I love first novels and classic rock

I love first novels and classic rock.

I started classes and a new job last week. Community college pre-reqs and hotel graveyard shift rent-a-copping.

I read Generation X, Douglas Coupland’s first novel, the other night.

I started it about 11:30. It was one of those consuming experiences. A book that wipes away other sensory stimulation. An immersion.

I finished the book 5 minutes after the paper guy dropped his responsibility on the front sidewalk. Bright colors instead of real journalism.

It was one of those moments where time freezes and everything is right. I closed the book, and Freebird came on the ancient radio. I wasn’t really even listening, I just left it on to cover the creepy silence of computers and lightbulbs. But the 7 minutes of broken arpeggios cemented the book into my soul.

All novels are a sometimes unintentional disclosure of what an author thinks, feels, or believes. I realize that I should listen to more Steve Miller Band. I kind of like them. But first novels are a confession of who an author is. I love that.

Writing is one of the few things I truly love doing. I’m too jaded for much else. But I’m afraid of writing a novel. I’m afraid of the possibility that a perfect stranger would read me and know me better than one of my friends. My left shoe starts squeaking as I pace to Hell’s Bells. I’m afraid that all the stuff that goes into becoming friends—the late night phone calls, eating tootsie rolls, watching crappy movies, sitting on the hoods of cars staring at streetlights, smoking cigars after chick fliks—I’m afraid that all of that would somehow be wasted. That by writing I can bare my soul to perfect strangers in a way that I can’t seem to with my friends. The ironic thing is that I am doing so right now. That scares the crap out of me.

I can be an anti-social prick. In fact, I worked really hard to become one. I think it started as a defense mechanism. But I don’t know when that was. And I don’t want to be a prick anymore. It’s just so hard undoing all of the time and effort that I spent burning bridges.

With all the poise of a cannonball

Over the past few weeks, I haven't been able to stop listening to the Decemberists' new album, Crane Wife. And it doesn't feel like I'm going to get over it soon. I've even passed up Beatles to listen to this CD. It's that good.

In their song "When the war came," they make the statement, "A terrible autonomy has grafted onto you and me."

Jess and I are looking for a church. And it's not really going too great so far. It's this terrible autonomy that has grafted onto me.

I don't know if I'm overthinking this or what. I am wondering if something is wrong with me.

I want a church that I can relate to, but just being able to relate to a group of people doesn't mean it's the right church. Some of the people I relate best to are stoners and alcoholics. I want a church that believes the same things that I do, but I don't feel like I should just be shopping for a certain combination of phrases in a church doctrinal statement. I want a pastor that I can talk to and relate with, but I don't want to interview potential spiritual leaders. I want a church that I can be involved with, but I don't want to compare resumes against personnel shortages.
But I think that the blessing of church is intimately connected with all of these things.

And besides all of that, everytime we go to a church, I feel guilty because I'm being so analytical and judgemental. But there are all these things that make me want to start screaming and throwing hymnals.

Mostly I feel like churches don't get it anymore--that they are somehow disconnected from a) the real world and b) what they are really supposed to be doing. It seems like church is some weird country club that only lets in some certain type of people. And sometimes that type of person varies from place to place, and sometimes the "type" is a warm, welcoming, yuppie/hippie mix with a well-groomed beard resting between a dark polo shirt and a balding head.

I really think there is something wrong with the way we operate. We market our churches, and attack each other about every little difference in the way we think. But I think that what we believe is important. And there has to be some way to let people know who we are, right?

I get frustrated because some of the churches are so consumer-friendly. The bulletin is three pages of activities for fathers and daughters, or young married couples, or empty-nesters, or balding men, or married teenagers with dachshunds. I'm sure that you can have lots of fun, but I don't attend church for the father/daughter roller disco classes.

And then there are these other churches that don't give a crap about building a community within the church or becoming a productive part of their local community. And the only time they mention the rest of society is when they are telling you how to vote.

Because of my work schedule, I haven't been able to attend church regularly since the beginning of last summer. And I hate to admit it, but not going to church was such a relief. And now I have to face this, and it is driving me nuts. And the thing is, I think the reason I am so frustrated is that I'm not involved in a church. It's like not being a part of a community is making me forget how to assimilate into a community. I don't know.

I just wish I could find a church I don't hate.

Peeing on Fire Hydrants

So, about a week before Christmas, I was listening to the radio while I drove. I was flipping through the stations trying to find some decent Christmas music, and I stopped on the Christian radio station. Now all of these actions--feeling festive, listening to the radio, flipping stations, stopping on the Christian station-- were were unusual for me and probably could be characterized as mistakes. I should have known better. But as the song ended, the DJ comes on the air and drones on and on about how Christmas means so much more to a Christian that anybody else.

That bothered me. Really bothered me.

Now I love Christmas. And I do think that the holiday season is a good time as Christians to discuss Christ's advent, even though even a cursory study of history will show you that the December date comes from an assimilation of pagan cultures, and not any actual possibility of Christ being born at that time of year. But for me, Christmas is special not because of some flimsy religious significance--Christmas is significant because it represents memories, and time with loved ones. Gifts are an opportunity to thank someone for their ongoing emotional involvement in your life with a physical symbol. The holiday season is a moment of our lives that society believes in hope and peace and unselfishness. That is what is beautiful about Christmas.

But why would anyone try to deny that to anyone who isn't a "Christian"?

Besides, Christmas is so much more than just a beautiful season of hope and symbolic gratitude. Seriously, just walk outside your front door once between Thanksgiving and New Years. The holidays have devolved so severely that all of those things I mentioned in the paragraph above are almost lost in a grotesque carnival of materialism.

Why do we want to claim ownership?

Next week, I will celebrate the 13 month anniversary of my wedding. Marriage is awesome. I love my wife, and our life together has been an amazing period of growth in every area of my life. There is a happiness that is without words, and a belonging that should be in books of poetry. I believe marriage is all this giant metaphor for the person of God, from the ceremony to the rings to sex and even childbearing--I think marriage takes this depth of reality and brings it right in front of our face.

In this past election, the Wisconsin ballot contained a proposed amendment to the Wisconsin State Constitution. The proposed amendment banned marriage, or any legally similar status, for homosexuals. Keep in mind, gay marriage is not, nor has it ever been, legal in Wisconsin.

Why would we aggressively deny someone else an opportunity?

Why do we think it is a good thing to attack a group of people we are culturally uncomfortable with in the name of God? Don't you think there might be something else we could be doing with our time?

Now don't misunderstand me. I don't think that gay marriage is morally good or ok or societally good or that it should be accepted. But I also don't think that very many heterosexual marriages are morally good or acceptable. I don't think that any of us would have to look very hard to find an example of a married couple that doesn't reflect God. How many Christians do you know that have an empty, dead marriage, but are still together because divorce is "wrong"?

Would any of society's problems be solved if we outlawed divorce?

It seems to me that everywhere you look is a metaphor of God. Marriage, Christmas, relationships, nature, government--there is an omni-present shadow of our Creator. And it seems to me that our Christian culture is trying to pee on every single one of them. It's like we are this puppy taking its first walk around the block. And we are running back and forth to every bush, tree, fire hydrant, and car tire, trying frantically to mark our territory, all while barking at every other dog, cat, squirrel or lawn gnome we see.

And maybe God is the one on the other end of the leash. Gently tugging us, trying to get us to just walk down the street. Because then maybe we would be able to finish our walk.