Two Christmases

I just celebrated Christmas, both of them. I think that we've all heard before the voices of people bemoaning the excesses and business of the Christmas season, glanced over article after article offering tips for de-stressing the holidays. I think a large percentage of people are coming to the conclusion that Christmas, as it is currently celebrated in America, is out of balance, somewhat out of control. But the conclusion that I have come to this Christmas is that there are actually two very distinct holidays that are taking place at the same time: Christian Christmas and secular Christmas.

After a year of sadly neglecting my spiritual disciplines, I decided that I would make a concerted effort to participate in this advent season. I resolved to pray and fast according to the practice of the Church. As part of my regular prayer time, I decided to read the Philokalia (a compilation of Orthodox monastic writings). As I read and prayed, one idea became more and more clear: the key to prayer is the abandonment of distractions, the discovery of silence. The writings emphasize a detachment from worldy cares of all sorts, all appetites, all possessions.

Meanwhile, I couldn't help but feel that secular Christmas is a daunting barrage of distractions.
And all this time, I have been attempting to participate in this advent season with quiet reverence and anticipation. I don't really have anything against secular Christmas per se; I just prefer Christian Christmas. I prefer the season of quiet contemplation and anticipation.

The Order and Chaos of Nature

I just stepped in from a hike through the Grand Forest on Bainbridge Island, Washington. The forest is quite nice, if you like all spongy and mossy (which I do). The dominant trees are douglas-fir and Western Red Cedar, but none of these are old growth trees, so there is a proliferation of smaller plant life under the moderate canopy: Sword Fern; Huckleberry; and a ton of other plants that I'm not familiar with. The relative density of plants creates a habitat for lots of small animals, various birds and squirrels.
Anyway, as I looked into the messy tangle of plants, I remembered a line from The Mission: referring to the jungle, Father Gabriel says, "It's a trifle overgrown." This, in turn, made me think of a comment that one of you had made to me privately, saying that left on its own, nature tends toward chaos. This comment reminded me of the Genesis passage in which God tells the people to subdue the earth.
This is all very fascinating to me because I have always been of the camp that views the natural world as balanced and ordered, self-balancing and self-ordering. Once again, you my friends are pushing me into more nuanced ways of viewing the world.
I would love to hear more of your thoughts on this topic.

An Old Analogy that I've always wanted to turn into a Drinking Game

I came up with the following analogy several years ago:

Each person is like a glass of alcohol (this is off to a good start already, isn't it?). So, you take three people; one is like a glass with Vodka; one is like a glass with Kahlua; one is like a glass with cream (OK, cream isn't alcohol, but I need it for the analogy). Each person-glass contains her own substance and some empty space. Each one brings something unique to the table. Still, each one alone is incomplete. However, together, they can become so much more than what they are alone: the Kahlua pours some of herself into Vodka; Vodka pours some of himself into Kahlua, and together they become Black Russians. They have given and taken, and as a result, each has become more complicated, more nuanced, more complete. Still, they each have empty room in the glass, so Cream pours some of herself into them, and they pour themselves into her, and they all become White Russians (this would be even more fun making Long Island Iced Tea).

Friendship is like this analogy: each person contains something unique to offer the world and some empty space to receive the world. When we give and receive from friends, we become more whole, more complete people. Conversely, when we fail to receive, we remain limited. When we fail to give, we deny others an opportunity to become more. I have allowed my friends to shape my life in various ways, and I am a better person thanks to all of you (seriously, I'd be even worse if it weren't for your influence).

Cheers

American Culture(s)

I recently read a book called Balthazar. It's book number two in a series called the Alexandrian Quartet -- four novels about a collection of characters who live in Alexandria. One of the central themes of the novels is that idea that the city makes the people who they are: in the first novel, Durrell (the author) goes as far as saying that it is not the characters who live but rather Alexandria that lives through them. In other words, the characters' personalities are the manifestation of the character of the city itself.
I have wondered about this a lot. To what extent is this idea real? Are we manifestations of the consciousness of our city or town? To what degree? We live in an incredibly mobil society. Most of us have lived in multiple places. In what ways are we conglomerations of the cultures that we have belonged to, or at least the cultures that have surrounded us?
On a related note, I think about the homogenization of America a lot. It seems to me that we are becoming less regional, in terms of cultural distinctions. We watch the same movies and TV shows; we shop at the same stores; eat at the same restaurants; listen to the same music; wear the same clothes. As we move around, our regional cultures blend. What have we lost in terms of regional character? What have we held onto? What have we gained?
I'll close this with the words of Jack Kerouac: "Whither goest thou, America, in thy shiny car in the night?"

A Few Thoughts on the Nature of Religion

I had the opportunity this weekend to spend a lot of time with a friend of mine here, driving to the outer banks to surf. We talked about faith, mostly Christianity, for a good solid seven hours. The two of us have some different ideas regarding the interactions between God and people. It was nice talking with him because it forced me to think and to articulate some things that I have come to believe in the last five years (maybe longer, really).

One thing stands out particularly to me. He asked me, "If we were to die in a car accident right now, do you know that you would go to heaven? What assurance do you have?" I was raised in the camp that asks this question, so I knew the question; I knew the philosophy that informed the question; and I knew the answer that would be considered the right answer. But that was not the answer that I gave. I found that I couldn't answer, "I know that I would go to heaven because I asked Jesus Christ into my heart, and I have faith that the saving blood of His sacrifice covers my sin and allows me into heaven." I could not give this answer, even though I hold much of it to be true. Instead, I fumbled about a bit, trying to articulate my experience that the closer I draw to God the more I become aware of my unworthiness. But this wasn't really at the heart of what I wanted to say.

Then, the answer I wanted came to me: going to heaven is not the goal -- loving God and becoming like Him is the goal. So I told my friend that I'm not really concerned about whether or not I get into heaven. What is religion? The word itself means the reunification of God and humans, a coming together. I find that I am much more moved by the love poetry in Song of Songs than I ever was in the past. True Christianity, true religion, is an intense love between a person and God. "I am my beloved's, and he is mine." Religion is not a legal contract -- it is a burning, passionate love, a desire to be near the One you love, and a desire to become like the One you love. That is all.

I cannot talk about this adequately at all. I'm sorry. I don't mean to preach, and I certainly don't mean to criticize anyone's philosophy. Love is not the stuff of essays; it is the stuff of poetry. Leave philosophy for the philosophers and love for the lovers.

The Thusness and Suchness of a Skinny Whiteboy

I have always been a skinny whiteboy. But there have been times when I've wanted to be something else (I've never minded the boy part; it's the skinny whiteness that I've had issues with). Over the years, I've tried at various times to be less skinny and less white. This is sounding ridiculous to me as I write it down -- good; it should sound ridiculous. I composed the following haiku about it:

Does the Walking Stick
Envy the Bumble Bee?
Utter foolishness

I watched a movie last night called The Painted Veil (starring Edward Norton and Naomi Watts). It's the story of a married couple who do not love each other. It's the story of them learning to love each other. My favorite scene is one in which the couple are sitting and talking together for the first time in months: they discuss the incongruities of their relationship; she tells him how she loves games like tennis and golf -- "and I like men who play games." She laughs about the way he tried to interest her in the art and canals of Venice that were so moving to him. Then he says, "I suppose you're right. It was silly of us to look for qualities in each other which we never had." This sounds tragic, but it's actually the turning point in the film. Once they are finally able to see one another for who they truly are, they are able to begin to fall in love with a real person, rather than being frustrated by the illusions of an imagined lover who never materializes.

There is great liberation in learning to see the world as it truly is.

Poll Results

Well, the results are in for my first blog poll: as it turns out, my friends are a bunch of mama's boys and daddy's girls, just as I suspected.
Seriously, thanks to all of you who took time to answer the poll. I thought that it was a good question because I couldn't answer it myself: each of the factors that I listed have played such a crucial part in the formulation of my own identity that I would be different person than I am if any one element was removed. Apparently, it was a pretty good question because your answers were pretty evenly distributed too (although I will say I'm a little disappointed in my fellow "surfers", if you even call yourselves that -- geeze).
I do find it very interesting that the one answer that got the most response was 'parents'. It makes me think long and hard about the significance of parenthood: not only do our children become our world, we become theirs. I think we often underestimate the degree to which parents create the environment that shapes young people. It makes me think of my parents and the environment that they created for me. Specifically, it makes me think about ways in which all of the other person-shaping pieces of my past grew out of that environment: my parents raised me in a very religious home; they read to me a lot and gave me lots of books; they brought me up on a Minnesota fishing resort and in LA; my dad taught me to body-surf. I absorbed all of these things. They germinated somewhere deep inside. As an adult, I took several of these things in different directions, different from where my mom and dad have taken them, but it was they who planted the seeds.
It makes one consider the significance of parenting. Thanks y'all.