory.) As for the rest, Arnold Schwarzenegger, in his film debut, is perfectly cast as Conan. The physicality of Conan is of great import to his character, akin to that of a superhero, and so perhaps only a seven time Mr. Olympia champion could capture that. The plot is scattered, and at times it moves slowly, but it helps that the movie is backed by perhaps the best cinema score in history thanks to the genius of Basil Poledouris. This film is an interesting and complex reflection on philosophy, theology and sociology in the guise of simple fantasy. Howard was brilliant, and this movie captures a good portion of that.

3. THE MATRIX (1999)

It’s easy to forget that THE MATRIX is science fiction. Sleekly visualized with cutting edge photography, it never feels “heavy” like so many dystopian settings typical of its genre. Not until, that is, we cut to the harrowing scenes of millions of humans being “milked” in rows and rows of machine cornfields like some nightmarish cemetery. The film is essentially a treatise on postmodernism, a mashed up set of ideas that references everyone from Baudrillard to Plato, though most people seem unaware of its origins. (You know that you’ve spiked a vein in narrative when widely varied groups claim a story as a defense of their beliefs. In this case, everyone from conservative fundamentalists to liberal anti-consumerists were happy to showcase THE MATRIX as “proof” of their claims.) Beyond that, it’s a smart, fast paced action movie that still holds up, and thirteen years later remains a visually stunning masterpiece. This is science fiction at its best, pure and simple.

2. STAR WARS EPISODE V: THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

There’s still a great deal of debate whether STAR WARS is actually science fiction or just another space opera. I like to think of STAR WARS as fantasy in the guise of science fiction. The commentary here is not nearly as deep or rich as you find in the STAR TREK anthologies, (and certainly not what you find in THE MATRIX) but the world building is second to none, and what commentary you do find, while simple, is telling and important. The philosophy of Taoism is represented here (the force) and again, feels much closer to a work of fantasy. The visuals are stunning, and yes, they’ve been updated by Lucas through the years, but they still hold up (unlike the old Star Trek movies). And in terms of its impact on the movie industry, well, STAR WARS changed it forever. (Some would say it destroyed it. We now get Transformers 4 instead of smaller films built around great ideas.) For all its criticism, however, STAR WARS is a masterpiece of storytelling. I chose Empire because I could only pick one from the series, and as a stand alone film, I give it a slight edge over the first. (I liked Return of the Jedi, but I hated the ridiculous “Ewok” teddy bears, which undermined the seriousness of the whole story.)

1. LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING (2001)

The greatest work of fantasy (the first of its kind) converted into the greatest fantasy movie, and one of the greatest films of all time. Oh, I know, it’s only “fantasy”. It can’t be an “all-time great”, right? Bull shit. Next year, we’ll get another list of the 100 "greatest" movies of all time and it will have the same shitty ass films from the 1940’s that look and sound terrible with actors not actually acting (before Brando), and great, visually stunning pieces of art like LOTR will be relegated somewhere at the back of the line. Here’s the thing, film is a progressive art. That doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate the films from fifty years ago or what they accomplished, but Gone With the Wind, for example, is a terrible f***ing movie. It’s unwatchable. Unlike literature or painting and sculpting, film generally ages poorly due to its technological base. And if we’re going to compare film properly, than that means LOTR is in the discussion as the greatest movie of all time. Like the book, the film is actually one movie broken into three parts. I chose the first, not only because it was such a stunning revelation, but because RETURN OF THE KING meanders a bit too long at the end and TWO TOWERS is the meal that isn’t finished yet. When it comes to top ten lists such as this one, LOTR is head and shoulders above the rest, and for my money, deserves a spot on any list that discusses the greatest movies of all-time.

Okay, so what did I miss?

-Steve

Looking Like an Idiot... Is a Good Thing

2012-01-31T09:21:00.000-08:00

“No, you want to twist the wire as you’re coiling it. One hand over, one hand under.”

I was standing in a dimly lit theatre hall holding a fifty foot roll of speaker wire as Ameen tried, yet again, to show me how to coil the wire. Instead of simply curling it around my wrist and elbow as I’d done my entire life, Ameen was showing me how to do it properly. I could feel my face getting red as he patiently corrected the position of my hands. I’d played sports my entire life, considered myself reasonably intelligent, and yet here I was unable to coil a damn wire.

Our church had an unusual setup. Every Sunday morning we unpacked a huge trailer of equipment to convert an entire theatre into a church, complete with Sunday school classrooms and live worship. I’d joined the setup team, happy to volunteer, and completely unaware of my burgeoning exposure as a technical moron. Assigned to the main theatre, I hadn’t realized the volume of wires and speakers and sound equipment necessary to run a service. Normally I liked fiddling around with our television at home, hooking up the sound system and setting things up. And yet, here I was, having that sense that youo’re in way over your head. I hadn’t felt like such an idiot in a long time. Abstract concepts and philosophy? No problem. Writing, counseling, artistic conception? Great. Working with my hands? Um, not so much.

I still couldn’t coil the wire, but someone else had finally come over to help. Hours later, I was still shaking my head, long after we’d packed things up again. A damn wire? Really? The whole morning had been a bit surreal for me. My inability to perform such a simple task lingered much longer than I’d expected, and I was frankly surprised at how much it had thrown me, how incompetent I’d felt. I wasn’t looking forward to the next week, when I’d be forced to do it all over again.

Upon reflection a few days later, however, I realized that I’d made the right call in joining the setup team. Not only was I learning a new skill, but I was stretching myself, something I didn’t do as often as I had in the past. It was incredibly humbling, but I had enough self-awareness to know that if I stopped putting myself in uncomfortable situations once in a while, I’d become an insufferable shit.

Our society forces us to specialize. There isn’t a whole lot of necessity these days for the pioneer in an agrarian society that has to be good at everything just to survive. And if we’re to advance in our fields, the sheer volume of people and industry means that most of us are pushed into a niche. Everything else is done for us. Everything from food preparation to fixing things around the house.

It gets progressively more difficult as to take risks as we get older. We become more specialized and take fewer risks. We experience a certain confidence in dealing with issues with which we’re familiar, and generally choose to ignore the things that have the potential to be embarrassing. We define ourselves by our fears, by our dislike for certain feelings, and instead of growing and learning, we plateau. Life isn’t a journey anymore, it’s a treadmill. And as soon as we reach that point, bitterness creeps into our lives.

Feeling like an idiot sucks. But if we’re not willing to be embarrassed, we’ll never learn anything new. We’ll never understand this whole empathy gig, this whole idea about walking in someone else’s shoes because the only shoes we wear are our own. That makes it harder to appreciate other skill sets, and can lead to elitism and arrogance. When we try new things, however, that begins to change. Instead of being a permanent expert, we become permanent beginners. And while that may sound like a load of frustration, what it means is that every day is new again, that our posture becomes one of humility and grace, and that our life suddenly needs to be lived again.

If you have the opportunity, sign up for something that will make you look like an idiot. It won’t feel great at first, but if you push through, you’ll find your reward when it’s over. Even if it just means learning how to coil a damn wire.

-Steve

E Blog: Top 10 TV Shows from 1995-2005

2012-01-28T17:17:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know it’s Oscar nomination week. And I’d love to write about the list of nominees, but I’ve only seen a few of the films. Despite my love for movies, I rarely go to the theatre anymore. It moved down my list when I realized I was continually telling people to shut their damn phones off. So my wife and I bought a 50-inch Plasma instead. These days, the movies I watch tend to be a bit, err, aged. I see the occasional blockbuster when it comes out (Hello, Dark Knight Rises), but for the most part I wait until they’re on Netflix. My wife and I don’t have Netflix, but we… ah, hell never mind.

Instead, I decided the first Top 10 list should recognize some TV shows back in the day, back when network television was watchable. (Thanks to my man, Jason Ramsay, for the Top 10 idea).

Comments are welcome. Be as passionate as you like in disagreeing, just don’t be offensive. And if you don’t know the difference, look up “douche bag” and figure it out. I have faith in you.

RULES FOR TOP TEN SELECTION:

Any show that appeared between the 1994-1995 season and 2005-2006 season. Also, I had to have seen the show. Most of those shows on the list, but not all, are network shows (CBS, NBC, ABC, FOX) because I didn’t have HBO, which was the only cable channel with their own programming back then. And so before anyone starts shitting on my list, I’ve never seen the Sopranos (or Arrested Development) which is why it isn’t in my Top Ten.

Top Ten (Mostly Network) TV Shows From 1995-2005

10. XENA/HERCULES (1995-1999)

XENA and HERCULES had to be on this list together. Xena actually originated as a character (a villain) in Hercules, before spinning off into her own show. I loved them both. (I write fantasy, remember?) Special effects were just starting to improve, enough so that what we saw on the screen wasn’t Clash of the Titans cringe worthy. (I mean the original, with Harry Hamlin in a short skirt and that stupid metal bird.) Kevin Sorbo’s Hercules was cool and kind, but it was his relationship with Iolaus (Michael Hirsch) that really fueled the show. The same was true of Xena (Lucy Lawless) and her deepening relationship with Gabrielle (Renee O’Connor). I was going through a personal shitstorm when these two shows were in their heyday, and they were the perfect escape, along with offering a bit of inspiration. Gold.

9. AMERICAN IDOL/ SURVIVOR

I don’t want to include either of these shows, because I prefer to reward (intelligent)narrative. However, both of these shows changed the entire course of the television industry. Which means we’ll be stuck with shit like Big Brother and Jersey Shore forever. (That’s fine, so long as you promise to never release a “book” from people like Snooki. Hand out something healthier for the kids to read. Like crystal meth, for instance. Or heroin.)

If you weren’t around for the first five or six years of SURVIVOR (The US edition), you missed a phenomenon. SURVIVOR parties. SURVIVOR nights. Everybody watched it, and nearly all of us were entertained.

Until the past two years, AMERICAN IDOL has been a ratings behemoth, spinning off into X-Factor, the Voice, Dancing With the Stars, and a whole host of others. I’m not sure why I still like it, although it peaked probably in season 6 or 7. Sure, it’s all a giant commercial, but nobody does stories like AI. So far this year, however, the show is showing its age.

8. HOME IMPROVEMENT (1991-1999)

Great chemistry. Great cast. Strong female lead. Patricia Richardson is wonderful here, and her gentle affection for her husband while providing a strong female lead is palpable through the screen. Tim Allen’s grunts were heard in hardware stores all around the country. Or in my case, the bookstore disco. (Don’t ask.) Tim’s friendship with Al is the best part of the show, and as a throw in, Pamela Anderson got her start here. (Yeah. You forgot that didn’t you?)

Favourite line: (From Al) “I don’t think so, Tim.”

Note: I had to decide between Home Improvement and Frasier here, and I chose HI because Frasier just wasn’t as consistently funny.

7. LAW & ORDER (1990-2010)

Before the cable explosion, and before this show expanded to 3 different cities, you could watch Law & Order 83 times a day if you had the time. A formulaic legal drama that rotated its (top-notch) cast about every three years, it always delivered with good writing and a winning formula. It was the best way to kill a few hours if you were a student. And hey, any show with Michael Moriarty as part of its original cast has to be on the list, right? Favourite cast members include Jill Hennesy, Angie Harmon, Chris Noth, Sam Waterston, and Jerry Orbach.

6. THE SIMPSONS (1989 – present)

The longest running night time series in television history, the Simpsons changed the notion that animation was a ‘children only’ format. It was considered a risky experiment when it first aired, and a number of idiotic "family" groups pressed for years to have it cancelled. (There will always be people too stupid to understand smart comedy. These are the same people who feel Huckleberry Finn should be banned from schools.) These days, it feels tame, as a number of shows like South Park have pushed The Simpsons to the mainstream. I’ve had a harder time digging into a number of the new animated “satires”. They’re not nearly as intelligent. The Simpsons was smart and funny, but it had a heart too. A tough trick, but one it has managed for over twenty years.

5. SEINFELD (1989 – 1998)

A show about nothing, that like the Simpsons, provided the culture with a number of idioms. (Personal favourite: “sponge worthy”) Jerry Seinfeld’s straight man was the hub around which these quirky, hilarious characters revolved. A ratings blockbuster, Seinfeld was the meat in NBC’s Must See Thursday night sandwich in the nineties. It would probably be higher on this list if the show had been a bit more poignant, but the characters were empty narcissists. Even comedy needs something of a heart. In terms of pure humour, however, Seinfeld is probably the most consistently funny sit-com ever.

4. ER (1994 - 2009)

Lightning paced. Superbly written. Wonderful (revolving) cast. Compelling storylines. For the first ten years or so, ER was that rare show that was a ratings blockbuster and loved by the critics (with a record 124 Emmy nominations). It faded at the end, but that doesn’t diminish what it was or the impact it had on the industry. I wish more TV producers would learn from a show like ER, and not appeal to the lowest common denominator. You can have a popular, thrilling show and have your flawed characters speak intelligently. Great, great show.

3. ED (2000 – 2004)

A quirky show about a hotshot lawyer Ed (Tom Cavanaugh) who sets up his practice in his old hometown when he’s fired by his big firm, and tries to win back his high school crush Carol (Julie Bowen). Yes, this show is higher on the list than ER and SEINFELD. I don’t care. This show was friggin’ awesome. Ed was a smart, funny complex character, as were all the characters on the show. Having a main character in a wheelchair, dealing with serious issues for teenagers in a serious way, and an overall egalitarian bent made this show an original. And Ed’s relationship with Carol, along with the chemistry between the two actors, pulled this show along for four brilliant seasons.

NOTE: This show hasn’t been released on video. There’s a good deal of original music in the show, and the show’s creators did not work out an arrangement with the musicians before the show went to air. That would never happen now, as every show goes to DVD or Blu-Ray. You can still find episodes online as torrents. Worth the download. Wonderful show, and I still miss it.

2. THE WEST WING (1999 – 2006)

When The West Wing first aired in the fall of 1999, it was must see TV almost immediately… for politicians. For four years, Washington watched closely as one of the best script writers ever to wield a pen (Aaron Sorkin) took a swipe at those in power. How? By creating a fictional white house and filling it with flawed, intelligent and big hearted characters. This wasn’t a show about how things worked in the White House, but one that wondered “what if”? It was a show of possibilities manned by an amazing cast, and for the first four seasons it hummed along. Allison Janney had the role of her life here, and she blew the doors off it. When Sorkin left after the fourth season, the show took a dip, but the seventh and final season, the election campaign, eerily foreshadowed the 2008 Obama-McCain race, and was mesmerizing in its own right.

Brilliant.

1. FRIENDS (1994 – 2004)

“You’re over me? Um, when were you… under me?”

(Ross to Rachel, with her riding on his back in the kitchen trying to get to the phone. Do you remember?)

There are great shows, and then there are those rare shows, those few gems, that define a generation. In the seventies, it was MASH. In the eighties, it was CHEERS. From 1994- 2004, it was FRIENDS. And if you’re one of those idiot critics that think FRIENDS was “over-rated”, tough shit. FRIENDS spawned, like many other shows on this list, a host of imitators. None of them got it right. Well, not like this. The romance between Ross and Rachel was poignant to the end, even when the show started to lose steam after season seven. Joey and Chandler were, well, Joey and Chandler. (“What are they doing?” “They’re running.” “Oh?” “They do it a lot.”) The cast for the show, the six primary actors, had the kind of chemistry show runners drool over, and the writing was top notch, especially the first five seasons. When I think of FRIENDS, I think about my life during those years. Even now, I can flip over to an episode (Yup, they’re still in syndication) and I’m immediately taken back to my life in my mid-twenties. FRIENDS was funny, but it had a big heart, too. We laughed and cried with them, felt their pain and enjoyed their triumphs. And when it was all over, and when Ross and Rachel decided to give it one last try, one of the greatest decade long rides in TV history was over, and we were better for it.

1A. ROME (2005 – 2006)

A two year series produced by HBO for nearly 200 million dollars. Twenty-two episodes. The best television show in history, perhaps because it’s filmed like a twenty-two hour movie. I have it as 1A here, because it did not define a generation, and it falls somewhat outside the purview of this list. Gritty Rome in all her earthy glory. A fantasy writer’s delight, for certain, but there’s nothing not to enjoy in this series. Intelligently done, well acted, with unbelievable sets that take you to another time and another world. You can’t do television any better than this…

-Steve

Relationships: How the Past Can Destroy the Future

2012-01-27T12:40:00.000-08:00

We all have a tendency to look back and remember events and relationships as better than they were. Our brain doesn’t record events like a video camera. Neurologically, they’re actually memories of memories, coloured and tagged and shaped over time by emotion. Therefore, our perspective of what actually happened is not nearly as clear as we think. We may look back fondly upon our time in a certain city or church or relationship and believe that those times were better than the present. That those relationships were better. Most likely, however, we are forgetting the dark moments, the hurt that we went through, the reason we said goodbye in the first place. The past often seems better than the present only because it gets redrawn by our brain. If it was a photograph, the picture has been airbrushed completely by our brain.

In most civilizations throughout history, this neurological function forms as a kind of psychological defense. Instead of dealing with past miseries, we are enabled to move forward by remembering more kindly the times in our life that weren’t good to us. With the advent of technology and the proliferation of massive networks like Facebook, however, these old relationships remain a presence in our life.

In the history of humanity, we have never seen an age when the past mingles so freely with the present. And yes, it causes problems.

On my Facebook, I have a large list of friends from various moments and times in the past. Friends from grade school, my first church youth group, old college beer buddies, students I worked with, family, old clients, friends from different churches and political groups, and co-workers from one of the endless array of different jobs over the years. It’s a strange blend of the past and the present, and aside from answering the usual “what are they doing now” question, it always takes me on a bit of a journey into my past.

Sometimes, it’s helpful. When I see the old familiar names, I feel less scattered about my life which has seen a number of twists and turns along the way. It points out those markers by reminding me of where I’ve been, and reminds me why I’ve made certain decisions.

Unfortunately, this constant reminder of the past sometimes clouds our judgment. How many people do we know who have gone back to old relationships, even after countless breakups, because they remember the “good times”? And those relationships are not merely romantic ones, but our relationship with different ideas, different expressions of our humanity.

Fifteen years ago I was an ultra conservative evangelical Christian. A pastor and a firm believer in patriarchy and assigned gender roles. My view of the world was largely binary. (good, bad; black, white). These days, my journey has shown me other things, and my views have changed. Still a Christian, but with a different perspective. My view of life is more prismatic, more story oriented. I no longer believe in assigned gender roles, believe God to bigger than my belief structure, actively support gay rights, and consider myself a feminist. My memory of my time as a conservative, however, is largely pleasant. I had the pleasure of befriending and working with a number of sincere, loving people. And from what I can tell on my various networked sites, my friends who stayed the course on that path are just as sincere and kind as they were when I shared their beliefs. As a result of those pleasant memories, I’ve often thought about heading back down some of those roads, at least the ones that point to ministry and working in a church again.

But there’s a trap there, and it’s similar to the one of going back to an old boyfriend who was great in the beginning and then treated you like shit for the last six months of your relationship. A year passes and all you remember is how great he was in the beginning. You start dating again, and suddenly you’re caught in the same mess with the same drama, only this time it’s worse, because your self-esteem takes a hit when you realize that you’ve made the same mistake twice.

This past week I probed further than I had in a long time to head back down the road to ministry, and I was smacked by a jolt from the past, as if I’d taken a time machine back to 1995. In a matter of hours, I realized my mistake. For all the fondness of my memories, it was brought home, very quickly, why I’d changed course in my beliefs.

Working in a church and helping young people remains a possibility, but this past week has served as an eloquent reminder of why I’ve made certain decisions along the course of my life, choices I do not regret. Choices that have led me to where I am now. That isn’t to say I haven’t made mistakes, I’ve made many bad decisions and will make more in the years to come, but the reminder that I need to keep my focus on the future was a needed one.

People change and grow as we age, and so this attempt to replicate the history will always fail. The challenge in these times, when the past is mingled so closely with the present, is to accept where we’ve been, enjoy the fond memories, and move on. To look to the future with hope, and continue our search for greater wisdom.

There is so much out there, so many people and places and twists along the path, all waiting to help you move closer to your dreams. The past can serve as both a warning and a pleasant aside, but it is ill-suited as a map for the future. Don’t waste your time waiting for the past to come again. Set your course for new fields, new ideas, and take the road less travelled. Believe me, you won’t regret it.

-Steve

Shuffling Towards Greatness

2012-01-23T10:22:00.000-08:00

We were lounging around the desks, waiting for our last student, Bill, to be picked up. He was over at the computer playing an educational game, lost in a world of swirling colours and numbers. Deanna, my co-worker, was complaining again.

“Where’s his mother? Every day she’s late. Why can’t she be here on time? With a son like Bill, she really should be more organized so we’re not all sitting around waiting on HER schedule.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s only five minutes,” I said. “It’s not a big deal.”

Deanna harrumphed and then started complaining about something else. I tuned out. Bill’s mom showed up a few minutes later, apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry. I just got behind- Bill! C’mon, let’s get ready.”

Bill shuffled towards his mother, smiling broadly. Although relatively high functioning for a developmentally disabled student, he wasn’t particularly verbal. I helped him put on his jacket, and he patted me on the head as he always did.

“So how was his day?” His mother asked me.

“Oh, it was-“

“He did very well this morning,” Deanna said, cutting me off. She’d positioned herself in front of me and was smiling at Bill’s mother. “I started a new program with him. I had this great idea based on his love for colours, and we’re really making some progress with his counting.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Bill’s mom pulled the toque over her son’s ears.

“And how are YOU?” Deanna said. “It must be so hard, what with your two other children and all that you do.”

“Well, Bill’s worth it. I’m just sorry that I always seem to be a little late.”

Deanna laughed and clapped her hands together.

“Oh, we don’t care about that! We know your schedule, right Steve?”

“It’s okay,” I managed to say, though my insides were heaving.

Bill’s mother smiled her thanks and left, holding her son’s hand as he shuffled towards the exit. As soon as they were out of sight, Deanna rolled her eyes.

“As if an apology matters. She’s late EVERY DAY!”

I grabbed my coat and left the school without a word to my co-workers. Days like this were always upsetting. Deanna had been pulling this shit for the past two years, and she wasn’t alone either. More than a few of my colleagues spent most of their time complaining and gossiping. When I left the school board two years later, I hoped to find a job, a place, where I didn’t have to associate with two-faced Sales People like Deanna. I’d seen it in the church. I’d seen it in the schools. There had to be somewhere I could go…

***

One of the more fatiguing truisms is that there will always be “Sales People” in your life. There will always be people who “market” themselves to your boss but do nothing when no one is watching. There will always be people who sound great and talk great but who won’t lift a damn fingernail unless they’re getting paid for it.

For seven years, I watched great teachers struggle to get their lesson plans done while coaching three teams and making themselves available to their students. All this while a number of their colleagues sat around and did nothing but complain about their salary and gossip about the students.

If you’ve worked in a church, you know what I’m talking about. If you’ve worked in a hospital, you know what I’m talking about. In every job, everything you aspire to do, you’re going to find people who have success because they know how to work the angles. They will cause fits of frustration, especially when you’re struggling so hard to do things the right way.

My advice? Keep struggling. Keep doing things the right way. Like a punch in the gut, Sales People erode our willingness to walk the extra few steps to do things right. They remind us that the world isn’t fair, and that it rewards cheap and glossy more often than it rewards deep and meaningful.

But the world needs people who won’t take shortcuts. The world needs people who will care about others even when there’s no ‘reward.’ Sure, some people will make more money and earn favour before you do because they’re willing to do anything and say anything, to lie without regret. There will always be people who skim. But when we start comparing ourselves to the Sales People, we forget why we’re here. We forget that the greatest rewards in life are nearly always unseen. We forget the satisfaction that comes from doing things the right way. And we forget the influence our lives have on those around us, and what a difference we can make, regardless of the spotlight.

Greatness is never achieved through the shallow lens of notoriety. It happens when we understand that the primacy of others matters more than our own recognition. We don’t need a number, be it the one in our bank account or the hits on our website, to tell us who we are.

The world is moving faster these days, and there’s great pressure to climb the Mount of Recognition. And more than ever, we need people who will stay away from the gold diggers and grave diggers, people who will look beyond them to understand where greatness truly lies.

Forget the Sales People, my friends. Forget the fifteen minutes of fame and four minutes of airtime. Instead, remember the people who impacted you through your life. Remember their example. Remember how they shuffled along, never in a hurry, more concerned about shaping their character than their reputation. Remember their example, and don’t let the others pull you down. Be great instead.

-Steve

Saturday Morning Birdseed

2012-01-21T07:28:00.000-08:00

Just a few sprinkles this morning.

As we try to figure out what this site is and what it will be, I'll be adding a few regular "features" during the week. On Friday, as I once again went back to rewrite Chapter 1 (!?) in my 760 page, 30 chapter novel that I've been working on for the past 3 years, I came across an "authour" website that put me in full rant mode. But as it was Friday, I thought I'd post those thoughts early next week when we're all a bit grumpier.

Instead, I thought a trip around the entertainment world (movies, television, books, trends, etc...) as a regular Friday post might be fun, along with a completely subjective top ten list. (Thanks to Jason Ramsay for the idea) Any other ideas for regular columns? A sports round-up perhaps?

Despite the fact that it's Leafs-Canadians tonight on Hockey Night in Canada (for those of you south of the border, this is an old NHL rivalry. If it was college football, the equivalent might be Notre Dame - USC) I'll post something later today. I'm thinking it will be a late entertainment blog.

-Steve

Snow Day Dance Break

2012-01-19T12:35:00.000-08:00

Turned out to be one of those days when driving seemed like a dumb idea, considering how we all turn into morons when it snows. And since I'm sure we could all use a break, why not get up and dance around for a bit. Robyn will help you.

Oh, and make sure the video camera on your laptop is off. Just sayin'

Writing Fantasy, Tim Tebow and the Cult of Winning

2012-01-19T10:28:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me again recently why I write fantasy. Wasn’t that a genre for children? Why didn’t I write something more serious? Perhaps something for grown ups. Although it’s a question I’ve fielded a number of times in the past two years, it always throws me a little, and I usually end up stammering a different response every time. When it’s done well, fantasy writing provides everything I’m looking for in narrative. A great story. A big story. A new world. An escape. Incisive commentary on our culture. Theological and philosophical reflection. But upon reflection, the greatest aspect of fantasy, and why I chose to work in this genre, is that it emphasizes the journey of life. And in a culture married to winning and success, fantasy novels remind us of that old sports axiom: it isn’t whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.

Consider Tolkien’s LORD OF THE RINGS. The tale of Frodo and his friends is essentially an internal journey manifested externally in the form of elves and Mordor and new kingdoms. Tolkien was creating myth, and all myths, all great tales, provide guidance for our interaction with a shifting and often tragic existence. The world makes no sense, and help is needed to navigate the journey. There’s a reason that many people, especially young people, who read fantasy or science fiction are categorized as “geeks.” They are outsiders in school or in their homes. They feel shunned. Different. For whatever reason, they do not fit with the people around them. For them, fantasy provides a bridge to navigating this world while looking through the lens of another.

These days, the stigma of fantasy as something for “geeks” has been erased. (Thank you, Ms. Rowling) And it has slipped into the mainstream as our world has continued to get faster, spinning with lightning speed, pushing us to change more quickly, acquire more, and just move Move MOVE! And above all, just win. Whatever the cost, even if it’s the only fifteen minutes you’ll get, push yourself to the top.

We are a culture obsessed with winners. Fantasy is a genre obsessed with participants. We are a culture that teaches success at all costs. Fantasy reminds us that success is not found in the ending, but in the story itself.

I wrote a piece just last week about Tim Tebow, the popular Denver Broncos quarterback who became the story of the year in the NFL. On Saturday, Tebow’s Broncos were annihilated by the New England Patriots, and seemingly overnight his name disappeared from the news. It won’t matter how many disabled children he meets before games or how much he gives to the poor if he starts losing next year. There are a lot of good people out there. But we want winners.

What about you? Who are the winners in your field? In your life? If you’re a pastor, someone will inevitably ask you how many people are in your church. If you’re in finance or investments, you will measured by your earnings. Parent? Tell us how successful your children are. And if you’re a writer, we want to know how many books you’ve sold.

We aren’t the first culture to be obsessed with winning or the first to quantify it in power or material gain. But in a world of over seven billion people, where the gap between the rich and poor continues to widen, the emphasis on getting to the top of the mountain has become paramount. Instead of focusing on the path itself, on the relationships we build and the content of our character, we turn our gaze to the top and forget the richness of the journey. We forget that we weren’t created to win or even compete, but to simply participate.

It’s easy to get lost in the cultural maelstrom, and sometimes it’s impossible to escape that narrative in our jobs or personal lives. I write fantasy for the same reason I read it. It reminds me that the journey is the story. That I’m the only one who can decide what it means to win.

Whatever the culture says, whatever you read or see on television, that decision belongs to you. And if you decide to go a bit slower, decide that you don’t need to be famous or popular or rich, that joy comes from giving, not having, I think you’ll discover what it truly means to win. But that decision isn’t up to me. It’s your path, my friends. Your journey. Are you winning?

-Steve

Christians and Hollywood Support Big Brother? What?

2012-01-18T09:25:00.000-08:00

I think I was twelve when I saw A Thief in the Night, a 1972 film by Russell Doughton and Donald Thompson. The film looks like a bad home movie now, but it was terrifying as a kid. Thief, along with its three sequels, forecasted the end of the world. It illustrated the rapture (the idea that certain Christians will be taken up to heaven while the rest of the world sinks into war and madness) and the coming age of a one-world government ruled by the Anti-Christ. That was later updated by the massively popular Left Behind series coauthored by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, which sold over sixty million copies. It was essentially the same story, the same theological idea, thematically comparable to the novel 1984, by George Orwell. A dominant one-world government that controlled the masses through drugs and propaganda or, in the case of Left Behind, microchips. (Incidentally, most evangelicals were worried as soon as they started putting computer chips in animals. It was only a matter of time before they did the same to us.)

Which brings us to the new bill SOPA (Stop Online Piracy Act) and its younger brother PIPA (Protect Intellectual Property Act), which are proposed to be introduced into legislation in the U.S. Here in Canada, we face a similar battle, although much of it is happening under the radar. The essence of these bills, what the legislators will tell you, is to prevent people from “stealing” their material. Movies. Music. Etc… They’ll tell you that they are trying to protect their goods like you would retail merchandise in a store. So why is this important? And what does this have to do with Big Brother? Well, there are a number of reasons, but perhaps the biggest is that we live in a world of computers. It wasn’t always this way, of course, even sixteen years ago technology wasn’t nearly as pervasive as it is now. Back then, computers sat on desks at home or in your office.

Those days are gone. Everything is now a computer. Your car is a computer. Your phone. City infrastructure. Banks. Planes. Everything is either a computer or runs on one. The problem is that we can’t build computers to only run certain programs. (I’m not going to go into technical details, but I’ll post a few links if you want to read more why this is so) The best we can do is insert spyware to manage these computers. This spyware already exists and is used, for example, in ambulances. Everything is tracked, from location to time stamps on the sirens to the speed of the vehicle. Which is fine for ambulances, but what about your car? What about your laptop? These bills, and ones being introduced in other countries like Canada, are an attempt by big business to make more money by controlling you.

This is not an issue of protecting copyright. The issue is the power these huge corporations will have over people.

That sounds alarmist, I know, but this is not a small thing. Privacy matters because it is the basis for this crazy idea called democracy. Without privacy, without the right NOT to be watched, we find ourselves back behind the Iron Curtain or somewhere in China. And as we can only control content through Spyware, that’s exactly what we’ll be doing. Providing unseen eyes into our private lives.

Whether we like it or not, computers are here to stay. When I go to the store, I often see elderly men and women being walked through the process of sliding their debit card properly through the reader so they can buy groceries. Even twenty or thirty years ago that would have been unimaginable. But now it’s here, and it’s here to stay. So what we must do, then, is work very diligently to ensure that we protect our privacy despite the invasive nature of technology. That’s why this bill, and its cousins around the world, matter so much. They give too much power to a small group of people.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of these bills is the group responsible for it. I know Hollywood is a business, I get that, but how can these executives be so hypocritical? Voting to suppress art in the name of profit? Hollywood (movie companies) will earn well over fifty billion dollars this year through box office, merchandising, television rights and movie sales. Is that not enough? And where are all the evangelicals crying out against this Rapture-like madness? I don’t subscribe to that eschatology, but many evangelicals do, the same ones who form the base of the Republican Party. And where is the Tea Party? Wasn’t that movement all about freedom?

What this tells me is that both groups, who claim to believe in freedom and democracy, are full of shit. The evangelical movement, a large swath of it anyway, pimped out its soul twenty five years ago to politics and big business, and now retains the voice of a chattering squirrel. This during a time when it should be leading the way, if only to give credence to its own eschatology.

Frankly, the whole thing is discouraging. Christians and Artists (although, you could probably assign this to the greedy Hollywood execs) joining forces to support Big Brother. I never would have predicted that. I guess it’s just another reminder that what people say they believe and what they actually believe are completely different.

-Steve

More LINKS:

This is the best essay I’ve read on the subject, but the site is down today in protest of the bill, so you’ll have to wait until it’s up again to read it. It’s worth the wait.

The issues are outlined further here.

SOPA would make unauthorized streaming of copyrighted content a criminal offense, with a maximum penalty of five years in prison if a user gets caught streaming this content 10 times within six months.

One last article from Wired here.

Nothing but a Dream

2012-01-17T09:26:00.000-08:00

Although I'd heard snatches of Martin Luther's King's "I Have a Dream" speech, I'd never read it in its entirety before. Wow. What a writer...

"I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day."

-Martin Luther King Jr.

Find the whole speech HERE. Thanks to Gangrey for posting it.

-Steve

Some Morning Inspiration

2012-01-17T05:15:00.001-08:00

"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

When I first realized that I wanted to be a writer, I was hesitant about telling people my dream. It wasn't practical, for one thing, and I wasn't very good either. I wrote in secret, and when I did mention it to others, I made it sound like it was just a hobby, a side pursuit. I didn't talk about the way it made me feel, the way it lit me up inside and filled me with excitement. Not until, that is, I read Stephen King's ON WRITING. King was firm about not only the amount I needed to read and write every day to be successful (4 – 6 hours, 1000 words), but also that I needed to own my dream. That so long as I didn't respect my dream, nobody else would either.

I took both of his suggestions to heart, and not only began to immerse myself even more in my books and work, but I began to tell people, timidly at first, my dream of being a successful writer. I was sure that I would be laughed or mocked, or see those signs of disapproval that people give without always vocalizing it. An eye roll. The disapproving head shake. Mostly though, people were supportive. They wanted to see how I was doing, how the dream was progressing. Because I owned my dream and took it seriously, others did too.

Look, there will always be Dreamkillers. There will always be people who will tell you that you can't do it. I think you'll find, however, that if you look past them and really go for it, you'll find the encouragement you need. Most people want to be inspired. Humans are mimetic creatures, and we're always looking for models, others who will encourage us towards our God-given passions.

What do you want? What is that burning passion inside you? To own your own store? Write video games? Become a painter? You can do it, because the necessary ingredients are already there. Don't let others bring you down. Instead, be their inspiration.

Go get 'em…

-Steve

More Emerson quotes here.

Yeah, it's a Jordan commercial. Still great.

Schools are Killing Our Creativity

2012-01-16T17:37:00.000-08:00

This inspiring and very funny talk by Ken Robinson outlines the importance and necessity of creativity, and how schools teach us NOT to be creative. One thing he doesn't mention here is that the hierarchy of subjects was established in universities even before the industrial revolution, as far back as the 15th century. The only difference was the diminshing influence of theology.

Having spent many years in the Canadian public school system, I can verify what Robinson says. School curriculum does not give equal status to art or aspiring artists, and many teachers, themselves successful products of such a system, do not have either the time, or in some cases, the will to allow for such "distractions." It goes without saying that if we think of creativity as something "extra", and mold teachers to reward conformity, we cannot be surprised when the culture loses its ability to think outside the box.

Enjoy...

Book Review: DAVITA’S HARP by Chaim Potok

2012-01-16T11:23:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid people were either good or bad. The good ones went to church and dressed well and smiled a lot. Bad people wore jeans and didn’t go to church and had tattoos. I was too young to understand the complexity of humanity, my ten-year-old brain hadn’t developed that ability yet. But even through adolescence and into my early twenties, my views regarding the nature of people didn’t change. Not really. Good people were Christians who practiced their faith religiously and in full view of the public. And then there was everyone else, the non-Christians and atheists and Muslims who didn’t get it. (I reserved special distaste for people who claimed to be Christians but insisted on consuming wine and beer and didn’t seem to understand that these were the “Last Days”.)

If you would have asked me why my view was so extreme, I would have told you that believing in God was extreme and that you needed to follow your beliefs with your life. Or something along those lines. Back then, I’d heard of fundamentalism, but didn’t fully understand what it was or what it meant. All I knew was that people were either in or out, either on their way to heaven or to God’s eternal torture. It was simple and neat and easy.

As I’d held that view throughout my childhood years, I was certain that my understanding of people would never change, but when I started to see the lies and abuse fostered through such a simplistic perspective, I began to wonder. Perhaps the world was more complicated than that. Perhaps God was bigger than I’d imagined. Perhaps there weren’t two kinds of people after all…

These are the themes Chaim Potok addresses in his poignant novel DAVITA’S HARP. Set in Brooklyn circa. 1935, the novel tells the story of Illana Davita, a seven-year-old girl born to radical activist parents. Her mother is a non-practicing Jew who long ago gave up her faith after being raised in a strict orthodox home. Her father is an atheist and a journalist, a man who believes that a new era is about to be ushered in with the imminent destruction of Fascism. Both belong to the Communist Party.

Wonderfully told from the translucent lens of a child, the book traces Illana’s early years, her struggle to understand the tragedy both in the world and in her home. She does not understand the desperation of her parents’ activism or the rigidity of the religious people who surround them.

More than just another coming of age story, DAVITA’S HARP explores the dangers of secular and religious fundamentalism and how our inability to see the many colours of the world scar those around us. Published first in 1985, this prescient novel is particularly relevant considering just how polarized our culture has become, both religiously and politically. It seems we are increasingly pushed towards accepting the child-like notion that there are only two sides to every story. Only two answers to every question.

I’ll admit that there are days when the old me still likes this idea. Days when the world seems too complicated. Too hard. But then I’ll read a beautiful tale like the one Potok has crafted here and remember what I’ve seen. Remember how destructive such notions are. And for a while at least, I’ll find the courage to walk more slowly, to think a little more carefully, and love a bit more widely. No longer a child, and better equipped to handle the world’s lament.

****1/2

-Steve

NOTE: The original review from the NY Times is posted here, but be warned that it tells much of the story. Personally, I hate reviewers who insist on giving us a rehash of the entire story. DAVITA'S HARP is not a thriller, but I still don't want to know everything that happens before I read a book. But for those of you who prefer such reviews, it may be helpful.

Tim Tebow: Better Than Fiction

2012-01-14T06:38:00.000-08:00

I’ve often been asked how I create my fictional characters. (I’ve written three novels, but as I have yet to be published, take my answers with a box of salt.) Well, the process is different for every writer. Some start with a situation, some “meet” their characters unexpectedly in their minds, and then there are others who (eek!)simply pick out characteristics from a chart. For me, the process is both organic and situational. However a writer gets there, the one thing that all good characters share is some sort of flaw or contradiction, an internal or external weakness they are trying to overcome. These ‘failures’ are what help us identify with them, and once an audience identifies with a character, that’s when the magic happens. When a story becomes more than a story. With a guide that we can KNOW, we are taken to new worlds and given new experiences. We are challenged both in what we believe and who we are because we are no longer ourselves. For a time, we become someone else, and through that experience every notion of what reality means, what life means, is given a new lens.

It’s interesting to note here that according to most studies, there’s no difference between real or fictional characters in their ability to model for us or meet the mimetic needs of our race. Your model may be your teacher or it may be Xena (I’d choose Xena, of course), but both can dramatically affect who we are and who we strive to become. But the most powerful fictional character is not one we find in the movies or in books, it’s the person, the real person, who somehow manages to become surpass reality and become something more. Over the course of the past three months, Tim Tebow has done just that.

At first, Tebow seems too bland to be a good character for anything but those droopy romances. He’s white, well built and good looking. He’s devout and kind and the child of missionary parents. He’s also successful, winning multiple championships and decorated as one of the greatest college players of all time. Right away, you can’t escape the feeling that he’s been drawn from a chart, and not very well. As popular as Tebow was in college, he was largely just another athlete. It wasn’t until we discovered his “flaw” that his popularity began to rise. As it turns out, his failure was the arm motion he used to throw the football, the same motion that had produced his success and popularity. By the time the NFL draft rolled around, most experts predicted his failure, and when he was drafted in the first round, the decision was met with a chorus of eye rolls. “Impossible for him to compete with that throwing motion.” “He takes too long to get rid of the ball.” “He throws ducks, not spirals.”

That’s when his possibilities as a great character began to show. Denver, the team that drafted him, buried him on the bench and then fired the coach who had “reached” for him in the draft. Now offstage, fans began to lobby for him. “What happened to Tebow?” “Where did he go?” The past success of their current starting quarterback didn’t matter, and when Denver started the year with one win in the first five games, the new head coach grudgingly gave the ball to Tebow. In that game, he played terribly, but somehow managed to lead the Broncos to victory. Week after week he led his team to improbable, last minute wins. A lame, predictable script if drawn for fiction, but as this was real life, the story took on a whole new significance.

Perhaps if Tebow had kept winning into the playoffs, the story would have died, or at least, diminished in some way. Instead, the developing of his character continued, and Tebow started losing. Not just lose, but look, at times, like one of the worst quarterbacks ever to pull on an NFL jersey. His demise was once again predicted and predictable. He was mocked as much as he was saluted. And then, as with a well told fable, he produced his greatest NFL game to date, leading his team to a spectacular playoff victory in overtime with his team an overwhelming underdog.

(The Tebow story is a classic “W” plot found in most fiction. Hero goes through crisis, but things begin to change and they have success. Something happens and they start to fail again before rising up again to even greater glory.)

There are other elements to the Tebow character that have caused TV sets to hum and churn to record numbers. Increased exposure to his extreme religiosity, his stated “sexual purity”, the continued doubting of his ability by experts, the politicized environment of his chosen religious expression. For my money though, the most compelling aspect of “Tim Tebow the character”, is his un-self-consciousness. He doesn’t dwell on who he is as a character, unlike many professional athletes who understand the basics of mythmaking (or just suffer from extreme vanity) and address themselves in the third person. Every sportswriter who’s covered Tebow says the same thing. What you see is what you get. He’s a good kid. He treats people well. He’s trying to make a difference.

This could all change, of course. Protracted losing, a sense of entitlement, a change in his behavior and expectations. (I have my own nightmare of his political involvement twenty years from now, where he is used by lobbyists and politicians more interested in guns and business than helping others.) Unlike fictional characters, whose stories are drawn and complete, Tim Tebow’s story is as yet unfinished. Just like us. But for now he remains a growing iconic figure, referenced in presidential debates, mocked and loved by diehard fans and casual observers who know nothing about him or the game that has made him famous. Like many great fictional characters, many of them don’t understand why he’s so popular or how he came to be, they only know he exists.

Tebow’s story is the most compelling to cross the sports sections of our dailies in a long time. The irony is that if he were one of my characters, he’d be seen as unbelievable. And in this, we have our final lesson. The greatest fictional characters are those who already exist. I would never have created a character like Tebow, but there’s a reason he’s so compelling. It’s the same reason I’ll be cheering for him every time he takes the field and will continue to cheer for him in the future. That is, so long as his character remains the same.

-Steve

Why Dreams Matter (Aspiring II)

2012-01-12T11:35:00.000-08:00

It’s a cold, wet morning, the perfect weather to work. For many writers, the ambience of snow and rain is preferable to a sunny day. Why? Perhaps it has to do with the nature of writing, of dealing with the lament of the world. Or perhaps it’s just a good reason to stay inside. Either way, I am inevitably cheered when it rains. (More so when it snows. There’s nothing like the heavy quiet that comes with snow.) That makes this the perfect day to officially re-launch this blog.

As I’ve mentioned in the About Me section, I started this site seven years ago, and stopped last April because I found it difficult to work on my novel and produce the long, heavy pieces typical of this blog. The dream had always been to become a novelist, but I was pouring so much into the posts here I didn’t have anything left for my book. That said, I was reluctant to give it up. It fed something I couldn’t identify. Something I needed. I was frustrated with my novel, and old enough (38) to consider if it was time to just let the dream go. On a whim, I sounded my frustrations out in Aspiring, and asked Chris Jones from Esquire to take a look at it. Not only did he look at it, but he wrote a story about me on his writing blog. Within a few days, I was contacted by a writer in Indiana. His name was Dan. He offered to look over what I had written so far. In the past, I would have turned him down, but I figured I had nothing to lose. I had no idea whether my story was any good, was fairly convinced that I had spent the past two years producing garbage, and wasn’t sure that I wanted anyone to see it.

I sent him what I had anyway.

Well, he read the first portion of the manuscript, enjoyed it, and made some wonderful suggestions to make it even better. With his encouragement, I was able to keep going. I stopped writing blogs and articles and focused on the book. Every day I wrote. Five, six, ten hours a day. Working, ever working. Trying to be a better writer. Trying to create an epic story that people could get lost in, the kind of tale I’ve loved ever since I was a kid. And every time I faced discouragement or loneliness, Dan was there to encourage me and pick me up. None of this would have been possible without my wife, as well, who similarly encouraged me and spent long hours editing my new pages and dealing with my neurotic nature regarding the work. (It’s good, I love it! It’s terrible, I’m a shitty writer.)

Well, it’s finished now. Three years of work. Years of long nights and longer days. This past month, a group of amazing friends agreed to do a read-through, for no reason other than a willingness to help. I eagerly await their critiques. There are no guarantees, of course, and the odds are long that I’ll even find an agent, but I’ve learned too much to ever go back. Learned about dreams and people. Learned how necessary it is to find others willing to walk with you wherever it is you want to go.

This story isn’t about fame or affirmation from strangers or whether my book makes the New York Times Bestseller list. This story is about the road we share and the journey we take together. It’s about new friendships and changed lives. About the power of dreams and what they mean not only to us, but to those around us.

It’s easy to trade in our hopes for the future, so easy to be cynical. Hell, it’s a daily battle for me. When I see the pain and tragedy in this world, it’s hard to see the point of doing anything, let alone pursuing a stupid dream. Some days I have problems getting out of bed because the force of sadness is so heavy I can hardly move. On those days, I just tell Bethany (my wife) it isn’t a good day, and she leaves me alone to work through the weight of sorrows. Inevitably, however, I turn back to the page. Turn back to the writing. Turn back towards trying to make a difference on this planet.

Dreams matter because they are your source for life. Yes, you can cast them aside and bury yourself in the everyday business of life. They are yours to do whatever you wish. Understand, however, that without dreams you set yourself towards a life of emptiness, ripe for the siren call of hawkers and cheap vendors trading on your dreams for an existence of instant gratification.

Life isn’t easy, and I don’t think it was meant to be. There’s a reason we have to deal with so much pain. So whatever you do, don’t trade in the one thing you’ve been given to fight the world’s lament. Hold on tight, and keep pushing. You may never reach your destination, but the journey will be worth it, that much I can promise you.

-Steve

Aspiring

2011-04-28T20:33:00.000-07:00

The girl at the next table won’t stop yelling into her cell phone. I’m ready to say something rude, but my eyelids are heavy, and I know that everything feels bigger than it is right now. Four hours sleep, up early to train a client, and still here in the early afternoon at one of the many Starbucks that constitute my office. Unlike some of them, this one smells like burnt coffee. Somehow, that makes it easier to focus on my work. Unfortunately, it isn’t real work, according to most people’s definition. I’m not getting paid for it, and may never see a dime from the long months spent on it. It’s a fantasy novel, birthed nearly two years ago, and two hundred thousand words later, it shows little sign of maturing. Sort of like the guy trying to write it.

I’d say that’s to be expected in a commercialized society, a culture of money and artificiality and plastic success, but a number of artists have made that distinction and done so in ways beyond my own ability. Besides, dwelling on it doesn’t make me any smarter or make my feelings of inadequacy go away. No matter my semi-educated hypothesises on the sociological patterns of Western democracy circa 2011, I am left with a blinking cursor and a blank screen in front of me. Every day it tells me something about myself, and much of it isn’t good. The blank page is a better mirror than any pane of glass. Whatever bullshit you got, you better be willing to either admit it or leave it to the side when you get there. What most people don’t understand is that the cynicism one finds in writers is not born from their observations of the world, but from their observations of self. From there, we move outward, but always with a firm understanding of the bullshit that lurks around the corner and inevitably leaks into our own existence. Perhaps that’s why I’m still doing this, so many years later, despite my lack of success.

I remember a time when I was more than an aspiring writer, a time when writing was as much about my own burgeoning future as it was an attempt to articulate what it meant to be human. Those days are gone. I’ll be thirty-nine in a few months, and while I can quote success stories from writers who found great recognition at a later age (like Frank McCourt), those examples are rare, and I’ve been at this for too long to believe that I will ever join such a group.

And yet, here I am again, back on the very same blog I started so hopefully six years ago. It feels like an old friend, and I click briefly through some of my past posts with a half smile on my face. I want to write more often here, but these days it has become difficult just to find the energy to write my daily fifteen hundred words. Many mornings will be spent in a sort of grovelling, grinding existence, willing God and my muse and whatever supernatural forces exist to help me on just this next stretch of the book, asking for just one more push. I check my daily word count with each new sentence. Some days, well, most days, I want to quit. I want to focus on training. Or perhaps just write the occasional article. And every so often, I don’t write at all. I consider myself freed from my own silly dictums and able to flip channels and burn up the sports blogs instead, certain that my life as an aspiring writer is most certainly over. What brings me back is the following morning, when I wake up and feel the horrible turn of my stomach from cheating on my muse. From cheating on myself. And so, despite my decade long string of non-success, I find my way to a Starbucks and re-enter the world that I’ve so diligently created over the past two years. I whisper to myself the same words that every aspiring writer says.

“Perhaps this book will be the one. Perhaps an editor will like it enough to bring it to the publisher’s attention, and perhaps the publisher will want to buy it. And once it’s published, perhaps critics will like it, and people will want to read it. And just maybe, if I’m really lucky, someone will take comfort in my story. Someone will learn something new about themselves and the world around them. Enough, perhaps, to help them make it through a particularly difficult time. And if I truly strike gold, someone will read my story and know that they are accepted, that God not only exists but loves them dearly, and that they need not be ashamed of who they are or what occupies their dreams.”

But knowing who I’m writing for doesn’t always help, because it’s easy to get worn down. Easy to sit and watch our favourite shows and movies and offer judgment, admiring the brilliance of some and the stupidity of others without realizing how much we have conceded. I’m not sure it would matter if we knew. There comes a time when dreams feel heavy and burdensome, when the cares of the world simply overwhelm us and we live with the hope of a few happy moments and a bit of rest. What are dreams to the one struggling just to get by each day?

The answer is that dreams are the oxygen of life. Without them, we die. What does it mean to live if life is nothing more than a minimalist existence of survival and pleasure?

I’ll be honest, some days I struggle to write three words. In the end however, despite the daily battles, I find myself in front of the blank screen and blinking cursor. I see too many people who have given up their dreams, too many people who have sold out for a night on the sofa and some easy laughs. When they look back, ten and twenty years from now, I wonder what they’ll say. Will they make excuses? Will they pretend that their dreams didn’t exist? Or will they face that moment writers face every day in the blank page, when they cannot fool themselves, when they know that anything less than the truth simply won’t do.

I’ve long been convinced that the secret to this life is to figure out what you’re supposed to be doing and do it. Excuses are easy, but they eventually become altars of pain and regret. What we often forget is that character and fulfillment run along the same set of tracks, and always meet when we will it, so long as we’re willing to endure. The challenge is to find our purpose and pursue it, even when we’re handed a life other than the one we expected. And if along the way we become the success that always seemed impossible, so much the better. Chances are, we won’t even notice.

Steve

Authour's Note (May 4, 2011): Upon finishing this piece, and dealing with more than a little discouragement the past few months, I sent a notice to Chris Jones, who writes for Esquire, asking if he could read my blog. Not only did he read it, he wrote a moving piece on his own blog in response. (FIND IT HERE) I was humbled and touched and encouraged by his words. I'm sure my next post will deal with that, and what it has meant , and what it may mean in the future. Thanks, Chris, for your kindness, and thanks everyone, for taking the time to stop by. I hope you found some encouragement here. :)

Doing The Impossible

2011-03-17T06:47:00.000-07:00

The laptop bag weighed heavily on my shoulder, the consequence of once again refusing to leave anything in the car, so it was with some relief I spotted the two empty tables. Finding a spot at this particular Chapters/Starbucks was usually a hopeless endeavor, and even if you waited, there was no ‘official’ lineup. If you sensed movement you rushed towards it. And if the person was actually leaving, you made sure that your bag was down and your things were on the table as quickly as possible. Today however, there was no need to rush, and I put my head down as I walked over. Another woman had seen the open tables as well, and she bustled past me, nearly clubbing me with the huge, reusable shopping bag slung over her shoulder. I barely noticed though, as I was just happy to find a seat. I grabbed a chair from the table on the right, and though she’d laid her things down at the other table, she made a noise as if she objected to my sitting down. Well, whatever, I thought. I dropped my bag beside my chair, ever amazed at my own ridiculousness in packing so much. Did I really need two novels in there? What was the second one for, anyway? I’d already forgotten about the woman when she stood up and looked at me.

“It’s a good thing I sat at the table first.” The woman said.

At first I thought I’d misheard her. Was she talking to me? And what did she mean, exactly?

She was in her early thirties, tall, and very thick. She wore tight pants and an overlapping sweater into which her extra weight had been crammed and tucked so tightly that she looked as if someone had stuffed two cushions into a single pillow case. A very expensive pillow case. Her purse was probably worth more than my entire wardrobe. Her face had large features and included a full second chin that hung low but was kept in place by her jaw, which jutted out and up as she looked down at the people around her. It was hard to make out the rest of her features, framed as they were by an overwhelming trilogy of curls, makeup and perfume.
She strode over to the counter to order her drink, teetering on her knee high boots lacquered against her calves like black sheaves of armour. A few minutes later she came back and sighed heavily as she looked down at me.

“Can you please move your bag? It’s hard to get around here when you just put your bag anywhere.”

I moved the bag to the other chair at my table.

“All you have to do is ask.” I said. “We don’t need to hear your commentary about it.”

She harrumphed and sat beside me, wiggling around in her chair as if willing the wood to soften. I sighed and tried to keep my face neutral even as her perfume threatened to engulf me. I’d always hated people like her, people who stomped around looking down their noses at others and making sure everyone knew that the world revolved around them.

I turned the pages of my magazine, working hard to focus on what I was reading, but the woman soon started a conversation with an older man at the table next to her. Their conversation drifted from phones to him asking her occupation.

“I’m an accountant.” She said. “I run my own business.”

“Oh, that’s very nice.” The man said, his accent thick. It sounded like he was from somewhere in the Middle East, but I wasn’t be sure.

“I’m also a model. I’ve been modeling since I was eight.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yes. My husband is always surprised how I can just switch things on and off. I walk into my business and I become this whole other person, like I’m totally in charge. And yet, I’m very carefree, which helps me when I’m modeling. He asks me how I do it, and I tell him I’ve been doing it since I was eight, so it’s like, no big deal.”

I felt something shift then, and I slowly packed up my bag as the woman continued to tell the kind old man about her modeling exploits. The anger seeped out of me as I listened to her, gradually replaced by a growing sadness. Moments earlier, I’d felt my anger peak. I’d been confronted by a wealthy, aggressive snob, who clearly thought the world should bend their knee to her. Now, I saw an awkward, lonely person struggling with her self-esteem.

I looked back only once as I left. She was squished in over the table on the smaller chair, bent over her phone as if waiting for it to ring.

For the rest of the day I went over in the incident in my head. She’d done nothing to alter my original impression, so why had I suddenly been confronted with a vision of a completely different person?

It was something I’d been thinking about for a while, and after a few days I realized what had happened. I felt like I’d been given a nudge to one of the great mysteries, and difficulties, of life. A way to help me deal with the ever vexing nature of greed and selfishness so prevalent in humanity, which I noticed was especially characteristic of the guy in the mirror. Some religions had a whole set of rules and regulations regarding what I’d learned, but for me it was much simpler than that. For me, it was doing the impossible.

***
Contrary to popular belief, the greatest battles in humanity are not fought over land or politics or religion. While we offer these reasons as to how and why people can do such horrible things to one another, the truth is somewhat more complicated, and simple, than we want to believe. Within the three pounds of tissue that hang loosely within our skulls, warfare of the kind we are only beginning to understand is waged on a daily basis. Billions of neurons sift through a constant sortie of signals through synaptic connections, communicating through long protosplasmic fibers called axons. These axons develop synaptic connections that grow and strengthen with repeat usage, and weaken upon disuse. The tendency is for the pathways to continue to strengthen, and as such, our responses become more typical as we age and develop routines. These routines include not only physical activities (think about how you always dry yourself in the same manner when you get out of the shower, for example) but our psychological tendencies as well, the way we think about the world and the narrative we draw from our experiences.

However, the battle within our brains is fierce, as every new signal competes for the attention of others. The decisions we end up making are never ‘unanimous’, no matter how simple a decision may seem to be. (e.g. I’m hungry. I’m going to eat an apple.) In that environment, every decision, every signal, is a fight for control. Every factor is considered, whether it’s our past, our experience, what we’ve learned or haven’t learned or even think we’ve learned.

The point is that people are not a single entity, not in the way we normally think of it. We are a hive of activity and conflict, of ideas and actions and thoughts that make little or no collective sense. Haven’t you ever wondered why a person can say something to you on certain days and it isn’t a big deal, when at another time it would be something you considered hurtful? Or why perfectly sane people contemplate horrendous acts for small or merely perceived slights? We can offer a variety of reasons about why and how people constrain themselves, but the point is that this perception that a person is a singular unit is not only incomplete, but inevitably becomes dangerous and divisive. If I associate one person with one event or one idea or one concept or one behaviour, then inevitably I am forced to choose whether I agree with them or not. If I don’t agree with them, then that makes them my opponent, or depending on what circles you travel in, your enemy.

And if I don’t understand that people are not one thing, but many things, then I will never understand who I am, and I will never be capable of achieving humanity’s most difficult assignment. I will never be capable of doing the impossible.

***

The young man had walked for three days and three nights, and he was tired and hungry. He was wealthy enough to hire a caravan, but someone had told him that it was impossible to walk for three days and three nights without sleep, and so he’d set out to prove him wrong. His whole life had been like that, a life devoted to doing the impossible. He’d been the best student in his school and the best athlete. When he’d moved into business for himself, he became the richest man in the city. Women thought he was the most desirable man in the city, and men fought for his friendship. Everyone wanted to work for him because he was regarded as the best employer, and his kindness was on the lips of the poor and rich alike. He travelled the world and met with kings and queens, and everyone told him that what he had accomplished was impossible. Despite his success, the young man tried to be humble. Not impossible, he would always say, just difficult.

Yet he was restless and did not know why. Everyone had told him that he had nothing left to accomplish, but even after an admittedly young life filled with success, he was ready for a new challenge. He’d heard about a woman, some called her a Prophetess, who lived in a small village on the edge of the desert. They told him that there was no question she could not answer, and that her wisdom seemed to come from God Himself. She would help him, he thought. Perhaps she would set a new challenge for him.

It was morning, and the sun was already hot. He stopped at a rickety looking stand and bought a meat pastry. He asked the vendor where he could find the wise woman.

“Oh, you mean Annabelle.” The man, who was as thin as a stick and darkened from the sun, chuckled. “I hope that you have a good question for her. She gets annoyed with people from the city who don’t have a good question.”

The young man thanked the vendor, and after getting directions how to find her, headed down the road. He wondered what question he should ask her. He certainly didn’t want to waste the time of such a famous woman.

The directions led him to a small farm house. A herd of cows mingled with horses in the nearby field, and the door had pieces of paint peeling from it. What wise woman lived in a place like this? He knocked anyway, and was again surprised when a man answered the door carrying a young boy on his shoulder.

“Um, good morning.” The young man said. “I’m looking for Annabelle, the wise woman.”

The man rolled his eyes good naturedly and twisted his son around his back.

“From the city, eh? Well, wait there. I’ll get her.”

The young man was sure it was some kind of a trick and that this couldn’t be the right place, but he couldn’t leave now without being rude. And he was never rude.

The woman appeared in the doorway and led him out into the yard. She was tall and middle aged, with kind eyes and thick black hair. She folded her arms and smiled patiently when he introduced himself.

“You city folks are funny, you know that. Okay, you can ask one question. If it doesn’t annoy me, I’ll answer one more. Understand that I don’t like the rules, but I’d never see my family or get any work done if I stood around answering questions all day.”

The young man nodded respectfully.

“My whole life I have done what people said is impossible.” He said. “I have accomplished everything there is to accomplish, achieved every goal I’ve ever set. What, in your opinion, is the one thing that is absolutely impossible to accomplish, the one thing that no person has ever done?”

The woman looked at him, but didn’t answer right away. The kindness in her expression was so prevalent that it nearly masked the stark intelligence behind it.

“Where are your parents?” She said softly.

The young man gritted his teeth.

“They have been dead a long time. Two men robbed us when we were young, and when my parents tried to stop them, they were killed.”

“And what happened to the two men?” The woman asked.

“When I was old enough I went after them and saw to it that they were locked away for the rest of their lives.” He said proudly.

It was the first thing he’d done that people had said was impossible. He was too young to pursue such evil men, too inexperienced. He’d proven them wrong, as he’d always proved people wrong.
“Are they still in prison?” She asked.

Her voice was low and soft, but there was something within it that seemed to give it more weight, though he didn’t know what it was. Still, the young man was troubled by her questions. What did those men have to do with accomplishing the impossible?

“Of course. They will rot there for the rest of their lives.”

“Then your task is to get a judge to release those men into your custody. You are to look after them for the rest of their lives, provide them with a home, and care for them.”

The young man exploded.

“Do you know who I am?” he said, shaking a fist at the woman. “I have led whole armies into battle, traveled the world three times over, sat down with kings and queens. I have built hospitals and churches and shelters for the poor. After all that I have accomplished, you dare to ask me to care for my parents’ murderers?”

The kindness in the woman’s eyes had not gone away, if anything, it shone even brighter, though it was now tinged with sadness. This caused the young man’s stomach to churn and his eyes to well up.

“Do this, and you will have truly accomplished the world’s greatest feat.” The woman said.

The young man paused.

“I-I can’t. What you ask is impossible!”

“No. It is not impossible.” She said. “Just difficult.”

The young man shook his head and walked away. Love his parents’ murderers? It seemed he had found the wrong woman after all. He went back to the city, and for the rest of his life continued to accomplish things that people said were impossible.

***

When people talk about doing great things or achieving the impossible, it’s rarely framed in terms of relationships. Most of the time we’re talking about things that will bring public acknowledgment. Things like writing a best seller or becoming famous or making a fortune. And while these accomplishments are great things, they are not the greatest thing.

No, the greatest test for humanity was laid out two thousand years ago, as a Jewish Rabbi sat around a small fire with his students, young men who had grown up in an occupied country and seen their people slaughtered and harassed for centuries. When they asked him how they could be great, he told them something they had never heard before. He told them they needed to love their enemies. Anyone could love a friend, he said. Swindlers and tax collectors did that. Later, he would go on to tell them that they were to do two things in their life. To love God with all their hearts, and to love their neighbor as they loved themselves. And, as he would clearly point out in his next teaching, your neighbor was not the one living next to you, your neighbor was your enemy. His teachings made his students uncomfortable, and when he spoke to larger crowds later that same year, they too, were discomfited by his words.

Two thousand years have passed since this small town Rabbi stood along the shores of the Sea of Galilee and shared his wisdom. Many have claimed to follow him since, finding in his words and life both hope and peace. It is his greatest and most difficult teaching however, that we have most often chosen to ignore. A teaching we acknowledge but nearly always decide should not be taken literally. Surely he was speaking metaphorically, wasn’t he? And so instead of lifetime spent wrestling with the world’s most impossible test, we have added on to the Rabbi’s simple words by writing our own books and setting our own goals. We pick and poke at one another. We publish whole volumes on what separates us from the crowd, including certain groups within the crowd who also follow the Rabbi. We scream and dance and cajole and convince until we are exhausted, certain that if we just make enough noise, that we’ll make a difference or feel better about ourselves or that God will hear us and be pleased.

And so the world moves on, centuries pass, and more than ever we continue to fight and kill and criticize and attack. We couch our control of others in religious language. We use churches devoted to this Rabbi as battering rams for our ideas. We learn how to sound holy and unique and listen for people telling us about the great things we’ve accomplished, and yet when we look in the mirror, when the world gets quiet, the unrest rises and we wonder if perhaps there must be a greater task, perhaps something wonderful and impossible, that God has set for us.

***

A foggy gloom has descended over the city, and as I stand on our balcony, I can’t help but think how often I fail miserably at loving others, let alone my enemies. How often I cut people off or cut them up, how often I get into arguments or discussions that produce nothing but more angst and more despair, and how often I justify my actions by telling myself that I am on the right side or that I am right. It seems as though my desire is for others to do what I refuse to even attempt to do myself. More than anything though, I want people to be good… good like me. Except I’m not good. Not always. Sometimes I’m a jerk. Sometimes I say and think horrible things. But that isn’t all of me, even when I act like an ass. It isn’t “me”. It’s only part of me. If it was all there was to who I am, it would make sense for some people in this world to hate me, but I also know that I’m capable of good things, too.

It is impossible to love an idea you hate.

It is impossible to love a behavior you find detestable.

People however, are not one idea or one behavior. What’s true of me is true of everyone else. The woman in Starbucks may have been acting like a snob, but she was also lonely. She may have been rude, but she was also friendly with the old man. Our brains naturally label and generalize to help us sort through the constant stream of information, but too often we get caught up in labeling people. Conservative. Liberal. Atheist. Christian. Snob. Elitist. I know I do. But there’s no way we can even attempt to love others, let alone our enemies, if we don’t see in others what we recognize in ourselves, if we don’t understand that we are all an illogical collection of paradoxes and contradictions, of darkness and light, of good and evil.

Unlike our other dreams however, there’s no payout when it comes to doing the impossible. No financial rewards. No fame. People will not recognize you on the street. But my prayer this week is that you’ll see the other benefits that come from attempting God’s greatest test, that you’ll know a life of love and caring beyond what you’d ever hoped for, and that one day you’ll realize that you did, in fact, change the world. And when people around you, including your religious leaders, excuse you from this task by offering a new volume of reasons for its dismissal and exactly why it’s impossible, you’ll know what to say.

“It’s not impossible, just difficult.”

-Steve

Authour's Note: Loving your enemy, both as a concept and practically, never means staying in abusive situations, be it verbal or physical. Toxic environments are to be avoided because our ability to love others is always weighed against our ability to love and care for ourselves. The problem of domestic abuse in the church (as in societyt) is a long one, but in the church it is particularly disgraceful when some preacher's use that which we consider to be sacred (the Bible) as a tool for power and control. (I'm talking to you, John Piper and Mark Driscoll) the Bible was never intended as a weapon to keep people in line. It is the story of a God and His people. To willfully submit to abuse is not to love someone. It is, in fact, quite the opposite as it enables anger and hatred. We need to stop enabling abusers and confront them with the truth of their hurtfulness. That is love.
That the church so often covers up domestic abuse is one of its most disgusting and not-so-secret secrets. If you are in an abusive relationship, please take the necessary steps to get out, and do not let a pastor or preacher (like Piper) convince you that you do not have a right to a safe life. No matter how much they twist Scripture, understand God wants you to be in a position to love people, and when we hate ourselves, the result of such abuse, we cannot love others or experience God's love as he intends for us.

18 Again.

2011-02-12T11:07:00.000-08:00

As a novelist, one of the things you have to do is to walk in the shoes of someone else. In my case, I've spent the last nineteen months in the mind of an 18-year-old. (And a 46 year old woman, but I digress) You do remember, don't you guys, what it was like to be eighteen? This little journey might jog your memory...

***

What Is It Like to be Eighteen?

Well, my life is a strange sea of unsurety and absoluteness. Everything I learn seems to scatter what I've already learned to the wind, but what I do know is that it will get better. That I'm young still, and my whole life is in front of me. That's one thing my teachers and coaches never forget to tell me. You're young, don't worry. Everything gets better, and if you don't like what's happening in your life, all you have to do it is change it and try something new.

I believe them. And thank goodness, too. It gives me a lot of confidence to face a world that seems to shift every few months. The other thing that helps me get by is seeing how easily adults live. They do whatever they feel like, watch whatever they want, stay out all night if they're in the mood, and no one ever says anything to them. They're accountable to no one. I have to tell you, I'm looking forward to growing up. It's going to be great!

The one thing I don't understand though, is why they keep telling me to enjoy "these years", and joke about their life in high school like it was the best time of their life. It's not that they don't remember it exactly, or that they're lying, but I don't think they remember how so much of it simply sucks. They forget what it's like to show up at a party or a friend's house and not be wearing the right jeans. Or how nervous you feel when the hot girl comes over to talk to you. The adults reminisce about those times as if that stress was somehow fun. And if I try to explain how difficult those moments are, they forget that just because I'm laughing doesn't mean I think it's funny.

That's my biggest problem with adults. They look at me with those wide eyes that tell you they wish they could be my age, but then dismiss my struggles and patronize me with their stupid cliches that are supposed to make me feel better. I'm eighteen, I'm not a moron. And why do adults have to be so damn patronizing? They tell us that there's a generation gap, that we all need to understand each other a little bit more. Right. They tell us this, of course, while they're judging me about my clothes or hairstyle, which are different than what they wore when they were my age. They reminisce about these things with each other while my friends and I are there, as if we don't speak the same language.

And teachers, please don't get me started about teachers. If there is a dumber lot to understanding us than teachers, I don't know who it would be. Every year we get the same five teachers. One will be amazing, and their class will be a mix of fun and learning. These teachers are usually easygoing and coach one of the school teams. They'll look you in the eyes when they talk to you and actually listen before they speak. They're the best. Another teacher will be really nice and completely unable to control the class. We'll all like them, and want to behave, but that's hard to do when someone is texting you jokes from last night's episode of Glee. The third teacher will be an enforcer. They'll be super strict, rarely smile, and give you tons of work. The good news is that you end up learning. (If you don't drop the course.) The bad news is that no one will like the teacher though, because you're never fully convinced they're human, or think you're human. The fourth teacher will be old and boring and not care that they're boring. They'll do the lesson plans, keep the class under control by simply kicking people out, and never learn your name unless you're a troublemaker. The fifth teacher is the most common. Usually they've been teaching for a while (You can always tell by their voice, which is permanently set to baby tones) and they'll play more movies in their class than the local cineplex. They always make it sound like its OUR idea, too. "I'd prep a lesson, but it's Friday, and you guys probably want to watch a movie, don't you?" Why do you think us teenagers talk so much when we go to the movies? It's like class time. Movies are a great excuse for the teacher to turn the lights off and let us talk. These teachers always seem nice, and they grade easy, but they never coach, never get involved. Sometimes I'm not sure that they know we're even there.

Hmm. I don't think I should include that section on teachers, but I guess I'll leave it in because we're supposed to have a lot of words in this essay.

In conclusion, I'd say the best thing about being eighteen is that you have your whole life in front of you. The worst thing about being eighteen is waiting for that life to happen. The good news is that in a few years I'll be an adult and I won't have to wait for my life to start, I can simply do what I want, and if necessary, change things up. Right now, I'm limited, but once I graduate from university, all bets are off, and I'll finally be free!

***

Spending time in the mind of an 18-year-old, even as a writer, can be mildly uncomfortable. Not because the mind set is so different, but the way in which it challenges my expectations as an adult. We worship the young in western culture, but that worship is often destructive as we seek to make ourselves younger both physically and mentally, instead of remembering what the young see in us, and why they are so hopeful.

Not a day goes by where I don't meet someone my age (38) or even younger who has given up, who has traded in the dreams of their youth and reflected on the few wrinkles in the mirror by writing themselves out of their own story. Sometimes we do this through religion. We accept the "roles" placed on us like bindings because the priests of these cults assure us that it is only through these "roles" where we will find freedom. But for those of us who manage to avoid these traps, it still isn't easy.

For me, often the biggest difficulty is waking up in the morning and realizing that I'm 38, that my "whole life" is no longer in front of me and that I've actually used up more than half of it. Then I think about what I've accomplished over the past twenty years and feel the need to work much, much harder. What I never think about however, is the freedom the 18-year-old sees as a possibility in my life. Too often I have my head down just trying to finish stuff and forget that tomorrow I can do whatever I want. I can drive somewhere, go on vacation, start a new project, take up dance lessons, help an orphanage, start an orphanage, listen to music, watch a movie, sing and pray, pray naked, visit people in the hospital, throw a penny in the fountain, or steal pennies from the fountain... it's all right there in front of me.

That is my life. This is my life.

This week, unless you're a teenager (in which case, YOU ARE SO LUCKY), take a trip back in time to when you were eighteen. Think about what you remember the most from those days and what you loved and didn't love. If you were to have a conversation with your old self, what would you say? And what would they say to you? If you listen closely, you'll hear more than you ever imagined, and just maybe, they'll help you get back to the life you once dreamed about, the one where freedom is a common currency and youth is never wasted on the young.

-Steve

My Friend Micah

2011-01-24T17:36:00.001-08:00

I was walking to the entrance when I heard the bark and inevitable crash against the screen door. A long nose poked above the bottom grill, as Bethany came out to greet me. She was laughing, because Micah's excitement at a guest always made you smile. In my case, it helped my stomach stop churning as I walked into my girlfriend's house. It was my second time meeting her parents, and try as I might, I was still nervous. They had been friendly and welcoming the first time I'd come over, but I was still nervous, because I sensed that Bethany would be someone special to me, and these were her parents. Getting older hadn't erased the time worn traditions of the past, or my understanding of the importance of your partner's family on a relationship. Micah didn't seem to notice, as he jammed his nose into my legs and waited for me to pet him. He was a medium sized dog, a lab and poodle cross with short black hair. He had long floppy ears and paws that seemed a bit big for him. Best was that permanent grin on his face and lolling tongue, and as I bent down, he made a slobbering attempt to lick my chin. It seemed as if he was asking me if I would be his friend. I rubbed behind his ears and thought, I'll be your friend, pal. I stood up as her parents came into the room, and he bolted back down the hallway to say hello to them. They too were smiling, and he looked back at me as if to say "See, you're welcome here, Steve. Don't be worried."

He was right. There was no need to be worried that day or any other. I was welcomed into the family in a way I had never known, as Bethany and I moved through the stages of our relationship, from dating to girlfriend to fiancée to our wedding day. Through it all, with all the warmth I received from her family, Micah was always the first one to greet me, even as he greeted everyone else, and remind me that I was always welcome. Every time we came to the door for a visit, he would run down the hallway, barely able to contain himself, his tail wagging so hard that his whole back end would move. And if you bent down, he was more than willing to give you a sloppy kiss. Through it all, I never thought of him as my wife's dog or her parents' dog, although both were true. For me, it was much simpler than that.

***

Growing up in Ethiopia, where dogs are not kept as pets, my wife's parents promised their kids that when they moved back to Canada, they could get a dog. The kids held them to that promise, and when they finally chose one, they decided on a big, floppy eared puppy whose heart murmur made him something of a health risk, and much less likely to be adopted. They named him Micah. The adjustment of moving from one country to another was difficult, as it always is, especially for teenagers. Micah helped ease that transition. His boundless energy and affection grew, and his love for people seemed to know no bounds. If there were two groups of people in different rooms, he would often shift from one room to another, unable to decide where he should be. And if everyone happened to be in the same room, as would happen on Christmas, he would lie in the center of the room or hop up on the couch, completely content. He was always happy to be with people, regardless of the circumstances. And if the conversation halted, he was always there to remind us all to relax and enjoy one another, that there was always a reason to smile.

***

In the church we call it Creation Care. In politics, we call it Being Green or Environmental Advocacy. We name it because, well, humans name things. And over the past twenty years, some things have changed. Most people realize we shouldn't be clear cutting rainforests, that recycling is necessary, and most of us understand that the climate is changing. These are all good things, but it says something about our society that we need names and organizations and policies when it comes to looking after the world around us, and recognizing all living creatures as God given gifts, as personalities worthy of our attention. Some people say that it wasn't always that way, but a quick look through history dispels that notion, although our massive population increase and industrialization have made our ecological footprint much bigger. For me, it isn't about returning to some mythic past. The real question is the state of my own heart. Sometimes, I am just being selfish. Sometimes I don't want to care, because caring hurts. Micah always helped remind me that it was worth it to care, that tomorrow could be a good day, and that love covered a multitude of wounds. And sins.

***

I've never followed the accepted creed that older means wiser. Never really counted the difference between a sixteen year old and a sixty year old. When I was a youth worker, it often became a point of contention, because the accepted wisdom was (and remains) that a forty year old adult has more to offer than a child. Or that a person has more to offer than an animal. I still don't believe it. For me, it was always about what one did. Loyalty, faithfulness and love always seemed to be God's stamp, his ideal, and whoever exemplified those characteristics were the ones I wanted to follow, the ones I wanted to model. In this, it was never about who could help me achieve greater status or help me reach my goals, but who would be there when they were needed, who would truly be a friend.

I have a lot of memories of Micah. This past summer my wife and I took him for a walk across the street to the school ground. We'd brought a Frisbee, and most of the time he couldn't decide whether to chase the Frisbee, roll in the grass, or come over to us for some more pets. We laughed the entire time.

I remember the way he would sit on my feet when I was petting him, as if afraid I was going to move. I remember the way he would leap up into my wife's lap when we visited, though he was much too big to be a lap dog. I remember the way she would hold him, and how he would purr in his throat, something he had learned from his old friend, Sunshine (a cat), who had passed away three years earlier and had been one of Micah's closest friends. His burst to the door when someone came over was legendary in the family, as was his inevitable welcome.

For me though, my greatest memory is that second time at my wife's home. Crouching down as he slobbered a kiss on my chin, and hearing the question he asked every newcomer to the household.

"Will you be my friend, Steve?"

I'll be your friend, pal. I'll always be your friend. I love you, buddy.

-Steve

A Purpose; Full Life

2011-01-01T07:42:00.001-08:00

Making Your New Year's Resolutions Stick

The library is busy today. Mrs. Hinkle has brought in her Grade 6 class, and he sits in the far corner watching them between shelves as he balances a book on his lap. He's twelve years old, and he should be in the cafeteria eating lunch with the other seniors, but Adam is sick this week. No one else will sit with him. Grade 7 was supposed to be a good year, but it's even worse than last year. He wishes that he had more friends, but the other kids don't seem to like him. They've never liked him. Mrs. Hinkle's class finally leaves, and he opens his book again. It is thick with a black cover. For the next little while at least, he will spend time in a world where he is accepted.

The cafeteria is quiet, and she nibbles on an apple as she closes up her binder, her homework finally done. She pulls a thick book with a black cover out of her bag. She likes it here once the lunch crowds are gone. It's one of the few things she'll miss from high school when she graduates at the end of this year. She knows that most people don't realize how lonely she is, that she doesn't seem the type. They think that because she's pretty and athletic and rich that life is easy for her. They don't know what it's like to be in her home when no one is around. They don't know about her dad's drinking and her mom's constant yelling at her and her little brother. Her mother is fixated on her marrying someone rich like her father, but all she wants to do is help people. Sometimes she works in the Community Living class and helps with the developmentally disabled students. She'll miss them, too, she thinks. Her mom called her a "stupid little idiot" for even considering such a "wasteful" career the one time she mentioned it. She shakes her head and opens her book. She didn't think she'd like fantasy, but it's a safe place, and for some reason it always makes her feel better to spend time in this world with these characters.

***

The camera in my mind switches off as I stare at the blank screen. After nearly 17 months spent on my novel, I can still see them, more clearly then when I started. Writers write because they must, but in many ways this project is about those for whom I hope to inspire. I know that because I see them periodically, all ages and races and genders. They are old and young, successful or not. Some have money and some don't. Some look strange and dress differently. Others wear suits and dresses and never do anything to draw attention to themselves. After a decade of youth work and a lifetime of jobs in a variety of fields, I know them because I was one of them, because I am one of them. If there is one common element in the people I see reading a thick book with a black cover, it is this: the world does not make sense, and it has rarely been kind to them.

It is all in my imagination, of course. I have not yet published this novel, and there is only a remote chance it will ever find its way into a school library, but without my future readers to encourage me, to push me forward, I don't think I would have gotten this far, and I'm not yet done. Every day is a struggle, as I grapple with knowledge that I will have spent two years of my life working on a project that no one else will ever see. I'm convinced however, that most of us trying to live a purposeful life often find ourselves in a similar situation. There is no guarantee that our ideas will work, that we'll reach our goal, or that we'll end up at the top of our chosen field. It is more likely, in fact, that we will not get there. That someone else will attempt what we've attempted and do it better, or have better contacts or better timing. That is the way the world works, and the reason so many parents and educators encourage us to be practical about our choices and use money as a way to gauge our success.

HARD TRUTH: You have a much better chance to be successful in making a lot of money than you do in pursuing your dreams. But no matter how much money you make, if you quit on discovering your purpose and passion in life, you will have ultimately failed, no matter what it says on your bank statements.

***

It's surprisingly mild today, and I'm out on our balcony with only a toque and a sweater. The air is wet, though it isn't raining, and the gray sky covers the city like an old blanket. After the familial rush of Christmas and hectic jostlings of Boxing Day, the New Year seems birthed out of an ambience of quiet reflection. After Christmas, it's my favourite holiday, a chance for us to hit the reset button on our lives. And while our responsibilities – family, children, and work – remain, it offers us an opportunity to examine things from the inside out, to look in the mirror and be honest with what we see. Too often, I think, we spend New Year's more worried about where we'll be celebrating than attempting to make the next year a truly NEW year. And the result is that we end living the same year over and over, besotted on all sides by worries and anxieties, and feeling powerless to grasp the controls of our own life.

As someone who trains in gym, my friend noted the other day that she hates the first six weeks of the year when all the 'resolution babies' fill up every square inch of the place, making it impossible to find equipment or room to work out. It only lasts about six weeks though, she said, before things get back to 'normal.' I would say that for most of us, we shift back to 'normal' a lot faster than six weeks. Only it doesn't have to be that way.

"Normal" is the world we've always inhabited, the one where we fill the role other people expect us to fill. It's a comfortable place because we know it so well, and it's comfortable for others because they know us in that role. Unfortunately, our role is rarely something we've chosen. Other people have chosen it for us, and because it doesn't revolve what we feel is our underlying purpose in life, it shifts and changes depending on who we're with and what others say. That's why resolutions don't last. Whatever we want to be, whatever goals we set, must always stem from both the passion(s) and purpose God's given us. We weren't born to live someone else's life, and yet too often we cede control, and thus our lives, to the forces around us. Family expectations, friends, religion, culture, political ideology, the list is endless. Everyone wants to tell us who we should be until it all gets so confusing we throw our hands up and just stop; we stop making choices based on who we are and how God made us, and allow others to define us according to what makes them comfortable.

The purpose of writing my novel is to create a safe place for people who have suffered and feel like God has let them down, people who feel lonely and befuddled by the cruelty of humanity. But that purpose is something that has extended into my youth work, my training, and my relationships with friends and family. My purpose makes tomorrow necessary and exciting, in that tomorrow belongs to me. It hasn't always been that way, and for years I wondered why I couldn't stick to my resolutions, why my goal sheets always ended up half-done. I was the ultimate 'resolution baby.' I finally realized that my goals had to be tied to my purpose in some way. Once that happened, my resolutions actually started to change my life.

Remember, there's a difference between purpose and passion. Purpose is the underlying reason why I exist, my attempt to fill one of the gaps in our broken world. It is always other oriented and selfless. Passion is the method by which I hope to bring about my purpose. (My passion is writing, but my purpose is to create a safe place for those who feel left out, and to be an encourager. My writing, my passion, attempts to reflect my purpose.) Passion can be anything. It can be work, a hobby, kids, the elderly, cars, or whatever. It is the one (or three) thing in life that makes time slow down for you, the one thing that makes everything else dim for a while. The key is that your passion must reflect your purpose in some way. And I mean something outside your own success.

What about you? What's your purpose? If you don't know what drives you or what changes you'd like to see in the world, maybe this is the week to stop and take a look around. Think about your family and life growing up, the people you see at work and school. What upsets you? What's the one thing that breaks your heart when you look at the world? That is your purpose. It is your reason, and if you let it, it will become your greatest anchor to a life of wonder and change and wisdom. Without purpose however, no matter how great our passion, we are bound to a life of narcissism and misery. The world will never be enough unless we try to be enough for the world.

My prayer for you this New Year is that you'll take your time in making your resolutions. Discover your purpose and find your passion first, and then watch as your resolutions grow into lifelong resolve, and your world changes into one of your making.

***

It's time to go inside. I can still see them, my future readers, but they are starting to blur as another face appears. He's an 18 year old carpenter's apprentice named Josh. All he wants is to become a professor and be alone with his books, and perhaps find some community in the world of academics. He's known loneliness and rejection throughout his life, and as he tells me his story, I understand. I've been there, both as a kid and as an adult, and so I do my best to listen carefully to what he says. There are times I miss the hesitation in his voice, or the sarcasm, and I need to go back. Sometimes I miss the crackle as he talks about his family, miss the red in his eyes. He seems older than eighteen, but tragedy does that, I guess. Most days I wish that I was a better listener, and that you could hear Josh tell his story directly, around a fire or on a stage, but perhaps my ears will be good enough. Perhaps my humble translation will find its way between two black covers, and into libraries and school bags. The whole gang, Josh, Caitlin, Synelle, Mattie and even Ryleste, they would all be happy with that, I think. The balcony door swings shut behind me, and I open my laptop, unable to stop smiling. It's time to listen.

Steve

Authour's Note: Thank you all for your patience these past couple of months. I haven't posted as much as I'm in the middle of "first draft" writing, which is involved and particularly heavy, especially as I'm attempting to 'hear' 1800 words a day, along with paying the bills, and spending quality time with my beautiful and amazing Bethany. In the Spring, I should be back to posting more regularly. Comments and questions are welcome as always. Happy New Year, everyone.

God is in the Details

2010-12-07T18:24:00.001-08:00

How to Change Your Life and Find Your World

The traffic in front of me inches forward. I grimace and check the clock. 4:06pm. Not yet rush hour, but in Toronto, even more than Los Angeles, every hour is rush hour. It's frustrating, but it's something you come to understand when you live here, if not fully accept. Not everyone accepts it however, and they whiz past me in the lane reserved for buses and taxis to my right. No one driving illegally in that lane seems to notice the others, like myself, waiting patiently in the other two lanes. No one seems upset by the notion that by 'jumping the queue', everyone else has to wait longer, including the people taking public transport, because there's no proper merge when the lane ends. I wonder if they even realize that they're in the wrong lane. Maybe they think we're all stupid for using the slower lanes.

A minivan slows beside me, and I glance over. A middle aged woman is frowning and chatting on her cell phone. Soon enough, she passes me. Next is a thirty something man in a suit driving a black and silver Hummer that looks ready for deployment. He sips his coffee. Doesn't notice the driver of the red Yaris (me) frowning at him from the middle lane. One by one they zip past, and all intent on arriving somewhere, regardless of the rules they have to break or the people they have to step over. I take a deep breath and let it go. There's no point in getting angry. Not only will it not solve anything, but if I really wanted to I could spend my entire life fuming over repeated incidents like that. People cutting in lines. People parking in handicap spots so they don't have to walk the extra twenty feet. Or in the case of my apartment building, people smoking in the elevator. The list in endless. The real question is why. Why do people act selfishly? Don't they realize that by doing so, they'll never find the world that God intended for them? Oh, I know some people will argue that its simply about parents and their influence, and how we were raised. It's a strong argument, and I think that it has some merit. But can you really make the case that an able bodied, fifty year old man who parks his Mercedes in a handicap spot is doing it because he was raised poorly? Surely there has to be more to it than that…

***

The 1993 movie, Rudy, is based on a true story about a young man (Daniel "Rudy" Ruettiger) who pursues his dream (playing football for Notre Dame) against the wishes of his family. For them, the thought of someone pursuing a dream only brings pain. In a telling scene about a third of the way through the movie, Rudy's father recounts to him the story of his own father, who suddenly decided to become a dairy farmer, lost everything, and abandoned his family. "Chasing a stupid dream brings nothing but heartache for you and everyone around you." He says. Rudy's father is not trying to be mean; he is merely trying to help his son see "the real world." No one in his family had ever even gone to college, let alone a rich school like Notre Dame. In this case, Rudy's father lives in a very different world than his son. He makes the mistake of thinking that his world is the only world, and that to keep his son safe, he must bring his young "dreamer" there.

Families do this all the time. Sometimes its love and sometimes it is vindictive, but it is nearly always damaging. We make the mistake of thinking that the world we see and experience is somehow objective, that it exists as something separate and apart from us. And so we try to ensure that everyone, but especially those close to us, share our experience. Unfortunately, it's like wearing someone else's clothes, and no matter how hard we try, they never quite fit the same. Worse, that world will never belong to us, and when we finally realize that it doesn't, we will spend our lives trying to please other people, trying on different experiences from people who insist that they have found the "only way." Within families, this often plays out with children assuming expected roles that make parents and grandparents, but also siblings and cousins, feel comfortable.

In the movie, Rudy refuses to accept his father's world. And when he finally gets his letter of acceptance from Notre Dame after two years of scrounging and hard work at the nearby Junior College, he immediately takes it to his dad. His father is shocked, and proudly announces over the loudspeakers to the guys at the mill that "My son is going to Notre Dame!"

Following Rudy's example, a number of his younger family members (extended family) end up graduating from college as well. His world was a very different place from that of his father, and what had previously been considered impossible by his family, was suddenly not only possible, but probable.

***

There's a great deal of interest in fantasy these days. Whether its vampires or (boy) wizards or hobbits, people seem drawn to relatively simple tales set in other worlds. Cultural experts might point to a number of reasons, anything from escapism to the increasing complexity of a technological world and the simplicity inherent in these fantasy worlds. I'd suggest another reason, specifically, the lure of a world outside our own, a world that perhaps fits better than the one in which we currently choose to exist. A world where life has not already been decided for us, a world where we can go back and make new choices, a world in which our dreams can become reality.

It sounds so simple, doesn't it? So naïve. And haven't writers like Malcolm Gladwell and other sociologists debunked the notion of 'picking ourselves up by our bootstraps'? Yes. And no. Yes, it is impossible to pick ourselves up by 'our bootstraps'. No, it isn't impossible to change our world. The problem is that we associate the world God has for us with the ones we see on TV in the lives of celebrities and the people, like J.K. Rowling, who not only fulfilled their dreams, but became wealthy and famous as a result. But the goal of life is not riches, as the unhappiness of the rich has been documented in countless studies. And if you asked Rowling about her success, I'm sure she would say that the greatest thing about Harry Potter was not the money or the fame, but knowing what she accomplished, what she had given to people, while pursuing her passion.

Finding the world God has for us hinges on our pursuit of two things: the first is that we must pursue what is right, and the second is that we must discover our passion(s) in life and pursue those. Every act of selfishness, like smoking in the elevator or cutting someone off, makes our world is bit more gray. Pointing our lives in the direction of others however, and teaching ourselves to be conscious of other people and their wants and needs, moves us closer to that place of contentment. Numerous studies have been done the past twenty years to back up these claims. In his book, Born to be Good, Dacher Keltner calls it our Jen ratio. Jen is the central idea in the teachings of Confucius, and refers to a complex mixture of kindness, humanity and respect that transpires between people. Of course, Jesus too, reflected and taught these ideals. (And for Christians, embodied them in enduring death for our sins.) However, the pursuit of a higher Jen ratio is not enough to find that place, that world we long for… we must also pursue our passions. You may not believe, as I do, that we were all put here with a purpose in mind, but if you reflected on your life, I'm sure you can recall moments where time suddenly didn't exist, when everything felt right around you. Perhaps it was hosting a family dinner. Or working with a group of kids after school. Or building a new shed. Those moments are your beacons to Your World. Those moments are the final clue to where you need to be, and how you should arrive.

***

Change can be daunting. I've met a number of people through the years who would rather stay in a world that is not their own, a world created by their families or friends or the culture around them. Part of that is impatience. We want to be Harry Potter, accomplished wizard, instead of Harry Potter, boy wizard struggling to get along with his classmates in a new environment. But mostly that's because we think of change as a BIG thing. Huge sweeping alterations to our lives. Change however, much like Our World, the one we long for, is found entirely in the details. It is found in our decision to stop spending so much time at work so we can spend time with our family. It is found in our decision to take the burned piece of toast without telling our spouse, so he or she will get the one cooked right. It's about taking some time to really think about what we want to do with our lives, figuring out what we love, and pursuing it to the best of our ability. Change is process, and comes slowly. Change is not in when we arrive, but how we get there. And it happens within the details of our lives. Every time we switch into the illegal lane because everyone else is doing it, every time we park in a spot that is reserved for the handicapped, and every time we shrug our shoulders and accept the lie that we will never achieve our dreams or that hope is dead, we reject the world that God has for us, the one shining beyond the next horizon.

***

It's cold tonight. The wind blows hard against my face and hands as I look out in the twilight. Christmas lights twinkle from some of the balconies in the apartment building across the street. I tuck my hands into my parka and exhale, unable to keep from smiling. I hope the snow stays for Christmas. It always seems right somehow. Cars move slowly on the winding road down below. I'm glad to be in for the night. I haven't bought my Christmas gifts yet this year, largely because I can't afford it. Times have been a little tougher this fall for my wife and I, but I'm hoping that the next two weeks will go smoothly enough to make up for it. If I worked more of course, it wouldn't be an issue. But doing so would limit my time to write, and my world, the one I am slowly discovering, and the one I believe God has for me, would change. I don't know what God has in store for the future, and whether the time spent writing will one day result in publication, let alone wealth or even compensation. What I do know however, is that I love my world. It is not the world of my parents or friends or even my wife. But I can sense God's hand on it, and His smile in what I do. For a long time I thought that such a world would be impossible to find, but it's there, and I'm here to tell you that it's there for you as well. Just remember, God is in the details, and while change may seem a lifetime away, it begins as soon as you take your first step. From there, just follow the road, and God will lead you the rest of the way.

Much Love

-Steve

Nurses union

Obfuscation: What I Meant Was…

2010-11-24T12:11:00.001-08:00

I had to laugh a little as I read my post here from the other day, and felt at least some explanation was probably in order. It read like something I would have written five years ago, abstract to the point of frustration. Good writing, at least in my books, speaks plain and grounds itself in concrete examples. Winter is Coming was, in some ways, an experiment in tone. (It was supposed to FEEL like a snowfall, if that makes sense) Even then, I felt I owed you all, if not an explanation, a quick summary of what I was trying to express.

As I've mentioned here before, I've spent the past four months world-building for my fantasy novel. It's creative work, but it isn't story telling. Not exactly. (Although one could argue that building histories and cultures for countries is still story telling, it has a much wider lens than working on the main narrative of a single novel.) Good fantasy explores not only the cultural and historical makeup of a new world, but looks at the human condition through use of another world. A good fantasist does this in the construction of their world and through their characters. In other words, magic isn't just magic, and the hero's quest is more than the story of a boy or a girl who learns they have special powers. Not all fantasies achieve this (and there's no way of knowing whether I'll be able to, either) but the good ones do. Fantasy is similar to TV shows like Mad Men that use the forty year culture gap to explore ideas that matter to us now. Ultimately, it's about perspective. Reading fiction, specifically good fantasy, is not only entertaining (if the story sucks, nothing else matters), it should also make us think. Think about who we are and who we're becoming. Think about ideas of eternity and religion and culture. That fantasy and science fiction are growing in popularity should be no surprise to those who pay attention to the culture and how it is changing.
Most of us talk about the speed and shallowness of our culture, recognize it on some level, but tend to simply put our heads down and get on with our lives. We have families and jobs and it's all we can do to keep up. We Facebook and Twitter our thoughts in two or three sentences, skim the headlines, surf the television, all at a speed that would make our grandparents blanche. As a result, neurologists tell us that our brains are changing. Our attention spans aren't what they used to be, and the thought of spending time really digging more deeply into a hot topic or a novel seems like a great deal of work. What not let Stewart or Beck or O'Reilly to give it to me in chunks I can absorb, and do it in a way that's entertaining? We do it in the church as well, waiting for mega-pastors and bloggers to explain difficult theological nuances in witty and pejorative terms. Technology widens our scope of learning, but narrows our perspective. And from my chair, that is far more dangerous.

The Horizontal world I spoke of, and forgive the fantasy construction here, is the world of rationalism and logic. It's your everyday world, the one where we listen to the radio and chat with friends and absorb the evening news. It's the world in which we go to church and listen to the sermon and sing our songs just in time to watch the NFL or take the kids to the park. It is the world we see and hear and touch. But it isn't the only world out there.

What's ridiculous to me, and I include myself here, is the amount of time wasted in arguing why our beliefs are better than our neighbours. Go to most religious websites and you can find discussions about particular doctrines that are neither grounded nor gentle. Mostly, it's a bunch of strangers insisting that they're right, dammit. To what end? Is that our life then? Is that our religion of choice? Any religion that is based on its ability to distinguish itself from other religions is missing the whole damn point. Look, to pompously argue about the correct form of theology within a philosophy that accepts the supernatural is self-serving garbage. It may make us feel better, but in the end it's as useful as two water dishes for your dog. For heaven's sake, at least tell us that you were just too lazy to refill the one dish. Don't offer us these self-righteous excuses about why everyone should own two dishes.

That'll be the goal here as we go forward, and I promise in the future to speak plainly and not obfuscate. We may disagree, but hopefully you won't be re-reading sentences wondering what I was trying to say.

Religion can a great tool for justifying our behaviour. Slavery? Done. Racism? Yup. Mistreatment of women and gays? Absolutely. Environmental degradation and hatred and self righteous pandering? Sure. It's all in there. But let me say this clearly: the person who reflects compassion and empathy, the one who works hard to give to others and sacrifices to make the world a better place, the one who tries to love people and tries to be gracious, that person knows God better than any so-called person of faith who can articulate the seven rules of sanctification and mouth the correct sequence of statements regarding the proper belief structure. We religiously minded people do that for the same reason we want two dishes for our dog: because we can and because we're lazy. So this week, if you get a chance, take some time away from the bustle of the world to think about things. Think about who you are and what you want to become. Think about eternity and religion and our culture. Spend some quiet time in prayer and meditation. We shouldn't spend all of our time in those worlds, it isn't healthy, as we are social beings after all. But if we don't go there at least occasionally, we're bound to miss some of the beauty and mystery of life, and perhaps miss the good things God has in mind for us, religious or not.

-Steve

Winter is Coming

2010-11-22T19:28:00.001-08:00

The wind blows hard, ruffling a loose piece of plastic on the other side of the balcony. I zip up my jacket, breathing in the bitterness of the night. I can still hear the faint roar of cars from the highway, but it seems muted by the cold. Everything is else is quiet. No loud music or shouts from below. No screeching tires or sirens wailing in the distance. Nothing but stillness and cold. The mug of coffee warms my fingers, and I sip it slowly, savouring the sweet tinge of hazelnut and cinnamon. It's been a month of inactivity and sameness, a month of grays and browns, all of which can mean only one thing: winter is coming.

For a writer, gray is not a bad colour. It certainly beats blue or yellow or green, and it definitely beats black and white. Most writers live in gray, and prefer to work in it. That said, sometimes it's better not to have the colour of your thoughts mirrored in the world around you. During those times, it's hard to tell where one world ends and the other world begins. Not the "real world", because no such place exists, but the world we dwell in horizontally with others, the one where we exchange greeting cards and small talk and common cultural expressions. The one where we can or must find a reason for everything, and the one that many people claim to be "true" or more "true" than the others. As worlds go, it's definitely important, primarily because of the relationships we establish that give us our identity there. Unfortunately, too often it is the only world in which we spend time, the only one that we designate as important.

The question here, you understand, is not about Religion. Our temptation towards the Horizontal world is true of those who are both religious and those who aren't. This past month for example, I've engaged in discussions with many Christians who only spend time in the Horizontal world, and aside from perhaps a few moments of prayer, ignore the rest. The two groups are the same in that we both build our identity in the place our culture treasures above all else. Both sides may argue what separates them from the other at length, but in the worlds where silence reigns and the hum of culture drifts into the distance, the differences fall away. That the two groups disagree and argue the merits for their various constructs in the Horizontal world means nothing apart from our mutual fixation on building our portfolios of distinction. And when we do that, when we argue and march and yell and sigh at each other, as I've done here and on Twitter too many times to count, it means that we're in danger of losing our identity in the other worlds at the expense of this one. It is a warning, and one that most of us insist on ignoring, myself included. We don't want to acknowledge the other worlds. We don't want to hear from them or see them or even tacitly admit that they exist. Because when we do, we have an idea what will happen. Something deep inside tells us that the time we spent in the horizontal realm, the realm of the senses and relationships and activity, will have been largely wasted. Understandably, that is a pain we are hesitant to face. Throughout history however, there have always been those who have sought ways to address this idea of living in different worlds.

In the 4^th and 5^th Century, there was a group of people who decided that the horizontal world was too shallow, that they needed to get away from the immoral culture to find God. Some of this was steeped in Greek Platonism, the idea that anything mortal was evil. That only the spiritual was pure. And so they did things, like moving into the desert, or in the case of one man, chose to live on top of a giant stone column. When I first started reading about these Aesthetics, I laughed and shook my head. Loons, I thought. All of them. These days I'm not so sure. What would happen if we could see all of the worlds in all of their complexity? What if we could see the complete narrative behind our own actions, or the realm of the spirit, or the realm of those who died? What if we could witness our actions from the perspective of somebody else fully and truly? Perhaps these people were merely running away from their responsibilities, or perhaps they were simply crazy, but who are we to judge, when we do the same thing, albeit in a different world?

The truth is that over the course of our life, we will live many lifetimes. Most of us will switch jobs and friends and partners and locations, and for those of us who do not, our horizontal world will still change as we experience new things and grow older. And in a culture that prizes change and speed above all else, it necessitates that we spend as much time as we can there, if only to keep tabs on the construction of our identity. As a result, the vitriol and vehemence we find in politics and talk shows and blogs such as this one can sometimes get out of control. It's hard to step back when that step will only take you to the same spot you were a moment ago.

And yet, even in a culture where Rationalism and Logic rule uncontested gods to the religious and non-religious alike, where Distinction and Uniqueness service us with knowing smiles, there are moments when the other worlds crash through the barriers of time and senses. They are dreams we cannot explain but yet haunt us. They are times of inexplicable kindness and felt love, when the look on our loved one's face or the happy gurgling of a baby make us swallow with an undefined sense of wonder. They are times when we are death's only witness, and as such, are filled with the undeniable sense that there are many things we will never understand. These moments are both comforting and discomfiting. Comforting in the sense that we can revel in the possibilities that exist, discomfiting because we don't fully understand what those possibilities entail. And so, we avoid these worlds, we avoid the pain, and we march back to the altars of Logic and Rationalism, content to build our identity in their shadow. In the haste and hustle of our world of choice, we do not realize what we're doing, and by the time we figure it out, by the time we work up the courage to spend time in the other worlds, it's too late. Twilight has faded, and winter has arrived.

My fingers are white from the cold despite the fading warmth of my coffee. I put the mug down and rub my hands together before slipping them into my pockets. I have more than a few regrets in my life, but times like these, times of prayer and silence and exploration, have never made the list. They are all too rare, even for someone who spends most of his work days behind the quiet tapping of the keyboard. For as much as I like to dwell on possibilities and God and faith, I still prefer the horizontal world. I still prefer the world I see and hear most easily, the one where I can tell you what I know and why I know it, the one where I can disagree with you and still know that everything is as it should be. It's the other worlds I fear. The ones where Logic and Rationalism do not rule, the ones where Existence itself is questioned, where Purpose reveals its true self, and where Story is much more than a book. Those are the worlds I try to avoid. And yet, I know I do it at my own peril. Especially now. My dreams have been strange lately, my times with Bethany filled with a euphoric melancholy that I do not understand, and my writing has become steeped in black and white, the colours of Anger and Distinction. And so tonight at least, I'll brave the cold. It's time to visit the other worlds for a while. Winter is coming.

-Steve

Update

2010-11-09T15:16:00.000-08:00

My apologies for not posting lately. This is the longest stretch in a while, and for those of you checking back here, I appreciate your patience. I have in mind at least three articles for this site, along with a couple of movie reviews, but for the moment I am 'dug in' to the work on the novel. I imagine other fantasy novelists could tell you the same story, as I've just reached the 32,000 word mark for the GUIDE to my novel's world. Yup. 100 pages. And that's just the guide. I hope to be finished the guide by next Friday, at which point I can start the re-write of the 600 pages I've already written. Much of that will have to be changed, but I will be able to follow the same storyline, at least. Having said that, I've picked up a few tidbits from the news lately...

Election Notes

Anyone who reads this blog regularly will know where I stand on this issue, but for those of you who don't, let me just say that the Tuseday midterms in the US were pretty disappointing. At this point, I'm not sure what people want from Obama. He ran his campaign on health care. He promised a stimulus package, one that all economists agreed was necessary. And now he's spending too much?

Most people forget that as late as 2000, both presidential candidates talked about getting rid of the debt. Gore even campaigned on it. (Bush mentioned it, but wafled on it and then dropped it. Little did people know how he was about to become the biggest spender in presidential history.) Imagine now, only ten years later, and the US debt is so high that people are scared the economy will collapse. And yet, it was a Republican presidency that pushed the deficit and debt skywards. A big part of that was the war on Iraq, which only happened as a result of lies from the same administration doing the spending. The past two years, the Senate has suffered filibusters (from the Republicans) more than any time in its history. And yet somehow people think that they deserve to be back in power?

It seems as if the talk shows are driving the narrative here. I'd encourage people to pick up some of the books that have come out recently, like Obama's Wars by Bob Woodward, and take a closer look at things.

None of this matters however, if the Democrats do not learn how to communicate what they have done and why it is good for the country. They have too many smart people in their party not to figure it out, but until they do, the Republicans deserve to be there, because governing is as much about communicating as it is making decisions.

Recommended Reading

This is mentioned in my Reading section, but in case you missed it, I highly recommend both Patrick Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind and Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings. Tremendous reads, both of them.

Again, I hope to have a new article up by the end of the week, everyone. Thanks again for your patience.

-Steve

Sex, Gay Marriage and a Culture of Vitriol

2010-10-27T19:01:00.001-07:00

The cashier frowned as he took the cash from the man standing in front of me. It wasn't an obvious frown, merely the downward wrinkle of lips and gathering of skin between the eyebrows, as if he was thinking about something important. Unless you had seen it before, or you were looking for it, it was difficult to spot. I was standing next in line, waiting for my turn to pay for gas, so it wasn't hard to miss. The gas stop was painted a bright red and white, as if to counter the gloom of another rainy night. The smattering of conversation from a couple of girls buying snacks drifted up towards the front. The man in front of me however, didn't seem to notice the slight as he accepted his change with a smile. He was wearing a dark sports coat and gray slacks with a white button down shirt. Well dressed, but nothing out of the ordinary. But his movements just felt wrong. Too fluid. Too much wrist. As if he was dancing while standing still. He was about my height, but lean and smooth shaven. He said good night, and the cashier whistled silently through his teeth, watching him for an extra second as the man glided out into the rain.

I bit my lip and frowned at the cashier, a burly man in his early forties, but he didn't notice and brightened considerably when he saw me.

"Another rainy night, eh?" He said, taking my money.

"Another rainy night." I repeated, my voice flat.

I wanted to say something more, but what could I say? Hey, Mr. Uneducated Jerkoff, I saw how looked at that guy because you thought he was gay? Instead, I was left to fume at the obvious bigotry, and headed out into the rain without saying another word.

Rain teased down the windshield, blurring the lights into a miasma of yellows and greens and reds. It was still warm enough to leave my window open, and I drove slowly through the streets, listening to the patter on my roof and the squish of tires, enveloped by the silence that always seemed to follow the rain. I had a hard time getting the incident at the gas bar out of my head. The cashier was probably a conservative, I thought. Probably a Christian, too, since there weren't a whole lot of white Muslims here. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. How could someone be so prejudiced? Hadn't he read the papers lately, heard anything at all about the rash of gay suicides by teenagers down in the States? Who was he to judge someone like that?

By the time I pulled into the underground parking lot, I was so angry that I nearly drove into one of the columns before finally bringing my car to a screeching halt. I had to write about this… do something. For a writer, turning thoughts into words on a page is largely how we deal with things, but it doesn't necessarily mean we deal with them correctly. This however, was something else. I was tired of the prejudice, misogyny and bigotry so evident in our society. Why couldn't people see it? I didn't know the cashier, but I'd seen his type before. White, of course, and male. Probably loved Glenn Beck and wondered why the world didn't look like 1950. Probably watched Mad Men and wished things could go back to the way they were. (Missing the entire point of the show) That women and minorities had few rights sixty years ago probably affected him not at all. By the time I was sitting in my spot on the balcony, I was ready to chew nails. For the next four days I pounded out two thousand words on a fictional white male who tries his hand at both the Tea Party and Homosexuality before realizing that he might have made a misjudgement. I let Bethany read it, and she gave it back with a few suggestions. (She's a great editor) There was something about it however, that I didn't like. I knew a few liberal magazines that might be interested, but I had this feeling that I was missing something. Something important.

You have to understand that I am not a classically trained writer. I did not major in English or do an MFA. Most of my formal education, though not all, is theological. Whatever you see here (and hopefully you find it stimulating) is the result of fifteen years or so of reading How-To books and sitting at the Desk, pounding things out. As a rule, I write by feel, not unlike a musician who plays by ear. (There are more effective ways to write, and I do wish sometimes that I had more formal training, but it has always been such, and I've learned to live with the results.) I put my ear to the winds blowing in both my heart and mind, to the phrases that stick and those that stick out, to the order of thought and clarity of presentation, and try to listen. More importantly, I listen for the tone of the writing itself. Tone is important, because once you're comfortable in your own voice, the first step for any writer, the tone is more than just another tool. It is the music behind the lyrics. More than that it a reflection of self, it is a vivid mirror that reveals a great deal about where you are along the road to discovery.

And so, as I looked at my article a few days later, I realized what was wrong. I was ashamed of what I'd written, and spent some time in prayer to do some soul searching with God. Why? Well, we must go back a ways to understand…

2002

"If we let gays marry, what's next? Polygamy? It's a slippery slope once we go down that road." I said.

I was sitting at the Starbucks after another long week at the school. Jim sat across from me, playing with the lid of his cup.

"I don't know, Steve. Seems kind of… wrong. I don't like dudes, but what if I did? Seems kind of crappy that they can't get married and be unhappy like the rest of us." He said, smiling.

"Bah. It's a lifestyle. A choice. Marriage is a sacred institution."

I felt good saying that. After two years of separation my wife and I had put everything back together. Things weren't great, but marriage was sacred. A covenant. A vow to God. And if it wasn't great, so what? You just had to work harder. I certainly wasn't going to let people who chose to have sex with the same gender up and change our society with their liberal views. Hell, if we made gay marriage legal what would be next? Brothels? Men with six wives? Animal lovers? Why couldn't people see just how dangerous it was?

Jim didn't say anything, just played with his cup.

"How are things at home?"

"All right." I said. "Well not great but we got a lot of issues. We'll figure it out. We have to."

2004

The pub was packed. We were near the front though, so it was quiet enough to talk. I sipped my beer, and Duane plopped down beside me. He was a relatively new friend, a friend of a friend, and we'd been hanging out throughout the summer. The divorce had gone through the past winter, and I found myself out more often than ever. I guess it was to be expected. Being alone was not a lot of fun, and while the pain of the divorce had slowly receded, my life had changed drastically. For now, I was happy to be out and have a few drinks and forget about the past two years.

"I have a question for you, Steve." Duane said.

"Shoot."

"You're religious, right?"

I nodded cautiously. Less so than in the past, I thought, and yet in some ways, it meant more to me now. Most of my friends weren't Christians, but it wasn't an issue. If anything, we'd had a lot of great conversations about faith and spirituality and what it all meant. Or what it might mean. In some ways, it was a role, and one I didn't mind. I liked talking about God. I certainly had never been shy about it.

"Do you think God would love a gay man if he got married?"

I nearly choked on my beer, but managed to smooth my features in time. Barely. Duane was well dressed, as always, with an open collared shirt and black jeans. His hair was long and wavy, and though his smile suggested this was just another one of our 'religious' discussions, I knew there was weight to the question. The thing is, we all knew Duane was gay. He hadn't admitted it to his friends, but it was fairly obvious. He'd never had a girlfriend and showed no interest in girls whatsoever.

"Well, the Bible is pretty clear about sex outside of marriage. And so-"

"I know, but what if they were married?"

"Um, I don't know, Duane. I mean, marriage is between a man and a woman. It's always been that way. And the Bible…" I stopped and looked at him. Watched his fingers curl around the glass of his beer. Noticed the flex across his jawline. "It doesn't mean God doesn't love you. I'm not sure it's right, but God always loves you."

My answer sounded lame even to myself. It wasn't right, I thought. For a moment, I allowed myself to walk in Duane's shoes. What would it have been like to spend all those years growing up and NOT being interested in girls? Especially when your classmates and friends were talking and joking about them. Girl watch and social status are the two highest priorities for a straight adolescent boy. As awkward as that was, what would it have been like to be attracted only to boys, the same ones who were asking you about girls? And then there were parents and family expectations. Long dinners and reunions answering questions about when 'you were going to bring someone home'. And then, of course, was the inevitable bullying that occurred if the other males caught a whiff of your sexuality.

I wanted to say something more, but what? When I finally looked up however, Duane had drifted over to another group of friends. When I went home that night, I thought long and hard about his question. I was determined to give him a better answer the next time.

It never came.

2010

People always tell us that sex sells, to the point where it has become a truism of our society. Perhaps fifty years from now we'll discover that it doesn't sell nearly as well as we think it does, and something else will take its place. There is however, something that sells even more readily than sex, especially within an increasingly diverse, postmodern population. Advertisers use it. Writers and talk show hosts use it. Churches use it too. Even more than sex, surety is the greatest force of all. With all the choices now available to us, either through the market place or the information highway, nothing sells like surety. This is the paradox of choice; that given too many options we are mostly apt to freeze. We want someone to tell us what to do, what's best how we should think. We want our choices narrowed so that we don't have to think about everything. In some ways, it not only makes sense, but it's a legitimate response. (Whether it's lifestyle or business or our choice of movies, there is simply too much out there to know everything.) And the ones who take advantage of that vulnerability can reap the greatest rewards.

How else can we explain the counter movement of fundamentalism cutting a wide swath through our cultural landscape? I'm not talking simply about religious fundamentalism, but the entrenched black and white thinking that dominates politics as well. We so desperately want to be assured that we are either right or wrong, that we have created a polarized culture that has become increasingly judgmental and filled with vitriol. Just go to any article on the internet. Listen to the radio and you'll hear it.

Hate mongering is on the rise. Instead of being more understanding about sexuality, despite what we've learned, hate crimes and bullying, and consequently, gay suicide, are on the rise. Despite all we've learned about gender and equality, there is a boorishness in young males who can find any number of books to wallow in their destructive stereotypes regarding women. And yet, the source of this vitriol has skipped no one, not even the ones who count themselves to be enlightened and tolerant. People who question religion and tend to think of themselves as better than others because their worldview is more understanding.

Yes, people like me.

Self-righteousness and arrogance are two sides of the same coin. And wherever they are present they inevitably infect whoever else is there. Self-righteousness tells me that I am right most of the time. It gives me special status and allows me to look down at others, because I have somehow advanced myself more than the other humans with whom I share this planet. Self-righteousness is a creeping disease because it knows no boundaries, and cannot be stopped by any single belief or system of beliefs. You may think that you are more loving and tolerant and wise because of your religion, or because you reject religion, or because of your politics, but that is merely the voice of self-righteousness speaking through you.

It is one thing to believe that you are right. It is another to know it. One requires faith and humility. The other asks you for nothing. Self-righteousness does not need you to feed it, it merely needs you to ignore it. To brush aside questions about your own mortality and beliefs and accept your own convictions. I have sometimes wondered how it is that people can be so wealthy, and yet so nasty, so dismissive of others. But if we never question our own ideas, or at least entertain them with humility, why would we be considerate of those we consider less than ourselves.

Ultimately, self-righteousness is about status, and our hunger and desire for it. So long as we believe that all humans are NOT created equal, it will continue to grow and fester, and as it does, continue to spread its vitriol throughout our culture.

…The balcony was still a bit damp, but the wind had pushed away the clouds, and the stars glimmered in the night sky. Beads of rain water clung to the railing like a row of unlit lights. In the distance, the blue lit CN tower nestled in along the other lights of the city. I didn't like admitting what I'd written or the way that I'd written it. It was akin to saying that I'd been a jerk. That I hadn't published it or sent it out didn't matter. That I supported gay marriage, or worried over the increase in bullying and taunting in light of the gay suicides this past year, were important and weren't going to change. However, thinking that I was better than people who did not agree with me was unacceptable. Had I not thought the same things myself? Had I not been wrong in the past about my convictions? Where was my humility?

The white light of my laptop seemed unnatural somehow, as I watched the beads along the railing shimmer in the wind. Some days it was hard to be human. More than that, it was difficult to continually admit that I was fallible and often wrong about how I considered the world. It was so easy to get drawn towards self-righteousness, so easy to sneer at others through either my words or my actions. I could pray that I would get better, that I would remember we were all just trying to figure out this thing called life. In the meantime, I asked God to forgive me as I clicked off my computer. Tomorrow was another day. Another day to remember what I'd discovered and respond accordingly. Perfection wasn't attainable, but with God's help, a bit more grace and a little more understanding could go a long way.

-Steve

Brief Update

2010-10-19T04:30:00.000-07:00

Hey Everyone,

My apologies for being a little slow posting here lately. I've been working on a few different things outside of what I normally write. So here's a brief update. (beneath the Update I've included some light reading. Five Observations (from the news and world in general) .

Writing Update

1) Continued work on the novel. Despite having written 145,000 words of Bracing the Darkness, I am once again world building in even greater detail. The Guide to the Cursh Empire is now 30,000 words long on its own, and I need at least another two weeks before I set foot in the actual novel again. There's just no getting around the detail work to produce a good epic fantasy. That includes the creation of every province and country, complete with a brief history, the religious history, local politics, clothing and physical characteristics, gender issues, sex and sexuality norms, family structure, cosmology, language, economics, geography, arts and education, recreation, war, cooking, architecture/trades, and societal structure.
It sounds like a lot of work, and it is, but the big fantasy novels have incorporated this kind of detail, as they should. What's fascinating is the sheer volume of reading necessary to even begin to grasp just some of the intricacies of how people group themselves. I'll be honest I can't wait to get back to the story itself.

2) A short story called This Old House. I originally wrote this about four years ago, dusted it off, and suddenly liked it again. That didn't prevent me from editing it quite a bit, but I'm hoping to send it out to some literary magazines in the next two weeks. It's not quite done, but I'm almost there, I think.

3) New From the Archive feature for this site: In light of the stories coming out this week, I'll probably redux my old blog on Gays and the Church. Some of you might be uncomfortable with it, and I am sure that some will be angry, but we'll see.

4) A newspaper article, Why I Wish I Was Gay. And yes, it's satire. And no, it's not what you think. Some of the stories concerning the suicides this past month have been VERY disturbing.

5) A post on Following your Fears, for this site. Some exciting ideas I've been working through the past month. You'll like this one.

6) A new Book Review: The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson. For now, let me just say that it was tremendous.

7) A new Movie Review: Still taking recommendations. Let me know what you want reviewed. I review almost everything I watch, so I'll take the recommendations, but they will be passed through Bethany (my wife) as we usually watch them together.

Those are the current projects, along with a minimum of two hours research everyday, and at least an hour or two of other reading. (Anyone care to know about the Visigoths?) Don't get me wrong, I LOVE what I do, but I have no idea how writers work forty hours and still produce good material. That amazes me.

Five Observations

1. I hate stereotypes. I mean, as a rule, I hate them. Too often they categorize people unfairly into large groupings that often don't make sense. And yet, some things are simply not stereotypes.

I live in Toronto, the biggest city in Canada. It is a metropolis, unlike, say, Dallas, Texas, where the buildings are spaced so widely that their "downtown" is about a block and a half. Toronto is more like Chicago, with massive buildings and a densely packed population. If you drive an LUV, one of those huge Luxury Utility Vehicles originally designed for the military, then you are clearly compensating for something. I understand that families like the smaller SUV's, especially with kids, and I have no problem with that. But if you live in a metropolis, and feel the need to drive a massive vehicle (like a Suburban or a Hummer) designed as a troop carrier, than you have severe 'status' issues. And driving one of said vehicles does not give you the right, EVER, to park in the wider handicap spots. Your personal, mental handicap doesn't count. (And you can't just park along the curb outside the mall either. Show some respect, dammit.)

2. Toronto is about to have its municipal election. We have a budget of about eleven billion dollars (I think) and we're on the verge of electing the dark, twisted version of Chris Farley, Rob Ford. Before you cast your vote, please go to YouTube and watch this man in action. That the police were called to his house for a domestic dispute, though no charges were laid, says a lot. And anyone who says "well, there were no charges", I want you to think about it. Did your spouse ever call the police because they were worried/afraid of you physically? And no, I don't like George Smitherman much either. He seems like a prick. He's a competent administrator though, and has experience in the provincial cabinet. Please don't elect this guy!

3. I am struck, as always, by the fanaticism, the loud screeching, that seems to occupy every debate when it comes to religion. I don't want to be one of those people who predicate everything by "it's getting so much worse than it was in my day", because it's still my day, I think. But there is something to the internet that leads people to spew vitriol and hatred. When I head to some Christian sites and read the comments, I am amazed that these people consider themselves people of faith. Whatever you believe about Jesus, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be thrilled at the stuff on there. It almost feels as if we are continuing to dissociate ourselves even more, in regards to our online self and our physical self. That is troublesome.

4. One more thought about religion, and this includes me. No single person or group knows everything. Now, that may not sound like an audacious statement, but in many of today's religious models, apparently telling someone that you're not sure that you agree with them is outrageous. Why else do I end up in these debates with Christians who feel safe to assure me that "Their position is God's position"? Really? Isn't that, I don't know, pretty freakin' arrogant? Good grief, you mean to tell me that your position isn't simply something you think is true, or that it's something you've come to believe in, but that you know what God thinks on the issue without a doubt? When I suggest that it might be arrogant to think that way, I usually receive a condescending response along the lines of "Oh, you're a postmodernist, so I guess everything is true." No, not everything is true. What I do know is that a) I'm not God b) that faith does not exist without doubt. If you have no doubts, you have no faith, by definition, and c) that the Kingdom of God is not predicated on the perfection of any one doctrine. Of course, I could be wrong.

On a more positive note...

5. It's amazing to see what happens when you look (and smile) at the people you run into during the day. I know that we're usually in a hurry, but take some time this week to open the door for the person behind you or smile and ask the cashier how he or she is doing. It's easy to go through the entire day without looking at anyone but your family or colleagues, but take a few extra minutes to notice the other people, and watch what a difference it makes. I bumped into a particularly grumpy cashier this week, but I figured she'd been dealing with some rude customers throughout the day. So instead of taking it personally (as I've done in the past) I smiled and made a couple of jokes after asking her how she was doing. By the end, she had a smile on her face. It doesn't take much, you know, to remind us that we're human. And sometimes that's all we need to put a little extra bounce in our step.

Blessings, everyone. Enjoy the fall colours this week. Hopefully I'll have regular post up soon.

Steve

Movie Review: Iron Man 2 (2010)

2010-10-11T18:22:00.001-07:00

Directed by Jon Favreau

Have you ever wondered why sequels, especially blockbuster superhero sequels, are rarely on the same level as their predecessor? How does a stirring and enjoyable event movie get turned into a forgettable mess of discombobulated scenes and seemingly unconnected storylines. Well, sequels, as a rule, are inevitably weaker than the original that spawned them for one reason, with the exception being The Godfather and Superman: The Movie. For the purpose of this review however, let's stick to a film made more recently, and the best superhero sequel (outside the Dark Knight*) since Superman II was released in 1980.

When Spiderman hit the theatres in May of 2002, it was undisputed smash, eventually grossing over $800 million worldwide. After 25 years of being stuck in development, Sam Raimi's "origin" story was finally birthed on the big screen. Raimi immediately set out to direct the sequel, and after combing through scripts from various writers, including Pulitzer Prize winning author Michael Chabon, decided on a criminal, Doctor Octopus, a visually intriguing antagonist with a compelling backstory, and a protagonist, in this case Peter Parker, wrestling with the same demons of responsibility that Superman II had so successfully explored 25 years earlier. In doing so, Raimi was able to avoid the predominant pitfall of superhero sequels, and Spiderman II was both a commercial and critical success. Spiderman III, of course, forgot its own franchise lesson, and was not able to sustain the momentum. It was a commercial success, but not nearly as successful as its predecessors and was largely a forgettable film.

When Marvel Studios released Iron Man as its first, self-financed film in 2008, it was an unqualified (and surprise) smash with both critics and audiences everywhere. Jon Favreau directed the movie as "a spy film", and the result was another well told "origin" story, with Robert Downey Jr. cast perfectly as the inventor and gunmaker playboy Tony Stark, who builds a suit and turns himself into a superhero. Downey's Stark was crass and bold, unlike so many of the superheroes we see onscreen, and his chopped, biting dialogue a distinct turn from the bland, clichéd mouthings we were so used to hearing from the ones in tights. The story was concise and well told, the villain identifiable, and the transformation arc of the title character unforced and viable. Still, sequels were never as good as the original, and so I wasn't sure what to expect from Iron Man 2.

Unfortunately, the film falls into the most common of superhero progressions, and fails to humanize its protagonist. The result is predictable. Weak, disjointed storylines. No common theme. Inhuman and unrelatable villains. A lot of bang, but not a lot of buck. And the character arcs, specifically for the minor characters, are either unbelievable or unexplained. Yes, this was a disappointing movie. That said, it's watchable enough, certainly the presence of Downey Jr. alone is enough to guarantee that. It isn't the worst superhero movie ever made (thank you Superman IV), but it's a massive letdown from the original.

At some point, the studios are going to learn that great special effects and fight scenes simply aren't enough. Stories need characters people can relate to, and superhero movies need special attention on that front because the protagonist is, well, a superhero. *The only superhero who seems to escape this is Batman, who is the most relatable of all superheroes (when he's portrayed correctly) since he has no inborn superpowers and an inherent darkness to his character that makes him easy to humanize, especially in the gifted hands of someone like Christopher Nolan. And yet, in the hands of Tim Burton, Batman Returns (starring Danny Devito as the Penguin) was still terrible.

In terms of sequels, Iron Man 2 is an average movie because it falls into the trap of so many blockbuster films. With the technological advances and rendering of believable special effects the past decade, the "superhero" part of the movie is relatively easy now, if the budget is big enough. What's missing is the human part, the character and storytelling basics that make a film either unforgettable or easily forgotten.

Chalk Iron Man 2 into the category of easily forgotten.

** (out of five)

The Eighth Letter to the Church: What Are We Missing?

2010-10-09T17:12:00.001-07:00

Not everyone likes the rain. Dreary. Wet. Rainy. All words that in our culture are synonymous with sadness and depression. Perhaps it's because we're not an agrarian society. We've lived for so long in cities and towns of steel and concrete that we forget just how important the rain is for living things. For us, it is merely an annoyance, something that makes us wear extra clothing or causes us to be wet and cold. Despite that, even as a kid I liked the rain. I liked watching the water as it drizzled down our driveway and collected into puddles. I liked watching the beads of water coalesce, join together to form a larger bead, straining at the tension until finally breaking into a slow stream. Even watching people hustle from the cars and buildings under raised jackets, splashing in puddles before ducking under an entranceway somehow made me breathe easier, as if we humans were connected for a time. Whatever else was happening, when it was raining outside, we all shared a point of common commiseration and a nod to something larger than ourselves. I'd hear people talk longingly about places like San Diego, where the weather never changed and the sun was always warm and high. Who'd want that? As much as I liked good weather for playing sports, what would you do without rain outs? Or playing on a muddied soccer field? Or getting helmet full of mud on the gridiron? Why in the world would anyone want it to be sunny all the time?

This past weekend I attended the Eighth Letter conference here in Toronto. It was a last minute invite from my best friend, and included a number of speakers and well known authours from the Christian world. The theme of the conference was simple: as the book of Revelation contained seven letters to the churches (of its day), it was asked of those invited to write an eighth letter to the church in North America. What would you say to the church today, that large and diverse body claiming the Rabbi as its Saviour? For all I appreciated the representative nature of the conference, which ranged from stupidly brilliant to brilliantly stupid, I spent most of the conference partitioned into the half-world, the place a lot of us creatives go when we're trying to see beyond the veils of book sales and polite conversation and pandering missives to the unmarked themes presenting themselves as obliquely as the straining grasses and plants do when the waters come from the heavens. A leaning, if you will, both instinctive and unheralded, by those both attending the conference and those trying to influence them.

Some things bothered me more than others, particularly our continuing determination to represent the Rabbi as a two dimensional God, as One who is simply either for or against things, as if the Creator of the Universe can only distinguish between the rain or sun, and good or bad.

It rains because it must, but what if the rain speaks more loudly than the sun?

***

Perhaps it's a human failing that we try to find the ultimate solution to bringing people together, the "one thing" that will unite us despite our pettiness and seeming insatiable need for more personal acclaim and status. Perhaps we Christians aim too high, forever searching for that one doctrine, that one belief or system of beliefs that will engage us all in the same manner and allow us to come together in worship and joy and gladness. It is a noble goal, I think, but one at which we are destined to fail, so long as we continue to think that our lists (of goals, beliefs, doctrines and creeds) are better than the lists of everyone else. Or at least, so long as we think that it is our lists that will unite us.

One of the speakers on Friday night chose Hell as his uniting doctrine, even as he stressed the importance of getting the gospel right. As silly and abhorrent as the idea was, I remember thinking he was probably closer to the truth of what unites people than those who emphasized love and sharing. Fear works better in bringing people under a common cape than the nuanced notion of loving your neighbour. It protects us from having to walk in other people's shoes, keeps us free from questions about what we actually believe, and allows us to condemn both people and ideas without a drop of emotional blood. Fear gives us the freedom to pursue our goals for our sake and the perfect rationalization when we turn our backs on those who need us. It is both powerful and efficient. And it's wrong. Wrong in its assumptions of humanity and wrong in its attempt to influence our behaviour. Jesus compared the Kingdom to a pearl, but when we attempt to rule through fear, we unwittingly turn the same Kingdom into a maze of violence.

Given the alternatives however, what choice do we have? How can we influence the behaviour of fellow Christians and those who don't share our beliefs to do the right thing without fear? What if we were to remove the doctrine of Hell from our arsenal of evangelical weaponry? 'God loves you, so you should love your neighbour' may sound nice, but doesn't that seem weak in comparison?

And yet, a number of speakers, to their credit, tried to tell us that in their letters. Told us how much better it was to love than not to love, how important it was not to forget the poor or those left behind. For as much as I nodded in agreement and applauded their ideas, a part of me had zoned out. It wasn't that I disagreed with them, just that their letters felt like only a slight improvement on the other letters that told us we were lazy and needed more zeal, or that we needed to remember Jesus, or the one that rolled out like a dissertation on the sinner's prayer and the efficacy of hell. It felt like we were all somehow missing something. Or maybe it was me.

That is, until Janell Anema told us her story. The twenty seven year old waitress had no books in the lobby, no international audience, no CD's or videos on Youtube. At no point did she give her list to the congregation, or insist why her list was better than ours, or why certain beliefs held special status. Instead, she told us the story of a young girl growing up and her experience with God. Graceful, humourous, and poignant, we listened as the story unfolded into her adolescence and through her twenties. Instead of creeds and doctrines, of thou will's and thou will not's, she gave us other things. She gave us her mistakes, her doubts and fears, drawing us forward by walking us backwards through a story that reminded us of our own troubles, our own mistakes and difficulties. And yet, not once did she point a finger, except to point upwards, and occasionally, to tap her heart. As she told us her story, there was a palpable shift in the audience, an audience that had been listening but doodling in the warmth and convenience of the sun. As one, both conservative and liberal, we put our coats over our heads and splashed through the same puddles and ducked under the same doorways, laughing together despite the inconvenience of it all. And when she finished, we rose to our feet, the only time we would do so all weekend, realizing that she'd given us a gift, something that we so often forgot when it came to our faith. It wasn't the warnings or promises of thunderstorms or blue skies that brought us together. It wasn't our persistence or intensity that mattered, or even the strength of our ideas. What mattered was that her journey was my journey, a reminder that we all shared the same story of sadness and love and yes, hope, in our attempt to follow this Saviour. And for a while at least, she did something special inside that massive basilica where we'd chosen to gather. Something different. Something wondrous. She made it rain.

-Steve

A Pastor is Just a Politician

2010-09-28T17:06:00.001-07:00

The lecture hall was packed. One of the students was down at the front playing the piano as the rest of us, about a hundred and thirty or so, stood by our desks singing the old hymn, Here Am I. At the end of the third verse, our Professor started exhorting us.

"Who will go where Jesus calls? Will you go?" He said pointing one of the students in the middle row. "What about you?" The piano continued softly in the background. It was a charismatic Bible College, and such decisions were never made without music. One by one, my classmates started shouting. "I'll go. Send me, Lord!" It was no surprise to hear my voice mingle in with the rest. Despite the theatrics, it was a powerful moment. I was a first year Bible College at the time, but I'd been 'God's boy' since I was a little kid. I was ready to go and make a difference in the world. I had been 'called', and I was ready to 'go forth.'

With a send off like that, and there were a great deal more of them, it's impossible NOT to be disappointed when you finally do enter the valley of disdain, the one Fundamentalists refer to as 'the world.' Being a youth pastor was a great deal of fun, a lot of hard work, but it wasn't what I expected. Mostly because it just felt like a job. A stressful job, true enough, especially when it came to dealing with the older children. (I'm referring to the adults. And yes, when you pastor long enough, it is often difficult to distinguish the kids from those who meet the age requirements for youth group.) Maybe if we'd all been hooked up to our Ipods back then we could have played the necessary, heartwarming soundtracks to encourage positive behavior. Or dimmed the lights in the daily workplace for a better ambience. Maybe then, going 'into the world' would have felt more… genuine. As it was, the expectations of being a pastor bordered on silly. The regular attenders expected the pastor to be holy, a shining example, the one person who was living the way they were supposed to, believing and saying all things correctly, always in love, always gentle and strong and wise, but never aggressive or reactive. The pastor was more than a person, he or she was an office, a holy office with near mystical abilities.

Back then, it was hard to express to people outside the fundamentalist movement what a superstar the pastor was in that world. In many of the churches that I was affiliated with over the years, it wasn't (and still isn't) a stretch to compare the pastor to a monarch, in both the expectations and the way those who held the office were regarded. Yet when the big names in the charismatic world started to 'fall' from grace, like Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Baker, and the subsequent ripples that flooded the charismatic movement, there was little or no introspection within the movement. Externals were blamed, with an emphasis on the demonic and high sin ratio of either the pastor or the congregation. No one questioned the extreme nature of the established hierarchy. It would be akin to taking someone raised in the slums and giving them millions of dollars, then surrounding them with people hanging on their every word and women throwing themselves at their feet, and being puzzled why that person dove into a hedonistic lifestyle. (Like a number of our professional athletes)

What's shocking is that thirty years have passed, and we haven't grown any smarter. We still talk about pastors being "called" or "led" to their vocation. We give them (and their career choice) a mystical origin, a road in their life that we do not share, and by doing so, inherently grant them greater authourity to speak into our lives. It is the force of that experience, that holy experience, that continues to delineate the perspective between the regular Joe-schmo congregant and the pastor. And so, while our pastors enjoy the perks of the monarchy (It DID feel good giving advice to sixty year old men when I was twenty-one, and being respected as someone who knew better, believe me) it also severely limits them. It places ridiculous constraints on what they (the good ones) hope to achieve by making them out to be holy. Even more disturbing is that most people don't have any idea where the "holy" expectation originates.

***

In 303 ACE, Diocletian, the Roman Emperor, declared all churches and sacred scriptures of the Christians were to be destroyed. In 304 another edict was issued ordering the burning of incense to the idol gods of the Roman empire. In North Africa, however, the governor did not throw himself behind the persecution. He asked the Christian leaders to hand over their Scriptures as a symbol of their recantation, and if they did, it would serve as a symbol of their recantation and they could go about their business. Some did, others refused. When the persecution ended a few years later, a group of bishops were enraged to learn that Felix, bishop of Aptunga, who had just consecrated the new bishop, Caecillian, had given copies of the Bible to the Roman persecutors. A group of about 70 bishops formed a synod and declared the consecration of the bishop to be invalid. After the death of Caecilian, Aelius Donatus the Great became bishop of Carthage and continued this new teaching that the effectiveness of the sacraments were dependent on the moral character of the minister. In other words, if a minister who was involved in a serious enough sin were to baptize a person, that baptism would be considered invalid. Donatism would divide the church for nearly two centuries, before finally being defeated by Augustine, for a time at least, and while it would never cause the division it once did, it would provide the theological backing of a number of Christian atrocities in the future.

The Donatists were the first Puritan Christians, the first to insist that the church was supposed to be a gathering of holy and righteous people, and that the unrighteous and unworthy should be purged from its midst. From this movement would spring the inquisition and heresy trials and English Puritanism centuries later. Today the movement exists mostly within the charismatic and fundamentalist forms of Christianity. It has never been accepted as part of Christian orthodoxy, has no origination within Judaism or earlier branches of Christianity, and yet today holds an increasing sway over how we consider church hierarchy and those who serve as our clergy. In some ways, what we expect of our clergy, with their reconstructed and mythical origins, is a form of bastardized Donatism. Not everyone need be holy, but the priests and pastors and ministers should, for don't they represent God Himself?

Well, not exactly…

***

I remember fondly the times at the altar and in the classrooms at Bible College, those times with my friends and professors urging us towards the pastoral life, a calling, to use their words, to go and make a difference in the world. Looking back, my only regret is that they would have used less hyperbole and been a bit more honest about the position itself. A pastor, especially a lead pastor or senior pastor, is essentially a politician. They lead an organization filled with a diverse group of people with an infinite number of backgrounds. Their primary goal is to unify the people into a working community based on the belief structure of the institution. And like our elected politicians, a pastor is limited in what they can say or can't say against the institution, for example, their personal ideas about certain doctrines. As a pastor, I learned very quickly the amount of dishonesty necessary to survive the job. Like our politicians, who can talk for half an hour without saying anything, full disclosure was discouraged. What surprised me the most however, was the disconnect between the expectations and knowledge of the average congregant and those they'd chosen to lead their church. It used to astound me (and still does) how little people knew about what it was like to be a pastor, to realize the difference between the promotional material and the reality.

I don't regret my time in the ministry. I have too many memories of people receiving the help and encouragement they needed, especially young people with no place to go, no family to take them in and show them love. If there is a 'calling' in pastoral ministry, it is the one that gives you the personality and tenacity to pursue positive ends while dealing with the discouragement and divisiveness inherent within human nature. In other words, the crap that comes with people. That said, it isn't for everybody. I have, at times, considered doing ministry work again in some capacity, most likely with young people. The ideas expressed on this website however, would be a barrier to that involvement. Much like a politician, some church members would undoubtedly be offended by some of the things I believe and the honest (and transparent) manner in which they have been expressed. For example, how can I struggle with the idea of institutions and be expected to represent one? Of course, there are other opinions on this site, ones that have led to some notoriety in certain Christian circles. Unfortunately, I think I'd make a crappy politician. I'm not sure that I could keep my mouth shut long enough to get things done.

***

This past summer I attended a basketball game in Ottawa. It was an annual political event, hosted by one of the city's Members of Provincial Parliament. (Yasir Naqvi) Held at St.Luke's, a club with an outdoor basketball court and a diverse membership of young adults, between the Police Services and the best players from St.Luke's, I learned that a number of the former players from St. Luke's were now playing for the Police Services team. The event had provided them with contact and contacts to find a solid career, and many of them had changed their lives as a result. For all that politicians put up with bureaucratic boondoggles and fund raising and public scorn, I've met a number through the years who would tell you that such an event was worth all the garbage they put up with on a daily basis.

You may not think much of politicians, and you may not like the comparison between them and the pastor at your local assembly, but having been involved closely with both, I can only tell you what I know and let you decide. Regardless of how you feel, my hope is that we, as a church, would at least consider our views of our local clergy. Think about why we hold them up so highly, and what that means for us and our faith. Do we really believe that some people are different simply because of their vocational tendency, or do we hold that view because we don't want to get our own hands dirty? It's fine to have leadership, some form of functional hierarchy is necessary for any organization to work, but when we ascribe to certain individuals mystical authourity, there is a tendency to step away from the messes outside our own door, to ask permission and debate ideas instead of looking to help. My prayer is that we will look less to those who lead and more towards those who need our help, and in so doing, provide the kind of love that we are all called to provide, regardless of our vocation.

-Steve

Movie Review: Knight and Day (2010)

2010-09-25T21:29:00.001-07:00

Directed by James Mangold

After a preponderance of thought, the only way I could write a review of this movie was to imagine it through the eyes of a child in fourth grade.

Hi everyone,

I had to write a movie review for my English class, so I chose this movie I watched with my parents last night. It's called Knight and Day. The star of the movie is an actor named Tom Cruise. It isn't his real name. He changed it a long time ago because it sounded more like Hollywood. My parents tell me that when he started acting he wasn't very good, but he chose good movies, and over time, he became a better actor. I liked Jerry Maguire a lot. He had real chemistry with the kid in the movie, and Rene Zellwegger. She was also very good. So was the black man (Cuba Gooding Jr.). I still don't know why he left acting to star in Walt Disney movies. I asked my parents but they don't know either. He was so good in Jerry Maguire.

In Knight and Day, Tom Cruise is a mysterious stranger who smiles a lot, and then suddenly shows up to help Cameron Diaz. You don't know why he's there or much about him, but he's kind of funny. It reminded me of the Youtube video where he's jumping on Oprah's couch. Lol. Soooo funny. He does all of these cool stunts, although they aren't really believable. (Not even a movie star can stand on top of a moving car like that and laugh and shoot guns, he would fall down.) There's a lot of action when he joins up with Cameron Diaz. She's really pretty, but I've never seen someone with such a big mouth. I asked my mom who had the world's biggest mouth, but she told me to be quiet and enjoy the movie. I do like how Cameron Diaz laughs. It's as big as her mouth. Anyway, lots of things happen, but you kind of know everything is going to be okay, because Tom Cruise always has a big smile on his face, even when people are shooting at him. Sometimes violence bothers me, but this movie had less real violence than a video game. (I mean one that isn't rated Mature, my parents don't let me play those games. My parents are pretty old fashioned.)

I think this movie could have been better, but it feels like it's all over the place. Like when Mr. Zubica, my math teacher, talks about England and Chinese food when we're doing our Fast Math quizzes. No one in the class knows what he's talking about, but no one says anything because he's pretty nice for a teacher. He even lets us go to the bathroom when we're writing a test, which is pretty great, because sometimes I have to really pee and can't hold it. Anyway, I did like that everyone was happy in the movie. No matter what was happening, all the actors were always smiling and laughing. I hate sad movies, so that was really good. So I enjoyed it, and I think you will too.

The End.

Oh, I forgot to mention. Half of the fun for me was watching my parents during the movie. They kept looking at each other and making faces and rolling their eyes. They would say things like "What the…" or "Huh?" or once "Tom Cruise chose this #&&#&% over Salt?" That was my favourite part, because my mom never swears, and she never even said anything about her own swearing, even though she knows I'm not supposed to hear it. OMG, it was sooo funny. So like, if you have some old people to watch it with, DO IT! They will really make you laugh.

½* (out of five)

Is It Love… or the Idea of Love

2010-09-23T23:37:00.001-07:00

I'll never forget it. It was a night much like this one, loosened white swirls against a blackened night, stars glittering like veiled sequins across God's canvas. I'd stayed home that evening. Gone for a late walk after midnight. The dreams had come fiercely, and while I'd known their fierceness in the past, the past month had been something new. Something desperate. Something needed. The street had been quiet, as always, as I stumbled towards the small house that I, along with my ten housemates, now called home. And yet, I couldn't go inside. With every glance at the stars I found sadness, a great, unvarnished look into a heart that lay quietly dying. It shouldn't have been surprising. Not for someone who prided himself on his self-awareness and tendency towards introspection. But we all have blind spots, especially in matters of the heart. That was the night I realized that while I had known love, what I'd known better was the idea of love. I saw how it had sustained bad relationships. Saw how I had fooled myself into believing that they were the same. Realized that whatever I knew about love, most of it was second hand, lines from movies and well written discourses on the greatest of human mysteries.

That night I asked God for a second chance.

***

We don't realize it, but beyond the oil and consuming, the concept of love drives Western culture more than anything else. All of our art forms are faithful in their dedication towards her. And yet, love is mostly a new thing. We write her into our historical novels and plays and movies, we read psalms and poetry that endeavor to unmask her power and enhance it, and still, we forget the truth behind these mythical notions. When it comes to romance, love is yet in her infancy. Most of what we read is misread, and most of the great love stories have been misrepresented. Love, as it exists in our minds and our culture, is less than a hundred years old.

Oh, I know, you'll hear the commentators scoff at such at notion. Love is eternal, they'll say. Love has always existed. And it has… but not in the romantic form with which we so deeply consider it now. Love, that which we see and feel in the moonlight and quiet music, exists only between equals. Do I really love someone who I consider less than myself? Do I really love someone who is not my equal? Perhaps, as a master loves a slave or an owner loves a pet. But what poet captures the imagination of the world writing an ode to their horse or dog? We may not like it, but the idea of love is the blinding light of a society that claims equality but does not grant it. It is the fruit on the dish of ice cream that talks of healthy eating. Worse, the idea of love is sold as the real thing. It binds men and women in unequal relationships, and creates new stories, new myths, to convince people that what they experience is in fact, the ideal. So hungry are people for the real thing that we will swallow the lie, the new myths (which are nothing more than the retelling of old stories), and believe that we have indeed, found love.

It is impossible to count how often we hear the word 'love', during our daily routine, suffice to say that we hear it enough to diminish her meaning and power. Everyone loves everyone, and all who find themselves in romantic entanglements admit to love, though most people are not happy. That sounds harsh, but how else do we explain the separation of people who have said they love each other? How else to explain the domestic violence so rampant throughout our culture? And the church is not exempt. Both the rates of divorce and domestic violence are higher in the church than for those outside the church. (Though not by much) Somewhere, somehow, we have convinced ourselves that the most important part of our life is that it is shared with someone else. More than simply status, she is the very manner in which we define ourselves and the success of our lives. And so, we cannot tell if it is love, or the idea of love, with which we are so enamored.

The end result is not pleasant. We are given books and writings designed to help us create love and stimulate love, and yet no one mentions just how mysterious she is, or how uneasily she should be defined. She is young still, and most often those that claim to know her know only what others have told them. The best relationships are often unexplainable, and offer only hints as to their vitality. For as much as we'd like to duplicate its impact, love has not easily surrendered her secrets.

***

I have been in love before, but until these past two years, I have not truly known her power. How could I? I believed that men were superior to women. We still teach that, you know. Especially within religion, though not exclusively so. In fact, great swaths of our society teach the greatest obstacle to love as a pathway to her arms. Its sadly ironic, but mostly sad. In the theatre of our romantic discourse we discuss roles and obligations, lists and keys for both sexes, pitfalls and pragmatic tips for finding the most mysterious of human giftings. And still, she eludes us. So much so that we settle for the idea of love, and make excuses for both our failing to find her and the relationship we find ourselves in, which we know lacks her presence.

I once thought that if I ever knew what love was, if I ever had another chance at her, that I would be able to offer advice to the many people starving for a taste of her presence. I was wrong. The more I find her in my relationship with my wife, the less I comprehend. I do not know why she graces us with her presence, and I do not understand why she has chosen me. What I do know is that one night I stood beneath the stars and asked for a second chance. And God, the One who identifies himself as love, saw fit to answer my prayer.

For all of her wonder, love is the most humbling presence of all, and to have discovered her so late in life is a gift beyond words. My hope is that you will not falter when the world offers you the idea, and wait instead for her beguiling presence, a presence that will shift the very core of your being. She is young still, this love, but she is powerful beyond words. And if she touches you, your life will never be the same.

-Steve

Movie Review: The Town (2010)

2010-09-19T18:11:00.001-07:00

Directed by Ben Affleck

Everyone loves seeing someone get a second chance. Okay, so not everyone, but the great mass of humanity does, especially when we feel like people deserve it. Usually, all that entails is getting to know the person and feeling like they aren't a prick, that somewhere inside they're just like you and me and every other regular slob punching the daily human card. The power of a well told story is such that it allows us to see from the perspective of someone who, if we didn't know them, knew only their resume, we wouldn't be that interested. And if ever there was a test of that notion, it's Ben Affleck's new film The Town.

Affleck is the star of the movie, and the director and co-writer as well. In The Town he plays a not-so-hardened, but tough enough criminal, Doug MacRay, who's family legacy is theft and heart break. As a director, it's his second feature, following on the heels of his critically acclaimed Gone Baby Gone in 2007. As a person, well, for someone who had great success early, before becoming tabloid fodder following a number of questionable roles and dubious performances and sensational love interests, it isn't his second chance exactly, but it still feels that way. And if it is his remaking, he's doing a hell of a job with it. The Town proves, beyond doubt, that Gone Baby Gone was no fluke. It is an efficient, crisp thriller with a surprising amount of humour and no logic gaps to speak of, no moments where you wonder how a certain plot hole was so conveniently filled.

When you're remaking yourself, it helps to have Jeremy Renner along for the ride. The Best Actor nominee from The Hurt Locker provides gravitas as Affleck's lifelong friend and burgeoning sociopath who understands only two things: loyalty and violence. Renner is a name you'll be hearing more from, by the way. He may not have the looks of Pitt or the range of Depp (he just may, but he reminded me here of his character in S.W.A.T.), but he provides a great deal of the weight of the film. One wonders what The Town would have looked like without him. Jon Hamm is here as well, as FBI Special Agent Adam Trawley, but his performance provides none of the nuance he displays on a regular basis for Mad Men, the multiple Emmy award winning show in which he is the lead. (It's a disgrace he hasn't won an Emmy for his work there, but in The Town, he is merely adequate.) The only other performance worth mentioning is that of Blake Lively, who plays Renner's sister and Affleck's long-time love interest. Whatever has been said about her, she is flat-out terrific here. I suspect she'll be receiving more than a few calls from directors in the near future.

We can all wax philosophically about Affleck's career – as I was leaving the theatre I heard the couple behind me discussing how much better he was as a director – but the truth is that he's immensely likable and remarkably generous, both as an actor and director. And like his character in The Town, it's easy to overlook his mistakes and cheer for him anyway. Still, it wouldn't be enough if the movie was bad, or even average. It's so much better than that. Without question, there are some movie cliché moments, ones that make you sigh if not roll your eyes, and there were times in the theatre when a portion of the fifteen hundred people sitting around me laughed even after a sequence of surprising violence. But the applause (it was a TIFF showing) after the movie was long and generous, much like the man who made it.

Second chances are as much about the way the story is told as the one who the story is about, and to that end, Affleck succeeds in motivating the audience to cheer for his MacRay, a criminal capable of nasty things, but one who desires a second chance. Make no mistake, The Town is populist fare, with shootouts and action scenes and witty dialogue, but you get the feeling that as much as we're cheering for MacRay the criminal, we're cheering Affleck too. If the response from the audience were any indication, it looks like the man we once called Bennifer is on his way, and I, for one, am excited about it.

***1/2 stars (out of five)

Movie Review: Passion Play (2010)

2010-09-17T18:27:00.001-07:00

Directed by Mitchell Glazer

Most of us don't realize it, but our brains do not register concepts or ideas. They don't store information like a computer either, in ones and zeros. Rather, it does all that needs to be done, the sorting and predicting and shuffling through the endless torrent of stimuli, with pictures and emotions. From the most abstract concepts of math and physics to the most widely known, such as love, our brain works only with pictures and emotions. That makes a visual medium such as film an ideal place to explore simple concepts in new and profound ways. Perhaps new is the wrong word, as some film goers immediately sense that you are talking about some new film maker that artistes consider brilliant but that most of us can't follow because the story itself is abstract. Sometimes simple is better. Sometimes smaller is better. And sometimes it takes a single frame, a single illustration to remind us again why film is the single most powerful and prolific story telling tool we have. That is, when it's done well. And in Passion Play, it's done very well indeed.

Mickey Rourke stars as Nate Poole, a washed up, former jazz star in Mitchell Glazer's new film Passion Play. Rourke revitalized his career with a tremendous performance in Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler two years ago, which earned him an Academy Award nomination, and apparently some good scripts from which to choose. Once again, he has chosen well. Rourke is 58 now, so unless you're of a certain age, you won't recall how Rourke, always a physical specimen, was a rising screen star in the 1980's, perhaps culminating in his performance with Kim Basinger in the erotic drama 9 1/2 weeks. His life then became a cautionary Hollywood tale of hard living and bad choices, not the least of which was his decision to go back to professional boxing, and the subsequent plastic surgery needed restore some of the damage the boxing had done, which only made it worse. These days, the looks are gone, but the presence remains. If anything, as he showed in The Wrestler, and even further here, the once vaunted physicality has been whittled around the edges, like a smooth piece of driftwood, and so there is little about him that isn't natural. In Passion Play, the raging emotions and energy crackle to life in his character, Nate Poole, but not often. Nate has been beaten down, buried under a sea of politics and passions and excuses every drug user knows, managing to survive, but only just. From the world of excess and celebrity, he has found an existence crawling amidst the night dwellers and dealers, the brokers of cheap rent and rummaged lives. There is something still alive in Nate, you can hear it in his music, but it no longer finds its way to the surface. But then, why would it? What good is strength and hope when you realize that those things belong only to the people who have chosen pragmatism, for people who dwell in the normative and who have controlled their emotions and affections for a life more stable? For someone like Nate, the world makes little sense outside of the clear, soft jazz of his trumpet. It probably never will. Who do you trust when you no longer even trust yourself?

There's been a lot written about Megan Fox, who became a star after her performance in Transformers. Unfortunately, when you watch Michael Bay's camera linger on her smooth stomach in that movie and listen to the playboy director discuss his casting decision, you understand the reasons behind the talk. Add to it some other wooden performances and her first leading role, in Jennifer's Body, that only reminded most critics of the decision behind her role in Transformers, and you understand why there was so little to expect from her here, even alongside Rourke. In Passion Play however, Fox gives a performance that should end the discussion about whether or not she can act. Yes, there are moments when you feel her shifting to Soap Opera emoting, the standard for beautiful young Hollywood actresses, but whether it's Glazer's direction or the strong script or the role that calls for something new, those moments are rare. For most of the film, she's actually something of a revelation. She plays against her type, and while certainly the camera and story frame her beauty, it does so in a way you do not expect. As the film progresses, you forget that she is "The Megan Fox", the one criticized and posterized for everything from her previous roles to her plastic surgery to her private life. Instead, it feels as though she is discovering new things through her character, new things about who she is and who she chooses to be, and she shyly invites us all along for a glimpse into her journey.

More than anything else, Passion Play is a look into the lives of people who have been broken, but deep inside still hold out for the faint hope of something more. Of something greater than the numbers, the ones and zeros that too often characterize our daily existence. Throughout the film, Glazer never cheats, never reaches beyond the characters, until one soaring moment when the simple but abstract idea that drives the movie reveals itself in a frame where picture and emotion finally meet onscreen. And when they do, we are lifted along with the characters, through our own remembrances of journeys past and journeys lost, washed away, for a while at least, in the hope of something greater.

****1/2 stars (out of five)

From the Archives: Church is for Women… Or is it?

2010-09-15T15:33:00.001-07:00

Authour's Note: As I explained in this tab, occasionally I'll be wading through old articles I've posted. Part of that is to help me chronicle my own journey, and part of it is to shed light on just how much our views change through the years as we experience different things and learn from past mistakes. This article was posted originally on Saturday January 20, 2007, nearly three and a half years ago. Aside from the writing, which needed some editing but still didn't thrill me, the view here is one I now disagree with in a variety of ways. Following the article, I'll post my follow up, which I'll keep to five hundred words. (And if you've been on this blog before, you know that five hundred words is truly a summation for me.)This post, by the way, is dedicated to my friend Zack, who suggested this idea. Hope you enjoy the new feature, everyone. As always, comments are welcome.

Church is For Women

The door jingled as I walked inside Blessings, the small Christian bookstore I'd found when I'd first moved to Ottawa. I strolled through the store, amidst the tables of nic nacs and Jesus figurines while the music played softly in the background. Every time I entered a Christian bookstore I had a strange sense that I was walking into a women's section of the library. It hadn't bothered me in the past, as I was more at home in quiet bookstore than I was in a garage. Lately, however, I'd started to notice things. Mainly, I'd come to notice just how feminine the church had become.

I headed to the men's section. I browsed through the titles, and went to another aisle before realizing that the men's titles were all located on just the one shelf. Slim pickings. As usual. It wasn't the publisher's fault however, as every Christian writer knew that women purchased more than 85% of any books sold through Christian retail. No wonder they tailored their stores – with the soft music and rose colored walls – towards women. Still, it made me shake my head. When I finished my shopping and headed out a few minutes later, I wondered if my friends would have been comfortable in a store like that. Might as well be buying flowers.

Lately I'd been doing a fair bit of reading about the church, in particular the place of men within the church, and lately I'd begun to notice some discrepancies, discrepancies that had me and some others worried. Particularly the lack of men, especially 'manly men', in the church. I'd never really noticed it before, but there was a reason for that. The statistics for church attendance were alarming. George Barna had found a gender gap of over 13 million (more women attending church) in the U. S. As well, twenty to twenty-five per cent of married women in the church were going alone. Any one who had worked in a church understood this. I remembered my time as a pastor. I remembered the women who came alone, and I remembered how much we (the pastoral staff) leaned on the women to run the programs. Except for the deacons, it was hard to find men consistently in the building. Perhaps one of the greatest misperceptions of the modern church was the idea that it was patriarchal. More like a frosted cake, below the frosting of ministers and clergy, still predominantly men, most of the church's programs were run by and for women. This whole idea about men 'missing' in the church was something of a revelation to me, understandable I suppose for the fact that I related to the men and women who attended church quite well. I was artistic. I liked small conversations. I liked teaching. I also enjoyed singing and music and learning. Unfortunately, most men just weren't built that way. I decided that the next Sunday I would step back and take a closer look at the Sunday service, which so many authors seemed to suggest had only become increasingly feminine.

The first thing that struck me was how NICE-ly everything was arranged, how NICE the people were, and how it fit with the elevator style music softly leaking over the sound system. I hung up my jacket and strolled into the sanctuary, greeting people along the way. By the time the service started, I'd already had about ten small conversations filled with warm fluff and lots of smiles. After brief announcements, we started singing. We sang for a good thirty minutes before one of our pastors and some others delivered some more announcements, all of which were presented in soft, smiling voices. Our senior pastor finally rose to speak, and after a short prayer, delivered a forty-five minute teaching that was both interesting and long. I say 'long', because as I imagined myself as a non-artistic man in the congregation, I wondered how good it felt to be back in school for an hour and a half every Sunday morning. Not only school, but taking a feminist course on relationships and submission and passive interaction. And then there was the soft music, the emphasis on relationships and small talk, the almost desperate longing for people to be NICE. And through it all, if you listened closely enough, you could almost hear the unconscious murmur... Don't rock the boat. We're all safe here. What was dangerous and manly about that? Where was the adventure and pulsing life that men longed for?

Church, for whatever reason, had become an exercise for women and artists and passive types who relished security over risk, who longed for relationship over greatness, programs over projects. Something had happened between now and that daring New Testament church that was filled with 'manly men', risk takers and adventurous types who understood that becoming a Christian did not mean more tea and crumpets. I wasn't sure what we could do about it, but it was something I needed to think about, because the more we excluded men from our churches, the more feminine they would become...

(RESPONSE)

A Feminine Church? Huh?

You notice it most often when you go out to a bar or pub and people are drinking, and therefore more uninhibited, but you see in restaurants, too. The harshness in conversations, the veiled threats, the simmering arguments, the passive aggressive comments, all made by people who have voluntarily chosen to be out together. Family, friends with friends, or worse, two people involved in some kind of romantic relationship. Coming out of the church "bubble", the one thing you notice almost immediately is how often people are NOT nice to each other. And while we can argue that too often we use "niceness" as a measurement for a person's character, it is the sign of social discipline to be in a place where niceness is prevalent, and it has nothing to do with gender. It's about safety.

When I wrote that piece nearly four years ago, I was immersed in church culture. Since then I've changed cities and moved twice, and haven't really found a church home yet. These days I'm well outside the bubble. I'm outside the safety of a place that's warm and welcoming and filled with genial small talk. I no longer see it as some kind of challenge to my supposed "manliness", whatever that means, but a welcome respite from most days where that social discipline does not exist.

The idea that a church needs to be more "manly", is frankly ridiculous. And while some of the erotic tendencies within the "worship music" industry are disturbing – as a straight male, singing about Jesus as my lover is, err, uncomfortable – the service itself no more reflects a feminine nature than a library (the woman section of the library, was I kidding?) or gym reflects its purpose. The purpose of meeting together each week as Christians is not to raise our own particular idea of gender awareness and compensate for our insecurities. It is a time of encouragement, meditation, and corporate prayer designed to help us push each other towards a life that better reflects that of Jesus. Or at least, our idea of Jesus.

The idea that "church" is feminine speaks primarily to men who feel that they have somehow lost the "adventure" within their own lives, which is a result of feeling emasculated by either their jobs or relationships. But addressing it through gender stereotypes is a disaster waiting to happen. In fact, I can't think of another, single thing more capable of destroying both individuals and relationships than this emphasis on what is male and what is female. A quick glance at other cultures and history books reveals that gender distinctions are as real a dividing line as the Prime Meridian. What they end up doing is creating more insecurity in those who do not "fit" the normative male or female patterns. (I love to dance. I love to read and write. Does that make me feminine?) According to my old way of thinking, women not only don't like adventure, they don't enjoy challenges or anything outside of shopping, flowers and children, either.

Understand that none of this has anything to do with what it means to be a Christian. Sure, it gives us a sense of being safe in our roles, but the problem being safe is what walked us down this road in the first place. Want more adventure in your life? Stop taking crap from others telling you what to do and who you should be, get on your knees, and figure it out. Involve yourself in programs with people who need help, people who will challenge you. And when you go out for dinner, just listen to the conversations around your table. More often than not, you'll wish you were in church.

-Steve

Movie Review: Crazy Heart (2010)

2010-09-09T18:40:00.001-07:00

Directed by

Scott Cooper

I've never really understood the appeal of old country music. Guys like Waylon Jennings, whose name I know only from the Dukes of Hazzard theme song, twanging away on their gee-tar and sipping back grandpa's whiskey. For most of my life it has been the one type of music, along with death metal, that actually irritated me. The storytelling in it is bland, the music is three chords, and the lyrics are sappy and melodramatic. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

I'd heard the buzz around Crazy Heart even before its star, and one of my favourite actors, Jeff Bridges, finally won his first Oscar for his role in it. Even then, I still wasn't sure if I wanted to see it. If I didn't get old country music, why would I want to see a (fictionalized) movie about an old country music star? I wasn't sure that I saw the relevance. (This is what happens when you don't have to review movies as part of your job.) A couple of friends encouraged me to check it out however, and so I sucked it up and prepared for yet another boring, two hour ride into the latest bio-musical pic.

Boy, was I wrong. From the opening scene, I became immersed somehow into this culture, into this old country lifestyle that I'd never understood. The best movies all do this, of course, but some cultures are more difficult to translate to the screen, and even more when the translation is contingent on a type of music that typically needs its surroundings as much as it needs its musicians. But the seamless storytelling and presence of Bridges, who is mostly unrecognizable throughout, provide all that's needed to make the film, and its subject, completely accessible.

Bridges plays Bad Blake, a former old country star, a la Jennings, who hasn't recorded a hit in a long time, and the movie draws us in as we follow Bad into the contradiction that is the world of country music. There's the claustrophobic night life, coloured bright and smoky in seedy bars and hotels and backend bowling alleys. Here the people come, looking to him for reminders of past glories, of dreams past and dreams lost, dreams that fade in time but somehow resonate in the clear baritone of an old man's voice and an old man's song. When the songs fade, and the night along with it, we're thrust into the harsh daylight, a transition made difficult by the wide open spaces and burning light of the desert sun, a sun that seems to crackle onscreen with every aching step of Bad's weathered cowboy boots and every crunch of gravel beneath the tires of his old, worn out truck. By turns his stubbornness and sadness, his anger and hope, percolate and boil over, all of it in tune with the contradictions of the land and the music, between the soft kisses of moonlight and withering noon glare of the Texan sun. Like a carefully balanced song, we feel the inevitable change sweeping through a life that must somehow come to a decision, one that will dictate whether his music will follow his weary heart or if somehow he will find the courage to strum new chords in the future.

Maggie Gyllenhaal is here, and while her intelligence and "old-youngness" make her the perfect choice for this role, her character needed perhaps an extra scene or two. We can surmise a few things from what she says, but in a film as deliberate as Crazy Heart, it should be in the script. Colin Farrell has a small but important role here as well, with an understated but engrossing performance that reminds you what a great actor he can be when he's not making blockbusters. He needs to do more roles like this one.

Ultimately, the movie rests on Bridges, and he delivers one of the best performances of his career. He's more open here than we're used to, more vulnerable than we've seen him since his terrific performance nearly twenty years ago in The Fabulous Baker Boys. It must be said however, that this is not another Ray; it is not merely a showpiece for a great actor. Crazy Heart, at its core, is a story about life, about what happens when we stop believing in the future and when our yesterdays surpass our tomorrows.

I think that's why I never liked old country music. It always seemed so focused on the past. But maybe I missed the point. Maybe the idea is that thinking about the past is not only a good thing, but necessary, if we want to find our future. Too hopeful? Too simple? Perhaps, but then, there's power in the simple answers, so long as we're willing to listen. After watching Crazy Heart, I might finally be ready.

****1/2 stars (Out of Five)

Why Faith Matters... or Does It?

2010-09-07T04:12:00.001-07:00

Walking Away from God...

The details seem a bit fuzzy these days, but I can tell you what started my walk away from Christianity. Or I suppose I should say, what finished it.

I was nineteen years old, and from the moment I walked through the doors of Faith Tabernacle, the mid-sized Pentecostal church just minutes away from my childhood home, I sensed something bigger than myself at work. People moving towards a place with which I wasn't wholly familiar, a place that looked and felt like hope. It was celebratory and expectant, and I got caught up in the euphoria of it all, lapping it up like a thirsty traveller who'd been on the road for a long time. I determined that I would never go thirsty again, and so I consumed it all. Books. Videos. Services. Music. Anything about this new movement—this new life – that I could get my hands on. The world made promises about peace and happiness and contentment, we were told, but it never delivered.

God always delivered.

Trust him.

Trust us.

Join us.

And I did.

For a while, there was nothing to not like about being this kind of Christian. It was a community of happiness, like a love commune from the sixties but without the drugs or sex or instability. It reminded me of my trip to Cuba a couple of years earlier, my first time experiencing the brilliant white sands of Varadero beach. Looking out from the shore, the water's clear translucence a colour and clarity that could never be coaxed from human undertaking, and like a siren it called with such a whispered grace of its gentle swells that I found myself unable to move at first, until finally I waded in, my feet digging into the silky sand bottom. I'd never been to such a beautiful beach, and the promise of those waters was something to be savoured, as sure a promise of perfection that I would ever experience. Such was the experience of my first few years in church. It too, held great beauty and promise.

Once I had waded out far enough however, the church was no longer beautiful or innocent. It was dark and deep and foreboding, and what looked like little fish from the shore were actually much bigger and far more terrifying, and they circled about the others, waiting to bite and sting. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was, probably because I believed the illusion. I didn't understand so-called Christian leaders using their influence to enrich themselves. The pettiness in people who had been Christians for twenty or thirty years. People using prayer as a tool for gossip. The disregard for women and minorities. The sense of us against them, that we were all so different from those outside the church. My steps became more cautious. Protecting my reputation became important. No sudden movements that would allow the predators a chance to attack. Before, the water had looked inviting. Now, it was the beach that I longed for again, longed for the time when I'd merely wished for a place of hope and believed that such a place existed. I couldn't help but wonder that if Jesus, if he had ever existed, no longer lived here. It took a few years, but eventually I waded back to shore. Back to the beach, where the water looked as unrelentingly graceful as ever, the gentle waves rolling onto the shore. Only this time I knew better, and no matter how the sand burned my feet now, no matter how the smells or sounds of the waters called to me, I wasn't going back in. I'd learned my lesson well enough the first time.

***

Faith is not easy. I say that because there seem to be a great mass of people who feel that it is. Perhaps it's just the ones with the biggest mouths and highest amount of insecurity, but their voice is still loud and repeated by Christians as if it's a mantra. When I first waded into the waters as a pastor, I would have agreed with them. Jesus is the Son of God. Just believe and things will work out. Okay, let's get to work. It was in the work however – the doing of church, the praying, the morality, the schedule, the interpretations – that it stopped being easy. There was a dichotomy between the concept of faith and the application which I did not understand. At first, I merely blundered down the path believing God would sort it out. That's what faith was, wasn't it? And then I saw how destructive the results could be. How simply "believing" could ruin people's lives with its unintentional consequences, especially when the more selfish individuals used the naivete of some to do what they wanted. After that, the only thing left was to turn to the structures. The rituals. To be conscious and completely rational about every application. To leave nothing to chance or wind. It helped, but it also cut me off from the idea and sense of God's presence. To be a Christian, it seemed, forced one into a decision. Either the spontaneity of a relationship with God, or the careful applications of well thought out morality and religion. Both held consequences, and neither was perfect, but it was all we had.

Through the years, I lived both in sequence. First the spontaneity, and then the careful, religious application.

And then I stopped.

Neither felt right or complete, and I couldn't hear God's voice any more. And for me, it had always been the Voice, the whispers in my heart that despite all, the world was loved, people mattered, and that God had not forgotten us.

When the Voice disappeared, I lost my way, no longer called myself a Christian. Suddenly the world was a very different place. I wasn't sure that I liked it much, but I was out of options, and I'd long since given up the idea of lying to myself. That I eventually returned surprised no one, I think, but it shocked the hell out of me. A few years have passed, and I still find it hard to believe sometimes that I am not only okay with the idea of church, but that I still hold great hopes for her.

***

If you were to ask me what it meant to be a Christian fifteen years ago, my answer would have been automatic. These days, I'm less sure. My faith, such as it is, mostly feels like an echo. As if I have wandered into a large canyon and the voices I hear are not from the heavens, but the reverberations of lives and truths over the centuries around a single Event. I am both heartened and dismayed when I read that the early church made a number of mistakes. I am heartened because they remind me of me, with their misunderstanding and unloving applications of what Jesus said, and I am dismayed because it all feels so impossible. If they couldn't get it right, how can we?

There are a large number of Christians, of course, who will tell you that the early church never made a mistake. That they followed "The Way" perfectly, and that we can too. There's no proof for it, merely the insistence that Scripture is infallible and inerrant and inconceivably and irretrievably absolute. If you dig enough, they'll tell you that it comes down to faith.

Hey, everything comes down to faith. It takes faith to believe in evolution. It takes faith to believe that tomorrow will be a good day. It takes faith to believe that no one will cross the little yellow line in the middle of the road, especially when you're driving a compact and everyone else is driving an SUV. For people like me, the literalist idea of faith is a bit like eating your grandmother's cooking. You remember how good it is until you try to eat it, and realize that it's indigestible pap.

What you won't hear in most sermons is that being a Christian is as much about mystery today as it was two thousand years ago. Or that following Jesus, a crucified Roman criminal, makes about as much sense now as it did then. And the reasons to NOT proclaim Yeshua as the Messiah are just as arresting now as they were then. How do we know Jesus rose from the dead? The story of the twelve disciples has been told in other traditions, what makes this one special? Was he really born of a virgin… or was it a young woman, as the translation indicates? Weren't a lot of his teachings taken from other Jewish rabbis?

The answers to all of those questions are simple enough, aren't they? And without faith, becoming a Christian is a pretty stupid idea. Unfortunately, the literalists/fundamentalists acknowledge this part of it, and believe that somehow being stupid and having faith are the same thing. That's why Christian writers insist on defending their faith as if it's a scientific argument. And why scientists (fundamentalists of a different 'ilk) insist on defending their studies as if their making a theological argument. What separates them is the mystery, and the human tendency to avoid it at all costs. To know is better than to not know. In the case of faith however, we don't know, and we never will. But instead of simply acknowledging our human limitations, we produce books and writings and music and videos to both remind and teach us that faith can be remembered… if only we could remember it more often. The question then, if faith is so important, is why do we keep forgetting?

***

When I was a young pastor, I always worried when I felt like God got away from me. I wondered how I could be a Christian if I wasn't reminded of his presence on a daily basis. I was taught that the "world" hated God, that it was a natural thing, and that I had to fight to keep my faith. It was part of the reason we were encouraged to go to church three or four times a week. In a "godless world", it was necessary to remember why we were here and what God had called us to do. When I read my diary from twenty years ago, I can sense the daily panic when all is suddenly not as it should be, when God seems distant and I suddenly feel merely human. A good deal of my pastoral counseling was aimed towards getting people, both young and old, to getting that "good feeling" back again. In many ways, my idea of faith mirrored our culture's pursuit of happiness. A frantic sort of passion channeled into energetic vows of eternal longing. The culture of godliness and the culture of the "world" might have been opposing forces, but thank God they traveled at the same breakneck speed.

***

I still listen for the Voice. Still long to hear the quiet whispers of something Other to interrupt my daily musings, or remind me that the world is more than my own needs and wants. That the world is more than another commercial or YouTube video waiting to go viral. It seems to be getting tougher to hear these days, and while I'd like to blame it on culture, the truth is that faith is hard, and most of the time it sucks. It asks much, and for long stretches seems to deliver so little in return. It asks me to take risks, asks that I don't shut down when strangers and strange people that I don't like ask me questions. It asks that I accept people I would never hang out with, and worse, asks that I accept my own failings and humanity. But as tough as those things are, the most difficult thing it asks is the acknowledgement of my own humanity, my sameness, on a regular basis. For all that it reassures me that I am loved, it reminds me that I am loved only as much as my loud neighbours next door and the criminals in prison and the gay couple across the street. That God's love is infinite matters little, because most days I want more; I want to be special. What I really want, more than anything, is to be greater.

And that's why I'm a Christian. Because more than any other religion or doctrine or creed, what it means to follow Jesus is to be less than those around me. It contradicts all that we strive for naturally as humans, and the wrestling with it, however much we try to help it by our enforced commoditizing (Jesus bracelets, nic nacs, videos, etc…), never ends.

Surety is fool's gold, especially when it comes to God. Religions try to sell it because the very nature of their humanity almost demands it. They think that you and I are too stupid to know the difference, or that you've never been to a bad sale before, where the actual price was much different than the one advertised. It is however, what faith demands. Faith demands that we never truly know. It tells us that we will never be God, no matter how many charts and books and videos we can produce to prove our theories. Faith stands the test of time because, like time, it is always present and doesn't change to suit our needs. If God was anything less, I would question His existence, the way I question the empty arguments seeking to prove that there is no Creator. But the essence of life is not in what we know, but what we don't understand, and it's something for which the cure is neither willful ignorance nor a Harvard doctorate. The cure, strangely enough, is merely to ask. To ponder. To question. It isn't easy and it is never simple, but the power of faith is one that echoes through the centuries, and if we listen closely, can be heard in our own lives, if only we are willing.

-Steve

Movie Review: The Other Guys (2010)

2010-08-31T22:12:00.001-07:00

(2010)

Directed by Adam McKay

We're all still waiting for the great Will Ferrell comedy, the Liar Liar or Pink Panther or even Wedding Crashers that catapults him into the final stratosphere for comedic actors. After watching The Other Guys, it's clear we'll be waiting for a while longer. That isn't to say however, that The Other Guys isn't worth seeing. In fact, it lets you know right away that you're in one of the good Will Ferrell movies. For one thing, you're laughing almost immediately. The situation (Will Ferrell as a…) is only slightly absurd and he's paired with an actor who can play it straight and funny (Mark Wahlberg). The biggest difference between good Ferrell (Talladega Nights, Anchor Man) and bad Ferrell (Semi-Pro, Blades of Glory) however, is that he has a director capable of constraining him. In this case, it's Adam McKay. It's odd to say about a comedian who's so physical, but Ferrell is better when he's doing his thing with facial expressions and ridiculously obvious but inappropriate comments. What most people miss is that a large part of that comes from the goodwill he generates with his bumbling, innocent persona. (Have we ever seen an actor so political that is welcomed so easily on both sides of the aisle?)

In The Other Guys, Will Ferrell is an accountant/police officer who loves his desk job. His partner, Mark Wahlberg, is a former up and coming detective who's been forced to pair with Ferrell because of an unfortunate incident earlier in his career. Together, they get an opportunity to go after "a big one." It's a buddy cop movie with the twist that these buddy cops are clearly not heroic types.

In terms of straight guys, Wahlberg is good. As much as we've grown to appreciate his action abilities, he's just as good doing comedy. Unfortunately, his character here isn't defined as clearly as it needs to be. There are too many inconsistencies, and too often you find yourself saying "how can he do that?" I'm quibbling though, because when the two stars are arguing or "starting fresh", the chemistry is legitimate and funny. Eva Mendez has a role as the "perfect wife", as last played by Cameron Diaz in There's Something About Mary, and she handles it well enough. (She's asked to be hot, and she comes through with, err, flying colours)

Ferrell's movies, even his best, remind me a bit of Adam Sandler's work. There's funny stuff there, but the work feels incomplete. Especially in the second half of the films. And make no mistake, the second half of the movie is the difference between a great comedy and a good one. A great comedy makes you laugh all the way through and somehow manages to be poignant while twanging slightly on your heartstrings. A good comedy, which is hard enough, merely makes you smile and laugh. In that, The Other Guys is a good comedy. There's a number of laugh out loud moments, a great deal of smiling, and a buffet of quotables for the water cooler. We still haven't seen a great Will Ferrell comedy, but The Other Guys is another good one, and seeing as how rare that is these days, that will do for now.

**** (Out of Five)

Copyright Stephen Burns 2010

Movie Review: Salt (2010)

2010-08-29T17:37:00.001-07:00

Directed by Phillip Noyce (2010)

No Spices Needed

Go see it. It's a damn good thriller.

Since this is a spoiler-free movie review, there's only so much you can say about a thriller with the tagline: Who is Salt? What I can tell you can be summed up in seven words (above), but I'm not sure how convincing it would be if I read a review like that, so let's delve into what we can tell you.

As I've mentioned in other reviews, Angelina Jolie is the most convincing female action hero alive. The only one close is Milla Jovovich (Resident Evil) and she's really a distant second. The script for Salt cements Jolie's action icon status by doing something a bit different: it keeps her dialogue to a minimum. She speaks, but there are long stretches of the movie where she carries it with her kinetic energy and charisma alone. And her eyes. There's a lot going on in the close-ups, not the least of which is an impressive array of emotions and a fierce intelligence that has not only seen it all, but lived it as well.

As we now know, the part was originally written for Tom Cruise, who chose Knight and Day instead, and the script was altered to fit Jolie. Although Cruise could have handled it (his action prowess is underrated) Jolie is a better fit here. Her ability to carry ambivalence as well as emotional complexities is better suited to the role. There's weight to her, a certain sadness, that makes the movie more than the sum of its parts. And its parts are good. Schreiber is excellent, as he always is, and I'm still confused why he isn't a star. Is it because his first name is Liev? I'm not talking about race, but simple pronunciation. He brings tangible believability to every role he plays. And in a thriller that never stops from the moment it starts, you need actors to help provide heft for their characters, because even great action scripts don't have much time for character development.

The film is shot in a linear fashion, and cut quickly, but it's easy enough to follow. It's a simple way to distinguish good action movies from the rest. Bad action films are cut and thrown together like an overcooked stir-fry -- you never know what vegetable you're eating because they all taste like chicken. That never happens in Salt, which grips you from the opening scene and never lets go. It reminded me at times of The Bourne Identity, albeit for different reasons. (And no, Salt is not about amnesia.) When the movie ended I looked at my watch in surprise. I hadn't even noticed the time.

As for the themes of the movie, I think you'll be surprised at some of the questions that might come up on your way out of the theatre. And even if there's no discussion, there's one thing you'll all be able to say to the people waiting for the next showing; "Go see it. It's a damn good thriller."

**** (out of five)

One Thing We All Hate… And Need (for better relationships)

2010-08-21T14:00:00.001-07:00

"I still don't get it. Why can't you tell him?"

"He'll go crazy. You know what Aaron's like."

I sighed but didn't push it. Aaron was my friend, though I spent more time with Ginny, his wife, since we worked together. I sighed again and glanced around the cafeteria. A few Grade Eight kids were hanging out at one of the tables, but other than that it was quiet. I was working with an autistic student in the school, but he hadn't shown up today, so I'd been doing some paperwork when Ginny sat down across from me. She was small, with curly red hair, and a timid air when she talked about herself.

"Listen, Aaron's a good guy. If you think he's flirting too much, then just tell him. He probably doesn't even realize it." I said.

Aaron was a teacher as well, tall and lean, with voice like a low hammer. We'd hung out a couple of times when the schools got together for an event.

Ginny shook her head.

"I can't. He'll think I'm possessive or jealous, that I don't trust him."

So why are you telling me? Ginny was nice, and she was a friend, but it was hard listening to your friends complain when they were so unwilling to do anything about it. Still, I knew what it was to be afraid to be honest with people. When I was twenty-one, I interned as a young adult pastor. In my review at the end of the year, my Senior Pastor's remarks included a comment that I'd never forgotten. "Until Steve is willing to face his fear of confrontation, he will never be the leader he can be." At the time, I really didn't understand it. I'd always thought avoiding confrontation to be something of a skill. And yet, he'd not only remarked on my tendency to avoid it, but that this was somehow a bad thing. When I asked him about it later, he told me that I was going out of my way to avoid certain issues, and that unless I dealt with them, they would never get resolved. That was what a good leader did, he said. He also mentioned that it was impossible to grow in our faith if we were unwilling to look in the mirror and be honest with ourselves.

It didn't help that so many people grew up in "quietly tense" homes. The older generations seemed to delight in this idea of "sucking it up" and not saying anything when an issue needed to be addressed. Or blaming the inability to properly communicate on gender differences. ("Who can understand a woman, Steve? They're SO different!") Unfortunately, from what I'd seen of these marriages, even the ones that had lasted twenty five years, it wasn't something I really wanted in my own life. It wasn't like you got a gold star for years of service. For me, it was pretty simple. If your relationships sucked, especially the one with your significant other, than your life did too. It was the reason I was in the process of getting divorced. It also meant that I really wasn't one to talk. Most of the 'confrontations' in our house had been punctuated by yelling and hurt feelings. Still Ginny had asked, so I figured I would try to answer her question.

Honestly, Ginny, there's nothing wrong with a bit of jealousy. It means you care. I don't mean the controlling kind, but jeez, if what he's doing bothers you, you have to say something. Otherwise, you're going to have to put up with it for the rest of your life. And let me tell you, if you can't be honest with one another, marriage sucks."

"Well, you would know about that." She said, flicking her hair.

I took a deep breath and didn't respond.

"I'm sorry, Steve." She said, reading my face. "It's just that, well, marriage is difficult. Relationships are not so simple." She smiled at me like I was one of her students. "You can't just tell someone what's bothering you because maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe we just need to talk about it to vent a little, and then it will be okay." She paused. "I know I feel better. Thanks."

The bell rang, and kids started piling into the hallway.

"I gotta go. Bye, Steve."

I waved, and managed to put a crooked grin on my face, though it fell as soon as she'd left. What did I know about relationships, I thought. I'm the biggest failure here. I still felt like I'd made the right decision about my marriage. It'd been mutual, and we'd both seen how destructive it had become. Maybe Ginny was right though. Maybe I just hadn't learned to 'suck it up' like so many people did in their marriages. Hell, and their friendships, for that matter.

I turned back to my work, but the characters might as well have been Egyptian hieroglyphs. I wondered if one day I'd get another chance to prove my theory about honesty. It was ridiculous to think that I would be single forever, but when you're going through a divorce, it's how you feel. One day, I thought.

***

I think the first time I heard the word "confrontation" was watching a baseball game as a kid. Face to face, the pitcher trying to either throw the ball past the hitter or induce him to hit it to one of the guys on the pitcher's team. I also heard it mentioned as something that happened between countries, but in terms of relationships, well, it wasn't until I was nearly done high school that I heard it mentioned in that context. And when I did hear it, the implication was that confrontations were something nasty, and always led to a fight or an argument, or God forbid, a breakup. Confrontation was bad because it led to conflict, which was also bad. In fact, the two words were nearly always used as synonyms. And in relationships, romantic or otherwise, the best thing to do was to avoid both. It took me a long time to understand that not only were the two words radically different, but that one of them was necessary for a healthy relationship.

By definition, to confront someone means to "to stand or come in front of; stand or meet facing." Conflict, on the other hand, is a "struggle or clash between opposing forces." Confrontation generally precipitates conflict, but they aren't the same thing, and while both have negative connotations to them, a confrontation does not HAVE to be something negative. In fact, a great deal of our relational woes stem directly from our belief that confrontation is bad and needs to be avoided at all costs. When that happens however, we start down a road from which many relationships never recover.

***

The wind swept hard across the water, rustling the waves against the dock so that it creaked loudly in the morning sunlight. I was sitting on the deck of the cottage with my notebook, nibbling on the end of my pen. The pine trees swayed across the lake, climbing the low rise north above the water. It was a breathtaking view, crystallized in the wind and sun, and one I wanted to take with me when we left later that morning. There'd been ten of us, sharing the cottage for three days of sun and fun. Inevitably, especially with the rainy weather the day before, there had been some brush ups and blow ups. Two nights earlier, I'd suddenly become very upset with my best friend because he'd beaten me at chess, and I had missed the two key moves he'd made to win the game. (If it sounds ridiculous, um, that's because it was… ) I went outside for a few minutes, realized that I was being an idiot, and apologized. After that, things were fine. It made me think about how often we brush against one another, especially in groups and families, and how little we are prepared to handle confrontations. Unless you major in something like social work or psychology or counseling, the skills necessary for learning how to confront people will not be something you learn in school. And yet, if we were all just a little better at it, it would make our lives so much easier, with much less tension, and the reason for that is simple. In every community, be it a marriage, a group of friends, a family, or a church, someone will inevitably act in a selfish and unhealthy matter. If it's allowed to fester, it will not only affect the group dynamics, but it will become one of the defining forces within the group or couple as well.

Ginny never addressed the issue of flirting with her husband, never confronted him with it. If they're still married, it will not only still be an issue, it will be, in fact, one of the predominant characteristics of how she defines her relationship. The same is true within families and groups of friends. If there is an issue that you cannot confront, an issue that you cannot talk about, then you have assigned that issue as one of the cornerstones of the way you will relate to the others in the group.

It's not hard to figure why we avoid confrontation. Why I avoided it for so many years. Frankly, it's difficult, and it requires humility and vulnerability. There's also a tendency to think, as I used to, that confrontation requires anger and yelling and tears. It doesn't. The reason people get angry when confronting others is because anger helps drive away the fears that control so many of us. Our fears of rejection. Of being alone. Of being not liked. Our fear of wrecking other relationships or worrying that people will think we're a jerk. Anger helps us, momentarily, to push past these fears. But anger is a double edged sword, and when we use it to confront people, the end result is conflict.

***

Confrontational Tips

So, what to do? The first thing is to practice confrontation on ourselves. I keep a journal every day, just a couple of paragraphs, and challenge how I responded to things the day before. Did I honour God the way I should yesterday? Am I loving people the way I'm supposed to? How did I handle things at work and with my friends? Am I being too cynical? (A particularly challenging one for me.) You will have different questions, depending on what your self-identified weaknesses are and what your goals are in life. (You don't have to journal but I find it helpful.)

But understand this: you have no right to confront anyone about anything until you are willing to confront yourself.

We've all known people who criticize others and make people feel like crap without checking the mirror. The heart of positive confrontations is the humility inherent in identifying the other person's shared humanity. When you are used to honestly confronting your own behavior, you will be better equipped when someone else challenges you. And if you can listen to someone else's honest critique about your behavior, you have given yourself a terrific tool for your relationships that most people do not possess. Why? Because people who can confront themselves have little difficulty confronting others in a quiet, tactful manner.

The second thing is understanding that tone makes a difference. (No anger allowed. If you're angry, you're not ready.) So do words and expressions. "Perhaps", "maybe", "I'm not sure", "this makes me feel", are all good choices. Remember that the goal of confrontation is to solve an issue, and that it is hard to for people to hear negative things about themselves or their behaviour, especially if they genuinely don't realize what they're doing. Having spent a number of years working with the developmentally disabled, I'm sensitive to people who park in the handicap spots without the proper sticker. I will ALWAYS confront them. However, I keep my tone polite, and usually say something along the lines of "I'm not sure you noticed the sign, sir, but this is a reserved spot." Anyone fit to drive can see the sign, but the point isn't my self-righteous indignation or feeling superior because I wouldn't park there, the point is to get them to move and feel the weight of what they're doing, and always in quiet tones. (And yes, they always move.)

In terms of our relationships, confrontation is the only way to wipe out the power of fear that girds so much of our lives. We let our fears dictate the outcome of our relational choices, and we end up feeling trapped or miserable because we refuse to ask the hard questions of both ourselves and the people around us.

In many ways, it is not unlike standing across a lake and staring at the green grass and quiet fields of peace and contentment on the other side. The bridge however, the one we call Confrontation, looks shaky and small, something only Indiana Jones could cross. The reason it looks so small is that like all skills, confrontation takes practice. In time, it gets easier and the bridge widens. But it's still something we'll probably dislike, if not hate. Who likes looking in the mirror? Who likes telling others things that are hard to hear? Without confrontation however, we are inevitably relegated to below standard relationships, and ultimately, a below standard life.

My prayer this week is that you'll take up the challenge of confrontation. Go for a walk and think about some of the fears both in you, and your relationships, that need to be addressed. I know we like to say that relationships are complicated, and sometimes they are, but too often the complications arise out of our tendency to avoid the issues that matter the most with our loved ones. Stop letting Fear run your life, and have the courage to take the first step towards a life that is not only your own, but yours to give away.

-Steve

Movie Review: Death at a Funeral (2010)

2010-08-19T16:47:00.001-07:00

A Very Slow Death…

Directed by Neil LaBute

Death at a Funeral is a farce, based on the 2007 British film of the same name. I wish I'd known that before I watched it. I'll be honest, the farce may be a theater tradition, but most of the time they're just stupid. It's an intellectually redundant form of broad based comedy, the idiot relative of its more refined cousin, satire, which actually requires thinking. And generally speaking, the only thing worse than a French or British farce, is an American one. It simply doesn't work in Hollywood because big American films are always trying to make sure that everyone is happy at the end. That's assuming, of course, people GET to the end. I first checked my watch about forty-five minutes into the movie. I checked it again about ten minutes later. At one point I yawned, and it was only 9:30pm. So, that wasn't a good sign. But maybe I should go back to the reason I watched the movie in the first place.

Some of you may not remember, but when Chris Rock released his 1998 HBO special, Black and White, there were many, myself included, who considered him the preeminent comedian of his generation. Perhaps the closest thing to the reincarnation of a young Eddie Murphy. Unlike Murphy however, Rock was never able to transform his stand up success to movies, not in a starring role, at least. Lawrence, on the other hand, was a box office power for a short time in the late 1990's. In many ways, he was the antithesis of Rock; a sometimes funny stand up comedian whose stylings did translate into some big hits. Then Hollywood paid him $20 million to do Black Knight, he became arrogant, and was never the same.

All comedians are angry, but when they become arrogant – that is, when their arrogance infects their comedy – they lose their mass appeal. Ever wonder why Adam Sandler is still popular? The anger, and therefore the humility, real or not, is still evident in his work, and people can still identify with him.

As for this typically unfunny farce, well, there isn't a lot to say. There's a funeral, obviously, and some well known actors playing types. I already mentioned the two leads. Luke Wilson is himself. Tracy Morgan is himself. Regina Hall acts as though she's still working with the Wayan brothers. (Psst. This isn't another Scary Movie. You don't have to squeak your voice on every line reading.) Danny Glover is a grumpy, wheelchair bound grandfather. Zoe Saldana is here, although I'm not sure why. Seems like she's accepted every acting offer since Avatar. She probably would have been more effective here in the blue, ten foot body, with the long tail. None of these actors are ever funny. Oddly, the only laughs in the movie come from James Marsden. His frazzled character is the only one we actually believe.

Death at a Funeral never lets you inside. You never get the sense that the movie cares about its idiot characters, perhaps it's not supposed to, and consequently, doesn't care about you either. The best part of the movie was checking the display on my DVD player and realizing there were only nine minutes left. The movie is 89 minutes but feels much, much longer. If the purpose of this farce was to slow down the minute hand on my watch, the movie is a tremendous success. Otherwise, you'll wish you were the one in the casket.

* (out of five)

Book Review: World Without End by Ken Follett

2010-08-12T14:47:00.001-07:00

Sex in the… 14^th Century Village?

So, what happened?

If I had the opportunity to interview Ken Follett about this sequel to his runaway, 1989 bestseller, Pillars of the Earth, that's what I'd ask him. I know that over twenty years have elapsed between the two books, and that people change, but I'd want to know when he stopped writing novels and started writing religious propaganda.

I still remember discovering Pillars, sometime in the late nineties, on a paperback table in a local Chapters. A few of my friends had recommended it, and after reading the back cover, I decided to pick it up. I hadn't read any of Follett's thrillers, and this story, about a monk and a mason who want to build a cathedral, seemed weighty and ponderous. I figured I'd have to slug through it.

I'd never been so delighted to be wrong. Pillars was a wonderfully crafted story, populated with characters who, if some became types, were written with warmth and affection. That included the main protagonist, Prior Phillip, the honest monk who longed to serve God but was often thwarted by those self-seekers around him, including several of the monks under his care. And while the book sketched a church rife with corruption, it did so according to the characters, not their ideology. The men and women in Pillars were self-aware, but not otherworldly so, and they fit with the book's 12^th Century setting.

So, what happened?

I can't help but ask that question because the disappointment with his follow up is so severe. Pillars of the Earth, in some ways, was a bit of a soap opera, but the melodrama was contained somewhat by the loving care with which Follett described the architecture and the importance it played within town life. Unfortunately, there's no such affection in World Without End. I would say that Follett gets the historical details right, except it doesn't take long to realize that the characters here have been transplanted from a very, very long episode of Sex and the City. The male characters are either cruel or weak, except for the gay monk and any man born with some sort of physical shortcoming. The female characters think and dwell in post-enlightenment, post-feminist, post-modern, post-male, post-digital, post-universal ideas with much confusion and angst. This would make sense, of course, if they HAD been transported back in time. Maybe that's the chapter Follett forgot to write, in which case, the book would make a lot more sense.

The main character, Carrie... errr… Caris, is confused about everything. She's the daughter of one of the town's leading men (one of the few good men in the book, but he also has a deformed leg, so naturally, he's a good guy) and she hates that men can do whatever they want and she cannot. Follett, who clearly thinks that his main character is an excellent feminist who only cares about equality, doesn't realize that he's actually shown what he thinks of feminism by turning her into a petulant, whining brat. Caris also dislikes the church because the monks don't value rational thinking and the only reason the church exists is to keep people down. So, she muses about this quite a lot. She wonders why Reason and logic are not more valued. She never writes these thoughts down, but who knows, perhaps Descartes was thinking about her when he started his own musings on rationalism 150 years later.

Anyway, Caris loves one of the men in the town, Merthin, who's a brilliant engineer but also small and not good looking. (Can you see a pattern here?) He wants to marry her, but she doesn't know what she wants, so she muses more about the fate of women, who seem to have no option but to marry men, all of whom will inevitably lord it over her. All except Merthin, who is quiet and gentle. Still, he's just a stupid man, so Caris bullies him in her moodiness, toys with his emotions, is completely unable to get a grip on her own, and generally treats him like crap. Is this Follett's idea of feminism? Does he realize that he's drawn his proto-female savior as a complete jackass? According to Follett's rendering, she's just a bit confused. That is, what will she do with all this incredible 21^st Century self-awareness? Why couldn't we set the time machine ahead just a little?

Between the musings of our central reporter, err, character, we have the battle of good vs. evil, as revealed in the battle between the nunnery and the priory. Women vs. Men. And the winner is… well, the monks, of course. Those jerks have everything handed to them. The convent is prosperous, and the nuns are all kind and caring. The priory is filled with a bunch of shallow, dim-witted men, who can't figure out why they keep losing money. That statement, by the way, is repeated throughout the book. The monks apparently have no idea why they're losing money. (They never do figure it out.) The nuns do even better however, when Caris somehow recalls a book she read from Italy that reveals a new method of book keeping that allow her to keep track of her assets and liabilities on either side of the ledger, which makes it, like, so much easier to figure out if the convent is ahead. Why, she's the greatest accountant since the guy who got Capone on tax fraud! Oh wait, that doesn't happen until 1933, and here, it's only 1333. Never mind. Oh, and did I mention that Caris single handedly saved her father's business by, you guessed it, single handedly discovering a new way to dye wool. It's all so amazing!

Trouble comes however, when Caris ends up being accused of being a witch, and because she has a mole, you know, down there, she's like, totally a witch. And none of those stupid townspeople will listen because they're all scared and a bit slow. (We did do the nose and hat, but she's still a witch!)The prioress saves her though, by offering Caris a place as a nun. She knows that this angry young rebel doesn't actually believe in God, but the girl is such a good leader. So strong! But even she doesn't know that Caris is not just going to be any nun, but THE GREATEST NUN THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN.

The novel skips ahead a decade, and Caris is now one of the leaders in the convent. No, she doesn't have faith and has no use for God, but she's actually more warm and caring than the rest of the nuns (probably because she knows how stupid the whole God thing is), and the whole town knows it, too! Also, she's super smart, (did I mention what a good leader she is) and it is she who discovers that the prior has stolen the nuns' money to build himself a palace. He refuses to give it back. This is an outrage, of course, so Caris sets off to find the bishop, who is travelling with King Henry III as the English army sweeps across France. No problem. She'll get that money back no matter what.

So she sets out from the convent, and boy, she is really mad. Accompanying her is a beautiful younger nun, Mair, who's also a lesbian and in love with her. They do experience some difficulty when the two of them, alone, cross into France, and discover that the English army has raped and burned the French villages along the coast. Another big problem is that the sexual tension between the two nuns is pretty high, because the two girls have had sex, but Mair really, really loves Caris and Caris still thinks a lot about Merthin, although he's moved to Italy and she's still not sure whether or not she wants to marry him. Merthin is so unfair. Why can't they just keep having sex like they did before? Anyway, that makes it really hard on Mair, who really, really loves her and is so hot. So between the sexual tension and relational difficulties, along with the burned out villages and two massive armies trying to destroy one another, Caris realizes they need a disguise. The two of them dress like men, and manage to fool both the French and the English armies, even though they first must spend a full week on the battlefield helping the French surgeon dress wounds. When she finally gets to confront the king, she is very, very frustrated with him because he just won't listen to her. Typical man! The soldiers however, are gossiping about these amazing nuns, who have somehow travelled across two countries and two armies at war without a scratch, and have also managed to heal their relational difficulties. Thank goodness Caris is so clever!

Meanwhile, back in Kingsbridge, the man she loves, Merthin, continues to startle and amaze the townspeople with his nifty inventions, but hhe has been unable to convince the town to let him use his genius again to help rebuild the church tower. The townspeople, you see, are mostly stupid. (Those 14th Century morons.) Especially the men. So even though Merthin's ideas have literally saved the town from destruction, twice, no one supports him. (Did I mention that Merthin is small and not very good looking?) Thankfully, Caris gets back not a moment too soon, and she shows him what he needs to do to win the town over. There are more obstacles, but Caris overcomes them all. She resigns from the convent, appoints her successor, also manages to appoint the bishop and the prior, and finally decides to marry Merthin, as they become partners as the town's two most influential people. Did I mention that through a large swath of the novel Caris helps the town overcome the plague and is appointed not only as the head of the convent, but the head of the priory as well?

So, Mr. Follett, I know that I'm repeating myself, but what the hell happened?

About fifty pages into this book I started getting angry, but I kept reading in the hopes that I would find the same writer who'd once written one of my favourite novels. When it didn't happen, I kept reading because I knew that I would review it, and I wanted to spare people the fourteen bucks and hours of time reading this narrow minded schlock. The characters in the novel are not actually people, they're excuses for promoting Follett's agenda. Never mind that they have no nuance to them, what really offends is this idea that people are either good or bad. In Follett's case, bad people are those who believe in God, good people choose reason instead of God and treat people in the church as either weak minded or devious. Follett's ideas about feminism are as offensive as those of a fundamentalist, in that while it seems like he's favouring his female characters, what he's really doing is showing you just how silly women are, in his opinion, when they get power.

I'm sorry, but if you haven't figured out that people are not simple, and that religion and gender and sexuality has nothing to do with whether or not a person exhibits admirable qualities, then it's time to stop writing. Or at least, label your work like they do for Muslim fiction and Christian fiction. Just let us know that you're working through an agenda. Or write the chapter with time machine and how Caris was really an assistant on Sex and the City, and wanted to be like Carrie except that she wasn't funny and had no apparent flaws.

In Diana Gabaldon's review of this book for the Washington Post, she called it a morality play. That's one author showing kindness to another. World Without End treats both its characters and readers as idiots, and produces the same smugness Caris exhibits towards the people in her village. If that's what it means to be non-religious, I think I'd suddenly want to go to church. The irony is that Pillars of the Earth was written as a result of Follett's love for cathedrals, with the understanding that such cathedrals were not only a place to inspire majesty and grace, but to unite towns and villages behind a single idea, the acceptance of their own humanity. Twenty years have gone by, and Follett no longer has any use for humanistic ideals about the great possibilities that lie within people or the difference we can make in the world around us. His title reflects as much, and after you finish reading it, you realize that World Without End is not a statement of hope, but the conjoined misery of a rich, old man, who looks around and realizes that no matter what we try to do to make things better, things will never really change, and the world will keep on spinning out its misery.

Zero stars (out of five)

Review: Clash of the Titans (2010)

2010-08-11T08:07:00.001-07:00

Directed by Louis Leterrier

(2010)

This looks like a great summer flick. That's what you're thinking through the first twenty five minutes or so of Clash of the Titans, a 2010 remake of the campy 1981 cult classic. In the 2010 version, the sets and costumes are well done, the actors are determined, and the special effects are competent. But about halfway through this story of a demi-god, Perseus, who must complete certain heroic tasks to save the city of Argos from the gods, something changes. Oh, everything still looks good, but you realize that you don't care all that much. It isn't the fault of the actors, although Liam Neeson's Zeus looks, and sounds, like someone playing Santa at an office Christmas party. The star here is Sam Worthington, who plays Perseus, but the script gives no time for character development. Worthington, who was good in Terminator: Salvation and even better in Avatar, does his best, but his Perseus is a one note hero. He's Russell Crowe without the sadness, and consequently, the ballast, for us to care about him that much. And while the demi-god is insistent throughout the movie that he is choosing to be human, you don't believe it. He sounds like someone helping at a soup kitchen for a couple of days, who then looks forward to telling his other rich friends about his experience "relating to the people" over a bottle of Bordeaux. For an adventure story to work, you have to empathize with the hero. You have to believe that they are both fallible and flawed, and that's just not the case here.

Watching big, expensive adventure movies like this makes you appreciate the greatness of The Lord of the Rings, and the reason why the source material is so important. The original Clash of the Titans, with Harry Hamlin, evoked a great deal more emotion, despite its camp. Perhaps its inability to rely on special effects made it so. In this remake, while the special effects are competently done, the fight scenes serve nothing but to advance to the next set piece, and push the viewer away from the story. You're looking for a controller just as the movie is supposed to get interesting. (Clash of the Titans video game was released for PS3 on July 27, 2010)

In that, the story probably serves better as a video game than a movie. I was looking forward to this one, but so long as The Suits insist on the "necessary elements of big budget movies," and don't allow their directors some creative freedom, they'll continue to serve up schlock like this that is neither interesting nor memorable. Trust me, you'll forget it as soon as it over. And when someone asks you what you thought, you'll be left wondering why it wasn't better, because it looked so damn good.

**1/2 (out of five)

-Steve

A Birthday Wish

2010-08-07T16:38:00.001-07:00

A friend told me this encouraging story recently, about one of her cousins. He was in his mid-fifties and had been diagnosed with prostate cancer and given one year to live. He spent the year getting things ready and preparing his estate for his wife and kids, when he was informed by the doctor he had six weeks to live. He and his wife did some research, and he was offered an opportunity to try some experimental techniques in Washington. The doctors told him he had a fifty per cent chance of surviving the efforts. Amazingly, he survived the experiments. Not only did he survive, but two weeks ago received word that the cancer was completely gone. After living with the prospect of death for over a year, he had his life back.

After she told me, I couldn't stop thinking about this man, about what life would surely mean for him now that the immediate prospect of death was removed. Every day, I thought, would be a tremendous gift. We hear stories like this, and while they happen to be true, we scoff at the sappy conclusions when someone reminds us that we live under the shadow of death every day, that each one could be our last, and that all we have is a gift. And yet, it's true, isn't it? I think we resent the sentimentality of it because sometimes the people who do the reminding are so busy being happy, they make everyone around them a bit depressed. But that doesn't mean that the idea is wrong.

I think about that quite often these days, more as I get older, and especially on days like today, which happens to be my birthday. (I'm turning 23 for the 15^th time.) I like getting older, frankly. I like that I have a better feel for who I am and what the world is like. I also like that it's okay to not party all weekend (so exhausting) and that no one thinks anything of it that I like to nap, errr, now and again. It strikes me how easily we forget the important things though, even now. That a life without relationships, without love, is no life at all.

I received a note from a friend of mine today that brought tears to my eyes. She was so kind and so encouraging, her note left me speechless. But it was the kind of thing she always does for others, and so consistent with her character. My life would be considerably less without her friendship. But then, that was true of so many people in my life. If you would have told me four years ago or eight years ago that I would be happily married to a beautiful and brilliant woman, that I would have a number of wonderful friends who accept me for who I am, and that I would live a life where getting out of bed in the morning at 5am is a joy, I would have called you crazy. (Especially the 5am part.) That doesn't mean I am without struggles or issues, as I've documented so often on this site. But the older I get, the more treasures I see in the people around me, and for that, I am extremely grateful.

So my birthday wish then, for all of you, is to know this more deeply. To know that tomorrow is the treasure we build up today. To know that your relationships are the brick and mortar of your life, and what you do with them will determine how you live. And finally, I'd be remiss if I did not mention my deep and abiding love of God, a love that has been nurtured by many people over the past thirty years. As I've gotten older, I've become less sure about the details of my faith, the ones that seem draw so many people into arguments, when by all accounts, we should be doing the much harder work in mimicking the love God has for us.

I first started hearing about this Jewish Rabbi when I was very young. He seemed so wise. So loving. Well, that's how everyone described him at least. That was what you found in the stories, those I was confused by some of the people who said they knew this Rabbi.

These days, it can be hard to distinguish between those who follow Jesus, those who think they're Jesus and those who think only they can speak for Jesus. It's frustrating, and I completely understand why so many of my friends give religion a wide berth. But without God, my life is an empty shell. I have known him since I was a small boy. I know how that sounds, and hey, I understand if people are skeptical, especially if someone has used religion to clobber you and hurt you. But it doesn't mean that I can deny the role God has played in my life. He has given me so many blessings, but more than that, his persistent love pushes me towards people when I don't feel like loving, and pushes me towards a mirror when I need to rethink some things, and when I'm alone, he's there with me. And that, I think, is the greatest thing of all about getting older. The older I get, the less I know. The less I know, the more I see. And the more I see, the more I realize that to exist without the presence of God would be the greatest loss of them all.

-Steve

NOTE: Why not send an encouraging note to someone today. Perhaps an old friend or family member you haven't talked to in a while. Trust me, you won't regret it.

Violence Makes us Feel Better

2010-08-06T12:41:00.001-07:00

I didn't think much of it when I stepped out onto the balcony and noticed the swarm of police cars camped out below. I'd often joked about how 911 was really unnecessary at our building because the police were usually already there. But as I looked down from my eighth floor view, I noticed entire families watching from their balconies as well. Okay, so that was new. So were the two helicopters. My stomach clenched, and decided to head downstairs. A tall, hook nosed officer at the door politely told the small group of us that no one was allowed to come or go. I waited by the elevator, willing it to come quickly. Back in my apartment, I headed out to the balcony and noticed the police tape for the first time. They'd marked off a small section of trees to the right of the front entrance. And there were more police cars. So many I lost count.

Bethany.

It was my first thought. My wife had left a couple of hours earlier to head for work, and I'd drifted off for a short nap before working out. I checked my cell phone. Breathed a sigh of relief at her text message. She was outside the city. I checked online to find out more. Apparently a woman had been thrown off a balcony on the 11^th floor. The story talked about a "massage" parlour being run out of our building, her screaming, and the police kicking down the door but unable to prevent her from being thrown off the balcony.

I called my wife. Twittered. Exchanged messages. Everything heightened. Everything alive. I felt sadness, felt the barbarity of the act, but more than anything, I simply felt. What I didn't like however, was the suddenly heightened sense of importance I felt at being so near a tragedy. It was wrong, but I was too close to look at it, too close to understand what was happening. Even now, a few days later, I wish for greater sadness. Because the truth is that the most dominant feeling I experienced once I knew that my wife was safe, was excitement. Not the excitement you feel when you accomplish something or watch your team win a championship or share something with family or friends. No, it was something much darker than that.

***

Scientists have some evidence that extremely violent behavior is a result of reduced platelet serotonin levels in our brain, and that it is a dissociative disorder arising from a lack of maternal bonding and affection. What it hasn't explained is why all humans still tend towards violence. If we exempt those struggling from emotional dysfunction, (a relatively high number in our society) the better answer for the general populace when looking at violent behavior is the basic psychology behind it.

Violence makes us feel better because it raises our status, and it does so in two ways. The first is association. Being associated with violence, even as a bystander, in a liberal democratic society, immediately enhances our status, because for many of us, our daily survival is never in question. Western society has done a better job protecting its people from violence than any other in the history of civilization. We live longer than ever, and our child mortality rate is absurdly low. We may not like all that progress has brought with it, but we live in a far safer society than that of our ancestors. Violence has a darkness to it that is powerful and entrancing, and its allure is even greater when we don't have to worry about it actually affecting us. Think of the Iraq war, with hundreds of thousands of civilian Iraqi deaths, encouraged by many pundits while we simply cheered our soldiers, with no risk to ourselves, and only vague political mush to excuse our excitement over what was, and still is, happening there. When we associate with violence, we become the Roman mob, cheering the spectacle of blood at the Forum, quickened by the darkness that violence brings. It creates not only a heightened sense of awareness in our brain, but serves as a means to delineate the daily routine with an event of significance. And if the event is significant, so are we.

Violence also makes us feel better by doing. That is, we commit acts of violence against one another to preserve our status and enhance our own sense of power. That may not manifest itself in something as barbaric as throwing someone off a building, because the violence Western culture suffers is often more hidden and more subtle. Take for example, supposedly Christian forums where one believer will rip apart someone who doesn't agree with them about a minute point of Scripture. Or how whites trash blacks and heterosexuals tear apart the gay community. People wonder at the vitriol on the internet now, and argue that people would never say these things if they weren't anonymous. But that's not true. It's a different forum, to be sure, but I still remember my grandfather talking about "n******" and other races as if they were inferior. Every day I see acts of violence commited against women in both words and posturing, violence that doesn't always manifest itself physically, but does so behind closed doors more than we imagine.

And the more I read, the more I am convinced that Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins do not know what they're talking about. Dawkins, in particular, has made a career out of pontificating that religion is the world's great evil. That most of the violence done throughout history was done in the name of religion. He's right, of course, excepting the Soviet experiment in the 20^th Century, which was responsible for the death of about sixty million people. But doing something or committing an act in the name of religion has nothing to do with religion itself. If that were true, then atheists would be the most peaceful people on earth, and the only group who can legitimately make that claim would be the Tibetan monks.

There is a difference between verbally ripping someone to shreds and physically killing someone, but how much? What is the difference between a young person who was so emotionally abused that they will spend most of their life trying to heal, and the young person who was shot in the leg?

Whether we like it or not, the presence of violence, or even the threat of it, gives us status. This is a highly tuned evolutionary premonition, and in the eyes of many Christians, it is the prevalence of our sinful nature. And yet, it abounds. Is there anything more absurd than listening to a Christian talk about grace while mocking someone who believes differently? How is that not violent? How is that not merely a religious excuse for status grabbing? The same is true of those reject religion, and yet attack, with great vitriol, those who disagree with them, and do so with condescension and laughter. Violence has nothing to do with religion. It has its own friends and its own kind of power, and in many ways, has its own group of worshippers, a group that spans across all races, genders, and systems of belief, and it is far more dangerous.

***

I'm back on the balcony. The police tape down below is gone. They say the woman is in critical condition. They think that she will live. It is unnerving to think about what happened, or how I felt when it did. I am hoping my sadness takes hold. Mostly though, I'm thinking about a Jewish rabbi who taught odd things, when he walked around Palestine at the turn of the Century. A rabbi who taught that servanthood was better than violence. That finishing last was more important than raising your status. Even at the end, when the Romans would kill him for speaking out, his disciples did not fully grasp it, and through the centuries, his followers haven't done a great job with it either. And that includes me.

Lowering our status is not something we can do naturally. It is something we must work at, something we must ask help for in doing. We want to matter. We want to be important and have people look up at us in admiration. And unlike most civilizations, because we live longer, the task is even more difficult. Even the best of us will resort to violence because it's easy and "feels" natural. Most of us will never physically attack another person, but we will lash out verbally to remind others that they stand below us. We will mock them until they squirrel away, their self-esteem torn apart, just so they know that we're 'higher' than they are, that we're better than they will ever be. We will rape the environment without thinking about, because 'that's the way things are', and our status as humans is greater than the other living creatures with whom we share this planet.

Despite all the evidence that stands against the silly rabbi and his silly ideas, I will hold on to the hope that there's a better way. That perhaps this Jew, who spoke in a time and place of war and bloodshed, offered us something better. Better than the dark high that violence gives us, better than the feeling we get when we establish our own importance.

No one likes to feel worthless or unimportant, but perhaps we've gone about this the wrong way. Instead of spending hours on the internet establishing why we're right, what if we volunteered at a shelter instead? Or perhaps volunteered with a neighbourhood charity, as opposed to creating endless documents about why our ideas about religion or science are better than those around us. For most of recorded history, humans have used violence to increase their status. Perhaps it is time to try something else.

-Steve

Movie Review: The Man in our Mirror

2010-08-04T04:46:00.001-07:00

This Is It (2009)

Directed by Kenny Ortega

About halfway through the movie I started to feel it, a gentle tug that had become more insistent until I slowly became lost in a sea of memories and quiet sadness. For people of a certain age, Michael Jackson is synonymous with adolescence. For us, he was more than a pop star. He was the closest thing we had to a global celebrity, a living Truman before the internet revolution decreed that every celebrity's life would be lived (literally)under continual scrutiny. From the stories of his childhood abuse (his dad used to sit with a belt across his lap when the Jackson Five rehearsed, and if they made a mistake, he would whip them) to his culture changing stardom with Thriller, and from his move from icon to iconoclast to creepy Wacko, Michael Jackson was always a presence in our life.

That is, until the past decade. Somehow, we needed the absence. Needed the separation. But with the distance something happened. Somehow his decade long absence served to bury Jackson the pop star and raise him to something else altogether. This Is It was to be his comeback, and perhaps, final tour. And what a tour it might have been.

The movie is compiled footage from his concert preparation, and cut in a manner to be a concert, in effect, for the viewer. It's well done, although more interviews would've helped the narrative along. Despite that, Jackson's star power is never in question. With his translucent white skin and sunglasses balanced over a porcelain face of sharp mounds, he seems more a ghost than a fifty year old man. His voice is still crisp, and his conditioning is tremendous, as he dances and sings with every song. (Unlike, say, Brittney Spears or any number of current pop stars) His creative vision is astounding, and even from the half finished clips we see in the film, we know that This Is It would surely have been one of the greatest (and most expensive) shows of all time.

Mostly though, it isn't Michael the performer that holds you. It is the force of the memories dancing along inside you when he sings Thriller and Man in the Mirror, the soft, childish platitudes he mutters to his crew that strangely fill you with hope, and the love his dancers and fellow musicians genuinely hold for him.

It's easy to be cynical about Michael Jackson, easy to call him Wacko Jacko or a creep, but for four decades he lived in front of us, startling us and disappointing us, and yet, always creating those moments. Moments we recall twenty years later that remind us who we were back then, and in so doing, help us see what we have become.

More than his musical and creative genius, his dominance of pop culture was the result of his ability to help us look in the mirror and to do so not with cynicism, but hope. Michael Jackson was not a saint, nor was he just another celebrity sinner. He was, in a strange way, the perfect reflection of our ideals and failures, an adult of great charity and a child who never grew up. And in that, he was just like us.

***** (Out of five) For the memories
***1/2(Out of five) For the film

UPDATE: Where Can I Find Original Thinkers; Fantasy Frustration

2010-08-02T21:54:00.001-07:00

I'm looking for an original thought.

I'm looking for someone who will not simply parrot their supposed group, be it Christians or Atheists or scientists or liberals or conservatives or whoever. Trolling for original thought on the internet, the super highway of information, is like looking for the proverbial needle. The past week I've spent, on average, five or six hours a day trolling sites through various social media capillaries, and the amount of intellectual "high-fives" going on at these supposed intelligent sites is enough to make me vomit in my mouth. It's been unbelievably depressing.

Coming from a heavily churched background, as I do, it has always been easy to say that there are a fair number of parrots in religion. What I'm learning is that there are a fair number of parrots, period and it doesn't matter where they lie on the political spectrum. You can feel the scars and taint of rejection as people bend over backward to congratulate themselves and each other on their shared viewpoints, feverishly trying to hold on to a fragile community with their own fragile psyche. Now, I understand the psychology behind it, and don't necessarily bemoan it, except for the vitriol at people who would dare think differently. People who would even attempt to shatter their precious group think with an idea outside the box. Again, this is not just true of conservatives and people who are religious. (As liberals often accuse.) I've been to a number of liberal sites where I was raked in the comments section (not on this site), simply for offering an alternative idea. There was no debate, just name calling.

Which leads me to my next question. Within the medium of high end technology, is it even possible to have a debate, or does the internet, with its speed and anonymity, impart a natural ruthlessness in the way we address issues? Food for thought, because as we saw in the last presidential election, our future will ultimately be decided on the internet. Is it possible we can find a way to have intelligent discourse without resorting to grade school name calling? It's a dream, I know, and it probably won't happen. But can we at least get rid of this ridiculous notion that conservatives are dumb and liberals are smart, or that only conservatives are religious. Conservatives are religious about institutionalized religions, but people can be zealous or religious about anything, including science, the environment, or even the dismantling of organized religion. What I'd love to find are people/web sites that promote original thought, to the point where you're not sure what they will say about an issue, merely that it will be well thought out and not simply the agenda of yet another organized group.

***

What is it with fantasy writers? When it's done well, fantasy provides a terrific experience for its reader. So why then, do so many fantasy writers insist on ignoring the basic rules of genre writing? They switch characters so frequently you can't get involved, or they insist on adding yet another viewpoint or character late in the story that you know nothing about. The beauty of good fantasy is that it allows you to dig in. When done well, a la Robert Jordan or Terry Goodkind, the result is millions of books sold. And yet, so many insist on making the world and its characters so complex we can't follow them and lose interest. This has happened in the Guy Gavriel Kay novel I've been reading. Tonight, about 170 pages in, the work became unintelligible with new characters and quick viewpoint shifts, and I was forced to put it down. Again. Sigh. At least now I understand why the Jordan estate chose Brandon Sanderson to complete Jordan's series. His novels are both readable and enjoyable for people who like to read OUTSIDE the fantasy realm.

***

A final word about the sudden increase in popularity to this site, as I've learned to tap into the veins of social media coursing through the internet. I will not be a parrot. Now you may think that I already spend my days wanting another cracker, or that I'm a typical liberal Christian, or a typical "fake" conservative, or whatever. For all the new traffic, I don't give a crap what people in my "groups" think or don't think, and so much as I'm able to provide you with something to think about, something that might make your daily load a bit lighter, regardless of where the idea comes from; or, as a commentary to our culture, I will write exactly as I believe. As far as I'm concerned, God gave us all will and breath, and while we need him, we also need to stop moping about like we have no choices in our life.

Repeat after me. No sheep allowed.

You deserve better.

And if I start sounding like someone more interested in popularity than original thought, send me a "slap" email.

The new movie review should be up tomorrow, and no, I'm not sure what I'm watching yet. Probably something recent.

Thanks, everyone. Have a good night and we'll chat soon.

-Steve

Update: TV Review, Shame & Novel Reboot

2010-08-01T18:27:00.001-07:00

I suppose in writing about the relationship between sex and religion and porn, I overestimated the response. I assumed I would be awash in comments. In some ways, it was a good reminder of just how effectively we have bathed our sexuality in a culture of shame. The truth is that even for those who have grown and shared the experiences mentioned in my article, offering an opinion on religion and porn means exposure and vulnerability of a kind that most people are not willing to risk. The reason for that is that is simple. We've learned what happens when we open ourselves up, especially when it comes to ideas about sexuality. Faith should not be about perfection or the pursuit of perfection, but the shared journey of fallible individuals working together to understand what life is and what it means. The "Christian" publishing industry certainly doesn't help. As a young writer, I was informed by the Christian publishing houses, the ones to whom I was sending my work, that there was to be no sex in the novel unless the characters were married. The beliefs of the characters did not matter. I still remember questioning one of the editors, who merely shrugged and said the publishing houses were worried about the sixty five year old Christian lady walking into a Christian bookstore and discovering 'sex' in one of the books. I struggled with her answer. I remember asking her if she was comfortable with the fact that basically, Christian writers would be held back from writing real characters, from writing something real, because of one person?

I ended up writing a novel called Ravin, about a stripper who is abducted by the leader of Venezuelan cult, and whose only chance for survival lies with her sister, a snobbish lawyer with whom she hasn't spoken in five years. A number of the editors liked it, but they had no idea where to put it on the shelf. It was my last attempt at "Christian" fiction, a real learning experience regarding the shame that sex still holds in religion. Unless you want to publish a book about the merits of abstinence, you're certainly not going to find anything helpful about sex on the shelves of religious bookstores. Their inventory is driven by the single, unhappy, self-righteous customer. And since they don't do enough business to ignore the loudmouths, they have the last word over the needs and wants of the majority.

Speaking of which, the same is true in many churches across the continent. I've seen it so many times that it has become cliché. One small contingent of highly self policed, egocentric moralists, controlling large populations within a religious community. This is not unlike high school, where the popular clique is usually the one that is the hardest to please and have the most money. For a church to function properly, these groups must be smashed. A strong pastor can do it. Most of the time however, it requires the strength and guts of the congregation to ignore these willful power mongers whose goals lie outside faith and are only concerned with power. What we need are more people willing to speak about their experiences, including their sexual ones, and face down the moralists who think shame is somehow related to following Jesus. Do not let others dictate your guilt. Normally, the power mongers have the advantage because they are less concerned with being fair and more interested in retaining power. Just remember, these people are found in every organization in the world. They are not particular to religion, but are attracted there by the possibility of power and control. The more we learn to stand up to them, the more we'll be able to grow the types of communities that not only make a difference in our lives, but in the lives of those around us.

***

I didn't want to do an entire review on it, seeing as how I'll be doing a movie review in the next couple of days, but last night we(Bethany and I) watched the first installment of an 8 part mini-series last night for The Pillars of the Earth. This has long been one of my favourite novels, and the mini-series adaptation (at least the first part) was excellent. The production is well done and the cast is terrific. The Pillars of the Earth was the result of a decade long study of castles and cathedrals by author Ken Follett. It details the story of a faithful monk who desires to build a cathedral to God's glory, and the mason who feels the same calling. Majestically written, it is a wonderfully told and tremendously uplifting. It seems as if the mini-series is doing it justice.

***

I was listening to one of Brandon Sanderson's writing podcasts last week, and he was discussing what to do with a story when you have to revamp it. I enjoy the Sanderson podcasts, as he writes Epic Fantasy, the genre I am currently attempting to break through in. At any rate, he mentioned that sometimes it helps to start by writing the ending when you're stuck, so that's what I'm going to do tomorrow, as I've been stuck on 130,000 words for the past three weeks. Wish me luck.

The new movie review will be up in a couple of days. As always, feel free to comment or write.

Blessings

Steve

A Misogynist Reviews Mad Men

2010-07-31T15:06:00.001-07:00

Hey folks,

"My name is Bill and I'll be sitting in for Steve on this review. He asked me to comment on one of his favourite shows, a period piece called Mad Men that's got the liberals peeing their pants and handing out Emmys as if network television doesn't exist. Before I get to my review, you need to know that Steve and I are friends, but we don't believe the same things. In theological terms, I'm what you call a complimentarian. That's a big word, but basically it means I think men and women are different, and have different roles to play in society. God created us different, and we're just trying to take advantage of those differences in how we think society (and the church) should be run. Steve is an egalitarian, which means he believes men and women are the same. Lord help me, I feel like a retard even trying to explain his position, because it seems so darn silly to me, but he believes that men and women are equally capable in every field. Whether it's running a church or a business, he believes men and women are, well, the same. There, I said it, and I hope he forgives me for feeling a bit tied up when I even think about his position, because it just seems dumb. I mean that in a friendly way, of course.

You also need to know I'm not a big television guy. I like sports, and I don't mind the Dance show my wife insists on watching every week, but I generally don't watch cable shows. Mostly they're an excuse for nudity and swearing and the rest of the liberal nonsense. Like the one about the man and his twenty wives or something. Why would I want to watch a show about a freak like that? No thanks. Or the other one about a gangster and his family, The Sopranos. You remember that one, don't you? That was the show the TV libs were all gaga about before Mad Men came along. Again, why in the world, would a clean living, normal person watch a show about the mob? Ridiculous. I wasn't even gonna do this review when Steve said the show was set in the sixties. It isn't that I'm not interested in fairness, but the world went crazy in the sixties, and some days when I think about it, I just want my country back, you know. But he said it was set in 1960, which is before all the crap started, so I decided I would go along with it.

The show itself is about a bunch of fellas working in the advertising business, just before it became the big business it is today. Season Four opens up in 1964, so I guess four years have passed. Kennedy is dead, and they're working at a new building.

I gotta tell you, the first thing I noticed about the show was how accurate it all was. I wasn't around back then, I'm Steve's age, but from all the pictures and films I've seen, the costumes are bang on. And I have to say everyone looks terrific. None of this baggy saggy look at my arse garbage of today. The men are wearing suits. The women, who look like women, are wearing skirts with their hair done and their makeup in place. For the first five minutes all I could think about was my office this past Friday. Couldn't tell the men from the women. Back then women liked being women, you know. These days, it's like they're ashamed and feel as though they have to look like men to get ahead.

Don Draper (Jon Hamm) is the man in charge. And when I say man in charge, that's exactly what I mean. I would have worked for this guy! He's a big fella who likes the ladies, and they like him back. (I would be a wing man for this guy). He's the creative director and basically the life blood of the firm. His employees all look up to him, but he has a bit of a hard time handling Peggy, who I guess used to be his secretary and has worked her way up to being one of the boys. Watching her there with all those good guys, and how awkward she is sometimes, and so bossy, like she's a big know-it-all, made my stomach clench. Oh, I get it. She's pretty good with the ideas, but she also acts like a man! That part is obvious. An egalitarian would say that she is clearly capable of doing her job, which proves their point. Right. But if she has to be a man to do her job, what happens when every woman starts wanting to be a man? Where does that leave us? What, teaching or nursing or being a secretary wasn't good enough for her? How selfish is that? Oh, and her hair is ridiculous and she's the ugliest one on the show. But that's what happens when a woman tries to be a man. Smart women know this, of course.

The show moves pretty quick, and the actors are all pretty good. They smoke and drink a lot, but there was a lot more freedom back then, before the government got involved in everything. I haven't mentioned Roger Stirling either, Don's partner. Now that guy is funny, and really smart. Every time he says something I find myself agreeing with him. I wish I had a few more buddies as cool as him! I suppose I should talk about Don, the star of the show. Now, Don seems like an all right fella. He seems to agree with rational, normal people about roles in society. But there's something there, something kinda dark, that makes me not believe him when he (rightly) tells a woman to get lost or that he doesn't want a woman present. It isn't that I think he's joined Steve's pink shirted cast of Nancy school girls, but it almost seems as if he doesn't care about men or women. Or that they don't matter because nothing matters. Or something like that.

Anyway, I'm sure that I'll be watching the show again. I liked the costumes and I liked the surety of that society. Oh, I know that it's written by one of the "Nancies" (with a name like Weiner, what do you expect?) but I'm hoping it will remind people how much simpler and more efficient things were back when men were men and women were happy. Hope this helps, everyone."

Thanks, Bill.

-Steve

Authour's Note: Names may have been changed and certain individuals above may not actually exist. But as James Frey says, it's the truth that matters.

Sex: What Religion and Pornographers Don’t Want You to Know

2010-07-30T16:39:00.001-07:00

Kyle stood numbly in front of the church leadership. He was a big, sprawling redhead who always had a smile for people, and when he led the worship portion of the service, did so with sincerity and reverence. Today however, his face was glum. I sighed and looked over at the men and women in leadership. There was some sympathy in the younger set, but the deacons, the ones who comprised the lay leadership and handled the church finances, did not look happy. Brad – the church treasurer – looked at the others before finally breaking the silence.

"We accept your apology, Kyle. But you'll have to step down from leadership. We can't be having immorality in our leadership, and while I know you love Sarah, you aren't married yet."

Kyle nodded, his face red. Someone in the church had caught wind that his relationship with his long time girlfriend had become sexual and reported it to my senior pastor, who'd then gone to Kyle with it. Kyle had confessed that they were having sex, and Pastor Hall had told him that he'd have to apologize to the leadership of the church, and that they would go from there. I'd tried to excuse myself from the meeting, but Pastor Hall had been adamant that ALL of the leadership needed to be there, including the youth pastor.

"Is there anything else, Kyle?" Brad said.

"Um, no, sir." His words tumbled out in a half slur, a stark contrast from his singing voice, which was strong and clear. "I'm really sorry about this. I love Sarah, but we sinned. I love God so much…"

Pastor Hall stood up. He was short and stout, and his white hair was thicker than mine, although he was well into his sixties.

"Thank you Kyle. We know that wasn't easy. We'll give you our decision later this week."

Kyle mumbled something under his breath and walked out. I followed him to the parking lot a few minutes later after a word with my boss, but he was already gone. I knew what the Bible said about leadership and expectations, but the whole experience felt dirty to me. At least the leadership wouldn't gossip about it, I knew that much. My church was small, about a hundred and fifty people, but when it came to things like this, there would be no discussion with other members. Pastor Hall wouldn't tolerate it. Still, it didn't change what had happened, or the fact that I felt like I'd bathed in dirty water. And it wasn't Kyle's sex life that had me feeling like a creep.

***

Growing up in a small town in a conservative home meant information about sex was not forthcoming. Rumours and whispers after school when I was young, chatter in the locker room and at parties as I got older. I was still a virgin when I became a youth pastor, and I still knew relatively little about sex. That made it tough, because as a youth pastor, the one thing teenagers (well, all of us) are especially interested in, is sex. What I did know was that it was wrong. Sinful. A crime against your body. Unless you were married, of course, at which point it underwent a startling transformation to something amazing and wonderful and a special sign of your love for your spouse. That's what I knew, so that's what I taught. The internet was in infancy back then and pornography still required a visit to the video store or the magazine rack, but there were nights when I caught glimpses on flickering, blocked cable stations. It was sin, that much I knew, but there was something exciting about probing the darkness around a topic that was completely not only muted in the religious circles I travelled in, but a topic I knew so little about.

It wasn't until I'd left the ministry that porn became more interesting to me. That coincided with its availability as the internet blossomed. Even when I became engaged, I found porn to be more and more enticing. I was twenty four, and what I knew about sex could be summed up in two sentences. Sex outside of marriage was sin. Sex was great. That was the sum total of my knowledge, which, looking back, is mildly terrifying in that I was teaching others about it. I railed against pornography, and joined in condemning it with my Christian friends, while secretly watching it on occasion. Unfortunately, I never learned anything new about sex. All porn did was reinforce what the Christian books said about sex being guilt inducing and sinful. I felt dirty every time I looked at it.

What no one had prepared me for, however, was the marital transformation, the point where sex stopped being sinful and suddenly became wonderful. Despite the sudden "freedom", and the fact I engaged all the "Christian" jokes with my friends about being a "do-er of the Word", sex was never great. It wasn't even good. Mostly, it caused problems. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I read a number of 'Christian' books on the subject, but they were no help at all. Mostly they parroted one another and kept sexuality in a guilt laden frame. It would be a number of years before I learned that what I thought I knew about sex was either a myth, or misinformation used to control me. And even then, I rejected it, because the human tendency is to hold to our illusions, even when they're destructive.

What I never expected however, was to be confronted with the truth that most religions (Christianity, Mormonism, Islam) view sex the same way pornography does.

***

Religion and pornography have seemingly always been at odds with one another, ever since the advent of photography and later film turned porn into an industry. (For the purposes of brevity, we'll skip the naked drawings and sculptures that have marked all civilizations of recorded history, along with the growth of pornography as technology has made it more available.) The two have always been seen as enemies, with religions uniting in the fight against pornography, their members leading the charge in cities and states to have it banned. And yet, the relationship between the two is not what it seems. Just as most people mistake love and hate as being opposites, with the true opposite of love being apathy, religion and porn are not opponents. They are, in fact, step-children of the same parents, children who squabble and make a lot of noise in public, but fall asleep at night in the same bedroom.

Religion perceives pornography as sin. An abomination. A dark evil. Most of that has to do with lust, the idea that any 'lust' outside of your marriage partner is sin. According to most religions, watching other people having sex and being excited by it is not only sinful and wrong, it's gross. Why would anyone watch that? They must be perverted.

Pornography perceives religion to be upheld by a bunch of uptight jerks that are self-righteous and deny their own humanity. Sex is not only good in marriage, but all the time. Isn't that what freedom is for, and clearly, sex feels good. So why not experience it as often as you can? Besides, watching porn is not the same as having sex with someone else. Why not celebrate the human body and watch other hot bodies go at it? What's the harm?

There would seem to be no middle ground between the two, except that both religion and pornography endorse a shallow and immature view of sex. Pornography is senses based, and so promotes that aspect of sex. With a nod to the fact it does feel good (sin feels good), religion considers only the spiritual aspect of sex, is it sin or not. The end result is that most people have no understanding of the deep complexity of sex, and the joy that comes from an intimacy based approach, one that is freeing without being moralizing. Because our need for sex is so powerful, both religion and pornography use it to advance their own ends. Pornography to make money. Religion to control its adherents. Understand that when I say religion, there are no doubt clerics out there who do their best to promote a more complete view of sex. But religion, by its very definition, is incapable of nuance.

But the most disturbing aspect of this is how the two shallow views of sex actually promote one another. That is to say, the more religious people talk about the evils of sex outside of marriage and how degrading porn is, they more they serve to add to porn's growing audience. The reason for that is not only the tendency of people to explore "darkness", but the sense of freedom in pornography when it comes to sexuality. For those raised in a culture of sexual shame, pornography presents sex as a celebration of something innately human. Unfortunately, porn is not actually about freedom. All it does is objectify an incredible gift and turn it into a pretty package so you will spend more money. Even more damaging is the implication within porn is that sex is merely a physical act. Watch enough porn and it dominates how you look at people, and how you measure them. Suddenly, people become commodities, and most of the time that means women. But when a religion argues that it has stood against porn for exactly that reason, they're lying through their teeth. For example, if Catholicism was interested in a mature, positive view of sex, it never would have banned contraceptives. As it is, it practically promotes pornography as the only alternative to a very human need.

We may not like it, but the truth is that religion funds pornography. Religion uses sex to sell its ideas of morality and porn uses religion to sell its false sentiments about sexual freedom.

Instead of hating porn, religious people should be dismissing it as we do childish views about the world, and looking to the positives that we can find in an intimate, emotionally connected relationship.

That isn't to say that porn is not destructive. Of course it is. And no matter what or who you read, there is little evidence to support the idea that porn is helpful. However, the market for it continues to grow, which means that it is filling a need. It's just not filling that need in a positive manner.

***

Porn is an addiction. That's what we've been told by psychologists and experts, and there's a growing list of textbooks and articles that deal with it. Unfortunately, the addiction label isn't very helpful in that it, once again, frames an immature sexuality within a negative frame. It certainly doesn't point us towards a healthy sexuality. Instead, it has become simply another item to add to the growing list of things people are 'addicted' to. A sampling of other addictions could include television, sugar, coffee, nicotine, sex, football, alcohol, marijuana, working out, candy, movies, Starbucks, work, fashion, cars, dating, computers, Facebook, food, and religion. There is not enough space here to debate our tendency to rank addictions, some of which are considered very bad (drugs, alcohol, porn) and some which are considered mild. (caffeine, candy) But we miss the point in that addictions are nothing more than ritually repeated behaviours which we use to help us deal with certain issues we have either not addressed or do not understand. That is, addictions are ALWAYS symptomatic of something else, and while they can reveal the destructive nature of people (think drunk man on a rampage) the problem is not with the thing which holds us, but the emotional and spiritual structure within the individual who manifests the symptoms. Professional, unbiased counseling often helps when it comes to addictions (we still have to be open to what we hear), so much as it helps us learn more about ourselves and teaches us new and healthier ways to deal with our issues. That's why religion is often ineffective when it comes to addictions, because it simply paints behaviours as sin but refuses to address the real issue. (There are a number of enlightened churches that reference professional counselors, and they should be commended for that.)

When it comes to pornography however, we do not regard it as we do other addictions. Within Christianity (as with most religions), pornography is simply evil, with no further explanations offered. Men and women who watch porn are perverts and sinners. And yet, in religious circles, the extreme levels of disgust directed towards pornography are completely inappropriate, and yet consistent with our fascination with "sexual sin." In biblical tradition, the most galling sin is pride. But you don't see people marching to remove pride from their town. You don't see lectures and townhall meetings and conferences to serve the need for more humility. You don't see religions uniting to talk about the need for humanity to be honest about their faults and admit them to the Creator.

Instead, religion commodifies sex in the form of negative advertising and sells its message to promote its own ideas about morality. It uses the mystery and power of sex for self-promotion in the same manner that pornography does, and in so doing, ignores the crying need in the populace for a better model of what sex is and what it can be. In short, it sells its soul for more adherents and more power.

***

Religion has created an aura of shame around our sexuality. Within Islam, that view is reflected in the treatment of women as sexual tempters and lesser citizens. Within Christianity, we can effectively date much of our current "shameful" view of the body back to Augustine and the predominant Greek influence of sinful flesh and the purity of the soul, a duality that did not exist within Judaism until after the first century.

When I think back over my life these past twenty five years, since the time of my first embarrassing erection, my ideas about sex have been largely guilt inducing. No freedom. No gratitude towards God for giving us such a powerful gift. In that way, as with many people I have counseled and spoken with through the years, both in and out of church, sex has been both the seed and seat of true dysfunction and a great deal of pain.

That isn't to say that I have it all figured out, because I do not. I have learned some things however, like the understanding that there is a difference between our genital prime, which happens at a relatively young age, and our sexual prime, which doesn't happen until late into our forties and early fifties. All of this impacts our view not only of life, but the foundations on which we build our relationships. Sad to say, neither religion nor porn do much to help, and in fact, have evolved into a destructive tandem that is not interested in what is best for us, and works actively to keep us in our sexually built hovels of ignorance. We may not like it, but sometimes the thing our religion wants and what God has for us are not the same. And that framing our sexuality in a culture of evil only serves our maddening tradition of defining ourselves only by what we are against.

Do you believe God wants the best for you? Do you believe God wants you to be in a healthy relationship? Do you believe that God, who created you, finds sexuality dirty and shameful? No. Neither do I. How about we move together then, towards a healthier sexuality and remove the stigma of shame from our discussions. Perhaps then we will no longer see the need to embarrass people in the name of our God, and in so doing, embarrass ourselves.

-Steve

Authour's Note: I highly recommend Passionate Marriage by David Schnarch. For many people, including myself, it's been a life changing book.

Authour's Note II: As always, names and places are changed in my examples to protect the privacy of people.

UPDATE: Pornography, Authenticity, and Site Changes

2010-07-29T16:45:00.001-07:00

WEBSITE CHANGES

In the ongoing site reconstruction (reconstitution?) here, I've decided to include updates as part of my regular blog posts. I've resisted doing this in the past due to the plethora of blog/sites seemingly enamored with a daily confessional style of daft and uninteresting posts. ("I went to the market today. It was so busy there. And then I bought some bananas.") I didn't want that type of website, and so I resolved that I would only post articles, long thoughtful pieces worth the time it took to read them. Now, I don't edit in the same manner as I do when I'm sending an article out, as some of you grammarians have noticed, but I still work to be as thoughtful and diligent as I can. The purpose of a site like this is an exchange of ideas, and it's designed to provoke your imagination, push you to think about things in a new way, and encourage you along the way.

That said, I've decided to post a bit more frequently, and so what I'll be doing is essentially a split. I'll still be writing my frightfully long articles that cause you to pull your hair out and yell at me through the computer, but I'll also be including what I'll call "UPDATE Days," which will be written as short pieces. Some of these will be actual updates about what's coming along the chute on this site, and some will be ideas that I've been working through, but do not want to spend two thousand words on, and other days it may simply be an article or video I found while cruising that I thought you'd enjoy. The difference will be noted in the title, where you'll find UPDATE (I know, it's original) and if you're away for a while and want to search through the archives on this site, you'll be able to find the actual articles more easily. The UPDATES will not have Digg buttons on them, and I won't be promoting them along the various social networks (like Facebook) like I normally do. They'll be here however, for those of you with a bit of time to kill. As well, I'll be adding one movie/TV/book review per week. Just check the Review pages for updates.

It's been a remarkable month of growth here, as this site has expanded and continues to break five year records seemingly with ease. It's been humbling to receive so many kind words from you who grace this site with your presence and valuable time. My life has settled into something of a pattern, and with God's gracious blessings I now have a lot of time to read and write, more than I've ever been able to for such an extended period of time. I can't promise that you'll always agree with me (I'm not looking for consensus here, I'm looking to stir your imagination) but I promise that I will do best to be as fair as possible, and as honest as a person can be. (Which is to say, only slightly dishonest.) I will never align with a political party, though I do have some politicians I enjoy, despite their faults. (President Obama, for example) What I won't promise is that I'll be completely 'authentic' (mainly because I don't know what that means, see the next section for more on this), although I'll never be a (willing) shill.

Again, thank you all for your readership. If you have an idea for a new "section" for this site, please let me know and I will take it into consideration. Life is difficult sometimes, but it gets better when we continue to ask ourselves hard questions about whom we are and why we're here. Hopefully, this site can help you along the path.

Blessings,

Steve

***

Pornography

I've written on a number of controversial topics in the past, and when I decided this past Sunday which topics I would approach this week, I didn't think much about it. Honestly, what does 'controversy' even mean to a writer? If you're not willing to write about the hard things, what's the point? That said, the research for my next article, along with the collection of ideas and research, has been disturbing. I actually had to stop for a while this morning because I didn't like where it was taking me. Specifically, not only discussing pornography and its relationship to religion, but the pairing of the two and the effect on the public, the common misconceptions and myths when it comes to sex.

I was raised in a traditionally conservative home, which meant that information about sex was essentially non-existent. As I moved into the evangelical church in my late teens, the information changed, but the message was the same, and despite the best efforts by a few, it was largely destructive. What has bothered me this week is the striking relationship between pornography and religion. I won't say more until the article is done. (By the weekend, most likely) I expect that this article will upset a number of people, and I understand, in so much that it upsets me (although perhaps for different reasons) and I'm writing it. Hopefully, you'll feel the freedom to comment, whether you agree or not.

***

AUTHENTICITY

"Authenticity is like authourity or charisma: if you have to tell people you have it, then you probably don't."

-Andrew Potter, The Authenticity Hoax

In my current reading of The Authenticity Hoax, which feels like a follow up to Potter's previous best seller The Rebel Sell (a tremendous read), I've been forced to work through a number of pet ideas, favourites of mine that I've held through the years, especially in regards to "authenticity" and transparency. Potter is a good thinker, but what I love most is that he challenges a number of contemporary ideas and forces you to re-digest them. Is our quest for authenticity nothing more than status seeking? Isn't that what we're really witnessing in the local/organic food movement? (For example) What I like best is Potter's drive to push us towards something better than authenticity. He pushes us to an honest appraisal of ourselves. I've seen this continually through the years, in people who refuse to look in the mirror, refuse to get counseling, and refuse to admit their human. (And therefore, a screw up) The consequences are always bad, and we end up worse then when we started the journey, because not only do we not know who we are, we don't like ourselves very much either.

I'm sure I'll be posting a full article on this in the future, but I'm reminded again how good it is to read against the grain. We all have blind spots. Sign a book out of the library by an author you wouldn't normally read, and wade through some of it. (I'm not stating you need to read, say, Ann Coulter, however.) Although I haven't finished Hoax, I highly recommend it.

***

(For those of you who didn't see this on my Facebook this week) I was reading some fantasy book reviews and found this on one of the websites. It was (unintentionally) hilarious, especially when I read it out loud. Thought you might get a kick out of it.

-Steve

In Search of a Hero

Top 10 Postponed

From the Scrolls: Why Luther Still Matters

Tuesday Link Love: Super Bowl, MIA and Harrison Ford?

Change Your Life: Take the Monday Challenge

Eblog: Top 10 Science Fiction/ Fantasy Movies

Looking Like an Idiot... Is a Good Thing

E Blog: Top 10 TV Shows from 1995-2005

Relationships: How the Past Can Destroy the Future

Shuffling Towards Greatness

Saturday Morning Birdseed

Snow Day Dance Break

Writing Fantasy, Tim Tebow and the Cult of Winning

Christians and Hollywood Support Big Brother? What?

Nothing but a Dream

Some Morning Inspiration

Schools are Killing Our Creativity

Book Review: DAVITA’S HARP by Chaim Potok

Tim Tebow: Better Than Fiction

Why Dreams Matter (Aspiring II)

Aspiring

Doing The Impossible

18 Again.

My Friend Micah

A Purpose; Full Life

God is in the Details

Obfuscation: What I Meant Was…

Winter is Coming

Update

Sex, Gay Marriage and a Culture of Vitriol

Brief Update

Movie Review: Iron Man 2 (2010)

The Eighth Letter to the Church: What Are We Missing?

A Pastor is Just a Politician

Movie Review: Knight and Day (2010)

Is It Love… or the Idea of Love

Movie Review: The Town (2010)

Movie Review: Passion Play (2010)

From the Archives: Church is for Women… Or is it?

Movie Review: Crazy Heart (2010)

Why Faith Matters... or Does It?

Movie Review: The Other Guys (2010)

Movie Review: Salt (2010)

One Thing We All Hate… And Need (for better relationships)

Movie Review: Death at a Funeral (2010)

Book Review: World Without End by Ken Follett

Review: Clash of the Titans (2010)

A Birthday Wish

Violence Makes us Feel Better

Movie Review: The Man in our Mirror

UPDATE: Where Can I Find Original Thinkers; Fantasy Frustration

Update: TV Review, Shame & Novel Reboot

A Misogynist Reviews Mad Men

Sex: What Religion and Pornographers Don’t Want You to Know

UPDATE: Pornography, Authenticity, and Site Changes