All Hale Whale Jail

So yesterday a lady came in and gave a workplace trust and respect presentation. I had prepared mentally for this - I would be on my best behavior. No jokes. No snide or sarcastic remarks. Still, I think I offended the trainer but it really wasn't my fault. In this case, the blame rests rather firmly on the Killer whales. But they can't help it. They're natural born killers.

Some of you may be aware of the recent killing perpetrated by an orca at the Orlando Florida Seaworld. Tillikum, the killer whale, murdered his trainer by pulling her in by the pony tail and drowning her. Apparently their warning labels fail to dissuade people from the reality that they might get killed. I am not sure what this means but with a slight re-arranging of the letters in the name Tillikum, you end up with "U Kill Tim." Luckily Lake Michigan is whale free. But it does seem weird that people would be shocked that a killer whale, killed someone. It just makes sense.

For instance, if everyone called a particular guy "Domestic Violence Bob", I am pretty sure I would steer clear of Bob. And I am certain no one would go swimming with Bob or have him entertain a large stadium full of young children and their families. You would probably think: "Man, Bob must have done something to deserve that name." But for some reason with marine mammals, we don't hesitate to put lunch wrapped in a wetsuit into their tank and expect them not to eat us. Tillikum committed his third murder at the end of February. We all suffered the unbearable irony of hearing the public relations people at Seaworld defend the orcas saying, "It isn't in the character of killer whales to kill." And in Florida, where Tillikum could get the death penalty, his sentence was commuted to life at Sea World - a fate worse than death. But back to the training.

Everything was going well. I sat up straight, was respectful, participated and even asked an insightful question about gender differences and body language. But no amount of self-restraint could have prepared me for what came next. It was a video called Whale Done: The Power of Positive Relationships. It featured, you guessed correctly, the killer whales of Seaworld Orlando. The mantra of the video between every segment was, "If you can learn to trust a Killer Whale, you can learn to build trust and respect in the workplace." The silence of my disbelief prefaced any observable reaction. The video was a management video - about how you could control employees in the same way the trainers control the killer whales at sea world. I began to wonder if the woman I supervise would ever murder me during a routine updating of the database. The video continued to talk about how the whales felt respected so they performed. I couldn't believe what I was watching.

And then it happened. Like a submarine under extreme deep sea pressure, I sprung a leak. Air shot out of my notrils and I made a snorting noise. I tried to hold my mouth so I wouldn't spring more leaks but nothing could be done - the ship was sinking. And then I started laughing muffled and uncontrollably. Luckily I was in the back on the room. A couple people looked back and apparently they too felt the giggles. The guy next to me started laughing and rocking back and forth in his chair. One of my other co-workers blurted out a warning to one of the sea world trainers in the video as the whale jumped out of the tank, "Look Out!" Soon the room was aroar in a disrespectful and raucous laughter. It was just too ridiculous. The lady giving the presentation looked dismayed - these whales had turned on her. They were all laughing at her presentation on respect. We couldn't help it. We were not made for cubicles and presentations on respect. We were meant for laughter.

I guess there are certain things that we just can't help. For killer whales, it's murder. For guys like me it's uncontrollable laughter at things ubsurd.

You can't keep people in a tank when they were meant for something bigger. They might be cool for a long time, even years. But sooner or later, they want to break free, laugh and dance and snort. At the end of the day, I couldn't help but think the orcas of seaworld had brought us closer. The presentation wasn't a total loss. So to the orcas and to the downcast facilitor. I must tip my hat and exclaim for the world to hear, "Whale Done!"

skyscrapers, gutters and everything in between.

From my work cube, I can see the top of the NorthWestern Mutual insurance building where the I see the silhouettes of the folks who make six and seven figures. They drive Lexus SUVs and wear monogrammed shirts. I am at ground level so I also see the homeless guys who collect used cigarette butts and smoke them down to the filters right in front of the my cube window. I see the highs and lows from my cube. As much as I hate it, sometimes my cube keeps things in perspective.

I read psalm 88 and psalm 89 this morning. These two back-to-back psalms seem like Danny Devito and Arnold Swartzenegger in the movie Twins. Scholars think they are connected but it is hard to tell by just reading them. Psalm 88 is dark and depressing. God is far off and the writer sounds almost suicidal as he proclaims, "darkness is my closest friend." Psalm 88 sounds more like a Metallica ballad than scripture. By contrast, Psalm 89 is perky and praisey. It is the Karen Carpenter of Psalms - syrupy sweet and filled to the rim with flowery phrases of deity and doctrine. Both are difficult to swallow.

My life is somewhere in between these two psalms. I want my relationship with God somewhere in the middle too, like my like my relationship with a helpful Home Depot employee, cordial, rationale, task-oriented, not too pushy but not too aloof, reasonable, unemotional. But maybe this isn't God. Maybe God doesn't want a relationship like that. Maybe he wants our highest highs and our lowest lows. Maybe he wants to broaden our experiences to encompass higher highs and lower lows - that we might be fully human. This seems to line up with what I have seen in the live of Saints.

I once read this author who thought that Christians, and specifically mystics, were prone to bouts of depression and mania. This particular author believed that people of faith - followers of God, could see the universe much more clearly than anyone else. They experienced the lowest lows and the highest highs. Believers feel the height of connection to and empowerment by God through his Holy Spirit and also the depths of darkness as they reflect on topics such as the crucifixion, hell and sin. We speak in tongues and serve in slums. Christians live on both ends of the spectrum - mania and the darkness. And we experience a greater total sum of the spectrum of life because of this. Perhaps the middle of existence is the least palpable to the mystic, the Jesus follower, because its stability is like a calm sea for the sailor - doldrums. The mystic craves the presence of God and the presence of suffering because the are usually linked - like Christ himself.

So why not live big? Why not take risks? Why not do the things that God is calling you to do? Invite the rich and poor into your home. Raise your hands into the sky in prayer. Come alongside those who suffer. Pray for a miracle. Expect transformation. Lose your lifestyle. Be more real. Get out of the spiritual doldrums and live at the poles of life where the most real things happen.

C.S. Lewis speaks of heaven as like earth only more so. Everything is heightened - experience, emotion, intellect, sensory input. Even tiny blades of grass feel like little knives in heaven because we aren't used to the intensity of reality. We've lived too long in the middle. Suffer or praise with the full intensity of heaven - with fervor as if your days were numbered. Because they are.

Little Cesars and the Red Box

Michael Jackson once wrote a song called, Smooth Criminal. I wonder what the opposite of a smooth criminal is because I was hit by one of those yesterday.

As I walked into the arid brilliance of the early spring mid-afternoon, a thousand tiny glints of sunlight flashed back at me from the ground next to my truck. Broken glass. This had happened to me before. I knew the drill - it would be a pain in the butt. As I came closer to my truck, I noticed that the metal on my car door was gouged and bent next to the broken passenger side window. "Rookies. Punk Rookies!" I am not a criminal but any criminal worth his salt, knows that you break car windows with ceramics - most commonly part of an old spark plug. the reason for this is that it makes less sound - a slight pop. These fools had used a piece of metal and when that didn't work, they pried the edge of the glass until the metal bent and broke the window. This little difference meant that the damage is 1800 dollars instead of 200 dollars. The worst part was that once they entered the vehicle, they searched it a got away with nothing. Nada. Zilch. My co-worker, who used to be a Sheriff's deputy thinks they wanted my GPS unit which I had a mount for on the dashboard. My wife had it in her car that day.

But what really sucks is how one little sinful act is taking up so much of my life. So I have begun the annoying process of trying to get my car fixed. I had to call the police, file a report, call the insurance, take the car to a shop for an estimate, call the insurance guys back, call the glass guys, take a picture of broken window, have them say they can't just replace the glass and then thank them for taking the time to do it. Then I have to pay he 500 dollar deductible, talk to my wife about why we need to change our budget that month and why, through no fault of mine, that our date night has gone from Magianos and the Imax to Little Cesars and the Red Box. Our kitchen cabinets will need to wait another month and we can't drive my car without the heater on full blast at the moment. I will need to confirm with the auto shop, find a ride to work for next week. Wait for them to see if they have the right parts. Bum rides and take the bus to all of my nighttime stuff. And then finally after two weeks of straight annoying, I get my car back in almost the same shape as it started. I almost wish the dude would have taken my hundred dollar GPS unit. I almost hope he had got some crack and a pipe stem to smoke it in exchange for it. At least then someone would have benefitted from this. But as it stands, my car got beat up for nothing and I have to deal with it. What a bummer.

I guess all sin is like this. It starts with being consumed with our own desires. And then we haphazardly, and sometimes sloppily violate someone. We don't think about what it will do to them. We don't think that our five minutes of selfishness might cause 2 weeks of strife to someone else. We just think about getting our high - whatever our own personal crack high might be. Admiration, sex, job security, gossip, appearing clever, etc. And we wreck others as we search for a cheap high. I guess what I am saying is that we do more damage to others than we realize. I have done more damage to others than I realize.

I want to apologize to anyone out there whom I have violated with words or actions. I am sorry for the pain I have caused you. I am sorry that my momentary selfishness caused lasting harm to you. And I hope that I can be forgiven and I hope that I can make restitution in any way possible.

You want me?

I have been going to the gym a lot lately. I workout like a trophy wife trying to get into her bikini by summer - hours of cardio and self loathing. I've lost some weight but I am getting really weak in my upper body. I recently found out that all the cardio is reducing my testosterone and causing my muscles to shrink. I am what Hans and Franz might call a "girly man." This is really depressing. It is one thing to be overweight, it is quite another to be weak and overweight. But something at the gym happened that lifted my spirits and made me feel like a man again.

First let me set the scene. I work out at a gym that is full of huge dudes - I mean Shug Knight's bouncer huge. Most guys scale in at least 300. Guys in my gym are tough. Part of this is due to where I work out - the most violent neighborhood in Milwaukee. Guys in the suburbs work out for health and fitness. They read periodicals like runner's world and men's health, eat low carb diets and take their pulse incesantly. Guys in the hood work out so that when some crack-head comes after you with a baseball bat to steal your cell phone, you can pick him up over your head and throw him in a snowbank. My gym is more like a gladiator training facility than a fitness center. It is about making sure that you are strong enought to fight back because sooner or later, you're going to have to. Needless to say, cardio is not popular - there is always and open treadmill or bike and that is why I went there in the first place. I guess I could run away from the crack head now but there is little manly about that. I once tried to lift weights there. I started my bench press sets with 45s on each side of the bar to warm up. The relatively small dude I was working out with, put two 45s on each side and the bigger dude across from us was warming up with three 45s. I haven't lifted weights there since.

Last night on my way back to the locker room from the eliptical trainer, a huge guy stepped in front of my path. He must have been 6'3" 33o pounds. I looked him dead in the eye and continued to walk toward him. (It is good to not show fear until the last moment before flight or fight). He looked me in the eye, then he smiled and started talking to me.

"Hey man. You play football? You look like you might play football."

"Nope. I am older and weaker than I look."

"That's no problem. You look like you're working out. We're starting a football team. We need some dudes to come out and play. It's gonna be a lot of fun."

"You gotta be kidding me. I am 31 years old and weak as I have ever been."

"No joke. We need some more guys. You'll be fine. Lemme get your number. We practice at Tech." (I gave him my number)

"Full pads? Full contact?"

"Yeah. Ofcourse."

"Ok"

"Talk to you soon"

"Take it easy"

And I walked to the locker room - head a little higher, chest pushed out a little further. The big dude wanted me. The huge guy wanted me for his team. Maybe I would make a good tackling dummy. Maybe I would just have the 100 bucks to register for the league but he didn't mention money. I am not sure why he wanted me. But he wanted me on his team! This was good news. I felt like a man again. On my way out that night, I signed up for a personal strength trainer.

Sometimes we forget who we are. Sometimes we get intimidated by those around us who are bigger and better than we are. Maybe they're smarter or better looking or more socially successful. And we shrink and shrivel and we fill our lives with excuses. "I am too old. I am too weak. I don't have time." And we take another path that makes us feel like a nobody.

The good news is that God wants you on his team. A huge dude wants you. He doesn't care if you don't believe in yourself. He believes in you. He doesn't care if you have all the qualifications or if it's been years since you've been on his team. He sees you and recognizes something special in you and he wants you on his team. He wants you.

A Response to Chad

My friend Chad commented on the last post - read his comment. Then read this.

The question of what is pleasing to God and how it relates to identity is interesting because I think it does go into Biblical interpretation. You are right on this point.

I have a mentor group and we talked about this last night. The major passage that deals with this issue speaks of denying ourselves and taking up our cross daily and following Jesus. Whoever wants to keep his life will lose it. Whoever wants to lose his life for my sake will find it.

This passage deals with identity. It is saying that if you want to find your true identity, your "psyche" or soul in the Greek, you must intentionally deny your self, take up your cross daily (daily intentional suffering for others) and follow me. There is something in all people that resonates with this idea of suffering for others. And when we think about people who have stepped the most fully and meaningfully into their identity, we think of Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Bishop Tutu, etc. So, paradoxically, to have the most fully human identity involves denying the claims of identity - giving up its rights and privileges for the sake of others. We, that is, all people, know this intrinsically.

But because we find this is difficult, church people usually try and interpret their way out of this fact and end up creating an alternative way to get to know and please God but we lose ourselves in the process.

Martin Luther talks about the two main theologies: (thank you honey for pointing this out)

1) The theology of glory which is more common and seeks to experience God through ecstatic experience, power, superior wisdom, insight, study and ritual.

and

2) The theology of the cross which seeks God through intentional suffering and giving up of one's rights and privileges.

Luther thinks that we only gain our true identity through the latter but most of the world (including many Christians) desire the former because it is a shortcut. This is why I told you that Trudy (one of our co-workers) was a better spiritual example than me. I have studied a lot but she has lived the way of the cross for years. The way of the cross is love. The theology of glory is pride and selfishness.

In short - we tend to interpret the Bible in ways that make following Jesus easier. In doing so we cheat ourselves out of experiencing life in it's fullness - suffering for others and finding our real identity. Our "self" is the image of God on us. It is on all of us. It is up to us to decide whether we will lose enough of our self to uncover it - kind of like that marble in the "chiseled" post.

Chad - perhaps you wanted to talk reader response type stuff but this was the direction I went. We can talk more at work.

Get Dem Rats Out Yo Britches!

I spent a week sleeping in a Tipi one time. And it wasn't because I was celebrating Native American culture. I was the only person in the 1200 member church I grew up in who was willing to spend a week sleeping in a Tipi at church camp with 4th and 5th grade boys. In case you haven't spent much time with kids of this age. Let me provide a window in their world.

1) They vehemently believe that Young Adults between the ages of 18-25 are the coolest and the best moral authority for kids (Mostly because their super-nice recently graduated kindergarten teachers met this requirement). They will relay to their parents everything that the 18-25 year old tells them at camp as if it is gospel truth even if it is complete hogwash.

2) They like to summarize the plots of movies, video games and books in the same amount of time it would take to watch that movie or read the book. It is best not to ask about the latest Harry Potter flick because you may end up getting a 2 day summary on the book, video game and movie and the non-pertainent but exceptionally detailed variants in them.

3) They need you to put sunscreen and bug spray on them like little kids but they want to stay up all night making fart noises like middle schoolers. They have one foot in each world - not quite teens and not quite little kids.

4) They like to wear little league baseball caps, vans skateboard shoes, baggy cargo shorts and faded black graphic T-shirts depicting Japanese cartoon characters with sharp hair and their dragons. They think these shirts are tough. I am not sure why but don't question it or you will get the lengthy summary of that cartoon and a slightly analytical assessment of the next best cartoon as well as three reasons why the cartoon on their shirt could kill the cartoon of the next dude's shirt. Just tell them they have a cool shirt even if it is the farthest thing from the truth.

5) They think girls are gross. Don't try and convince them otherwise or they will provide a lengthy summary about every girl in their class and why they are gross.

6) They hate showers and deodorant but love cologne/body spray. Don't ask me to explain this one either. Just make sure they brought some cologne because they're gonna stink on day 4.

7) There is always one really strange kid in every Tipi or cabin at camp. I guess this is because the kids are nice enough at this age to still include most people in activities even if they don't like them. In middle school, the hoardes of adolescent popularocrats will destroy the weak in order the thin the herd through social shunning and cold-hearted mockery. So enjoy the relative egalitarianiasm of the pre-teen Tipi community while it lasts.

Brian was my strange kid. He was triple medicated on a cocktail of ADD and depression drugs and he couldn't sleep at night because he was so doped up. He was genuinely miserable. He was the kid whose parents saw summer camps as an opportunity for them to escape. Each year they would send him to a dozen summer camps so they could emotionally retreat and recharge for the next year of being his parents. Brian had already gone to Jewish camp, band camp, theater camp and cub scout camp by the time I got him - a virtual trail of tears for the exhausted adults supervising him lay in his path. His parents were running out of world religions and civic organizations willing to cope with Brian.

But there was one place at camp where Brian could relax and be himself. It was in the camp animal hut with this funny southern guy with the camp knickname of "Red Hawk" who knew all about animals. Luckily the animal hut only contained safe and durable creatures. The southern man would pass Brian a guinea pig or a duckling and his whole body language would change - he would relax, breath deeply and slowly pet the animal. Every day at free time when the rest of the Tipi was swimming or skateboarding, Brian would go to his safe place and spend time caring for the animals.

On Thursday afternoon, I heard Red Hawk scream in a pannicked Georgia drawl, "I'm not gonna tell you again. Get dem rats out yo' britches!" Apparently Brian had started putting small animals inside of his pants. Brian just sat there comotose, with three furry rodents running all through his pants like a trains through a canvas subway tunnel, calm and collected unaware of the chaos all around him - at peace.

God wants to take you from the chaos all around you, and in you, and give you a special place where you can be free. It's called prayer. It's available everyday. You can be yourself there - whoever you are, even if you are the type of dude that likes rats in his britches.