Category Archives: God stuff

The Fellowship of the Ringos… (Ringoes? Ringo’s?): A Tale of Forming Community

If only it were as easy as those Beatles make it out to be…

Why is it that “Help” feels like another four letter word we’re not supposed to say? No matter how much and how far we’ve progressed forward, it fascinates me how we still correlate helplessness with weakness.
No, not all of us. And I’ve spoken often of how vulnerability is truly a strength. So why can we agree with that statement, but still feel the need to cover up our helplessness? Why can we agree that vulnerability is truly a strength, and still feel shame when it comes to asking for help?

Helplessness tends to speak to failure (on our part), and failure (on our part) tends to speak to worthlessness.

and [they] were naked and felt no shame…” – Genesis 2:25

It’s interesting that the verse above tends to correlate the bit about feeling shame with the bit about being naked. As if it was their nakedness that they weren’t ashamed of, until they were. As if they didn’t have any self consciousness about their nakedness. Perhaps this has to do with what happens later, when “their eyes were opened, and they knew that they were naked (Gen. 3:7)” and made clothes for themselves. And then later, Adam’s response to God as to why he was hiding: “I was afraid because I as naked; (v.10)” But it doesn’t mention shame in correlation to these verses. Simply that they “knew” they were naked.

So what if the story actually means to convey that they were naked, and also that they felt no shame? What if those two facts were separate truths?

Or what if it wasn’t their nakedness that they were trying to cover up after “their eyes were opened,” but instead it was their shame? (Maybe they were just too “young” then to understand or comprehend that that’s what they were doing.)

I think the confusion of correlation with that Genesis 2:25 verse conveys the same sort of confusion of correlation we have between helplessness and worthlessness. And so to ask for help isn’t to expose our nakedness, but expose our shame.

If you watched the music video at the start of this post, did Ringo Starr stand out to you like he did me? Sitting in the back, doing nothing productive but holding an umbrella? Constantly trying to get his face in view of the camera?
To me, Ringo was the only one in that video that truly displayed, truly manifested, the message of the song. Not hiding in the back. Put in the back. And striving to be seen. Help. I need somebody.

You ever feel like Ringo?

Personally, shame and coverups are a recurring theme in my life. Being physically and sexually assaulted on a bus in middle school, I was left with scars on my chest and torso. These were specifically done so that every time I saw the scars, I’d remember everything else that happened.
Every time I was naked and exposed, I’d see those scars.
And remember my moment(s) of utter helplessness.

And it worked.
And I did everything I could to cover up.
Not my nakedness, but my shame.
(I’ve preached a sermon on the full story years ago, so if you’d like it, click here)

Here’s what I find interesting about the close of the story of the “Fall of Mankind” in Genesis. We so often feel like it’s our fault that we’re not what we “should” be. We hear God calling and we hide. We see ourselves naked and exposed, and we cover up rather than be reminded of the truth. We don’t want to be around God because being around the Divine means that we (have the opportunity to) continually see ourselves as we (think we) are—incomplete, imperfect; inhuman.
We are the reason we’re in this helpless spot. It’s our fault. And we would rather cover up than be reminded of that shame.
But is that the story?
Is that how the close of the Genesis story of the “Fall” ends? With shame? And a nakedness and exposure that constantly serves to remind us of all that happened before?
If you’re John Edwards—or anyone that adheres to and follows the “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” doctrine—you are. It’s our fault. We screwed up. God came a’lookin’ for retribution. And God WILL get the pound of flesh owed.
Except…
God didn’t leave the humans naked and exposed. Nor did God leave them to their own devices to try and continue clothing themselves.

The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife, and clothed them.” – Genesis 3:21

It’s as if the very shame they themselves continued trying to cover up, God covered for them.

In 1985, Berry Gordy released “The Last Dragon,” a Motown karate film. It’s been one of my favorite films since childhood. The protagonist, “Bruce” Leroy Green, has been training his entire life in martial arts to reach “the final level.” To glow (both metaphorically, and, it turns out, literally) by being a Master.

The problem is, he doesn’t believe in himself. And the whole movie is a quest for him to realize that he is what he’s been seeking all along.

 

I moved to Colorado Springs to get my Masters in Divinity in the hopes of pastoring a church. Not because I knew what it’d look like to do so, but because that was the path I believed I was to follow. The path I believed was mine.

I took the long way ’round.

I got my Masters, just not in Divinity. And began teaching almost immediately at the collegiate level. And the more I did that, the more I realized how closely it resembled what I had longed to do.
Eventually, I got ordained (online), and became a Reverend. And have sense been striving to convey to everyone just how much they matter. How much worth they truly have. And to begin to form a community of those who—as I do—seek that reminder.
A “church,” if you will.

I effectively forged my own path to what I’ve been longing to do.

And yet…

It wasn’t. And isn’t. Not quite.

If you’ve been keeping up with me, you know that this semester I’m not teaching. Which is giving me a lot of time to think and process. What I’ve come to is this: I believe I’m being asked to willingly board that bus again from so long ago.
And I don’t know how it looks, or what it’s going to entail. But I’m willing. And I’m doing so.
And I think I’m finally ready to begin actively forming what I’ve longed to do for as long as I can remember.

So this is my call for help.

I’m asking for help.

But not just help. I’m asking for participation. The home page to this website has a call to join me in “Dreaming the Impossible Dream.” But it was never more than that. Never more than a call.
This time I’ve begun laying the groundwork.
I began a Patreon page, and this is my call to you to become a patron. Help support me, and honestly, lets form this community together.
It’s unconventional. And I still don’t know how it’ll look, or what form it’ll take. (Twitch live streams? Chats? Videos? Podcast? More writing content?) All I can say is that this is the beginning.
And I’m willing.
I’m surrendering to getting back on that bus, powerless and vulnerable, and into the unknown.

And this time, I mean it when I say this: “Will you join me?

All this time I’ve been looking and searching for that community, I’ve talked about it as if it were some far off “someday.” But it’s not. It’s “at hand.” There is one place I have not looked, and it is there, only there…
So it’s time to start.
Though…I do not know the way.

 

Will you join me? Will you help me bear this? Might I have your sword? Your bow? Your axe? Maybe just your company.
It will be…a community of those who find themselves always in the back.
It will be…

A Fellowship of the Ringos.

And let us figure out What Happens Next, TOGETHER.

Become a Patron of Leaving La Mancha, by supporting me on Patreon

->and the world will be better for this…

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Filed under Celebrating, Celebrations, Dreams, God stuff

This New Year Needs More Sister Act

 

Full disclosure: I’m absolutely terrified about this new year. Legitimately, like to the point of periodic paralysis (I think they’re called panic attacks), as if I’m one of those freezing goats. I’m stuck between the end of one year that brought about SO much, the end of one decade that brought about even more, and the beginning of so much new.

New and unknown.

I think that’s why there’s such a tendency towards New Year’s Resolutions. New year, new you. Time to get things right, finally. Looking ever forward, in last year’s nests there are no birds this year. And it makes sense. We long for order—for a narrative. Structure. And there’s something about points in time like a New Year, the end of one period and the beginning of another, that just resonates with that longing; like a chapter break, and then a new chapter.
So we resolve particular things. In one sense of the word, we hope to end (bring resolution) things we didn’t like. And then we resolve other particular things. In the other sense of the word, we “commit” (make a resolution) to things we want for ourselves. I put commit in quotes because that’s always the issue, isn’t it. The commitment part.
So we believe in making New Years Resolutions. Ultimately, to bettering ourselves and our lives.

And that’s my point. I don’t think we don’t need resolutions. But what we need is a different definition of resolution. A different understanding of it. Because I believe what we really long for isn’t better, but harmony. Perhaps an end to disharmony in our lives, to discord, and to reach or achieve true harmony.

Music is based on a seven chord scale (7 has interesting connotations, like the seven days of creation). In a major chord, there’s…perfect harmony. But in a minor chord, one note is one half step off. The minor chord makes us long for the major chord; the minor chord evokes a longing for harmony. Basically, it evokes a longing for completion.
The discord (or perhaps, dis-chord) causes us to long for harmony, for completion. And in music, the term for this is resolution. When that major chord is reached, it’s called a resolution.

Harmony is resolution.

“It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift.”
The baffled king composing hallelujah.

That’s what’s being talked about in that song. The fourth to the fifth. The minor fall and the major lift. It’s talking about the progression from disharmony to harmony.
It’s talking about resolution.

When the minor falls, do you stop there?

In the film Sister Act, Deloris Van Cartier (Whoopi Goldberg) is put in a convent as a form of witness protection. She’s told to lay low. To keep quiet. This is only temporary, and then she can get her old life back.
And she ends up changing everything. But more than that, she ends up being changed by everything.

See, as the clip above reveals, the choir is horrible. Out of tune. Unstructured. Disharmonious.

And everyone hates it. Well, actually, everyone hates it, but is content to leave things the way they are. To just deal with the horribleness of it, the discord.
Eventually, Deloris (called Sister Mary Clarence in the convent) gets placed in the choir, and takes it upon herself to correct it. You see, she’s not supposed to stand out, she’s just to lay low and not get too involved. But she can’t help it. So she takes charge, and turns discord into harmony.
She brings about resolution.
But it doesn’t look exactly like how everyone wants it to look.

 

She brings harmony, but with funk. She brings harmony, but it’s unbridled.

She brings harmony, and in a word, it means freedom. Even if freedom is uncomfortable.
And freedom is not what everyone wants. Because freedom can FEEL like chaos, it can SEEM like discord. Which can easily be confused with discomfort.
But harmony is freeing. And freedom is contagious.

Harmony spreads.

Basically, in the film Sister Act, when “the minor” fell (for Deloris Van Cartier), she didn’t stop there. She didn’t settle. She kept going to the major lift.
She kept going THROUGH the discord (dis-chord), until the harmony. Even if she and everyone else suffered through discomfort for it.

That’s an important point to zero in on:

Discomfort can feel like discord, but it doesn’t always mean that those two things are one and the same.
If all you’re used to is discord—if all you’re used to is disharmony—then harmony can absolutely BE uncomfortable.

 

I always connected to Whoopi Goldberg’s character in the Sister Act films. That feeling of being stifled. That longing to not be stifled. And then finding yourself in that very position. In everything I’ve done in my life, I’ve wanted to bring about the freedom that she brings in those films. To bring harmony, and also funk.
Because freedom is harmonious. But I like to think it’s also funky.
If you’ve never allowed yourself to truly be free, well then once you experience freedom truly, it can truly make you uncomfortable. But would you rather be uncomfortably free, or comfortably not free? To be king of your own castle, but one that’s a prison.

Maybe we’re all the baffled king”… (or at least start out as such)

Because all of this feels so baffling, particularly to someone like me who tends to find comfort in knowing.
As I said at the beginning, I’m terrified of this new year.
Personally, there’s a number of reasons why. One of which is the fact that I’m not going to be teaching this coming spring semester, and returning to teach again for summer and fall. But in the meantime, I have no idea what I’m going to do.
I’m finding myself completely baffled. Confused. More to the point, I’m finding myself in discord—disharmony.

The song Hallelujah begins with the verse, “I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord.” David is the “baffled king” that later verses are referring to.

With all of my being, I wish I knew that secret chord that pleased the Lord. Because somewhere in my head, I’m convinced that if I get it right, if I can just do something right, I can please the Lord. And MAYBE, just maybe, if I do that, I’ll not be so terrified, because I know I’ll be taken care of.
And I won’t have to worry.
I’ll only be free when I get it right. When I get ME, right.

I don’t want to be the baffled king. And I don’t want to keep living in the minor fall.

But maybe it’s because I don’t really want to “compose hallelujah.” (In the Hebrew texts, “hallelujah” basically means “praise God” or “to praise God”) Or at least, I don’t want to be “composing hallelujah” in disharmony.
I want harmony. Without suffering through being baffled.
I want harmony without the hallelujah. I want harmony without praising God.
Because harmony in disharmony doesn’t make sense in my logic and reason and need for structure and narrative. Because praising God in discord is difficult. Hell, it’s more than difficult. It’s practically hell.

How do you exist as a baffled king, and also compose hallelujah?

When you find yourself the baffled king, it feels like your voice has been taken from you. You don’t want to sing. You feel like you can’t sing. Like maybe your song has been taken from you…

In Sister Act 2, Deloris Van Cartier is put in a similar position and role as she was in the first film (only this time, it’s her choice to do so; she knows her role): namely, to bring harmony to disharmony. To turn discord into resolution. And she does it again. Because again, harmony spreads.
But at the end of the film, as the high school choir is set to compete, another school has sung their song (“Joyful, Joyful”). One student in particular, Lauren Hill’s character, has been repeatedly told that nothing will come from her singing. Which seems true of the choir as a whole. To an inner city school and its population, maybe that’s true. Nevertheless, when all seems lost, when it’s all pointless, the choir sings.
More than that, they allow themselves to be free. Instead of being what they should be (as we try to make ourselves with our New Years Resolutions), they simply allow themselves to be themselves. They don’t change themselves (make themselves).
They sing.

And maybe that’s exactly the point.
That harmony IS composing hallelujah when all is lost.

What if harmony is “composing hallelujah” in disharmony?

I have no clue what this year will bring. Not least of which for me, let alone for you either. But the question I pose to you is the same question I pose to myself:

How willing are you to be the baffled king, and compose hallelujah?

I think we need New Years Resolutions. Or perhaps just resolution. What we need is an end to discord. Harmony.
Is it worth it?
Is it worth the discomfort?
What if you had to take off your robes, or your fig leaves? What if it requires you being you? All of you? Exposed?
What if resolution requires vulnerability?

Put on anything you want, if we’re gonna go out there, we’re gonna go out there comfortable.”

Meaning, we’re gonna go out there FREE.

Or maybe it’s going out there that’ll make us comfortable. Eventually.

So if you find yourself in turmoil this New Year, in strife, in discord and disharmony, remember Sister Act (1 and 2). Don’t try to change yourself. Or strive to be what you think you SHOULD be.
Surrender to the song.
Let it overtake you.
Sing.
Because if you keep singing, Resolution will come. The minor falls, the major lifts.
And harmony will come.
And freedom will come.
And it’ll be contagious.
And it’ll be funky.
And above all, it’ll be joyful.

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Filed under Celebrating, Celebrations, God stuff, Uncategorized

Baby Jesus, and Secret Hidden Messages Just For You

(in which I present my Christmas thoughts this year by discussing not so secret messages, which version of Jesus you prefer, The Mandalorian (Baby Yoda), The Book Thief, Death, Birth, and All Things New.)

 

I just finished reading “The Book Thief.” I was given the book by someone who told me that the narrator reminded them of me. It didn’t take too long into it that I realized the narrator is Death.
That’s its own thing, but given how much my head’s been swirling lately, and just how many thoughts go circling around up there, I can see the similarities.
But it’s the last line that really clinched it for me, a last note from the narrator.

I am haunted by humans.”

It’s true. Well…it’s true that that’s how the book ends. But not just that.
It’s true of me too. I am haunted by humans. One of the greatest gifts I can say I’ve gotten was stories of old, of people I never met nor knew. Letters written. Windows into just a PART of someone’s life.

But isn’t that what a story is anyway? Just a window? A person is so much more. And to know the person is SO much more than just knowing the story.

Every story ever told really happened.
Stories…are where memories go when they’re forgotten.”

I can’t speak to why memories get forgotten, but I can say with a certain conviction that stories impact us all differently, and the emotions they elicit in each of us individually can be just as varied as their impact.
But stories have themes. They may even have recurring messages. Some are poetically weaved throughout—subtle. And others are overtly stated right at the beginning.
In The Book Thief, the last line is the narrator stating, “I am haunted by humans.” But one of the first lines is this: “HERE’S A SMALL FACT You are going to die.”

Seems a bit overt, probably probing, begging you to ask yourself the question, “Am I okay with this? Am I okay with dying?” Maybe even makes you get a bit more philosophical in your self reflection and introspection, “What’s it mean to die? What’s it mean to be alive? What’s it mean to die while still living?”
But the more I read on, the more I realized that the Book Thief is less a about the character of Liesel Meminger, and more a character study of Death itself; AND as a result, a means of which causes you, the reader, to engage with the character of Death, and perhaps more subtly, your relationship to that character—to Death.

How do you relate to Death?

 

Well. Going back to Christmas. We’ve got a story of Birth, not Death (though, maybe as you’ll see soon, perhaps the story of Christmas is as much as story of Death as it is of Birth).
Put simply, I think the story of Christmas, of Bethlehem, and of the birth of a baby—the revelation that the most important thing in the universe is an infant—also serves to reveal more about you, the reader, and how you engage with each character.
It’s almost inescapable.
Unavoidable.
And ohhhh how we try so hard to do so. Let’s make it about making sure we say the right thing around the holiday, or do the right thing, or buy the right thing. Let’s keep busy. Let’s not think too hard. Let’s do just enough acknowledgment that we feel we’ve serviced the “heart” of the holiday, but not in a way where it changes us, or causes us anxiety about ourselves. Let’s not think too hard about it so as to ask the questions that REALLY SHOULD be asked, the ones that may just bring about the end of us.
It is, after all, simply the birth of the “Savior,” and we KNOW what name to write on the birthday cake.

And it’s the end of the story—the death and resurrection—that we’re left with.

But what does the beginning tell us? What does it reveal about ourselves?
Which version of Jesus do YOU pray to?

I started this post with a clip from Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. It’s probably my favorite scene from that film because it presents such a real and honest display of everything I’ve been saying up to this point.
What version of Jesus you prefer and like the best says more about you than it does about Jesus.

And what’s wrong with liking the baby version the best?
Because it’s weak? Because it’s not the savior? Because it requires care and a more delicate hand on your part?

See, the grown up, bearded man version of Jesus is the one we go to. That’s the one that “carries us” when we’re struggling (why there’s only one set of footprints). The grown up version is the one that takes care of US, dies for US, saves US.
But the baby version…well…the baby version requires YOU to care for IT. The baby version requires YOU to take care of IT.

It’s the baby version that requires YOU to die for IT.

The baby version requires more on your part. More questions. More self reflection. More introspection. More anxiety. Maybe even the end of you. It requires honesty. Vulnerability.
It requires being an adult. Being a parent. Care. Tenderness. Protection. Realness. Stress.
Humanity.
You feeling weak, frustrated, open to hurt.
It requires you being human.
Sooo…

How do YOU relate to BABY Jesus?

See, I don’t think that’s a question we want to ask ourselves. So we project. We know the end of the story, after all. And the holiday celebrating the birth of Jesus becomes more about what the end of the story means.

I am haunted by humans.”

Recently—much like most redblooded Americans—I began watching Disney+’s “The Mandalorian.” It didn’t take long to reveal the big shocker of the series: a baby Yoda.

Image result for baby yoda
Friggin adorable. You should see him eat a frog. Or play with spaceship controls. Or disobey.

Whoa! Spoilers!” You say. To which I respond with, “Welcome to the internet.”

But the series turns heel at that moment. And what you THOUGHT was a story about one character and his history, becomes about how he relates to an infant.
See he doesn’t know baby Yoda, or what a Yoda species means, it’s power, rarity, bigger narrative implications. He just sees an infant. An adorable one.
And come episode three, the titular Mandalorian abandons everything to take care of the infant.

It’ll be interesting to see what happens at the story’s end, because we the audience don’t know what this baby is, or how important it is, or what will happen to it in the overall narrative.
Like we do with the infant born in a middle eastern cave, and laid in a food troth.
We know the end there. “It is finished.” (Though I don’t think all of us understand the end…)

What if all we had was the beginning (of the story)?

Over the course of my teaching career, I’ve had countless times where students have approached me to say they’re convinced I said something in class just for them. Like I was speaking for their benefit, and speaking directly and only to them. Like I was coding secret messages in a general message JUST to reach out to them.
Funny thing about truth is that sometimes it pierces in such a personal way that it feels as if it’s talking to JUST US. And I won’t lie, sometimes I DID code secret messages in a general message JUST to reach out to specific individuals.

But sometimes a story can feel so personal simply because we think we know the ending. Or maybe that the storyteller does. We think we have it all figured out, the story. It’s like that with people too. We think we know the ending. Or that the other person does.
When in reality, it’s just the beginning. And what that means to us is that we don’t know the ending.
We only know that the story has truly just begun.
And that lack of knowing what happens next, well…if we think we have it figured out, what do we need the story for? What do we need another person for?

Personally, this year has brought about a lot of change. Like…a LOT.
This year has brought about the end of me in so many ways, it’s impossible to fully get into without long, drawn out conversations that stretch far into the night.
And anyone that knows me well enough knows how difficult and challenging this season has always been to me. Not just Christmas, but my birthday as well (which happens to be coming up soon, and falls prior to Christmas). This whole season, just difficult no matter WHAT else is going on in my life.
And I can always tell the struggle has begun because—without FAIL—my lower back begins to hurt to the point of debilitation. This year it hit two days ago. And each year I think, “Gah. What did I do? How’d I pull my back THIS bad??” And then I realize this happens EVERY YEAR.

But something clicked this year that has changed what I view this season to be. No, not that it cured my lower back pain.
The theme. What’s at the heart of the story of this season? The birth? Baby Jesus? All the questions and self reflection and introspection that relating to Baby Jesus brings?

Do not be afraid.” Zacharias. Joseph. Mary. The shephards. “Do not be afraid.”
This is one of the first lines of the narrative in both the Gospels of Matthew and Luke that provide us the Nativity Story, the birth of Jesus.
Do not be afraid.”
THIS is the theme of the story. Each of these characters may have been told the importance of Jesus, what Jesus will be, all of it. But what they were facing in the here and now was this: an infant. A baby.
“A baby changes everything…”

How much responsibility. Care.
The END of you. A NEW relationship.

And it’s scary. It’s frightening. There’s SO many what ifs. And it will more than likely be the end of you. But all of this is GOOD NEWS. The END of FEAR. Which is good news in itself.

You have everything to fear, and yet you’re told, “It’s okay. You have nothing to fear.”

This is how the story starts. Overtly.
And if anything is subtly weaved throughout the rest of the story, it’s this message.

So I may not know the future. I don’t, actually. Just like I don’t know what’s gonna happen in The Mandalorian, or if having a baby Yoda is somehow going to play into The Rise of Skywalker.
I don’t know it. And not knowing the story can be very scary. And present the end of me.

But I’m not afraid.

And no, this isn’t me making a subtle secret message. (But then again, I’m not that good of a storyteller.) I’m not being poetic, I’m not being mysterious or obscure.
I’m saying this directly and overtly.

DO NOT BE AFRAID.”
I bring you good news. And it’s this: You don’t have to be afraid.

This will change everything, sure. It’ll be the end of you, sure. But you don’t have to fear it.
You don’t have to fear anything that causes you fear.

Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays.
For this is only the beginning. And it’s not just a season. It’s a new life.
THIS is the new year. And none of us have anything to fear.

It’s true. WHEREVER you find love, it feels like Christmas.”

And Christmas means YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR.
So…WHEREVER you find love…DON’T BE AFRAID.
THAT’S good news.

There is no fear in love…perfect love casts out fear.” – 1st John 4:18

 

And I believe THAT is worth giving thanks.

So.
Let’s all give thanks to tiny, 8lbs 6oz, newborn infant Jesus, who doesn’t even know his shapes and colors.

 

(UP NEXT:What is Love? Baby Don’t Hurt Me… A Reexamination of the Film, Warm Bodies”)

->and the world WILL be better for this…

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