Let Us Bow

Your ministry, as exciting as its growing popularity may be, is no more or less important than any other outreach. Claiming the contrary is a disservice to spiritual movements everywhere. God will and can work equally with a penniless church of 5 as he can with your massively attended, well funded super church. It is not you that is doing God's work; it is God doing his work through you, and you'd be good to make a note of that when boasting your latest numbers.

If it is true that God is the creator of heaven and earth, he only chooses to work through us: he certainly doesn't have to.

Let's be clear: God does not love you because of who you are, what you do, how faithful you are, how often you attend church, and how well you love your brother. God loves you because he is a loving God. The Newsboys said it best: He only loves us 'cause of who he is.

This is not a criticism, or an attempt to rain on your parade. But realize that God is moving everywhere, all the time, not just when you and your pals get together. God will impact who he chooses to impact when he chooses to do so, and it will be he, and he alone that does so.

The Sound of Your Voice is Irritating Me, but I Still Love You

It's flooding in Norfolk. I had to leave my motorcycle at work and get a ride home, or surely my body would be laying in the middle of the street somewhere. Regularly I have intervals of such pondering: I could die today. My expansive imagination proceeds to play out various memorial service scenarios, none of which will resemble the actual thing should it happen any time soon. Where would they even have it? I've left my mark on communities in Portland, Orlando, NYC, and now Norfolk, while my family (mostly) lives in none of these places. Even if all of my various circles somehow managed to come together (Facebook funeral!), they still probably wouldn't be laughing like I'd want them to be. They probably wouldn't actually treat it like a rock concert and get Norma Jean to play... nor would anyone come dressed up as a llama. Some might insist my current life's work get referenced with a request that I be honored with meatless meals on the anniversary of my death. Who knows who may try to sweep that one under the rug...

They'll probably play some weepy slideshow with a song I would roll my eyes at, followed by a sermon about God's perfect timing. So here, officially (is there anything more official than one's blog), I insist: Do not do this.

No sermons. No service. No featured slideshows. No sappy songs.

Have a party.

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So I have some questions.

1. Who are you mad at right now and why haven't you spoken with them?

2. Who do you know that is needy right now, and why haven't you given to them?

3. What makes you so angry, and why haven't you done anything about it?

And of course, a veg shout-out:

4. Why do you think it's OK to eat a pig and not a dog?

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American Beauty is a stupid movie. So is Crash, and so is Closer. They're stupid because they tell you what to think and feel, lacking the confidence in their audience to let them decide. It's insulting.

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This blog is ridiculous. And Firstfaith311 remains anonymous. I'm still hopeful that it was not a family member, or even a friend, but some random Churchian. Daily, I become more and more convinced that the church is more interested in itself than the message of Christ. I don't think most people realize how radical Jesus' message is. Things like forgiveness, generosity, humility, tending to the poor, giving more than we're asked to give, turning the other cheek (how many Churches voiced opposition to the war in Iraq?), are I think, foreign ideas to most church attenders.

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Though I wouldn't support any church's campaign against gay marriage, I would respect one a little more were it to pursue divorce just as fervently. These campaigns are, after all, claiming to defend the sanctity of marriage.

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With the beauty of Pandora, and my long hours on the computer at work, I've been discovering a lot of new music lately. Some of my new favorite bands include Hammock, Mogwai, Mono, The Weepies, The Sounds, and Metrics.

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I don't know if I can ever get married, though I hope to be convinced otherwise one day.

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I empathize strongly with anyone suffering. It will be the death of me. Natural disasters, broken families, severed relationships... I want to take every hurting being by the shoulder (or paw) and trade my beating heart for their broken one. Especially touching for me is when these creatures can't speak for themselves, which explains my compassion for animals.

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I probaby wouldn't tell you any of this in real life, but I'm enjoying this blog entry.

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Your assignments:

Listen: Iron & Wine- Faded From the Winter
The Weepies- The World Spins Madly On
Hammock- Mono No Aware

See: The second trailer to the Jaquin Phoenix narrated Earthlings.

Visit: letsbefriends.blogspot.com

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Things, They are a-Changin'.

Neon green rimmed sunglasses. A bright yellow motorcycle helmet with wind powered turbines attached to a series of LED lights. Wilting flowers, maybe lilies. A cell phone with a dying battery and a tired boy writing down what he sees. It's idyllic, he thinks.

I remember you. Everything is moving with my breathing now, and my body is begging me to go to sleep, but... I remember you. You're fuzzy in my mind, and your voice fading, but...

I need some more hearts to break. I need some teenage angst and a razor blade and a sad girl's initials to carve into my arm. I need some long hair and a rock star future. I need some young rebellion and a best friend to break bottles with. I need an arrow in my heart and a head full of bad ideas.

I need a gun writing things down on me that will never wash off.

I need a confrontation in the streets. I need a heart to heart with my father. I need a late dinner with my mother. I need a flood to come and threaten to sink this little house. I need God to show up and hurt me with His love. I need breakfast with an old friend. I need my cat in the attic.

I need back what I've lost...

I need 3rd grade to start over again. I need the 3rd of March deleted from my history. I need a cold wind to prompt me to put on my jacket. I need to regret the things I've done to you. I need to need you more... more or less. I need to know what it means to need.

I need to find you in the darkness. I need to find you like a father would his daughter. I need to hold you until you fall asleep. I need to match my breathing with yours...

...and rest.

An Elusive Sandman/Seeing Red Again

I'm angry now.

I had planned on writing a bit- again, the image of that little monkey haunted me from my sleep and I thought that composing some poetic piece about painful thoughts birthing creativity... I can't even finish this sentence.

Before I began my new post, I noticed that a comment had been added to one I had written just the night before. Glancing over the text, I saw that it was scripture, and assumed that some well intentioned soul had left me some encouragement, something to remind me that God is faithful when you feel alone and have lost hope in humanity. Maybe something praising me for surrendering my life to what I believe is His will... perhaps just some calming anecdotes about the purpose of suffering.

But, no. For all I know, you could be a family member. But seriously, what an asshole thing to do. Here I am, pouring my heart out for anyone to see, wrestling with faith and God and fighting off a growing hatred for human beings, and what do you do? You pull some scripture you got from the nearest vending machine and vomited some bullshit self-righteous counterpoint to what? To my dilemma in loving a species capable of inflicting so much suffering? To my worries about whether my faith will remain intact after a year of doing this kind of work (you do know I work for PETA, right?)?

You missed the point entirely, my friend. See, my post didn't say one thing about eating meat. And after all I've seen, I know what's wrong, and I'm not interested in some seminary school ethics debate. The theme of the post was clear: I'm scared. I'm scared of all the horrible things I'm going to see, and I don't have the faith to know that God will be with me in those dark, dark places. Are you getting this? Are you seeing now how that was a shitty, cheap thing to comment?

I hope so. Otherwise it's hopeless for you. You'll live your whole life steeped in your ignorance. And if you and I are close friends, family members maybe, then I apologize, but I hope this makes you think twice before you prematurely spit out scripture all over the place. It does nothing but incense the people you're trying to reach. If you're really interested in challenging their ideas, especially when it's on their turf, talk to them. Ask them questions. And more importantly, as a Christian, consider their heart primarily, not their ideas and opinions. It's Christians hitting people over the heads with their Bibles, yelling downtown of fire and brimstone and hell and damnation, that makes people despise us.

Talk about blood boiling... If you want to have a conversation, Faithfirst311, then let's talk. Let's argue, let's disagree, let's hug it out. If you want to piss me off, if you want to really enrage me, then throw another verse at me. The result? I'll just get louder (and probably swear more, too- sorry, Dad) and my commitment to the cause will become more resolute than ever. It's time to rethink your approach if you expect to be an effective communicator. Otherwise, you're just typical.

And who wants to be typical?

How She Makes Me Feel

I wonder who I will become.

Twice, a whole 8 days into my new career, have I broken down, overcome with sorrow. Strange things get to me: it wasn't so much watching a bear have her skin torn from her body, but seeing her blink afterwords. What horrible, unimaginable pain she must have endured, and all for a fucking fashion statement. I saw them forcing things into the mouths of little monkeys, but it was watching one of them look up at his torturers, panicked in his breathing, pleading with his eyes, innocent like a child... it's no wonder so many of the people I work with can no longer believe in a merciful, loving God. I can't really blame them.

Right now I don't know if I can do this. I know I have to do this, and I know I can survive this, but... she's going to change me. I've always been attracted to sadness, and I fear that somehow these particular horrors are going to fill me with such a rage, while dulling my capacity for love.

Will God save me?

What you may not realize is that my heart for animals is fully God-given. What I wish you would appreciate is the fact that these are His creatures, His magnificent works and He loves them each. As a people of peace, we have no place contributing to suffering, pain, misery, torture, abuse, or violence of any kind. Honestly, I feel that among so many of us God is only God when our stomachs are full. So many of us are aware of this terrible reality, yet unwilling to make even the slightest adjustment should it pose the tiniest inconvenience. The apathy makes my blood boil.

I can't pin the horrible atrocities of man on God. But in one year, if there is any love for mankind left in my heart, it will be indeed because God is love- it will be only His strength and boundless compassion that enables me to love. If not, well... the implications are too much to consider given the weight I've got tugging at my heart.

I've seen enough in one week to despise humanity for a lifetime. And I'll pray that God teaches me to love as He does, but I won't shed one tear when He reigns His judgment down. When the wave comes, when the earth shakes, when the virus turns us all into zombies... when that meteor hits, and the world runs amok in panic, I'll be stretched out on the rooftop with a colf Hef, smiling.

We deserve hell, all of us. None of us are good people. And for you Christians who find yourself objecting to those statements: read your Bibles- they'll tell you the same thing, and in language just as plain.

So who will I become?

She used to make me laugh. Now she makes me sad.

It's All in the Math

See, your numbers are dropping. Historically, you've always been the bad guy. You were the one that laughed when Noah built the ark. Later, you yelled with the crowd- you suggested Barabbas be spared because the radical message of this Jesus terrified you. You burned Joan of Arc at the stake. You saw occupants of a land you simply believed destined to be yours as mere savages, and by the name of God you propped their heads up on tent poles. You stole and you slaughtered and you thanked your Creator as you drank their blood. Abolitionists you laughed at, being certain that these Africans had no capacity for intelligent thought or real, human emotion. You profited from their misery, much like you do today. You mocked the brave women who marched for their right to vote, and you lynched runaways to set an example- to you, this was simple loss prevention. Even yesterday, when they moved in next door, you worried about the property value of your home. Today, though divorce is somehow perfectly acceptable to you, you manage to claim, straight-faced and all, that we must defend the sanctity of marriage. Meanwhile, you laugh at us "sentimentalists" who threaten to disrupt your irresponsible, answer-to-no-one way of life. Your appetite is your God, and we radicals are your demons.

Hear me well: Your numbers are slipping, while we continue to gain momentum. We will chip away at your argument until the mountain falls, and future generations will see us as revolutionaries and heroes.

You, well... you'll be the bad guy.

Where's the Glory in That?

Saturday I stood my ground on a sidewalk, holding a sign urging passersby to boycott McDonald's cruelty. I tolerated laughter and rude gestures, verbal abuse and threats of violence. I stood my ground.

Later I got lost in the ocean. I asked the waves to carry me away to somewhere they would never find me, but somewhere from the depths she surfaced, kissing my lips: Not yet. They need you.

If I can't drown in these waves I'll ride them.

I stood my ground. They laughed at me and I looked right at them. I know you're laughing at me.

When you're young they tell you to stand up. Stand up! Stand up for what you believe in! When you grow up they laugh at you for it. When you're an adult they want you to get in line, fall in line, stand in line...

Adjust. Compute. Serve. Cater.

So you make that dollar, but I'll fucking die for this.

I'll live for it, too. I'll grow old working to chip away at that twisted argument they regurgitate. I'll get laughed at, spit at, threatened, mocked, dismissed, marginalized, and through it all I'll stand my ground. I will pester and prod and urge and convince. I know she'll never be safe... but I will fight for her anyway.

Last night was hard. Like, hard-to-believe-in-God hard. The front lines are like that. But damn, if I didn't chase down my target, ready my sites, take aim and let 'em have it.

This isn't my life anymore.