There's a peculiar form of censorship unique to modern Protestantism. At some point in my life time while I was busy doing something besides paying attention, someone ran into all the Christian bookstores and just plain bookstores for that matter, publishing houses, clicked on all the Christian web pages and even ran into churches that hang banners and such and ripped out the book of Job and all references to same. Only a few milk toast passages taken out of context were left after this pogrom.
To help correct this travesty by revealing a bit of the stuff that's been removed, here are the first few verses of chapter 38 quoted from "The Message":
Job 38:1 And now, finally, GOD answered Job from the eye of a violent storm. He said:
Job 38:2 "Why do you confuse the issue? Why do you talk without knowing what you're talking about?
Job 38:3 Pull yourself together, Job! Up on your feet! Stand tall! I have some questions for you, and I want some straight answers.
Job 38:4 Where were you when I created the earth? Tell me, since you know so much!
This is the earliest literary example of sarcasm I've found. Right now, if find yourself tempted to say something like, "That's not sarcasm. That's irony!" Well...the two are given as synonymous in some dictionaries and in virtually all, sarcasm is given as irony directed at a person whereas irony can extend to situations as well.
I think the idea of God being sarcastic to man can make a lot of us uncomfortable. If that makes you uncomfortable, you should read the whole book. It'll likely make your eye twitch...at least your eye...now that's ironic.
It might be a little easier for me to accept what's going on with God and Job here because I grew up teasing and being teased. This was never in a pejorative way and it always existed within the context of me understanding how much I was cared for and loved. It was affectionate. You'd never tease other people the way we teased each other because it would be too easy for them to misunderstand because they didn't have the full context of living in our small family.
The teasing even went beyond the verbal. In the dark days before automated dishwashers, my mom and I washed dishes by hand...seriously. One of us would wash, one would dry. Turned out she was a Jedi master of wet towel snapping. I'm not kidding, that woman and a wet towel should have had to register as a lethal weapon. We raised bruises on each other and even cut skin once or twice. Usually that kind of wound ended the fight but not always. When I got to be a teenager, she eventually called a halt to the game. She said it was because she was afraid she'd be accused of child abuse. It could have been looked at that way I guess if you were on the outside of the relationship looking in and couldn't see the context. Probably each of us had our feelings hurt at one time or another but that's not what I remember. That isn't important.
There's another chapter in Job that's interesting and that would be the first one. Here's a verse:
Job 1:8 GOD said to Satan, "Have you noticed my friend Job? There's no one quite like him--honest and true to his word, totally devoted to God and hating evil."
I don't know if I've ever read or heard this taught without some "application" about how God would never allow anything like this to happen to us. There have even been theological constructs applied to Job over the years that are flavors of "God doesn't do that anymore." And again, that misses the much bigger point.
Consider what God is trusting Job with here. Everything everyone in heaven and earth thinks about God forever will be substantively affected for good or evil by the next few weeks of Job's life. God's investing his eternal reputation and by extension himself in Job and what he chooses. The God of all creation trusts a man with his life and identity. And in spite of financial ruin, disease and the death of his children, Job hangs on by his finger nails and refuses to curse God.
Sure Job whines (SNAP! "Damn mom...that hurt!"), but both the hurt and whining exist in the context of a relationship, in a context of a mission to further reveal the nature of God's character directly through his favorite creation and most importantly, in a context of love so deep that no particle of trust is withheld. I can barely get my head around that last bit. In the end I can accept it only because God says it's true.
There are a lot of commentaries on Job. Most of what I've read on the subject has wound up starting a fire in our woodstove. I won't go into it here. Why bother? Briefly however, it cheapens the message and ignores the pain in present reality to say that what happened to Job (or something substantially similar to it) can't happen to us because God wouldn't do such a thing ever again. It also devalues us and ignores who we were spoken by God to be.
In the end, Job is it's own best commentary and as such might be very nearly impossible to improve upon or even clarify. God's speech at the end happens in the context of everything that precedes it. The fact that he's speaking to Job and instructing him at the end of the book means he's not done with him. It means he expects Job to learn. And all that means that he expects Job to accept a greater position in the kingdom of God than Job previously believed to be his place.
Now days of course, Jesus sits with us on our ash pile, while Job sat alone on his. When we remember to ask, he keeps us company, encourages us and even sometimes helps us off of it. Regardless of what we remember though or choose to open ourselves to, he's still right there.
As we sit there, I think we learn that each of us has a piece of our own Job-like story. Leaning into that is hard and we still whine a good bit. Never the less, God is who he says he is and we are who he spoke us to be. Each one of us who follows Christ has been trusted with a facet of God's redemptive love that's unique to our lives and experience. If it weren't for each of us, that story would only be known as what could have been, rather than what is, rather than being born into reality through our pain, healing, sin and redemption.
As we acknowledge our need for Christ to free us from our ash heaps and ask him for his help, he joins us, heals us and eventually transforms both us and our ashes into a unique facet of the loving and redemptive nature of the living God. Each of us own that piece in partnership with Jesus, the God of creation. If the story is to be told and made real, we have to live it.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Harvey
The other day Christy and I watched the original 1950 version of the movie Harvey all the way through for the first time. Like most movies prior to Lucas and Spielberg, the pacing seemed pretty slow. Modern media and entertainment really like to have flashes, loud noises and/or dead bodies available for your viewing pleasure within the first few seconds. I think the theory is that if they really stun you, you'll be too numb to press the channel up/down button. (You can see the trailer for the movie here: Harvey trailer.)
The trailer voice over says words to the effect of, '..."Harvey" shows the power of the imagination.' I'm guessing from the content and sound quality that it is of more recent vintage than the original footage. I imagine the trailer production people felt they had to say that in case someone got confused and thought that maybe the intent of the movie was to assert that Harvey was real. After all, that would just be too weird. The "power of imagination" is one possible take of course but I think you'd have to sleep through a lot of the movie to adopt that idea. I think the point of "Harvey" speaks more to the nature and values we choose and express when we imagine.
If you can read this, you have an imagination. Therefore, imagination is real and as common as human beings. Of course, not everything we imagine is real and, pretty clearly, that's a good thing. However, there's more reality in imagination than we commonly think.
Consider that the chair you're sitting in, the engineering and manufacturing of the paper or computer screen you're reading and in fact all science and all created things, existed as imagination before they became reality. (That's Plato if you're taking notes. While he's wrong about a few things, he's right about that.)
Mostly, the reason imagination gets shoved to the side and maybe unfairly devalued, is that we're too often too busy with day to day "reality." We have to get places and do things. Often times we let our minds wander when we're queuing up or otherwise waiting to do the next thing on our list of very important stuff to do. That's a time when our imagination kicks in, usually in a completely undirected way. As soon as the next "do" arrives, we kick imagination to the curb like someone we'd be embarrassed to be seen with. Imagination's a clever guy though and instead of falling out of the car, he just sort of opens and slams the door and then jumps in the back seat when we're not looking. (I think sometimes he even hunkers down a bit.) We think we've gotten rid of him but he'll scramble back into the front seat if we ask him and often even if we don't.
In the movie, Elwood (Jimmy Stewart) is the friend of a 6 foot 3.5 inch Pooka in the form of a rather nattily attired rabbit. (Gratuitous movie trivia question: how can Harvey's tastes in attire be proved?) Of course because it's a movie and needs a plot, initially no one but Elwood can see the beast. "Pooka's" it turns out are a common thing in Celtic folk mythology.
I'll bet you're having a reflex, unconscious reaction just now, that distances you from the assumed irrelevance of all things Pooka. It goes something like this: "Oh yeah, that was what all those primitive people believed before there was science that helped us know things." It's OK. I still think battle that thought even though I know better.
The sad thing about that reaction is that it doesn't just distance us from Pooka's. It distances us from all the many places that our imagination intersects with reality. In turn, that deprives us of large pieces of ourselves and even of reality.
There are dangers of course. Things that live in the border land between imagination and reality aren't all good. Some Pookas can show up as hungry, killing lions. (I have another story about that but it's not for now.) However, there are pretty straight forward tests for good vs. bad, even though we too often want to discount them. Here's one yardstick: You know the good/bad core nature of something by the fruit it produces. If healing, completion, fulfillment and peace regardless of circumstance are the fruit, then the thing is good. If self gratification at the expense of others, pain and eventual tragedy is the fruit, then the thing is bad. That one's primarily for people who follow Christ. However, it seems close to being universally true.
Another one strictly for followers of Christ is when he says: "My sheep know my voice." Jesus didn't lie. As a bit of a side note, he also really didn't get into much theology unless one of the Pharisees asked him a "gotcha" question. Point being, there isn't a lot of varnish on that phrase. It means what it says.
In this presidential campaign season, let me guess at what you're thinking right now and respond with Reagan's great comeback from the presidential campaign of 1980: "There you go again." (Even if you're not thinking it, at least I can imagine that you are.) The objection in your mind may be something like "That's scary because I remember when so-and-so said he heard God telling him to divorce his wife, marry a 19 year old and 'be happy.'" That sort of self delusion can be confused with imagination, but I think only with a great degree of disingenuousness on the part of the delude-ee. In this example, imagination takes an unfair rap for what is actually a desperate soul out to deflect blame for doing something he knows is wrong. His imagination didn't deceive him at all. He set out to be self-indulgent and destructive and subsequently went looking for an accomplice that couldn't be called to testify against them.
By the way, there's a very good retort for anyone who has a self-serving, delusional imaginary construct along the lines of "I did <name whatever bad thing> because God wanted me to." Here it is: "No he didn't. God doesn't do that."
I won't give away the movie and tell you whether or not Harvey was real. I can't because the movie doesn't really give it away either, even up to and including the closing credits. However, there isn't any doubt that imagination is real and that it is an absolutely essential part of who we are. We were designed with it as an absolutely essential part of us...if you choose to believe that sort of thing.
The trailer voice over says words to the effect of, '..."Harvey" shows the power of the imagination.' I'm guessing from the content and sound quality that it is of more recent vintage than the original footage. I imagine the trailer production people felt they had to say that in case someone got confused and thought that maybe the intent of the movie was to assert that Harvey was real. After all, that would just be too weird. The "power of imagination" is one possible take of course but I think you'd have to sleep through a lot of the movie to adopt that idea. I think the point of "Harvey" speaks more to the nature and values we choose and express when we imagine.
If you can read this, you have an imagination. Therefore, imagination is real and as common as human beings. Of course, not everything we imagine is real and, pretty clearly, that's a good thing. However, there's more reality in imagination than we commonly think.
Consider that the chair you're sitting in, the engineering and manufacturing of the paper or computer screen you're reading and in fact all science and all created things, existed as imagination before they became reality. (That's Plato if you're taking notes. While he's wrong about a few things, he's right about that.)
Mostly, the reason imagination gets shoved to the side and maybe unfairly devalued, is that we're too often too busy with day to day "reality." We have to get places and do things. Often times we let our minds wander when we're queuing up or otherwise waiting to do the next thing on our list of very important stuff to do. That's a time when our imagination kicks in, usually in a completely undirected way. As soon as the next "do" arrives, we kick imagination to the curb like someone we'd be embarrassed to be seen with. Imagination's a clever guy though and instead of falling out of the car, he just sort of opens and slams the door and then jumps in the back seat when we're not looking. (I think sometimes he even hunkers down a bit.) We think we've gotten rid of him but he'll scramble back into the front seat if we ask him and often even if we don't.
In the movie, Elwood (Jimmy Stewart) is the friend of a 6 foot 3.5 inch Pooka in the form of a rather nattily attired rabbit. (Gratuitous movie trivia question: how can Harvey's tastes in attire be proved?) Of course because it's a movie and needs a plot, initially no one but Elwood can see the beast. "Pooka's" it turns out are a common thing in Celtic folk mythology.
I'll bet you're having a reflex, unconscious reaction just now, that distances you from the assumed irrelevance of all things Pooka. It goes something like this: "Oh yeah, that was what all those primitive people believed before there was science that helped us know things." It's OK. I still think battle that thought even though I know better.
The sad thing about that reaction is that it doesn't just distance us from Pooka's. It distances us from all the many places that our imagination intersects with reality. In turn, that deprives us of large pieces of ourselves and even of reality.
There are dangers of course. Things that live in the border land between imagination and reality aren't all good. Some Pookas can show up as hungry, killing lions. (I have another story about that but it's not for now.) However, there are pretty straight forward tests for good vs. bad, even though we too often want to discount them. Here's one yardstick: You know the good/bad core nature of something by the fruit it produces. If healing, completion, fulfillment and peace regardless of circumstance are the fruit, then the thing is good. If self gratification at the expense of others, pain and eventual tragedy is the fruit, then the thing is bad. That one's primarily for people who follow Christ. However, it seems close to being universally true.
Another one strictly for followers of Christ is when he says: "My sheep know my voice." Jesus didn't lie. As a bit of a side note, he also really didn't get into much theology unless one of the Pharisees asked him a "gotcha" question. Point being, there isn't a lot of varnish on that phrase. It means what it says.
In this presidential campaign season, let me guess at what you're thinking right now and respond with Reagan's great comeback from the presidential campaign of 1980: "There you go again." (Even if you're not thinking it, at least I can imagine that you are.) The objection in your mind may be something like "That's scary because I remember when so-and-so said he heard God telling him to divorce his wife, marry a 19 year old and 'be happy.'" That sort of self delusion can be confused with imagination, but I think only with a great degree of disingenuousness on the part of the delude-ee. In this example, imagination takes an unfair rap for what is actually a desperate soul out to deflect blame for doing something he knows is wrong. His imagination didn't deceive him at all. He set out to be self-indulgent and destructive and subsequently went looking for an accomplice that couldn't be called to testify against them.
By the way, there's a very good retort for anyone who has a self-serving, delusional imaginary construct along the lines of "I did <name whatever bad thing> because God wanted me to." Here it is: "No he didn't. God doesn't do that."
I won't give away the movie and tell you whether or not Harvey was real. I can't because the movie doesn't really give it away either, even up to and including the closing credits. However, there isn't any doubt that imagination is real and that it is an absolutely essential part of who we are. We were designed with it as an absolutely essential part of us...if you choose to believe that sort of thing.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Ode to Joy
Beethoven was a jagged bundle of contradictions. He may be the most enigmatic musician in history and I'm including Mozart, Jimi Hendrix and Robert Johnson in that consideration. Briefly, he had his first public performance at the age of seven. For the event his father, a true stage parent, billed him as being six. He stepped into the father's role in his household at an early age after his mother died and his father descended further into alcoholism. He fought legally for and won custody of a nephew he thought was being raised in immoral conditions.
He was never successful in love, to the extent that he never married. He fell in deep love with women both above and below his class but due to the customs of the time, he either rejected marriage himself or was rejected.
In what has to be one of the greatest ironies and maybe upside down miracles in history, he began going deaf at the age of 26. He was deaf enough at the age of 30 to withdraw from public life because he could no longer manage conversation. During the last few years, including those during which he wrote The 9th Symphony, he was utterly deaf.
Although medicine was still pretty rough in his day, an autopsy showed that he likely died of cirrhosis of the liver brought on probably by alcoholism but possibly by accidental lead poisoning by his physicians. There's a lot of good history regarding Beethoven easily available on line so I won't bother to try to recount it to any meaningful degree here. Suffice to say, his life was neither easy nor dull. In fact, his biography reminds me of what is likely the intent of the ancient Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times."
As fascinating and dramatic as his life was, there's been so much projection heaped on him by subsequent biographers and critics, that you have to tread quite carefully in discerning the realities of his life. These projections run the gamut from worship to loathing to jealousy to technical, clinical vivisection of fiery musical genius. One consistent theme I've found is that he was apparently a very dramatic and compelling conductor...go figure.
One popular Beethoven confusion regards the lyrics of Ode to Joy. The lyrics to the hymn "Joyful Joyful" were written by Henry van Dyke...approximately 80 years after the Ode was written. The original lyrics were written by Friedrich Schiller in 1785. Friedrich's poem wasn't very popular until Beethoven picked it up, even with Friedrich. Still, when integrated into the Ode, the lyrics both complete and are completed. I say that even though having read the poem a few times, I'm afraid I have to agree with Friedrich that his poem is a bit stilted and not particularly compelling...until it's sung.
Generally, Beethoven did not wait for life to be good before composing. He finished the 9th symphony in 1824 when he was stone deaf and had already had a couple of brushes with death. He actually conducted the 9th. There's a well documented story that because he couldn't hear the audience and because the orchestra stood stock still after the performance, he thought his work was a failure and burst out crying. He was eventually turned around to face the audience by a couple members of the orchestra and the audience absolutely exploded. Even the greatest musical triumph in the history of the world, penned and performed by him, could not be delivered seamlessly.
The Ode always gets me. It really doesn't matter if it's the orchestrated version with Schiller's lyrics or Joyful Joyful on a tired church organ. My aunt used to play it on piano, pounding until the keys begged for their lives. That was amazing as well. My granddaughter is now learning this song as the first piece of music she will play on her daddy's saxophone. I can think of specific instances with each of those examples which have brought me to tears.
I believe the Ode is Beethoven's musical interpretation of the breath of life, spoken or maybe even screamed after having been birthed by him out of a lifetime of dramatic adversity and reversal of fortune. In the Ode he expresses the breath that was passed into us by our creator, that was made to live forever, regardless of circumstances of health, wealth, position or place. It is the breath that is the common object and source of love in all created humankind. It's the sound not just of acceptance, but of wild, reckless embrace.
I want to add a little to Schiller, van Dyke and maybe even Beethoven. I think the Ode is also the sound of the return of the Prodigal Son, falling into his father's arms. The song of course, started with the father and now the son sings it too. It is the son coming home. And it is the feast with all. Circumstance cannot restrain it. Choice can look away from it but can't change it. It's always there, in the background waiting for us to embrace it and in turn to be embraced by us. Turn up the volume. This music, this very expensive music, must be played loud.
He was never successful in love, to the extent that he never married. He fell in deep love with women both above and below his class but due to the customs of the time, he either rejected marriage himself or was rejected.
In what has to be one of the greatest ironies and maybe upside down miracles in history, he began going deaf at the age of 26. He was deaf enough at the age of 30 to withdraw from public life because he could no longer manage conversation. During the last few years, including those during which he wrote The 9th Symphony, he was utterly deaf.
Although medicine was still pretty rough in his day, an autopsy showed that he likely died of cirrhosis of the liver brought on probably by alcoholism but possibly by accidental lead poisoning by his physicians. There's a lot of good history regarding Beethoven easily available on line so I won't bother to try to recount it to any meaningful degree here. Suffice to say, his life was neither easy nor dull. In fact, his biography reminds me of what is likely the intent of the ancient Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times."
As fascinating and dramatic as his life was, there's been so much projection heaped on him by subsequent biographers and critics, that you have to tread quite carefully in discerning the realities of his life. These projections run the gamut from worship to loathing to jealousy to technical, clinical vivisection of fiery musical genius. One consistent theme I've found is that he was apparently a very dramatic and compelling conductor...go figure.
One popular Beethoven confusion regards the lyrics of Ode to Joy. The lyrics to the hymn "Joyful Joyful" were written by Henry van Dyke...approximately 80 years after the Ode was written. The original lyrics were written by Friedrich Schiller in 1785. Friedrich's poem wasn't very popular until Beethoven picked it up, even with Friedrich. Still, when integrated into the Ode, the lyrics both complete and are completed. I say that even though having read the poem a few times, I'm afraid I have to agree with Friedrich that his poem is a bit stilted and not particularly compelling...until it's sung.
Generally, Beethoven did not wait for life to be good before composing. He finished the 9th symphony in 1824 when he was stone deaf and had already had a couple of brushes with death. He actually conducted the 9th. There's a well documented story that because he couldn't hear the audience and because the orchestra stood stock still after the performance, he thought his work was a failure and burst out crying. He was eventually turned around to face the audience by a couple members of the orchestra and the audience absolutely exploded. Even the greatest musical triumph in the history of the world, penned and performed by him, could not be delivered seamlessly.
The Ode always gets me. It really doesn't matter if it's the orchestrated version with Schiller's lyrics or Joyful Joyful on a tired church organ. My aunt used to play it on piano, pounding until the keys begged for their lives. That was amazing as well. My granddaughter is now learning this song as the first piece of music she will play on her daddy's saxophone. I can think of specific instances with each of those examples which have brought me to tears.
I believe the Ode is Beethoven's musical interpretation of the breath of life, spoken or maybe even screamed after having been birthed by him out of a lifetime of dramatic adversity and reversal of fortune. In the Ode he expresses the breath that was passed into us by our creator, that was made to live forever, regardless of circumstances of health, wealth, position or place. It is the breath that is the common object and source of love in all created humankind. It's the sound not just of acceptance, but of wild, reckless embrace.
I want to add a little to Schiller, van Dyke and maybe even Beethoven. I think the Ode is also the sound of the return of the Prodigal Son, falling into his father's arms. The song of course, started with the father and now the son sings it too. It is the son coming home. And it is the feast with all. Circumstance cannot restrain it. Choice can look away from it but can't change it. It's always there, in the background waiting for us to embrace it and in turn to be embraced by us. Turn up the volume. This music, this very expensive music, must be played loud.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Not Really Wanderin' Right Now
This isn't a real post, just a brief update on the site.
1) A search feature has been added to give you a leg up if you're looking for a post by topic, name, phase of the moon, whatever. When you search, your results or lack thereof will be displayed in the central column. When you want to get back to the blog, you'll notice a subtle little cancel button in the uppermost right corner of the central column where your results are displayed. Clicking that button should return everything to normal...or as close as we ever get to that here. DANG! I forgot to mention that the search is at the very bottom of the page. You'll need to scroll down to use it. The reason: I always hate to have maps in my way when I'm trying to get someplace
2) Some people have requested email notification and/or mentioned that they thought they'd signed up for it but email from here doesn't seem to wander their way. If you've identified yourself as a "Follower" of the blog and you want Wanderin' to come to you instead of the other way round, try deleting yourself as a follower and re-adding. That should do it. If it doesn't, I can add you manually. You'll just need to either respond to a post here (any will do) or shoot me an email. (Please take special notice of the phrase "an email" that follows directly after "shoot me")
Hope you're well. Hope you're watching for good things as you wander. Talk again in a bit.
1) A search feature has been added to give you a leg up if you're looking for a post by topic, name, phase of the moon, whatever. When you search, your results or lack thereof will be displayed in the central column. When you want to get back to the blog, you'll notice a subtle little cancel button in the uppermost right corner of the central column where your results are displayed. Clicking that button should return everything to normal...or as close as we ever get to that here. DANG! I forgot to mention that the search is at the very bottom of the page. You'll need to scroll down to use it. The reason: I always hate to have maps in my way when I'm trying to get someplace
2) Some people have requested email notification and/or mentioned that they thought they'd signed up for it but email from here doesn't seem to wander their way. If you've identified yourself as a "Follower" of the blog and you want Wanderin' to come to you instead of the other way round, try deleting yourself as a follower and re-adding. That should do it. If it doesn't, I can add you manually. You'll just need to either respond to a post here (any will do) or shoot me an email. (Please take special notice of the phrase "an email" that follows directly after "shoot me")
Hope you're well. Hope you're watching for good things as you wander. Talk again in a bit.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Jedi's
My four year old grand son has discovered Star Wars. So far he's only seen episodes 4, 5 & 6 (the first 3 movies). He's already so hooked though that he has his sister whining "Noooooo" when it's his turn to pick a movie...which will be Star Wars...again. She doesn't even wait to hear which one.
The first Star Wars movie came out before Christy and I were dating. I saw it at the Chinese Theater in Los Angeles. The second movie premiered when we were together; we just can't remember if we were married or engaged at the time. I don't remember where or when exactly we saw the third movie. We were probably the parents of kids about the same age or younger than our grand kids are now. There's a couple lost decades there where specific memories require pictures, video and possibly an affidavit.
Visiting the grand kids over Christmas, I had the opportunity to watch Star Wars a few more times. This movie series has been a family staple over the years. At one point our children decided that all life situations could be addressed by a line or two of Star Wars dialog. If you doubt this, just try give it a try. Oh, wait a minute, "There is no try. Only do or do not."
As I watched the fourth episode for the 3,233rd time (probably) it suddenly hit me that all the characters with light sabers both good and bad, always travel a similar path in their battles with each other. Obe Wan always comes perilously close to losing, but somehow ekes out the win in a sudden reversal of fortune. Darth, Annakin or whoever he is, always imagines himself the biggest gun in the room and always loses the big battles with the other side. Luke's fiercest fights end with him encountering some kind of defeat, only to transcend the defeat of battle with a triumph of soul and relationship.
Star Wars as a morality play doesn't hit me like it used to. That's probably due to my subliminally resenting the years of my life that have evaporated while I was watching it. However, it is still interesting to see the character of the characters unfold over years of development, in every phase as they move from dialog to decision to conflict to conflicted decision. The characters tell their own stories, even if they're 8 foot tall parodies of Siberian Huskies (Lucas' model for Chew Bakka was his dog) or a 3 foot tall something-or-other modeled after Castaneda's Don Juan. The character's personalities remain interesting and can surprise, even after years of repetition. Of course, this is true to a much greater degree for real people.
We all revert to form when we go into battle and pull out our light sabers...I mean, encounter crisis. If our life theme has had fear in it, we'll express fear. If we've had anger issues, we'll embrace the anger (gratuitous thinly veiled Star Wars line happening now). Have you noticed how you almost never see someone encounter a crisis and respond with an immediate and profound reaction of peace and centeredness? No, our first, second and generally all subsequent reactions run in a less positive direction.
We don't seem to be living in a time that values training for crisis. It's a lot more popular these days to deny the very possibility of crisis, let alone train for it. We approach the issue of crisis, almost with a degree of superstition imagining that if we talk about the possibility, somehow we'll make it come true. Another approach is to pile a bunch of stuff up between us and the perceived line of attack. This latter typically is crisis specific. If we fear that a financial crisis is looming, we pile up money. If we are fearful of a health issue, we eat disgusting green grainy things and run ourselves stupid; that is, we try to pile up health. These things aren't necessarily bad, although they can quite easily become a target for our ability to obsesses. More importantly, they don't really help us deal with crisis. At best, they just help us delay it for a little while.
Training for crisis takes a lot different forms. Physical training is helpful. Mental training is good. There's really only one thing that prepares you for crisis. Here it is: spirituality.
Here in the midst of the reality of planet earth, where Siberian Huskies are considerably less than 8 feet tall (I can't begin to explain how important that is) good and evil are personified. Our choices are about who we identify and associate with, not about whether "light" or "dark" is behind the swing of the light saber. And regardless of our perception of the reality of it, our choices have consequences far beyond ourselves, touching the lives of people we know as well as people yet to come.
Choose well you must. The present and future really do depend on it. "The peace that passes understanding" is a quote from a different and better source. That source is road map and enabler of the best possible responses to all crises. No need for a light saber.
The first Star Wars movie came out before Christy and I were dating. I saw it at the Chinese Theater in Los Angeles. The second movie premiered when we were together; we just can't remember if we were married or engaged at the time. I don't remember where or when exactly we saw the third movie. We were probably the parents of kids about the same age or younger than our grand kids are now. There's a couple lost decades there where specific memories require pictures, video and possibly an affidavit.
Visiting the grand kids over Christmas, I had the opportunity to watch Star Wars a few more times. This movie series has been a family staple over the years. At one point our children decided that all life situations could be addressed by a line or two of Star Wars dialog. If you doubt this, just try give it a try. Oh, wait a minute, "There is no try. Only do or do not."
As I watched the fourth episode for the 3,233rd time (probably) it suddenly hit me that all the characters with light sabers both good and bad, always travel a similar path in their battles with each other. Obe Wan always comes perilously close to losing, but somehow ekes out the win in a sudden reversal of fortune. Darth, Annakin or whoever he is, always imagines himself the biggest gun in the room and always loses the big battles with the other side. Luke's fiercest fights end with him encountering some kind of defeat, only to transcend the defeat of battle with a triumph of soul and relationship.
Star Wars as a morality play doesn't hit me like it used to. That's probably due to my subliminally resenting the years of my life that have evaporated while I was watching it. However, it is still interesting to see the character of the characters unfold over years of development, in every phase as they move from dialog to decision to conflict to conflicted decision. The characters tell their own stories, even if they're 8 foot tall parodies of Siberian Huskies (Lucas' model for Chew Bakka was his dog) or a 3 foot tall something-or-other modeled after Castaneda's Don Juan. The character's personalities remain interesting and can surprise, even after years of repetition. Of course, this is true to a much greater degree for real people.
We all revert to form when we go into battle and pull out our light sabers...I mean, encounter crisis. If our life theme has had fear in it, we'll express fear. If we've had anger issues, we'll embrace the anger (gratuitous thinly veiled Star Wars line happening now). Have you noticed how you almost never see someone encounter a crisis and respond with an immediate and profound reaction of peace and centeredness? No, our first, second and generally all subsequent reactions run in a less positive direction.
We don't seem to be living in a time that values training for crisis. It's a lot more popular these days to deny the very possibility of crisis, let alone train for it. We approach the issue of crisis, almost with a degree of superstition imagining that if we talk about the possibility, somehow we'll make it come true. Another approach is to pile a bunch of stuff up between us and the perceived line of attack. This latter typically is crisis specific. If we fear that a financial crisis is looming, we pile up money. If we are fearful of a health issue, we eat disgusting green grainy things and run ourselves stupid; that is, we try to pile up health. These things aren't necessarily bad, although they can quite easily become a target for our ability to obsesses. More importantly, they don't really help us deal with crisis. At best, they just help us delay it for a little while.
Training for crisis takes a lot different forms. Physical training is helpful. Mental training is good. There's really only one thing that prepares you for crisis. Here it is: spirituality.
Here in the midst of the reality of planet earth, where Siberian Huskies are considerably less than 8 feet tall (I can't begin to explain how important that is) good and evil are personified. Our choices are about who we identify and associate with, not about whether "light" or "dark" is behind the swing of the light saber. And regardless of our perception of the reality of it, our choices have consequences far beyond ourselves, touching the lives of people we know as well as people yet to come.
Choose well you must. The present and future really do depend on it. "The peace that passes understanding" is a quote from a different and better source. That source is road map and enabler of the best possible responses to all crises. No need for a light saber.
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