Earlier this year, my wife, Suzanne, informed me that the Census Bureau, which had employed both of us briefly for the 2000 Census, was again accepting applications for census workers. Since that time, I have contacted the necessary people, scheduled an application appointment (“app app”), and taken a placement test. If my background check works out okay, I’ll be called for an interview sometime in the next four months.
Today is Sunday. This Friday, a month will have passed since the app app. I’ve spent the interim taking care of my dad, visiting my mom in the hospital, going to church, writing the occasional article, looking for work, getting sick, getting over being sick, and agonizing over the prospect of once again facing that tribunal that is the Job Interview. One more clue that my Self is alive and well is the pain I experience when anticipating applying for employment.
Someone recently told me that I should not be so hard on myself. “You’ve just been unlucky,” he said. “Look: You’re part of the Baby-Boomer Generation—the biggest bolus of humanity to pass through the American economy since...well, ever. You’re not the only one who has had a rough time staying employed! Just keep trying. You’ll get something.” Well-intentioned words, no doubt, but are they true?
Using the figures provided by that very Census Bureau that I want to employ me, I can sketch out a rough version of my circumstances: The highest unemployment rate at any time during my life—from 1953 onwards—was 11.4%. That was between 1990 and 1992, admittedly a rough patch for many...including me. Even when troops were returning from Vietnam in 1975, the unemployment rate rarely topped 10%. That means that, most of my life, 90% of my peers had jobs when I did not. Okay, so a few other guys didn’t have jobs either. Did they even want them? Were they always the same people?
I know that much of the time I spent without work it was by design. I would get a job just to earn enough money to go back to school and finish my degree. When I could afford to attend for a term or two, I’d quit my job and attend college full-time for a year or so. When I ran out of funds, I’d drop out of school and look for another job. I never looked upon any of those jobs as anything more than temporary employment: a sort of stepping stone to something better down the road.
Only that something better, once I got “down the road”, was never there. “‘Last hired; first fired’ is the story of my life,” I once said. Well, it may not be the whole story but it’s a big part of it. Every time I would finish a course of study and then go out into the wide world in search of an application for my newfound skills, I would find one of two things: either the demand for those skills had dried up while I was acquiring them or they nearly had. It never occurred to me to settle for less and just get a job. I wanted a career. So, undaunted, I’d go back to college to pursue yet another certificate—only to discover, when I’d gotten it, that there was no market for that skill either. There’s a lesson here somewhere, if I could just figure out what it is!
There were jobs along the way that paid fairly well, and that would have lasted a while if I’d have let them. Only I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted them to last. After all, I told myself, I wasn’t really cut out for them. I was just faking out myself and everyone else into believing that I could do them—just long enough to get to the next rung of my competency ladder. Except I never got to the next rung. I’m frozen on the First Rung—probably for life.
So it is that, every time I go out to look for a job, filling out an application feels like regurgitating a decades-long litany of failures and excuses for marginal living. It is the sharp pangs of chagrin that I feel at such times that demonstrates to me—in no uncertain terms—that my Self is alive and well. After all, if I weren’t Self-ish, why would I care? Why would I feel any shame or chagrin when looking for work is the right thing for me to do in God’s sight? Why would I feel guilty for having coasted as a fake, a flake and a failure when He has already forgiven me for all I’ve ever done?
But I am Self-ish. I must be.
Only a Self feels shame or chagrin when in Truth there is only Victory; only a Self feels guilt when in Truth there is only Justification. In Christ, my past has been amputated and is no longer a part of me—all that remains is the lingering pain of a phantom limb. I need to keep telling my self that, if I’m ever going to truly divorce him.
Just the same, I feel sorry for my Self. I see him writhing in agony as he anticipates feeling the lash once again for his past sins. My soul cries out for mercy: “Can’t you see he’s in pain? Is this really necessary? Whatever happened to ‘do unto others...’?” Even now, I wonder: does he really need to be crucified? Wouldn’t a euthanizing shot of morphine accomplish the same end?
Honestly, God: I’m waiting for an answer. It must have torn You to see Your Son treated like a shish kebab. Was it really necessary for Jesus to die like that? Couldn’t a whack up beside his head with a sledge hammer have done the trick? Hemlock was good enough for Socrates; why not for Christ? To tell You the truth, I want more than anything to rise with Christ—I just don’t want to die with Him: not if it means enduring such gut-wrenching torment.
Only now am I beginning to appreciate just what my Love must have been feeling as He plead with You that the Cup of Suffering might pass from Him. Only now do I begin to see what it means to be a partaker with Him in that Passion. Please forgive me for wanting to escape my own. I will yield to You, with Your help. May Your perfect will be done!
UPDATE: Today is Monday. The Census Bureau called today and hired me to be an Enumerator once again. I will have a job for anywhere from two to eight weeks. Thanks, Dad.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
TO SEE WITH NEW EYES
Three events have contributed to this post’s title: first, at the ripe old age of fifty-one, I got laser surgery to correct my long-standing handicaps—myopia and astigmatism; second, I saw a collection of M.C. Escher’s drawings; third, I rewrote my comments on a chapter of a book.
With the LASIK, I saw for the first time what others had always described as “normal” vision. I could rise from my bed, having seen the alarm clock’s face from across a room, without first fumbling around for my misplaced glasses. I could scan a grocery store’s aisles for the products I wanted to purchase by simply reading the signs from one end of each instead of reconnoitering on foot to read them at arm’s length. I could drive a car without wearing corrective lenses. I could play sports while casually aware of my surroundings on all sides—not just the one framed in my glasses.
Having seen such woodcuts as Escher’s “Sky and Water I”, “Ascending and Descending” and “Waterfall”, I learned early—long before my LASIK surgery—the importance of seeing what is before one and knowing what it is. What made Escher’s drawings exceptional wasn’t their originality. He drew things that many others had drawn before him. Rather, it was his understanding that all drawings are two-dimensional renderings of three-dimensional realities. If one can create an illusion of depth while drawing one thing, why not extend that illusion to two or three separate depths? Why not draw several things, each with its own illusory depth, and juxtapose them for effect? This is, of course, just what he did—over and over again—with tremendous success.
Finally, having written a commentary on the fifth chapter of Thrall, McNicol and McElrath’s The Ascent of a Leader, I found I had to rewrite it. That chapter, “The First Rung”, is about taking the first step in ascending what the authors call “the character ladder”. They define that step as “Trust God and Others With Me”. As I am wont to do, I paraphrased even that little phrase: Trust God and Others Near Me. I was about halfway through the chapter when it suddenly dawned on me that my paraphrase did not sum up what the authors had intended. They had phrased their title as they had because of what they’d intended to convey. I’d read in it the meaning I did because that’s what fit in with my thinking. To me, “Others With Me” meant “Others Near Me”; to the authors, it was about “Trusting Others” with “Me”. Put another way, they could have called the chapter “Trust God and Others with My Self”.
This kind of trading of one referential frame for another has come to be called a “paradigm shift” and is precisely what is needed by anyone who would follow Jesus Christ. Our Lord’s POV is so radically different from anyone else’s that, without such a shift, it would be impossible for any of us to understand anything He has said. This is what He meant when He said “no one puts new wine in old wineskins”. Another way of saying that might have been, “no one explains a new idea with an old paradigm” or “no one tries to fit a new hypothesis into an old theory”. However, that would have been incorrect; people do that all the time. What people don’t do—or, at least, didn’t in His time—is put new wine in old wineskins or patch old fabric with new.
God has been showing me a “new” idea that requires that kind of paradigm shift: He doesn’t want the tithe; He wants the whole. Moreover, He doesn’t want just the whole; He wants the tithe and the whole: 110%. He might have said in a sermon, “You have heard it preached in your churches, ‘Bring in the whole tithe; give until it hurts.’ But I say to you, bring in all you can; give until it’s gone, and then give some more. For God has given to each what He would have him contribute to the community—no more and no less. Therefore, give what you have been given to give, and trust God for what your neighbor has been given to give.” If each member contributes his (or her) 100%, and trusts God for his (or her) neighbor’s 10%, then each will—in effect—be giving 110%. If, in a congregation of 40 members, each member contributes 110% of what s/he has been given to give, that will be 44 incomes contributed, not 4.
If you haven’t managed to follow this argument, let me try to explain it another way. The first 100% is you. All you have; all you are; all you do; all you say; your home; your cars; your income; your investments; your crops; your family; your friendships. The remaining 10% is what you stand to benefit from your membership in the community. Many people refuse to contribute to society because they fear that, in the words of the old Frankie Lane song, they’ll “live a life of regret...give much more than [they’ll] get”. It is true that we live in a fallen world. Most people are selfish. Out to get what they can and give the minimum in return, they’re inclined to ask, “what’s in it for me?”. Contributing all you are when your neighbor isn’t contributing anything hardly seems fair. On the other hand, Jesus dying for the whole world’s sins when no one else died for anyone’s sins isn’t fair either. God’s economy isn’t about being fair. It’s about unlimited, unconditional love.
If the Old Testament had Ten Commandments and required 10% of your profits, the New Testament has Two Commandments and demands your all. The two new-testament commandments are: Love God Completely and Love Your Neighbor As Your Self. Bearing in mind that “the remaining 10% is what you stand to benefit from your membership in the community”, if you begin by foreswearing your right to be loved by your neighbor, you’ve already satisfied the tithe. But remember, if your neighbor hates you, you’re only getting what you deserve: you’ve already foresworn that right to God as your tithe. Further, as Jesus told His disciples, the World hated Him before it hated them. Taken together, investing yourself and all you have—goods, kindred, life—and foreswearing your right to be loved by your neighbor are 100% + 10% = 110%.
With the LASIK, I saw for the first time what others had always described as “normal” vision. I could rise from my bed, having seen the alarm clock’s face from across a room, without first fumbling around for my misplaced glasses. I could scan a grocery store’s aisles for the products I wanted to purchase by simply reading the signs from one end of each instead of reconnoitering on foot to read them at arm’s length. I could drive a car without wearing corrective lenses. I could play sports while casually aware of my surroundings on all sides—not just the one framed in my glasses.
Having seen such woodcuts as Escher’s “Sky and Water I”, “Ascending and Descending” and “Waterfall”, I learned early—long before my LASIK surgery—the importance of seeing what is before one and knowing what it is. What made Escher’s drawings exceptional wasn’t their originality. He drew things that many others had drawn before him. Rather, it was his understanding that all drawings are two-dimensional renderings of three-dimensional realities. If one can create an illusion of depth while drawing one thing, why not extend that illusion to two or three separate depths? Why not draw several things, each with its own illusory depth, and juxtapose them for effect? This is, of course, just what he did—over and over again—with tremendous success.
Finally, having written a commentary on the fifth chapter of Thrall, McNicol and McElrath’s The Ascent of a Leader, I found I had to rewrite it. That chapter, “The First Rung”, is about taking the first step in ascending what the authors call “the character ladder”. They define that step as “Trust God and Others With Me”. As I am wont to do, I paraphrased even that little phrase: Trust God and Others Near Me. I was about halfway through the chapter when it suddenly dawned on me that my paraphrase did not sum up what the authors had intended. They had phrased their title as they had because of what they’d intended to convey. I’d read in it the meaning I did because that’s what fit in with my thinking. To me, “Others With Me” meant “Others Near Me”; to the authors, it was about “Trusting Others” with “Me”. Put another way, they could have called the chapter “Trust God and Others with My Self”.
This kind of trading of one referential frame for another has come to be called a “paradigm shift” and is precisely what is needed by anyone who would follow Jesus Christ. Our Lord’s POV is so radically different from anyone else’s that, without such a shift, it would be impossible for any of us to understand anything He has said. This is what He meant when He said “no one puts new wine in old wineskins”. Another way of saying that might have been, “no one explains a new idea with an old paradigm” or “no one tries to fit a new hypothesis into an old theory”. However, that would have been incorrect; people do that all the time. What people don’t do—or, at least, didn’t in His time—is put new wine in old wineskins or patch old fabric with new.
God has been showing me a “new” idea that requires that kind of paradigm shift: He doesn’t want the tithe; He wants the whole. Moreover, He doesn’t want just the whole; He wants the tithe and the whole: 110%. He might have said in a sermon, “You have heard it preached in your churches, ‘Bring in the whole tithe; give until it hurts.’ But I say to you, bring in all you can; give until it’s gone, and then give some more. For God has given to each what He would have him contribute to the community—no more and no less. Therefore, give what you have been given to give, and trust God for what your neighbor has been given to give.” If each member contributes his (or her) 100%, and trusts God for his (or her) neighbor’s 10%, then each will—in effect—be giving 110%. If, in a congregation of 40 members, each member contributes 110% of what s/he has been given to give, that will be 44 incomes contributed, not 4.
If you haven’t managed to follow this argument, let me try to explain it another way. The first 100% is you. All you have; all you are; all you do; all you say; your home; your cars; your income; your investments; your crops; your family; your friendships. The remaining 10% is what you stand to benefit from your membership in the community. Many people refuse to contribute to society because they fear that, in the words of the old Frankie Lane song, they’ll “live a life of regret...give much more than [they’ll] get”. It is true that we live in a fallen world. Most people are selfish. Out to get what they can and give the minimum in return, they’re inclined to ask, “what’s in it for me?”. Contributing all you are when your neighbor isn’t contributing anything hardly seems fair. On the other hand, Jesus dying for the whole world’s sins when no one else died for anyone’s sins isn’t fair either. God’s economy isn’t about being fair. It’s about unlimited, unconditional love.
If the Old Testament had Ten Commandments and required 10% of your profits, the New Testament has Two Commandments and demands your all. The two new-testament commandments are: Love God Completely and Love Your Neighbor As Your Self. Bearing in mind that “the remaining 10% is what you stand to benefit from your membership in the community”, if you begin by foreswearing your right to be loved by your neighbor, you’ve already satisfied the tithe. But remember, if your neighbor hates you, you’re only getting what you deserve: you’ve already foresworn that right to God as your tithe. Further, as Jesus told His disciples, the World hated Him before it hated them. Taken together, investing yourself and all you have—goods, kindred, life—and foreswearing your right to be loved by your neighbor are 100% + 10% = 110%.
MIND OVER MATTER
I read a bumper sticker (yeah, I do that sometimes...bad habit) that read, “Mind over matter: If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter!” At the time, it seemed nonsense to me—just another stupid platitude someone had made up, probably just so that s/he could put it on that bumper sticker. However, God taught me something the other day that keeps that “stupid” saying ringing in my head.
As the recurring theme of this ’blog, killing my Self so that Christ may be born in my place has been my goal for some time. Yet, things happen each day that, taken together, seem to demonstrate that my efforts so far have been in vain. Then, once in a while, something happens that clearly demonstrates that I am succeeding...wildly. One thing that happens a lot involves vehicles: someone else drives in such a way that endangers the public. More to the point, someone drives in a way that endangers—or, still more to the point, annoys—me. Then, I respond with moral outrage, indignation, anger, etc., which proves once again that I—as a recipient of insults—still exist.
Something I have to keep reminding myself is that, even in my most redeemed state, emotion is not bad. Feelings are not my enemy. I can experience loss, grief, sadness, anger—and even seething hatred—without sinning. God does these same things. Jesus wept when his friend, Lazarus, died. He expressed hatred toward the Nicolaitans in his revelation to John. My problem is not that I feel angry when people put my life—or the lives of my loved ones—in danger. My problem is that I respond to that anger by either wreaking violent revenge upon them or fantasizing about doing so.
Yesterday in Sunday school, we were talking about stress. We were exploring the ways insults—whether physical, mental or spiritual—can accumulate over time to cause illness. We learned that the vast majority of ailments are not rooted in those insults; rather, they are rooted in how we respond to them. The boom buggy that pounds away at our bones with 130-decibel blasts may well shatter feeble old bones. However, it is the churning resentment we bear toward its driver that will push our levels of blood pressure and nervous tension beyond health. The insult injures; our maladaptive response to the insult magnifies that injury and prolongs its effects. The initial insult to our systems may be confined to a particular intersection where the offending child parks his weapon behind us while we are stopped at a traffic signal. It may last only a matter of minutes. However, it is what we do when the light changes and we make good our escape from that insult that will have a much-longer-lasting impact—no pun intended—on our overall health.
As my son, Brian, and I prepared to turn into our street from the “main drag”, something happened that affirms some progress in my Christotic quest. A vehicle passed us on our left side. Had I turned a split second earlier, I may have been killed. That guy didn’t even slow down; he barreled on by as though it were the most natural thing to do. I thought—yes, thought; I didn’t have to fight an urge—about chasing the guy down and educating—yes, educating; I had no desire to beat him up—him about traffic safety. Amazing. It wasn’t until I had gone home and debriefed Brian regarding the incident that I began to stew about how that inconsiderate so and so had put our lives—and the integrity of my minivan—in jeopardy. Still, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I resolved to call the Public Works department on Monday morning.
I just got off of the phone with Maria of the Public Works department. She told me that there is a six-week backlog of cases and that complaints are handled on a first-come, first-served basis. If no one is injured or killed in the next six weeks, I guess that will be fine. I told Maria that I have had, to date, four near head-on collisions at that intersection. I went on to say that the striping on the pavement is very clear—albeit a bit faded—and that I have no problem whatever reading it. “It’s my stupid neighbors who drive on the wrong side of the street and nearly collide with one another,” I complained. “I think you need to add redundant signage to knock them over the head with instruction on how to negotiate the traffic-control indicators.” She replied that Giselle would investigate the matter and get back to me...in about six weeks.
Have I backslidden? By calling my neighbors who can’t—or won’t—drive properly “stupid”, have I given back to the Enemy the ground that I gained by finishing my turn instead of chasing down the idiot who nearly got us killed? I don’t think so. I was only calling them what they are: fools. God does as much many times in the Bible. Calling a fool a fool is not a sin. Getting mad at him for being a fool—and calling him “airhead”—is a sin.
From victory to victory, glory to glory, the journey continues.
As the recurring theme of this ’blog, killing my Self so that Christ may be born in my place has been my goal for some time. Yet, things happen each day that, taken together, seem to demonstrate that my efforts so far have been in vain. Then, once in a while, something happens that clearly demonstrates that I am succeeding...wildly. One thing that happens a lot involves vehicles: someone else drives in such a way that endangers the public. More to the point, someone drives in a way that endangers—or, still more to the point, annoys—me. Then, I respond with moral outrage, indignation, anger, etc., which proves once again that I—as a recipient of insults—still exist.
Something I have to keep reminding myself is that, even in my most redeemed state, emotion is not bad. Feelings are not my enemy. I can experience loss, grief, sadness, anger—and even seething hatred—without sinning. God does these same things. Jesus wept when his friend, Lazarus, died. He expressed hatred toward the Nicolaitans in his revelation to John. My problem is not that I feel angry when people put my life—or the lives of my loved ones—in danger. My problem is that I respond to that anger by either wreaking violent revenge upon them or fantasizing about doing so.
Yesterday in Sunday school, we were talking about stress. We were exploring the ways insults—whether physical, mental or spiritual—can accumulate over time to cause illness. We learned that the vast majority of ailments are not rooted in those insults; rather, they are rooted in how we respond to them. The boom buggy that pounds away at our bones with 130-decibel blasts may well shatter feeble old bones. However, it is the churning resentment we bear toward its driver that will push our levels of blood pressure and nervous tension beyond health. The insult injures; our maladaptive response to the insult magnifies that injury and prolongs its effects. The initial insult to our systems may be confined to a particular intersection where the offending child parks his weapon behind us while we are stopped at a traffic signal. It may last only a matter of minutes. However, it is what we do when the light changes and we make good our escape from that insult that will have a much-longer-lasting impact—no pun intended—on our overall health.
As my son, Brian, and I prepared to turn into our street from the “main drag”, something happened that affirms some progress in my Christotic quest. A vehicle passed us on our left side. Had I turned a split second earlier, I may have been killed. That guy didn’t even slow down; he barreled on by as though it were the most natural thing to do. I thought—yes, thought; I didn’t have to fight an urge—about chasing the guy down and educating—yes, educating; I had no desire to beat him up—him about traffic safety. Amazing. It wasn’t until I had gone home and debriefed Brian regarding the incident that I began to stew about how that inconsiderate so and so had put our lives—and the integrity of my minivan—in jeopardy. Still, I didn’t get angry. Instead, I resolved to call the Public Works department on Monday morning.
I just got off of the phone with Maria of the Public Works department. She told me that there is a six-week backlog of cases and that complaints are handled on a first-come, first-served basis. If no one is injured or killed in the next six weeks, I guess that will be fine. I told Maria that I have had, to date, four near head-on collisions at that intersection. I went on to say that the striping on the pavement is very clear—albeit a bit faded—and that I have no problem whatever reading it. “It’s my stupid neighbors who drive on the wrong side of the street and nearly collide with one another,” I complained. “I think you need to add redundant signage to knock them over the head with instruction on how to negotiate the traffic-control indicators.” She replied that Giselle would investigate the matter and get back to me...in about six weeks.
Have I backslidden? By calling my neighbors who can’t—or won’t—drive properly “stupid”, have I given back to the Enemy the ground that I gained by finishing my turn instead of chasing down the idiot who nearly got us killed? I don’t think so. I was only calling them what they are: fools. God does as much many times in the Bible. Calling a fool a fool is not a sin. Getting mad at him for being a fool—and calling him “airhead”—is a sin.
From victory to victory, glory to glory, the journey continues.
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