God, Man and Jerry McGuire

© 1996 TriStar Films

 "We live in a cynical world.  A cynical, cynical world."  Does this sound familiar? In the1996 film, Jerry McGuire, Tom Cruise spoke this line right before he told his wife, Dorothy, played by Renée Zellweger, despite all evidence to the contrary, that he loves her..."You complete me." Hollywood gold-even the most ardent curmudgeon can't help but be moved by this against-all-odds, happily ever after. Love conquers all, and Tom Cruise gets an AcademyAward nomination.  All is right with the world.
OK, friends, reality must kick in at some point.  Even a healthy serving of Hollywood escapism must give way to a trudge back to life as we know it-vis a vis life as it really is.  But, as we look back and gaze appreciatively at Tom, Renée and that creepy little boy whose name escapes me, we can take a little of them back with us to reality and use it to better order our lives in a way that pleases God...and maybe even Cameron Crowe; director and screenwriter for Jerry McGuire.  You may be skeptical.

Caveat emptor, you say?  

You may scoff at the notion that Divine purpose can be extrapolated from of an R-rated motion picture, with overt sexuality and a fair dose of profanity.  You would be wrong.
Let me explain.
An examination of the length and breadth of that which man creates, in absentia to human need and intra ambitum of all human existence would illustrate an undeniable truth; man's creativity had definite and inviolable limits.  Collectively, we are bound by: 

• Our own unique experiences, 
• What we know of human experience within historical, anthropological and biological contexts  
• The parameters that define what we call good and evil, just and unjust  (i.e. the nature of the political associations on which man has built human society upon, the dogma that defines our faith, or some combination of both)

© 1971 Paramount Pictures

Simply put, we can only know what we CAN know.  A poet can compose a descriptive piece of prose about walking through Versailles; the smell, the colors, the history of the place.  But, no poet can write a comparable poem on his or her experiences while camping in the desert on Mars.  That dog just won't hunt.  If, like Plato, if this assertion is taken to its logical conclusion, a simple truth arises; all that limits our human creativity places limits of WHAT we create.  Consider those things that are made for their sake; poetry, literature, music, drama and film-the various elements that are found in their nature and in their composition can only result in a finite number of expressions of the various aspects of humanity. A sonnet is not a anything but a sonnet, insofar as we understand it and within the context of its creation.  It can only convey feelings of love, loss and humor within what we know-have discovered-about love, loss and humor. . While the same principles may be applied to music, this sonorous discipline is deeply affected by the laws of physics that govern the flow up and down the harmonic spectrum.  Moreover, music is the purest form of human creativity; born of, to quote Willy Wonka, pure imagination...well, not Justin Bieber, but I digress. 

 By the same notion, similar conclusions can be drawn in regards to literature, drama and their modern manifestation, screenwriting. What comes from man's efforts to entertain and inspire can only produce a finite number of possible scenarios. Boy gets the girl, good guy beats bad guy, James Bond ages but doesn't get any older, vampires turn out to be androgynous British weenies, and Bane breaks Batman's back.  When any work is examined within this context (with the possible exceptions of ABC's Lost, Pink Floyd's The Wall, and anything directed by Davids Cronenberg or Lynch) will reveal a set of core elements that are not new, and may not have been overt at first glance..  Understanding these principles begins with understanding how we create that which is uniquely human.  Moreover, this framework provides a methodology that can be used to judge what humans create on similar levels.  When this fiat to understanding ourselves is used properly, we discover esoteric themes that speak to core characteristics of the human condition.  

DaVinci's Vitruvian Man 1490

Are these themes mutually exclusive to the examined work?  Of course not...don't be silly.  These themes are, as I stated two sentences ago, are fundamental to human nature.  The trouble lies in finding some taxonomy which can be used to pigeon hole these building blocks of the the human creativity.  For the sake of argument, let's call the wellspring of our creative nature the soul.  It's a neat catch-all for the most basic and ethereal part of our humanity, vis-a-vis that which separates us from animals.  For the sake of further argument,  we should recognize that this soul is either made up of, or governed by a trifecta of base elements; basic things that give rise to the various manifestations of human expression and, by extension, create everything from emotion to self-expression to love.  This triumvirate is composed of the rational, the creative and the spiritual.  

The rational is that capacity for reason that Aristotle so deftly defined in The Nichomachean Ethics.  It gives rise to our need to form human associations; these associations are as basic as the family and as complicated as the modern nation.  Born of an innate need of humans to live together, this capacity for reason gives rise to our ability to recognize principles of polity, i.e. good and bad, just and unjust.  Our understanding of scientific disciplines, like physics, mathematics and medicine are born of this capacity.
The creative is that part of us that looks beyond the bounds of what we know.  Our power to create is the most unusual part of the soul, because it both ignores and embraces the rules of our rational and spiritual selves. 

Neuschwanstein Castle built 1869-1892 in Bavaria

 It creates for the sake of creating and not from necessity...a house becomes Neuschwanstein, a hummed tune becomes Ode to Joy, and a and the desire to express becomes Song of Myself.  
The spiritual is the part of us that craves to know our creation and, by extension, our Creator.  This presupposes a belief in the presence of a Creator...God, the Father...whose nature is beyond the understanding of our capacity of reason or imagination.  
To be sure, these parts of the soul do not operate independently of each other.  Think of them as a wispy and ethereal amorphous blob floating somewhere in in the confines of our consciousness.  They work in harmonious concert with each other, unless the person is either a genius or a madman...then things get sticky.

These elements of the soul produce the fruits of human creativity on the most basic level.  Themes are limited by experience and knowledge, but by little else.  So, patient reader, where does Mr. Tom Cruise fit in here?  Ultimately, he really doesn't.  The point here are his words, "You complete me."  

© 2001 Twentieth Century Fox

This expression of idealized Hollywood romance is, at its core, a basic condition of humanity and the penultimate expression of the most elusive human creation; love. Love conquers all...Love is a many splendored thing...Love Lifts us up where we belong...All you need is love... (forgive my shameless hijacking of these lyrics from Elephant Love Medley from the film Moulin Rouge.  Still, there's a point here...THE point really...love does matter to un humans more than just about anything else.  How we are allowed to define ourselves through free will governs how the three elements of the soul will react with each other, which parts are dominate and which shrivel from disuse.  

You had me at Hello.

It was my intention to make a profound and salient point about all this...about how love "completes us."  But, I think I'll stop here.  Everyone one staring at these words can, via their tri-pronged souls, can read between the proverbial lines (unless they went to Clemson, in which case they're just pointing and grunting at the pictures).  I'll leave you with this...in terms of love, Who completes you?

Me, Miley and the Witches from Oz.

Serendipity...fate...Godsmack...whatever you want to call it. Often, things happen in a way so bizarre, there is no way it could be the result of some random twist of cosmic events. That's what happened today. And it's been at the periphery of my consciousness all day. I've just begun to make some sense of it. Before I delve into the who and what, let me say that I am, like all humanity, the sum total of my life experiences. In a nutshell, those events that most define me are thus:

-my childhood

-my education

-my two marriages

-my children and step children 

-my faith in God the Father, Son & Holy Ghost

I try to put the last one, my faith, first. I fail at this probably more than I succeed, 

but,  as the Reliant K song so boldly avows,"The beauty of grace is that it makes life not fair."  Moreover, I try very hard to inculcate my children with a value system that is Christ-centered. That, dear friends, is the job that never ends. Not only must I pitch the whole Jesus thing with passion and conviction, I have to prove to these little people in my house that I believe all this craziness I'm expounding. When I fail, it can require some humility and a little damage control. When I fail on Facebook, it can require that I take up my knife and fork and sit down to a feast of crow. I can say from experience that things like this are pretiumque et causa laboris. 

Anyway...

Last night, Deb and I were engaging  our nightly ritual of having coffee with our neighbor, Gene, on his front porch. Also present were Gene's son, Jake, and our daughter, Coralie. As cosmic events would have it, we were all supremely uninterested in the recent transition from royal fetus to royal baby that occurred in England earlier that day. And, since there was nothing interesting either on the Kardashian front or in Taylor Swift's love life, the conversation naturally shifted to Miley Cyrus.  When asked who had seen her new video, "We Can't Stop," I said no. So...I had the unfortunate privilege of getting to watch it.  

Everything that is wrong with this little piece of Mapplethorpesque filth is even more unpalatable to those parents (like Deb and I) whose children put much of their social identity in the pop divas mass produced by Nickelodeon and Disney, including Miley Cyrus, Miranda Cosgrove, Selena Gomez, Amanda Bynes, Ashley Tisdale, Debby Ryan and Demi Lovato.  They have been the answer to our children's search for usable icons. While under legal obligation to their corporate overlords, these girls exude an aura of innocence tempered by a sugar coating of vacuous Hollywood social engineering.  The unhealthy way these girls are held in check is evident by their subsequent public tomfoolery both when they leave the care of their benefactors (Amanda Bynes) and when they are kicked out BY their benefactors (Demi Lovato). 

All we can do us pray for Debby Ryan. 

Miley Cyrus is a special kind of nausea. Investing as much time and money into Hanna Montana as we did made my disgust at the wretched imagery flashing across the screen palpable and unpleasant. Miley Cyrus, it would seem, is hell bent on permanently distancing herself from her bubble gum pop roots; and she's taking no prisoners. The foolishness of this mindset is paralleled only by the depths to which she has sunk. 

Somehow, being a positive influence on millions of tween girls while becoming filthy rich in the process kept Miss Cyrus from fulfilling her dream of becoming something like Lady GaGa...but without any vision, talent, restraint or taste (GaGa, at least, attended NYU's prestigious Tische School for fine arts).  Rather, Miley is fast becoming a tragic caricature of fame; a sick cross between Marilyn Manson and the legions of faceless things that have adorned the pages of Hustler since time out of mind. 

Ultimately, my take on the depths to which Miley Cyrus has sunk is not the subject of this little rant. Rather, it is concerning my gut reaction, and my subsequent post on Facebook...which, incidentally, looked just like this: 

The reaction to my take on Miley was one of overwhelming agreement. The one dissenter in the ranks came from a most unexpected place. The comment, which I deleted almost immediately, simply stated...In love. Matthew 7:3. For those of you not familiar with this particular verse in Scripture...

And why behold you the speck that is in your brother's eye, but consider not the beam that is in your own eye? KJV

The author, it would seem, was giving me a digital slap on the wrist for bad mouthing Miley. On one level, he is right. Christ admonishes us to refrain from judgement and love one another as he loves us. I know that my opinion on Miley Cyrus's artistic failings mean little to her. But, in taking Christian dogma to its logical conclusion, we must recognize that these admonishment are more for our own souls than they are to spare the feelings of angst riddled pop divas. Moreover, I assume that those who read my post understood that my allusion to Avril Lavigne was aimed at a metaphorical fight-not an actual one. To think otherwise would be foolish. Avril, despite being Canadian, does a very good job of maintaining her punk diva persona while maintaining her dignity as a young woman AND her integrity as an artist. In any event, I maintain that while my analysis of the video was spot on, my criticism was unnecessary and contrary to my faith. 

But...

The author of this barb is certainly not a close friend, or even a close acquaintance. Like many of my Facebook friends, I know him through my church. 

I am convinced that the main motive for making this comment was that he believes in this important aspect of Christian faith.  But, despite

 my best efforts, I cannot discern his ancillary motives for this little barb.  Aside from the occasional 'Like' to a picture On my wall, he has never commented on anything I have posted (as far as I can remember), and he has certainly never made an unprompted post to my wall. So, I ask again...why make this admonishment now. Is he a HUGE Miley Cyrus fan. I very much doubt it. Were I being overly critical of someone I actually knew, someone who cared what I thought or were my criticism not an accurate portrayal of the subject at hand, I could understand expending the effort to publicly criticize someone on Facebook that you have otherwise never spoken to. Moreover, had he taken the time to be more delicate and private...through an email or private message, this would be a nonissue.  There is something to be said for delicacy and subtlety; two human traits largely alien to anyone who has not reached their two-score age. 

Ultimately, he was right. I don't like his methodology. 

Calling me out publicly seems to be a heavy handed way of telling someone not to be judgmental. I admit that the voracity of my reaction to Miley's little near-porn experience was largely fueled by the esteem my daughter once held her in; something my daughter has abandoned because of Miss Cyrus's new moves. 

Oh well...C'est-no-mal. Indeed. 

A parting thought...when you see fault in others, take a moment to consider what the impact of your moral admonishment might be before you slap it, bold as brass, on someone's forehead in a public setting. Is that REALLY the way to show someone the error of his or her way. Is moral rightness really right when it is inefficacious? 

I admit that in penning this post, I searched for Scripture to supplement my own words. But, given the nature of this post, that seemed somehow ...disingenuous. Moreover, I didn't want my Scripture quoting skills to mask the fact that, at the very core of all this, I was wrong. 

So, I turn to another source of wisdom...Glinda and Elpheba, the enigmatic witches from the musical Wicked.

The final exchange of friendship between the two is expressed in the song For Good. While certainly not inspired by Christian faith, the words nevertheless describe exactly what human friendship and Christian love is all about-vis-a-vis bringing out the best in each other and learning from each other. To wit...

I've heard it said,

That people come into our lives

For a reason

Bringing something we must learn.

And we are lead to those

Who help us most to grow if we let them.

And we help them in return.

Well, I don't know if I believe that's true

But I know I'm who I am today

Because I knew you.

When I'm staring into eternity, that's what I hope I can say about my life and my faith. That, as a Christ-follower, I made a difference, that I helped others find their way, and that I let them help me find mine. As a wise man told me once, "Tomorrow is not promised to us. We have to make a difference today."  I cannot and will not speak to the motives of others, but I will admit that "tearing down" Miley Cyrus as much a fiat for positive affect for someone as is watching her videos. It's not a modus operendi to change someone's life "for good."  

The Gift of Morning

Night...still blackest night.

It is nigh on 5 am, and I haven't slept a wink.  These early hours are nearly silent.  Only the distant rumble of cars on Hwy 31 betrays a locale with any substantial population.  Beyond that, it is nature-silent, but not.  The crickets are chirping and a small chorus of frogs croak down near the pond.  The rhythmic drip of rainwater, cool for nearly mid-June, falls in a pedantic, near silent cacophony of minuscule thwip, thwip, thwip. An occasional breeze whips the flame of the oil lamp burning on the table.  It's flame gutters and flickers…the acrid smell of citronella is bandied about the nostrils. 

The rain has sent the mosquitoes into hiding, and I am grateful.  The weather is cool and inviting, and the aroma from the eruption of gardenias by the front walk does battle with the swags of blood-red roses ablaze in the flower bed.  The winner of this nocturnal battle royale is, oddly enough, the intoxicating smell of honeysuckle emanating from vines I can't see, but am certain of. 

One of the two feral cats that slinks about the neighborhood engaged in a symphony of caterwauling.  Even on this moonless night, the view is a patchwork of colors and shapes.  Under the blue-black sky drenched with rain, the foliage is vivid green.  The roses, gardenias, day lilies and lantana are a palate of reds, purples, yellows and whites.  The flickering flame of the oil lamp drips burning golden light like a tiny sun flickering in its own solar winds.  To my right, off the front porch stands a stately river birch.  On my left is a lonely crepe myrtle. As the tide of the winds rise and fall, their leaves rustle and twist, shimmering grey-green as they cling to the branches with determined will.  The black asphalt of the street is cloaked in the painful yellow glow of the incandescent street lights. 

All too soon, it seems, the Almighty has ended the night’s  muffled silence and birdsong fills the air.  It is bright and bold and full of all the promise of a June morning.  The wind has finally conquered the lamp flame and, in the absence of its glow, I see that the sky is taking in a bracing breath, fading from blue-black to blue steel.

Morning breaks in her own time.  The world awakens with slow and resolute purpose.  It is no small affair-coming to life.  Morning is a miracle of sorts, if you take the time to notice.  God, in his infinite wisdom, provides inspiration on a daily basis-all we need posses is the desire to be inspired.  Sitting on this horribly uncomfortable chair affords me a view of a daily miracle, if I take time to witness it.  And this miracle will change as the weeks and months pass.  From this temperate June will come a burning August, a cool, sweet October, a biting and frosty December, a damp chilly March.  "There and back again", as Bilbo Baggins said in The Hobbit; that wonderful book of seasons-and adventures.

As I have sat-watching and listening, I am for once, glad that I didn't sleep.  Now, the sky is a deep Carolina azure-grey.  The birds and insects are absolutely howling.  Morning has begun in earnest, and the magic of her most gentle efforts is spent.  I have sat here for exactly 50 minutes...now, as the call of ducks erupts in the distance, I will end my vigil, take to my bed and try to sleep for an hour or two; before the trappings of my human existence compel me to wake and go out into the morning whose birth I have just witnessed.

Until then...

With all the subtlety of a sledgehammer...

I knew it was coming...

Have you ever had some little skin irritation...a little "something" that you saw, but didn't fully appreciate until you actually touched it?  You expect some discomfort...why wouldn't there be.  But, when you actually interacted with it, there was no pinch or sting, but rather the feeling that this spot had been hit by a small, nuclear-tipped armor piercing missile that was flung at you by a large howitzer, or perhaps, a battleship. Well, that what my little boo-boo feels like. When the battleship from which this barb was flung was your praise and worship leader, the sting is even worse.

Let me explain. 

I posted a "long-winded and tiresome" rant on another blog that I maintain that was a less-than-gracious indictment of some "goings on" at the Christian Academy-a private school that recently constructed a new campus adjacent to the subdivision where my family lives. Without going into unnecessary details, let me simply state thatI have reconsidered my position. This redux on my pointed observations was the result of another pointed observation-this one aimed at me by my praise and worship leader, Jess-a woman with a remarkable ability to see through layer after layer of crap and point out the big picture. What makes this even more amazing is her ability to do this with only a sideways look, a long and telling sigh or a remarkably nuanced "MmmmmmHmm."  Being firm and true in our faith takes commitment, perseverance and humility. In about 3 seconds, Jess pointed to a chink in my spiritual armor and made a silent but earnest challenge for me to fix it post haste. Since then, I have come to the following conclusions. 

-I am accurate in my empirical analysis of the situation. 

-My rightness is irrelevant when taken within the context if the Christian faith I claim to embrace. 

-As a believer in God's grace and the majesty of the redemption found in the sacrifice of His son, Jesus Christ, I am bound by faith and obedience to forgive, to refrain from passing judgement and from bearing earnest ill will against those who wrong me or mine. 

Is this right, fair and just?  

Well, it's doesn't matter. My witness should be ironclad and joyfully given. But, the thing is, it is right, fair and just. If I am earnest in my belief, and I am, I can see the folly in sin as a response to what I perceive as sin. 

Two wrongs never make a right. 

I included this verse of Scripture in my original post. 

But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Matthew 5:39 (KJV)
How wrong I was. In the words of the wonderfully articulate Pastor Jeff Dunn, "Let it go."
I owe an apology...several actually. 
I apologize to God, the Father who forgave me when there was only the promise of me. 
I apologize to my daughter, Coralie, about whom much of this was concerned. Your dad set a terrible example. 
I apologize to my wife, Deb, who pointed out that I was as worthy of contempt as  those I held in contempt. 
I apologize to Jess, who has put great faith in me, and who I do not wish to disappoint. 
I apologize to Walt, Justin, Matt, Jason and Skip. Our little project will fail spectacularly if we...I do not practice what we preach. 
And, lastly...
I apologize to those whom I indicted with such venom. I'm sorry for my words.  They were born of anger and hurt-never a good launching pad for a dialog between those who claim to be Christ followers-and I am referring to myself. 
In the end, if a resolution is needed between those involved, I will find another way to achieve it. Otherwise, live and let live. I'll wait in line when I must. I'll stay home or stay away when traffic is "difficult."  
As I have said in the past, I have spent far too much time preparing Coralie for the trappings of the outside world, and not enough time making an effort to improve that world...for her OR for God. 
I hope I'm learning.