Last night I dreamed I was working in a white building on the edge of a windswept cliff, above the seashore. The building had long stairways going up and down, and many of the rooms in the building had large picture windows and balconies looking out over the ocean.
I had a job I to accomplish by a deadline, two sets of legal documents that I needed to file with the patent office on behalf of the CEO of our law firm. There were very few people there to help me complete the filings, and I didn't have all the information I needed at first, but through persistence I gradually had everything ready to go.
In order to complete the filing, it was necessary for me to eat two insects, one for each filing. The insects were enormous and dark brown like cockroaches. The front halves of the insects were like praying mantises, and the back halves were like millipedes. They were completely disgusting, but I was determined to accomplish the filing, so I began to eat.
I bit off the head of the first insect. It was crunchy on the outside and gooey on the inside. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. It was actually kind of good. I bit off more: the thorax, then the abdomen, then the hind quarters with the hundreds of millipede legs. Finally I ate the whole thing.
I went on to the second insect. This one seemed less happy to be eaten. It was squirming around unpleasantly. I bit off its head, but this one was different. Instead of being crunchy on the outside and gooey on the inside, this one was tough on the outside, rubbery and gamy on the inside. It continued to squirm and struggle even after I had bitten the head off. It was difficult to chew and swallow.
I wonder which insect the new year will be like?
Monday, December 31, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The Light of Faith
Yesterday, after the gleeful carnage of present-unwrapping, after hugs and expressions of love and gratitude, after phone calls to family and time spent playing with new toys, it was time to get down to business.
Glen has holiday homework assignments, including a Victorian-era novel to read. He will eventually need to write a paper about the novel, and he needs to have some understanding of British literary history in order to write the paper. Since he's entered class in the middle of the school year, it was my task to tutor him. We sat down together and discussed the British Neo-Classical, Romantic, and Victorian literary styles. This was some of the most fun I've ever had in my whole life. (Who'da thunk my honors humanities seminar from my Sophomore year at BYU would ever come in handy?) Glen had a good time too, I think. At the end of our tutoring session, he said he was looking forward to more.
As Glen and I were in the midst of discussing why "Romantic" doesn't necessarily mean "Romance," the phone rang. It was "Sister Smith". She was calling, A) to ask why she hadn't seen me in Church lately, B) to ask me why I had not yet ditched my partner, and then C) to lecture me on the subject of temple-attendance. When he picked up the phone, Göran made the mistake of mentioning that I was busy helping "our foster son" with his homework. So the usual lectures were then followed by expressions of disgust, and a scolding about how, in my present circumstances, I am clearly an unfit parent. "You think a child should be in that kind of environment?" she said. Göran and Glen both listened in silence, while I calmly explained that, No, I haven't left my partner yet, and Yes, I value the temple, but Yes, I also value love and family and commitment and that's what my relationship with my partner is all about. I chose not to discuss my qualities as a foster parent with her. She finally backed down and said goodbye.
After I hung up, the tension in the air erupted with Göran angrily vowing that the next time she called, she would get a piece of his mind. Glen just frowned after hearing my account of her half of the phone conversation and said, "That's horrible." I managed to calm them down, and made Göran promise to just let the phone ring the next time her name showed up on the caller ID.
Later that evening, we went over to some friends' for Christmas dinner. Like most liberal Minneapolitans, these particular friends love discussing politics and religion, so that's right where the dinner conversation went. Our friend Alex who loves to bait us with extreme polemical statements just to see how we'll react, said he felt that if humanity was to evolve, all forms of belief must be banished. His mother and Göran were nodding in agreement. Religion was bad, all of it, every kind.
I debated whether to speak up or not. They all know my opinions on this subject, and I felt no need to argue. But finally, after thinking it over, I said simply, "You seem to think that belief is about assent to intellectual propositions. It is not. It is about trust. It is about commitment to moral propositions, the most fundamental of which is love."
"Ah, but..." they protested, citing all of the many examples of religious intolerance and hatred.
I replied, "That represents a failure of faith, not its expression. Those people are angry because they are insecure. They feel the foundations of their faith are being threatened, so they feel the need to fight. That's not faith, that's lack of faith. Those who truly have faith are able to live with and accept a certain level of ambiguity and uncertainty. They move forward in trust, based on loving commitment."
The conversation rolled on in other directions.
This morning, I read Isaiah 42. And though this text is often read as a messianic text, I could not help but read it as a call to each and every one of us. For even if these words describe the Messiah, isn't he the pattern we ourselves should follow?
Glen has holiday homework assignments, including a Victorian-era novel to read. He will eventually need to write a paper about the novel, and he needs to have some understanding of British literary history in order to write the paper. Since he's entered class in the middle of the school year, it was my task to tutor him. We sat down together and discussed the British Neo-Classical, Romantic, and Victorian literary styles. This was some of the most fun I've ever had in my whole life. (Who'da thunk my honors humanities seminar from my Sophomore year at BYU would ever come in handy?) Glen had a good time too, I think. At the end of our tutoring session, he said he was looking forward to more.
As Glen and I were in the midst of discussing why "Romantic" doesn't necessarily mean "Romance," the phone rang. It was "Sister Smith". She was calling, A) to ask why she hadn't seen me in Church lately, B) to ask me why I had not yet ditched my partner, and then C) to lecture me on the subject of temple-attendance. When he picked up the phone, Göran made the mistake of mentioning that I was busy helping "our foster son" with his homework. So the usual lectures were then followed by expressions of disgust, and a scolding about how, in my present circumstances, I am clearly an unfit parent. "You think a child should be in that kind of environment?" she said. Göran and Glen both listened in silence, while I calmly explained that, No, I haven't left my partner yet, and Yes, I value the temple, but Yes, I also value love and family and commitment and that's what my relationship with my partner is all about. I chose not to discuss my qualities as a foster parent with her. She finally backed down and said goodbye.
After I hung up, the tension in the air erupted with Göran angrily vowing that the next time she called, she would get a piece of his mind. Glen just frowned after hearing my account of her half of the phone conversation and said, "That's horrible." I managed to calm them down, and made Göran promise to just let the phone ring the next time her name showed up on the caller ID.
Later that evening, we went over to some friends' for Christmas dinner. Like most liberal Minneapolitans, these particular friends love discussing politics and religion, so that's right where the dinner conversation went. Our friend Alex who loves to bait us with extreme polemical statements just to see how we'll react, said he felt that if humanity was to evolve, all forms of belief must be banished. His mother and Göran were nodding in agreement. Religion was bad, all of it, every kind.
I debated whether to speak up or not. They all know my opinions on this subject, and I felt no need to argue. But finally, after thinking it over, I said simply, "You seem to think that belief is about assent to intellectual propositions. It is not. It is about trust. It is about commitment to moral propositions, the most fundamental of which is love."
"Ah, but..." they protested, citing all of the many examples of religious intolerance and hatred.
I replied, "That represents a failure of faith, not its expression. Those people are angry because they are insecure. They feel the foundations of their faith are being threatened, so they feel the need to fight. That's not faith, that's lack of faith. Those who truly have faith are able to live with and accept a certain level of ambiguity and uncertainty. They move forward in trust, based on loving commitment."
The conversation rolled on in other directions.
This morning, I read Isaiah 42. And though this text is often read as a messianic text, I could not help but read it as a call to each and every one of us. For even if these words describe the Messiah, isn't he the pattern we ourselves should follow?
He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street. A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth. He shall not fail nor be discouraged, till he have set judgment in the earth (vss. 2-4)
And in fact, after the Messianic text comes this gem:
I the LORD have called thee in righteousness, and will hold thine hand, and will keep thee, and give thee for a covenant of the people, for a light of the Gentiles; to open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house.... And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them... Hear, ye deaf; and look, ye blind, that ye may see. Who is blind, but my servant? or deaf, as my messenger that I sent? who is blind as he that is perfect, and blind as the LORD’s servant? Seeing many things, but thou observest not; opening the ears, but he heareth not. (vss. 6-20)
This is the path we are called to follow: blind in the sense that we trust to things we cannot see, that we do not always trust the things we can see. Here I am, caught again in the middle, condemned by believers and non-believers alike. To the left and to the right, I say the same thing: Have faith.
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