Reality Is . . .

I am shallow. I am superficial. And that is no accident.

You can find me with my head in a book, ear buds plugged into my mp3 player. It help keeps reality where it belongs . . . out there. Some days you may find me channel-surfing, looking for a game or some show where all the problems are nicely resolved in an hour or less. Most days I'm sitting here in my chair, two computer screens on my desk. That's right, two! I'm playing the PS3 on one and browsing the internet on the other. Reality doesn't stand a chance of getting any closer than arm's length.

You see, reality and I aren't on speaking terms, and we haven't been for quite some time. It accuses me of "checking out". I accuse it of being cruel and harsh. What do you think?

Reality is dollar bills I hand out to homeless people stretching out a hand. Each time driving home the point that there's nothing I can do to change their lives.

Reality is the bus people that aren't quite all there. The people at the downtown stop with empty faces and vacant eyes.

Reality is the girl coming home for Thanksgiving, her body found a few days later.

Reality is the mail from the charities and organizations, all telling me that -

These people are hungry

These people are cold

These people are sick

These people are dying

Won't you help them?

Can't you help them?

Reality is bills, bills, and more bills, 'cause nothing in life is free.

Reality is the broken hearts, the broken dreams, the broken lives, the broken minds . . .

And what do I have to offer? Religious platitudes? Hollow words of false encouragement? An impotent feeling of guilt and shame that I can do nothing to lighten the burdens they bear?

So goodbye reality. It's been . . . real.

Red Letters In A New Light

So I stopped reading my Bible for a while. On purpose.

*Pauses for outraged cries and shocked gasps*

I know, this admission is akin to saying that Harry Potter is a better Jesus figure than Aslan. For a religion (I use that word purposefully) that places such a strong emphasis on scripture reading, putting aside the Bible on purpose seems an almost unpardonable sin.

But I realized something a while ago. The Jesus I saw on paper was a very reserved figure, very much above other people, unapproachable, distant, lacking affection and frequently impatient. He simply wasn't . . . accessible. I could very easily imagine Jesus as being God, but the thought of him ever smiling seemed almost sacrilegious.

So I decided to take some time and let God address a number of wrong ideas. The thick layers of guilt and shame that had built up over the years finally cracked and slid off my weary shoulders. I became aware of a rather shocking reality.

I am loved.

Not for what I do. Not for what I've achieved. Not for how many people I witness to or how long I spend each day in Bible and prayer or how many times I've served breakfast to the homeless.

I am not the means to an end. I am not just a tool to be used for the advancement of the kingdom. I am the pursued, sought-after, beloved child of the Most High.

And so I crack open my Bible once again, not out of guilt or obligation, but rather to gain a better look at the One who loves me so much. I'm somewhat surprised by what I found. The Jesus of the Bible hasn't changed, but I certainly have.

Halloween & Cut-Offs

I went to a Halloween party on Friday night (costumes mandatory). I have certain friends who would disown me for this statement, but it's never been my favorite "holiday". Sure, I loved getting candy as a kid, but I'm not creative enough to make cool costumes and I've never been a fan of horror movies. But since I really like my friends, I decided to throw together a costume and go.

I decided to go as Tobias Funke, a character on the hilarious show Arrested Development. So I got the fake mustache and glasses, the hair gel and fake blood (hairplug episode). And to really make my costume complete, I picked up a pair of jeans from the thrift shop and cut off the legs to make a disturbingly short pair of cut-offs. You see, Tobias is a "never nude", someone who can't ever be completely naked. So I put them on underneath my clothes and went off to the party.

The costume went over surprisingly well, even winning me a bottle of wine as "Best Costume". People especially enjoyed the business cards of Tobias Funke: Analrapist (please watch the show before you judge me). Of course, people familiar with the show were asking before long if I was in fact a "never nude". This obviously resulted in me pulling down my pants . . . again and again and again. Each time people laughed in delight (not usually the reaction you want when taking off your pants).

Ask anyone who knows me and they'll probably say I'm not the type to pull down my pants for fun. That kind of humor has never really been my thing. But see, I wasn't pulling down my pants, Tobias was. And that made it ok.

Kinda like I'm not the complaining about a difficult person at work, that's Work Steve. I'm not the one with the cutting sarcastic put-down, that's just Hangin' Out Steve. I'm not joining others in speaking ill of another, that's Fitting In Steve. And I'm certainly not self-righteously telling others what they think is stupid, that's Keeping It Real Steve (now I'm thinking of "When keeping it real goes wrong" from the Chapelle Show).

How many masks and personas do I hide behind in order to justify hurtful words, resentful attitudes, and selfish thoughts? How many times do I become someone else so I can say or do something I know I shouldn't?

I've realized that I too am a "never nude". No, I may not wear cut-offs underneath my clothes (or do I?), but I certainly keep a protective barrier around me at all times. I'm much more willing to interact with others through an illusory intermediary, keeping them at arm's lengths at all time.

Really, though, what kind of relationship is that? What kind of community is created if everyone acted like that? Actually, don't answer that. I'm pretty sure I know.