Why Christian Art Should Be Banned

   There are many people these days that seem to gravitate toward simple solutions to complex problems. For example, someone was killed by a bullet, we should outlaw guns. Or, since a person can’t raise a family or buy a house with a burger flipping job, let’s raise their wage so they earn $60,000 a year so now they can.

   They seek a political solution to all our ills. The thought process is about a centimeter deep. It seems like a good idea for the three seconds that they ponder it. These solutions never work because there are always unintended consequences to all these actions. It’s unfortunate that elected officials entertain such stupid notions, either to be popular or are stupid themselves.

   But since dumb ideas are gaining in popularity, I have decided to jump on the bandwagon.

   So I propose that we ban Christian Art. Not Art in general, just Christian Art.

   Hear me out and follow the reasoning. In our world today we have a plethora of thorny issues that can be traced back to a core problem: Men and their lack of leadership. If you fix that one thing, everything else will begin to turn around.

   There are men who lack the nerve to commit and get married, and the traditional family suffers. Co-habitation is popular because it offers an exit strategy that is quick and painless, except for the kids and the lousy example they see.

   The men who do marry often lack the maturity to keep a promise that was made when it ceases to be fun. There are dead-beat dads who need their money more than the kids need provision, and there are bums that just don’t like the work thing because it’s not always the pleasure that little boys in men’s bodies need a steady supply of.

   Welfare payments and food stamps are needed and taxes go up, taking from the people who are trying to do things the right way. And the single Mom has to work and struggle instead of making a happy home for her kids to be raised in.

   Inner city gangs happen because of kids with no guidance and too much time. Drugs, hopelessness and irresponsibility abound and perpetuate. This all happens because one person failed to set an example for someone else to follow and shirked the responsibility to lead in a small way.

   We look for a hero to lead, but we look in the wrong places. We often turn to the media and see athletes beating up their girlfriends, movie stars getting DUI s and politicians caught in a scandal.

   So what does all this have to do with Christian Art? It’s simple. The Headwaters of everything that makes a society function has been horribly misrepresented. Look at the artwork of Christ over the centuries. He is shown as this mopey, limp-wristed guy staring down at the ground. There is this aura thing around his head and his palm is always turned up. These paintings are full of symbolism and were done with good intentions but sorely misleading. Jesus Christ was bold and confrontational. He challenged the leaders of His day to their face. He never shrunk from controversy. Also, He would have been a blast to be around. He drew crowds everywhere because people wanted to be near Him. The artwork depicts a sad faced Jesus that didn’t know how to smile. Seriously? What did He talk about? Joy, abundant life, hospitality to strangers, being a light to others; how do you live that out and never smile?

   The plagues in society mentioned above can all be cured by this one Man. But no one considers Him as a possible solution because He looks wimpy. If the ancient artists painted Jesus more like William Wallace in “Braveheart”, complete with warpaint, perhaps more men would emulate His leadership and become real men. Men that protect their family, love their wives and provide for their children make for a strong nation.

   Although it is oversimplified, you understand why I think Christian Art should be banned. It hides the solution our country is desperately searching for.

  

   

The Sugar Police

   The dictionary defines “dignity’ as “ bearing, conduct or speech indicative of respect or appreciation.” The word came to mind recently as I was watching the news as they reported about Mayor Bloomberg banning large sodas in New York City. It has since been struck down by a clear thinking judge.

   How much regard for dignity is shown when an official bans a soft drink? It isn’t cocaine, it’s not alcohol, it’s just fattening. Maybe he thinks he was elected Mama of New York instead of Mayor.

   Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating for Coca Cola, I don’t even like the stuff. But I am a big fan of freedom. I like to think of it as being the Sovereign King of a kingdom the size of the space my feet occupy. It’s not a huge domain but it’s all mine. The surrounding territory I may have little power over. No matter. I control where I live, what I do for a living and . . . what goes inside my mouth Mr. Bloomberg. I have this covered, thank you. I still own ME. You have invaded my personal space, please back away quickly Sir.

   Apparently, all of the serious problems have been eradicated in New York. There is no unemployment, homelessness, drug abuse or crime of any kind since the top cat is focusing on bad habits now. After love handles are conquered, I wonder what will be the next frontier? Dirty windows? Restrooms out of paper towels? How about nose blowing in a restaurant? Now that is a threat to life as we know it. Perhaps we should cite clerks that don’t say ‘thank you’ enthusiastically enough?

   That may sound ridiculous, but it is the natural progression to monitoring what legal drinks people consume. This kind of Utopia seeking nut will never stop at soft drinks. They will continue until they are content with the perfect world they have created. And this crowd always thinks they are getting closer every day. One more law here, another restriction there, and before you know it, all will be well except for the fact that no one can legally leave their home.

   I don’t mean to pick on New York. Chicago is another fine example of the Nanny from Hell.

   In a city that can boast of the highest homicide rate in the country, take a guess at what Mayor Rahm Emanuel has on his little liberal brain. Sugary snacks! We’ll deal later with the teenagers shot to death in the inner city, world renown government corruption and the eroding manufacturing base. That’s all silliness! It’s the Honey-Buns in the vending machine that will push us over the cliff. Hershey Bar task forces are what is called for in a desperate situation like this.

   Please excuse my sarcasm here. It can’t be helped. The shocking thing isn’t that politicians suggest this kind of buffoonery, it’s that they can say it with a straight face. Is anyone else offended at the hubris it takes to be a self appointed food cop?

   If a Mayor can dictate what a city is permitted to eat, maybe it’s not too intrusive enough to oversee personal hygiene? Bathroom habits should be randomly checked to insure that the all-important public safety is intact. After all, people can die from E-coli. There. We have our justification. The dirty little fools need supervised. Like stupid children, they need us even if they don’t like it.

   Of course it is even worse at the federal level. What is Obamacare, but a cradle to casket plan to oversee lives? ‘This is a dangerous activity, you needn’t do that, this is bad for you Sweetie, stop it now!’ or ‘You will buy health insurance you don’t need and can’t afford, or else!’

   The paradox is that these are the so-called pro-choice leaders of the nation. ‘You have every right to an abortion if that’s what you want’ is their proud motto. Now, just to be clear, what we are saying is that we have the right to end the life of a sleeping unborn child, but when it comes to the beverage at lunch, these are decisions that should be left to the wiser, deeper thinking leaders in charge. Okay. I’m clear now.

  Our nation has lost its vision of personal freedom and how precious it is. Our Founding Fathers thought it was worth dying for. I believe they would be embarrassed to see their descendants being led around by the nose by elected control freaks. We haven’t lost our dignity; we gave it away.

   

The Turkey Trot

  Yeah. So, about a year ago, my wife tells me that she wants to run in the Turkey Trot this year. I was a little surprised to be truthful. My mouth was saying something like ‘Well, okay if that’s what you want to do’. But my mind was really thinking: ‘Why would anyone…? Are you kidding me…? What the hell is that about?!’

  For anyone unfamiliar with it, the Turkey Trot is a footrace that is held early on Thanksgiving Day. It is usually to raise money for some worthy cause like curing cancer or feeding the hungry. While I wouldn’t argue with that, the practical side of my mind wonders why we don’t simply donate the money and stay in bed on our day off. In my defense, I am naturally a night owl and get a second wind at 9:00 PM. Rising at 5:30 AM would never cross my mind unless our house was on fire. And even then it falls between maybe and probably.

  However, being a devoted husband, I found myself driving the 25 miles to the high school stadium where the “trot” was being held. I went with the understanding that I was purely support staff and nothing more. I would hold on to the sweater, encourage and meet up at the finish line.

  We arrived before the sun was fully up, and I was astounded to have to search for a parking space. The stadium was packed as though it was a NFL game during the playoffs. I was taken aback. Way aback. The streets were cordoned off for the race, and the sidewalks were jammed with trotters walking from their cars from every direction. Although it was a National holiday and businesses were closed, there was a sea of people. Older people, little kids, dogs on leashes, strollers and runners with furry turkeys on their heads. The atmosphere was alive and buzzing. Though I tried to remain an uninvolved observer, (since I felt that the interest would pass after she did it once) it was difficult not to get drawn in to the electric excitement.

  While my wife was running alone, I was milling around, fearing I might miss the parade on TV, or get the bird in the oven too late, something happened.

  I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I suddenly knew that I was going to run in the race next year. Yes. There was too much fun, life and challenges going on without me. There were pictures being taken at the finish line, high fives, hugs and back slaps that made me feel like a real weinie for being satisfied with holding someone else’s personal effects. I was the bystander observing real life from the bench. No, this would not do.

  Well, nearly a year has passed since the turkey trot, and again my dear wife brings up the date, the registration and questions about me really participating. I marvel that the earth has actually revolved around the sun in what seems to be the length of time it takes to watch a bad movie.

  Should I have kept quiet? Did I speak up on a silly whim, and should I back out now?

  No, I registered and would follow through. I must admit that I had a few fearful visions in my head. One was of young, fit runners glancing nervously at a paunchy, mid lifer getting oxygen on a stretcher. Another was of an empty stadium, and a few officials being annoyed that they almost missed Thanksgiving because they had to wait for the last straggler to come through, which would be me.

  But alas, I did just fine. Not only did I make it, but I had a blast. There were amateur bands playing in driveways along the way, and encouraging people waving, wishing well and offering drinks of water. I ran until I gave out, caught my breath and ran some more. I count myself among thousands of others now. I am a runner. I am anxious for next year. I am angry at myself for dismissing it so quickly. But I am also fearful. What if there are other wonderful, fulfilling things that I have refused to consider? What else has been written off as something that’s not for me, that needs to be placed in the ‘Under Consideration’ box once again? 

Get Over It!!

One of the indulgences that I enjoy occasionally is watching an old movie. I recently caught a favorite of mine; Humphrey Bogart in “Casablanca”. The black and white cinematography, the actors that smoked continually and the tense background of a world in conflict all make it impossible to hit the channel button to pass over it. I’m drawn in each time.
The scene playing when I stumbled in was the maitre’de chatting with an older couple leaving war-torn Europe to start a new life in America. The lady told him in a thick accent that she and her husband only spoke English now; so they would feel at home in America.
Although I watched that scene a hundred times, it really came alive to me this time. Maybe because it is so unlike everything we hear today. The couple was excited and felt blessed to be in America soon. They couldn’t wait to get here. The opportunities, freedom and lack of tyrants filled them with anticipation and impatience. How refreshing to get something positive about our country.
Probably what made the contrast so stunning was the book I read recently. It was a college writing book that I picked up at a rummage sale. Some young, broke college student may have paid $75 for it. I picked it up for a buck since the art of writing has changed so dramatically in the last three months since a new edition came out. (By the way, that was sarcasm, and a slam to the book publishers).
I was reading the essay examples and various writing styles that the book used to educate that semester’s crop of young, impressionable minds.
I read about how a lesbian was made to feel in a group of non-lesbians; the way black people couldn’t identify with white co-workers, and a hard-hearted Neanderthal that was some student’s father.
No one is able to be a part of the society at large because they are different. Therefore, they are excluded and outsiders. Oh, the plight of these poor souls who don’t get a standing ovation when they walk into a room full of strangers. The isolation that they must feel when no one rolls a red carpet out because they are gay, black, Latino, single parents or have green eyes, or whatever perceived trait that the world should stop and recognize. My heart bleeds for the pathetic victims of… what? Life? The world at large? Boo Hoo! Welcome to the club! Now do something or get out of the way! Either way, stop the whining, since there have been real victims of real oppression over the years that have overcame huge obstacles.
My confusion comes when you listen to the people of these various groups that claim their life is so radically different from everyone else’s. They say that all they really want is to just exist alongside their neighbors and not be anything than part of the crowd. They want to live life just like everybody else.
But when they speak, the only thing they can talk about is how they’re different and need special handling and compassion.
One can discuss the weather, and somehow their group’s plight will come up. “Well, yes, but rain is really wet when you’re a gay, black Buddhist that speaks Vietnamese.”
Really? You really think that the whole world glides through life without resistance or problems and it is only you that struggles with issues, personalities or authority figures that don’t appreciate you? Please!
Getting back to the European couple, I long for the country that was known as the melting pot. We all arrive and bring along any talents, differences or quirks we have to the party. We may all benefit, suffer or both. But it is what it is. The dynamic is the mindset that we’re all on the same side. You may be a little weird, but you’re on our team! It is what made this nation great. You are part of the reason for our success. It shouldn’t make anyone angry. One doesn’t get that impression when people focus on the things that separate them from everyone else.
Instead of a Diversity Board, how about a Unity Council? Why not be a part of our society before listing everything that separates you from all of us? Try being an American first and then all the shades of nuance as an afterthought.

The Bully and the Little Guy

One day last week I struck up a conversation with a man I cross paths with occasionally. He works as a security guard and although it’s not a great job, he still keeps a great attitude. He told me how he was negotiating with the Internal Revenue Service since his taxes were in arrears. The agent wanted him to commit to $45 a month until it was paid. The man explained that at this time, it was impossible to pay that much. His wife was underemployed and their budget was stretched to the limit.
The IRS person was incredulous that anyone couldn’t afford such a small amount. The guard repeated his situation to the dull agent and again was diminished as either a liar or a loser.
The ironies in that story makes my head spin. For one, the man speaking with the condescending tone works for an organization famous for flushing billions of dollars down a hole. The Federal Government has never been known for spending money wisely. We have all heard of grants for ridiculous projects like treadmills for shrimp, or studies to understand why people smoke marijuana. I once heard of a $700,000 jet engine part being sold at an auction for $50. The buyer had to figure out what he bought.
The security guard, on the other hand, has every dollar accounted for on paper. He knows how much he can spend on which area and what his limit is. If he overspends in one area, he will come up short in another. If he spends too much on groceries, a utility bill won’t get paid. The resources available dictates how much can be spent. Unlike the Government, he doesn’t have a press to print more notes should he run short. Obviously, it’s a lot less money to manage, but it is being handled with care and frugality.
The money that this man will earn in a year is less than a rounding error for one budget for one department.
Another irony is the government gets its’ money from the citizens. It does nothing for it but stick its’ hand out. The guard must go out and earn every dime of his.
I was reminded of this when the gasoline prices spiked a few years ago. The media was all abuzz about the oil companies gouging the public. Oil companies explore, find, drill, refine and get it to the corner filling station for 5% profit or less per gallon. Conversely, depending on the state, government taxes add on forty to fifty cents per gallon. Every gallon, every day. They get fifty cents a gallon for… what? Letting you put it in your tank? Yes, there is gouging going on, but everyone is looking in the wrong direction.
The other paradox is the fact the drone in the cubicle works for the American public, including the security guard. How many of us would like to deliver our boss a good slap down and get away with it, to brutally speak our mind to some issue but we can’t because we want to come to work tomorrow? That’s what the IRS agent did. He has power behind him that allows him to disrespect the citizen that pays him without concern for recourse.
Ronald Reagan’s understanding of this is why he’s the greatest President of our lifetime. He said: “Government is like a baby. An alimentary canal with a big appetite at one end and no sense of responsibility at the other.”

Restlessness

The word restlessness carries with it many different images. One of a person tossing and turning at night, unable to attain the deep sleep that they desire. Or someone unsettled in what they are doing. Being unable to decide where to go or what to do. Maybe it’s someone struggling with a major life decision and just can’t reach a conclusion that they feel good about.
As much as I hate to admit it, that is me on any given weekend to a large degree. It’s not the sleep example either. It is the feeling that I need to be about something important but feel like I just arrived and missed the informational part of the expedition. The door was locked on the briefing room and I forgot my entry badge. I’m trying to figure out my role in the whole mission. I absolutely know that I have one. That’s the component that causes the restlessness; what is it exactly? Someone is somewhere waiting for me … to do …something. There is a trajectory that could be altered in a good way if… If someone was at their assigned post, performing their duty. I may be the one asleep at the wheel. Maybe I’m the Snoopy that is supposed to stop the Red Baron (It’s a Christmas song from the seventies, for the younger readers) from his appointed destruction. But instead of suiting up and resolving to protect the skies to the death; I am making faces on the mirror that I fogged up with my breath. I’m deaf to the voice shouting, “Come on Man! The world is waiting! It needs you. Move now!”
Please don’t misunderstand. I am not a deadbeat. I’m out there in the world getting it done every day, every week, every year. It pays the bills. But I know there’s a lot more urgency to the world we live in than just keeping the cable hooked up for another month.
I almost admire some people I’ve met over the years that just live for the weekend; the allotted time to do whatever they feel like for as long as they like. It may be pointless, or a little stupid but they don’t care because it’s their chosen indulgence. It could be sports, alcohol, or the opposite sex, but they pursue it like there is no tomorrow.
I have traveled down those avenues to a dead end and find little satisfaction in it. I like to have fun but it’s not a life pursuit I suppose.
I comfort myself in the fact that surely everyone has these suspicions and doubts. Maybe they ignore them better than I do. Or maybe it is more settled for them. I know it is for my kids. They KNOW what they’ll be doing in this life. They make music, serve in the military; they write and take incredible pictures. There’s not much questioning or searching for them. They have it down and they have me beat me by twenty plus years.
For the rest of us weary travelers, carry on. Continue on the journey. Explore. Probe. Question. Seek. The Lord guides our steps. We’ll get there. Maybe a little late, but we’ll get there.

A Perspective Change

Gratitude is one of those things that have real power behind it, but most people don’t comprehend it. We all have things that frustrate us. Many complaints are completely justified. We are able to quote to a listener of our gripes chapter and verse as evidence that our “moaning” is absolutely justified. We are not whiners. We have proof that we’re right about this.
And we hear others do the same thing, which further cements our conviction that it’s not just us, but others see similar miscarriages of justice. And, hence, we go forward with the license to ignore any argument.
I, like anyone, have dissatisfactions that I grumble about. Untapped oil reserves while we desperately need oil is one of them; and burning corn in the form of ethanol while poor South Americans can’t afford tortillas is another, although related.
Furthermore, fast-talking politicians attack people trying to reform an institution like Medicare or Social Security. Although quickly going broke, suggested reforms are compared to shooting Grandma and kicking crippled children. Unspoken is the foolish concept that it is somehow kinder to let it go completely bankrupt as opposed to cuts to make it sustainable. These and a myriad of other things can drive me crazy if I let them. As Andy Andrews wrote, “What you focus on increases.”
And then, something happens… And it’s like a cosmic force suddenly changes the lens that we see the world through. Furthermore, it is stamped with a seal of authenticity that we inherently know we can’t object to or argue with.
Let me offer an example. As my daughter and son-in-law were traveling from Los Angeles back to their home in Texas, they were involved in an accident with a tractor-trailer. To be sure, their Toyota sedan was no match for the semi, and any gambler worth his salt would have bet on their instant demise. But, Thank the Lord, he would have lost. They both survived with only seat belt abrasions and fire ant bites from being examined in the grassy median.
There is no need to get graphic and describe what might have happened. It’s obvious.
What may not be obvious is the subtle working of Jesus Christ in the lives of His people. He takes care of things that we don’t even know is an issue yet. He orchestrates events and people in a moment that we couldn’t do in months. There was an off duty paramedic that assisted our kids till the ambulance came. A Pastor stopped when he saw the accident and prayed with them, as well as gathered their valuables thrown out of their trunk. A couple they never met before drove them to their car and then home two hours away. It was a miracle sandwich, one stacked upon another, all served up exactly when needed.
Such was my perspective-adjusting event. In one moment, life’s priorities become astonishingly clear. My kids are sore, but breathing. The car is totaled, but they will still visit at Thanksgiving. This mindset can apply to everything.
Even now, Washington D.C. is full of liars and demagogues. But beautiful, loyal loved ones that make my life worth living surround me. The sun rises and shines bright every morning. America continues to put her resources off limits when we need them, but I have a hot shower and fresh brewed coffee in the morning.
I am not a victim, I am thankful for more excellent gifts that I can put a number to. Instead of being frustrated about whatever issue, I rejoice that I was spared pain that I can barely imagine. God is good. Gratitude is almost as good. It is liberating in a world that can chain you up with concerns.
“Troubles melt like lemon drops…”