It has been brought to my attention by a longtime friend (and new reader) that I have made a number of "disturbing" self revelations in my posts on this blog. Reading them over objectively, as though reading someone else's blog, I agree with her evaluation.
I have decided, therefore, to post this disclaimer:
I am not now, nor have I ever been, criminally inclined. Only twice in my life have I knowingly inflicted pain...no, make that three times...on another sentient creature.
Once, I threw a rock at a bird to see if I could hit it. I succeeded, and the poor little thing fell dazed to the ground. A moment later, it woke up, shook its head, and flew away muttering something about never falling asleep on a telephone wire again.
On another occasion, I had a disagreement with a younger neighborhood child and, having nothing persuasive to say, kicked him in the balls. I never saw him again after that. I have prayed without ceasing that I did not thereby end his bloodline.
Finally, I caught and killed a fish once while I was backpacking in the mountains. I was hungry, so I hunted for food. A poor, innocent trout died so that I could live. Sort of like how my poor, innocent Savior died so that I could live. The very thought sickens me.
I am an omnivore, not an herbivore. I eat meat, including fish, several times a month. I am complicit in the deaths of several animals, probably under horrific circumstances, and several people will, no doubt, find that disagreeable. However, buying "meat" or "seafood" in a deli is usually not perceived (or, at least, I don't think it is; being autistic, I never know how I'm being read) as violent behavior.
I do not now own, nor have I ever owned, any firearms. I used them while serving in the military but only under duress. I do not believe in capital punishment, abortion, or warfare. Euthanasia and medically-assisted suicide I'm undecided about, as they are intended to relieve rather than cause suffering.
Many people I know vehemently defend both militarism and gun ownership. These people, in ways which I will never comprehend and with which I will never concur, manage to reconcile Christian faith with their political beliefs. Impossible, I say. Jesus taught us to love our enemies, not to kill them. In that case, why do we need guns, or armies for that matter? We should be rejoicing at terrorism, not decrying it. We should be "counting it all joy" when beset by slavery and other tribulations. The problem with most Americans is that they have NEVER SEEN, let alone experienced, tribulation. Moreover, they seem to think that--if they profess to "believe in" Jesus as the Son of God--they should not HAVE TO experience it. The Tribulation, they say, is for the Reprobate, not the Saved. That is bullshit.
If the Church was never to undergo tribulation, why would she be exhorted to "count it all joy when you are beset by various trials"? What trials, if we are never to undergo tribulation? Of COURSE we are to experience tribulation! It is God's Plan to save the world through us! Faith consists of making yourself available to His purpose, not of cutting a deal to rescue yourself from it! This is our job, for which we will be rewarded with Everlasting Life.
No, it's not "works": we can never do such a good job of loving God or one another that we will actually "deserve" Heaven. Grace is still in operation here. My point is that simply believing that Jesus is the Christ is not sufficient to save you from your sins, nor will any amount of faith save you from The Tribulation. Remember that the Devil and his demons also know who Jesus is...and shudder. You have to love God with all of your being and also love your neighbor--including your enemies--as yourself. That is the true nature of Christian faith. If you're not doing this, you're not a Christian.
So, as I write this, I am screaming at my wife. No, I'm not angry with her. I'm venting. She knows that, God bless her long-suffering heart. She is not screaming back; she knows that I'm mad at the assholes at Sprint and Asurion who have taken my money and keep sending me "refurbished" phones that don't work.
My most recent fantasy was of marching into the Asurion office with a katana and decapitating the CEO. Of course, I would never do that. But I THINK about such things all the time. Think of it as going to see "Rambo" without having to buy a movie ticket. If such fantasies were not mainstream, Arnold Schwarzenegger wouldn't be the richest man in Hollywood. He is.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
People Are Like Machines, Only More Delicate
One thing I used to tell my computer technology students is:
“Be especially careful when working on the
machines. They are delicate. If you break
them, they will not heal as you can.”
Boy, was that a load. Machines are much tougher than are people, as it turns out. True, our bodies may heal themselves—to a point—when they become damaged. But our souls are brittle to the point of being destroyed by very modest insults indeed.
As I stated in an earlier post, I destroyed my new smart phone the other day. It wasn’t intentional. In fact, I actually thought that I was being very gentle with it. I wasn’t. When an image wouldn’t move in response to my hand motions on the touchscreen, I tried to push it a bit more forcefully. That’s when I discovered why it’s called a “touchscreen”, and not a “pokescreen”. It doesn’t take any pressure. It only takes a touch. The device responds to the galvanic index of your skin. That’s why you can’t operate it with gloves on.
I’m reminded of a woman in my neighborhood who stands on a particular corner of a local street intersection. She presses the button to cross the street. If the light doesn’t change immediately, she presses it again. And again. And again. One time, as I sat in my van waiting for the light to change, I counted as she pressed that button twenty-two times. I wanted to roll down my window and scream at her: “Hey, you stupid bitch! You’re going to wear out the damn switch! Then we’re going to have to pay more taxes to replace it! Just press it once and wait!” I didn’t do that, of course. I just waited. As I waited, I imagined the “WALK” signal changing from a red hand, extended palm outward, to a white hand, extended finger upward, instead of to a white image of a walking person.
But I digress. What God showed me today is that I injure the people around me in much the same way that I injured that phone. I get impatient when they don’t cooperate with me. Then, having said something to them calmly, I repeat it a bit louder. Or I add an expletive or two for emphasis. Before I know it, I’m screaming away, insulting as I go, at the people who matter the most to me in this world. Pathetic. Really.
The worst aspect of this is neither the misbehavior on my part nor the damage it does to the relationships I share with those people. No, as I stated at the top of this post, the worst aspect is the fact that people are often more delicate than machines, not less. The harsh words can cause damage to their souls that no amount of apologizing or psychotherapy can ever heal. Their interfaces will be forever broken and not only will I be unable to relate to them as before but neither will anyone else. They will spend the rest of their lives painfully bruised and unable to relate to other human beings in a healthy way. All of this because of how I spoke to them. Had I slapped them, their cheeks might heal without visible scars. However, slaps leave spiritual scars also that no amount of time will heal.
In his song, Gossip, Gossip, gospel great Jester Hairston wrote: “If you can’t say somet’ing nice, don’t talk a-tall is ma a’vice.” That’s great a’vice…er, advice. The Bible says that man’s tongue is a flame, ignited by the fires of hell. It is humanly impossible to control. For those who have God’s Spirit indwelling them, however, it is divinely possible to control. All it takes is faith. I’ve already promised to be more gentle with my next smartphone. It remains to be seen whether I will keep that promise. A better promise would be to treat my fellow human beings more gently. However, as people often tend to piss me off, it will prove a harder one to keep. It will take faith: trust and obedience.
The Bible also says that Satan comes as an angel of light. He fools the unwary who fail to discern his lies. Sometimes, I open my fat mouth because I think that God put a word in it for another person. Only later do I realize that it wasn’t God at all but the devil. I’m reminded of the good-angel toon and the bad-angel toon on the two shoulders of Eddie Valiant as he sat in a cab in the film, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. Each is trying to persuade him to follow a certain path. In the end, he brushes them both off and makes up his own mind.
Sometimes, however, God does have a word that He wants me to speak. A Word of Knowledge; a Word of Encouragement; a Word of Admonition—prophecies all. He tells me to be brave and speak when I ought to. He also tells me to be patient and remain silent when I ought to. Often, it’s hard to tell the difference.
Sometimes I fantasize about hurting other people. I imagine myself using my Boy Scout pocket knife to cut their throats, or a machete to decapitate them. I only do this when they have behaved badly toward me or toward someone else about whom I care deeply. To my credit, I have never acted on these temptations. Perhaps where I need to start is with replacing these violent daydreams with intercessory prayers. If I pray for opportunities and other resources to bless others in Jesus’ name, perhaps Our Father will provide them. Then, I’ll be a part of the Solution rather than a part of the Problem. Won’t that be a change!
“Be especially careful when working on the
machines. They are delicate. If you break
them, they will not heal as you can.”
Boy, was that a load. Machines are much tougher than are people, as it turns out. True, our bodies may heal themselves—to a point—when they become damaged. But our souls are brittle to the point of being destroyed by very modest insults indeed.
As I stated in an earlier post, I destroyed my new smart phone the other day. It wasn’t intentional. In fact, I actually thought that I was being very gentle with it. I wasn’t. When an image wouldn’t move in response to my hand motions on the touchscreen, I tried to push it a bit more forcefully. That’s when I discovered why it’s called a “touchscreen”, and not a “pokescreen”. It doesn’t take any pressure. It only takes a touch. The device responds to the galvanic index of your skin. That’s why you can’t operate it with gloves on.
I’m reminded of a woman in my neighborhood who stands on a particular corner of a local street intersection. She presses the button to cross the street. If the light doesn’t change immediately, she presses it again. And again. And again. One time, as I sat in my van waiting for the light to change, I counted as she pressed that button twenty-two times. I wanted to roll down my window and scream at her: “Hey, you stupid bitch! You’re going to wear out the damn switch! Then we’re going to have to pay more taxes to replace it! Just press it once and wait!” I didn’t do that, of course. I just waited. As I waited, I imagined the “WALK” signal changing from a red hand, extended palm outward, to a white hand, extended finger upward, instead of to a white image of a walking person.
But I digress. What God showed me today is that I injure the people around me in much the same way that I injured that phone. I get impatient when they don’t cooperate with me. Then, having said something to them calmly, I repeat it a bit louder. Or I add an expletive or two for emphasis. Before I know it, I’m screaming away, insulting as I go, at the people who matter the most to me in this world. Pathetic. Really.
The worst aspect of this is neither the misbehavior on my part nor the damage it does to the relationships I share with those people. No, as I stated at the top of this post, the worst aspect is the fact that people are often more delicate than machines, not less. The harsh words can cause damage to their souls that no amount of apologizing or psychotherapy can ever heal. Their interfaces will be forever broken and not only will I be unable to relate to them as before but neither will anyone else. They will spend the rest of their lives painfully bruised and unable to relate to other human beings in a healthy way. All of this because of how I spoke to them. Had I slapped them, their cheeks might heal without visible scars. However, slaps leave spiritual scars also that no amount of time will heal.
In his song, Gossip, Gossip, gospel great Jester Hairston wrote: “If you can’t say somet’ing nice, don’t talk a-tall is ma a’vice.” That’s great a’vice…er, advice. The Bible says that man’s tongue is a flame, ignited by the fires of hell. It is humanly impossible to control. For those who have God’s Spirit indwelling them, however, it is divinely possible to control. All it takes is faith. I’ve already promised to be more gentle with my next smartphone. It remains to be seen whether I will keep that promise. A better promise would be to treat my fellow human beings more gently. However, as people often tend to piss me off, it will prove a harder one to keep. It will take faith: trust and obedience.
The Bible also says that Satan comes as an angel of light. He fools the unwary who fail to discern his lies. Sometimes, I open my fat mouth because I think that God put a word in it for another person. Only later do I realize that it wasn’t God at all but the devil. I’m reminded of the good-angel toon and the bad-angel toon on the two shoulders of Eddie Valiant as he sat in a cab in the film, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. Each is trying to persuade him to follow a certain path. In the end, he brushes them both off and makes up his own mind.
Sometimes, however, God does have a word that He wants me to speak. A Word of Knowledge; a Word of Encouragement; a Word of Admonition—prophecies all. He tells me to be brave and speak when I ought to. He also tells me to be patient and remain silent when I ought to. Often, it’s hard to tell the difference.
Sometimes I fantasize about hurting other people. I imagine myself using my Boy Scout pocket knife to cut their throats, or a machete to decapitate them. I only do this when they have behaved badly toward me or toward someone else about whom I care deeply. To my credit, I have never acted on these temptations. Perhaps where I need to start is with replacing these violent daydreams with intercessory prayers. If I pray for opportunities and other resources to bless others in Jesus’ name, perhaps Our Father will provide them. Then, I’ll be a part of the Solution rather than a part of the Problem. Won’t that be a change!
A “New” Form of Idolatry
God has just impressed upon me—in a most painful way, I might add—the fact that I am an idolater. No, it’s not my van. My wife claims that my minivan is a god to me but it isn’t. It’s a valued servant, nothing more. It was…my smart phone. It is…my computer. Actually, they’re the same thing.
I think it was Karl Barth who defined a god as “that to which a man clings for salvation when he perceives that all is lost”. My phone—my palmtop computer—was my alarm clock, my calendar, my confidant, my entertainer, my informant, my…the list goes on. I used that device for everything from finding my way around town to staying in touch with friends, family and coworkers. I relied on it for practically every detail of my daily life. That was the problem.
I say “it was my smart phone” because today my electronic god died. It took a lot of head scratching and soul searching to find out how this terrible thing happened but figure it out I did. I killed it. It was not responding to my fingertip commands—my prayers, as it were—and, poking it a bit too hard, I cracked the screen. When I tried to turn it back on, after having a medical procedure, all I got were a series of broken, multicolored lines. No pictures, no videos, no icons. My alarm clock, calendar, map, telephone and teletype is dead. To use my wife’s terminology, “it’s a paper weight”. Oh, fuck.
The phone didn’t know that it was dead. It kept on beeping, and ringing, and whistling. It kept on vibrating every time a call, a message, an email, or a Facebook post came in. The alarm kept going off on schedule but I couldn’t turn it off. I couldn’t snooze it. I couldn’t answer it or read its output because the interface—what enables it to talk to me and I to it—is broken. It’s kind of how my relationship with the Real God was before I was saved. I was on earth and He was in Heaven. I ached and I longed and I craved. He may have been aware of my aches, longings and cravings, but He never said so. I never told Him or asked whether He heard me. That’s because our interface was broken and we therefore had no relationship. Then, one day I asked Him to reveal Himself to me. I promised to always seek the truth and to always do what I knew to be right. Soon, He revealed Himself and His will. I haven’t exactly kept my word but He has always kept His. I have had a reliable interface with Him ever since.
It was only when my phone broke that I realized that I had been using it as a substitute for God. Whenever I wondered about something, I would ask my phone. If I was lost, I would ask my phone where I was and where I should go to get unlost. If I wanted to contact someone or help someone or ask someone for help, I would reach for my phone. All of these things I used to pray to God for. That all stopped when I got my smart phone.
At first, my phone was like my van: a loyal and reliable servant. I still took my marching orders from God and got up each day intent on doing His will. I used my phone but I didn’t rely on it. Gradually, I began to rely on my phone. I stopped making paper shopping lists and started making them on S Memo. I stopped using my computer and used my phone to surf the Internet. I stopped talking to my wife and started sending her text messages instead. She hated that. I stopped marking my wall calendar and started using my phone for planning and scheduling.
When my little household god died, my first thought was “can I preserve my text messages?”. If I can’t recover the data stored on the phone, I thought, I’m screwed. All of the conversations that I’ve had with so many other people, all of the statements and promises that I want to hold them to, are gone. No record. Phht! Swept away like a fart in the wind. I always preferred them to telephone conversations because, a day or two after they took place, a permanent record still remained. If someone said, “I didn’t say that; I said this,” I could point to the text on my phone and say, “No, you said this,”. Now, they can claim to have said whatever they want. I have no evidence upon which to convict them.
The good news is that I can get a new phone and I won’t have to pay full price for it. It was insured. The bad news is that the insurance cost $11 per month and the deductible is $150. That means my new phone—the replacement one, that is—will cost $264 + $150, in addition to the $100 that I originally paid for the first one. The full price was $600; the actual cost is $514. Not much of a savings after all. Even if I cancel the insurance after I get the new phone, it will wind up costing me $250 + $(11 5) = $305. Of course, if I do that, I’ll have to pay the whole $600 the next time I kill my phone.
I had planned to go out to dinner…a Porterhouse steak dinner…to reward myself for surviving my second colonoscopy. I had also planned to buy a new computer—maybe two computers—for Christmas. That way, Suzanne and I would each have his or her own computer for the various things we use computers for. I could keep the desktop unit for writing and such, and back up my data offsite. Not now. Now I have to spend the steak dinner money and the new computer money on a new smart phone instead.
This time, I’m going to do things differently. I’ll back up everything I do on the phone. I’ll be more gentle with the interface, and touch rather than tap the screen. Mainly, I’ll pray a lot more to the Real God and a bit less to the fake one. In other words, I’ll use my phone but I won’t rely on it.
I think it was Karl Barth who defined a god as “that to which a man clings for salvation when he perceives that all is lost”. My phone—my palmtop computer—was my alarm clock, my calendar, my confidant, my entertainer, my informant, my…the list goes on. I used that device for everything from finding my way around town to staying in touch with friends, family and coworkers. I relied on it for practically every detail of my daily life. That was the problem.
I say “it was my smart phone” because today my electronic god died. It took a lot of head scratching and soul searching to find out how this terrible thing happened but figure it out I did. I killed it. It was not responding to my fingertip commands—my prayers, as it were—and, poking it a bit too hard, I cracked the screen. When I tried to turn it back on, after having a medical procedure, all I got were a series of broken, multicolored lines. No pictures, no videos, no icons. My alarm clock, calendar, map, telephone and teletype is dead. To use my wife’s terminology, “it’s a paper weight”. Oh, fuck.
The phone didn’t know that it was dead. It kept on beeping, and ringing, and whistling. It kept on vibrating every time a call, a message, an email, or a Facebook post came in. The alarm kept going off on schedule but I couldn’t turn it off. I couldn’t snooze it. I couldn’t answer it or read its output because the interface—what enables it to talk to me and I to it—is broken. It’s kind of how my relationship with the Real God was before I was saved. I was on earth and He was in Heaven. I ached and I longed and I craved. He may have been aware of my aches, longings and cravings, but He never said so. I never told Him or asked whether He heard me. That’s because our interface was broken and we therefore had no relationship. Then, one day I asked Him to reveal Himself to me. I promised to always seek the truth and to always do what I knew to be right. Soon, He revealed Himself and His will. I haven’t exactly kept my word but He has always kept His. I have had a reliable interface with Him ever since.
It was only when my phone broke that I realized that I had been using it as a substitute for God. Whenever I wondered about something, I would ask my phone. If I was lost, I would ask my phone where I was and where I should go to get unlost. If I wanted to contact someone or help someone or ask someone for help, I would reach for my phone. All of these things I used to pray to God for. That all stopped when I got my smart phone.
At first, my phone was like my van: a loyal and reliable servant. I still took my marching orders from God and got up each day intent on doing His will. I used my phone but I didn’t rely on it. Gradually, I began to rely on my phone. I stopped making paper shopping lists and started making them on S Memo. I stopped using my computer and used my phone to surf the Internet. I stopped talking to my wife and started sending her text messages instead. She hated that. I stopped marking my wall calendar and started using my phone for planning and scheduling.
When my little household god died, my first thought was “can I preserve my text messages?”. If I can’t recover the data stored on the phone, I thought, I’m screwed. All of the conversations that I’ve had with so many other people, all of the statements and promises that I want to hold them to, are gone. No record. Phht! Swept away like a fart in the wind. I always preferred them to telephone conversations because, a day or two after they took place, a permanent record still remained. If someone said, “I didn’t say that; I said this,” I could point to the text on my phone and say, “No, you said this,”. Now, they can claim to have said whatever they want. I have no evidence upon which to convict them.
The good news is that I can get a new phone and I won’t have to pay full price for it. It was insured. The bad news is that the insurance cost $11 per month and the deductible is $150. That means my new phone—the replacement one, that is—will cost $264 + $150, in addition to the $100 that I originally paid for the first one. The full price was $600; the actual cost is $514. Not much of a savings after all. Even if I cancel the insurance after I get the new phone, it will wind up costing me $250 + $(11 5) = $305. Of course, if I do that, I’ll have to pay the whole $600 the next time I kill my phone.
I had planned to go out to dinner…a Porterhouse steak dinner…to reward myself for surviving my second colonoscopy. I had also planned to buy a new computer—maybe two computers—for Christmas. That way, Suzanne and I would each have his or her own computer for the various things we use computers for. I could keep the desktop unit for writing and such, and back up my data offsite. Not now. Now I have to spend the steak dinner money and the new computer money on a new smart phone instead.
This time, I’m going to do things differently. I’ll back up everything I do on the phone. I’ll be more gentle with the interface, and touch rather than tap the screen. Mainly, I’ll pray a lot more to the Real God and a bit less to the fake one. In other words, I’ll use my phone but I won’t rely on it.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Baby Steps Get You Nowhere Fast
Can you believe that I actually ARGUED with the Holy Spirit? Playing back the conversation in my mind, I sounded exactly like a cranky kid whose mom is telling him to clean up his mess, do his homework, get out of bed, etc., etc., etc.. The conversation went something like this:
HS: Go take a drink of water. You're dehydrated.
Me: I will! Just not now!
HS: It's only going to get worse until you take a drink. Why are you being so stubborn?
Me: I'm still sleeping! I don't want to be fully awake yet! Leave me alone!
HS: Don't go there, Michael. I'll NEVER leave you alone.
HS: (Some time later, after I've risen for the umpteenth time to go number one) NOW will you get a drink?
Me: I'm going! See? I'm walking to the kitchen now!
HS: (After I've taken the water bottle out of the fridge and taken a few sips, then put it back) No, drink it all. Or, if you prefer, take it back to bed with you. But fill it up first.
Me: Not now, okay? I will! I'll do it in a hour! I want to go back to sleep!
HS: (After I've gone back to bed and begun to have leg cramps) That's because you didn't drink enough soon enough. If you'd done as I told you, you wouldn't be having cramps now.
Me: I know.
HS: Don't start swearing...you brought this on yourself.
Me: (Swearing) I know! (Then, getting up again,) See? I'm getting up! See? I'm bringing the water bottle back to bed with me!
HS: Fill it up first.
Me: Not now!
It went on like this for another half-hour, at the end of which I was fully awake and decided to write this blog.
This is pretty much, in a nutshell, the story of my life--since I met God. Before that, it was even worse because I had no one to tell me what to do. Well, there was my mother, but...when I was grown, I mean.
Any time I start to kvetch about how slowly I'm evolving or how little I've accomplished with my life, I need to go back and read this. I need to be reminded that God is doing HIS part...it's MY part that isn't getting done on time.
I've spent my entire faithwalk taking Baby Steps. Baby steps and baby talk. And baby backtalk. I need to get my [stuff] together and change my diaper. Then I need to start following Him a bit more readily. Only when I do that will my life finally begin to evolve.
HS: Go take a drink of water. You're dehydrated.
Me: I will! Just not now!
HS: It's only going to get worse until you take a drink. Why are you being so stubborn?
Me: I'm still sleeping! I don't want to be fully awake yet! Leave me alone!
HS: Don't go there, Michael. I'll NEVER leave you alone.
HS: (Some time later, after I've risen for the umpteenth time to go number one) NOW will you get a drink?
Me: I'm going! See? I'm walking to the kitchen now!
HS: (After I've taken the water bottle out of the fridge and taken a few sips, then put it back) No, drink it all. Or, if you prefer, take it back to bed with you. But fill it up first.
Me: Not now, okay? I will! I'll do it in a hour! I want to go back to sleep!
HS: (After I've gone back to bed and begun to have leg cramps) That's because you didn't drink enough soon enough. If you'd done as I told you, you wouldn't be having cramps now.
Me: I know.
HS: Don't start swearing...you brought this on yourself.
Me: (Swearing) I know! (Then, getting up again,) See? I'm getting up! See? I'm bringing the water bottle back to bed with me!
HS: Fill it up first.
Me: Not now!
It went on like this for another half-hour, at the end of which I was fully awake and decided to write this blog.
This is pretty much, in a nutshell, the story of my life--since I met God. Before that, it was even worse because I had no one to tell me what to do. Well, there was my mother, but...when I was grown, I mean.
Any time I start to kvetch about how slowly I'm evolving or how little I've accomplished with my life, I need to go back and read this. I need to be reminded that God is doing HIS part...it's MY part that isn't getting done on time.
I've spent my entire faithwalk taking Baby Steps. Baby steps and baby talk. And baby backtalk. I need to get my [stuff] together and change my diaper. Then I need to start following Him a bit more readily. Only when I do that will my life finally begin to evolve.
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