Day 12

I have a complaint. It seems to me that Doxology has focused for some time on the same thing that a lot of the emergent churches focus on, which is a good thing: the Christian life is about more than just waiting until we die to go to Heaven or Hell, but that Heaven (and Hell) exist right here, right now, and that we are searching for "the life of the ages", a phrase used by my father frequently over the past few years. As the Doxology website puts it: "Faith is a journey, not a guilt trip." This is supposed to be a shift in the focus of the church as important as the Reformation.

It is incredibly freeing idea: that we should not fear death, nor should we fear to truly live! It is a powerful idea that faiths which work should create people who love to be a live, who live good lives! We do not then judge people either by whether or not they believe the same thing as us or whether they appear to do the good deeds that will get them to heaven (and good deeds is the same thing as believing what we believe), but simply by whether the faith they profess is evident in their lives: whether they are full of joy. Of course, as the slogan goes, it is a journey, so the fact that someone does not seem to show the faith that they profess does not mean that the faith is bad, just that THEIR faith is immature.

All of this is good, and I cannot complain about such a wonderful hope for the life of the ages. However, I'm afraid that Doxology (at least, for I cannot speak directly about any other churches) runs the risk of staying too long in the phase of rejoicing in our newfound freedom! Because there is one single correction that I would give to the sentence: "We are each meant to live heaven on earth, the life of the ages." And that correction is this: "We are all meant to live heaven on earth, the life of the ages."

All of us. Together. And while the joy should be evident in our individual lives, it is impossible to live our own lives to the fullest if a part of our body is unable to live its life to the fullest. And by our body, I mean our individual communities (in my case, Doxology) our regional communities (Austin) our faith community (the body of all Christians) and - significantly - our WHOLE community (the entire group of humans). To quote Aerosmith, "None of us are free, if one of us is chained."

Also, as an aside, we cannot live life to its fullest if we are irresponsible with the gifts (like the environment we call home) that have been loaned to us.

So the error I am afraid of is that we might become so focused on living our lives well that we become hedonistic, abandoning all for the sake of pleasure. That is a very American religion, and doesn't ever even bring real happiness.

The fact is that I believe we are called to love to a degree that I am not currently living my life, and I'm afraid the Church as a whole is not currently living. I was thinking about my name today, Seth, which means "annointed", and amusing myself as I realized that Messiah was the title given to the early kings of Israel who were annointed by the people to lead and save Israel, because Messiah also means "The Annointed One." The title that was given to King David was later given to Jesus, who was to save and lead Israel again. The word "Christ" is a Greek translation of "Messiah", also meaning "The Annointed One". I laughed at the thought that, in another language, I am Christ. And yet, at the same time, it is not a bad parallel! "Christian" means "little Christ", I'm told, and so it seems like we are all annointed by God to be the saviours of the world!

I'm not saying anything new, but I'm saying something I haven't heard in a while.

All in all, I have come to realize what my parents have been telling me for years: that my name wasn't given to me for no reason. I am annointed by God to accomplish something awesome, and all I have to do is be ready and let God do it!

I don't know what awesome thing God has in mind for me, and I hardly want to spend too much time imagining it. Maybe I will simply help someone through a tough time, and they will be the miracle our broken world so desperately needs. Or maybe I love so that in a few years, I can jump in front of a moving car and save the boy who will bring comfort to the girl who will grow up to save a people.

I keep thinking about "Lady in the Water", in which an epic struggle is raised to allow one girl to touch a man so he can write a book that an unborn boy - elsewhere in the world - will read and grow up to change the world. And even though the plot seems so distant from that transformative effect, there is no doubt that everyone in the movie was called to that moment, placed at that place, at that time, and all of them are heroes. I think of this and know that in God's master plan, I certainly have an epic part to play.

And lest I set my sights too low, it is entirely possible that at some point down the line, it is I who will stand up to evil in the world and say, "Enough!" and those who yearn for good will hear me, and come together, laying aside our petty doctrinal and political squabbles.

This kind of language reminds me of "The Lord of the Rings", which is entirely appropriate. These too are dark times, and for death and destruction to stop, everyone who truly values goodness - be they conservative or liberal or quaker or agnostic or Muslim or currently apathetic and asleep - needs to fight together, with humility and passion. I do not know if I am called to play Frodo or Samwise, Aragorn or Merry, or just a boy in a line, afraid, white knuckles gripping a shaking blade, comforted to stand beside giants and heroes of faith.

I do know I am called to a struggle, and in that fight, when I am where I am supposed to be, I will find joy and life, the life of the ages that some call Heaven.

Day 11

I read the book of Job today. I listened to Krista Tippet interview Ingrid Mattson about being the first woman president of the Islamic Society of North America, Terri Gross interview Tim Weiner about the secret history of the CIA, and Radio Lab try to answer the question "Who am I?" I had chicken fajitas for lunch, and I ate the black beans because I have to eat everything. Dinner was spaghetti.

I am more jittery than ever. I feel like I'm ADHD. Or on speed or something. I have had shaky hands today a couple of times. It's not really a problem, because it's just energy slipping out however it can. I swear though: when I get out, I'm going to go running every day. You see the prison movies where the character spends all day doing situps and pushups so they come out of prison completely buff. I understand that now. If it weren't for the fact that they don't want me to exert myself, I might just spend large portions of the day working out however I could.

The truth is, i'm not sure what there is to say about today. Absolutely nothing special. The redshirts moved out, so it's a little more quiet around here, but that's not very interesting.

(Since I wrote that last, they took us on another walk. I'm hoping they want to take us on a walk every evening, but if they do, they don't want to tell us, because I think they're afraid that if they say that, we'll hold them to it. Either way, it was nice outside. Not nice.. wonderful.)

I think I am going to have to start giving myself more time per day to post to this blog. The truth is that I have things to say. I have a lot to say, a lot that is on my mind! I've spent years now researching, studying, learning, growing, and now I'm starting to realize that I'm not crazy to be confused and angry about things going on in this world. Some stuff is just wrong, and some things that happen are just stupid, and some people really, really... REALLY need help. A lot of help.

And there is beauty and loveliness in the world that we have forgotten about! Some things that should be amazing have been lost, but they're not hiding! They're in plain sight, right under our noses, but we're blind to beauty, too afraid to open our eyes.

This burning in me to say what I need to say has been rising for some time now, but I've held it in, intentionally, waiting until I feel like I know better how to say it. I'm reading as much as I can this study, and listening to anyone who thinks they have a bright idea, because I'm trying to synthesize something, create something, express something that's on the tip of my tongue.

But I get bogged down in the learning and the listening, and then sit down at about 7 every night, after dinner, and think "what do I want to say today?" and it doesn't come, because I haven't been asking it all day! A sentence, a phrase, a thought, an idea pops into my mind, but I have to fight the idea, pulling it against its will from the dark corners of my soul, and as I'm doing it, the thought occurs to me "I want to post this soon, so that people can read it tonight, if they wish." And then they come in and ask if I want to go on a walk! And there's no way on earth I'm going to say no, and not a chance I'm going to complain about that little gift, but by the time I get back, it's after eight o'clock, and I still don't have anything to say!

So maybe I pull something together, or maybe I can't and I just talk about my day, but the fact is, that I'm getting bogged down each day in trivialities, thinking about the daily banal nothings of life. It seems to me, that if there was one thing that everyone does wrong, that might change the world if it were fixed, it would be those nothings! If I, stuck in PPD with nothing to do except read and write and think, can't find time to actually really think, then what hope is there for a thinking humanity in this chaotic world? I think everyone has something to say: a passion burning inside that wants to get out, but it gets shut down by continuous fear and nervousness and stress of... nothings.

What would it be like if everyone really forced time in their mind to think about what they really want to think about? That's it! Just thought about it! Just dwelled on it, and meditated on how much it mattered to them, without letting their thoughts slip away like they were trying to hold a greased watermelon?

I have nothing else to say.

Day 10

Every day, I grow a little more jittery. There is an energy inside me that has nowhere to go.

With each progressive day, some around me seem to grow more somber, slipping further and further into their computer screens, spending longer and longer sleeping in the days, lifting their feet a little less high. By the end of the 42, they may be like the old ents in Lord of the Rings - just more trees in the forest - or like the old pirates on the Flying Dutchman in Pirates of the Carribean - just more pieces of the ship.

Not I. No, I may well suffer from the opposite fate. I found myself spontaneously jumping in place while brushing my teeth this morning, almost against my will. I can hardly keep from running everywhere I go. When I sit to read, my hand not occupied with the book moves with its own will: running through my hair, tapping the table, or just clenching and unclenching. The upside is that I find myself typing faster than I normally do as my fingers yearn for movement. I got caught actively mouthing the words to Bob Dylan with as much emotion as my face could muster. I got caught because I had ceased to simply mouth. Though in that case, I hardly blame myself. It's Bob Dylan! ("How does it feel/To be on your own/With no direction home/Like a complete unknown /Like a rolling stone?")

You will know I have gone crazy when I start dancing with Michael Jackson and showing off my air guitar skills. Or maybe that's just when I've hit rock bottom, which is not always a bad place to be. "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything." When the energy inside is so great that explode, and little bits of me spray the soot-stained walls, then we will know I had spent too much time in PPD.

Since I wrote that, they took us all on another walk! The grasshoppers were wooing each other, wooing me. A few birds joined in, singing harmony. Cotton floated in the breeze. The walk was sort of a release valve for my pent-up energy. Not much of a release, but a little release. I don't know what we did to deserve this unexpected treat, but I hope they start taking us on more walks.

And now I think I will go watch an action movie.

Day 9

They let us outside today. We stood by the door, nervous and excited and jittery, waiting for a tech in blue scrubs to lead us outside. When she opened the last door, after we had descended the elevator and passed through the rooms we screened in and the waiting room where I have wasted weeks of my life, we all breathed in more deeply than we ever had before, sucking in the steamy air, tasting the rain on the back of our tongues.

We walked across the parking lot to a gravel path that snaked around an artificial creek. In some places, the trail was washed out from weeks of rain, and we jumped from rock to rock across the muddy abyss in our flip-flops and house slippers. The trail was a stretched bicycle tube around the water. Occasional iron bridges criss-crossed the rivulet.

The whole walk took about fifteen minutes. We walked slowly, legs already unused to the dips and rises of a natural surface. I talked to Danny for a while, the retired man from Portland. We talked about his tomato plants and looking for spiritual enlightenment in physical difficulty. By the time we walked back across the parking lot toward the building, the moist and succulent air had become humid and oppressive.

I nearly skipped as we reentered in the building, sighing and satisfied as we filed back into our home away fom home.

"What to do now," I mused, and everyone laughed.

"Same thing we do every night, Pinky," someone responded.

Someone else answered, "Try not to go insane."

---

I'm watching Fight Club right now. If I had to be trapped on a desert island with only one movie, Fight Club might just be the movie. Since I happen to nearly be trapped on a desert island, it is good to have Fight Club.

I listened to conversations today with Pankaj Mishra (on the modern social relevance of the the Buddha), Chaplain Major John Morris (on spiritually reintigrating veterans from Iraq), and Shane Claiborne (on new monasticism). I was highly impressed with Shane Claiborne, but my hesitancies reminded me of my hesitancies about the ideas expressed in Fight Club.

The similarity is that while Tyler Durden and Shane Claiborne both say brilliant things about our emotional dependency on stuff, affluency, and the valuation of personal freedoms and liberty over community, I look at what actions their ideals suggest and I wonder about the actual implications.

In the case of Fight Club, I don't have to wonder about the consequences of the ideology. A series of seemingly intelligent ideas ("You are not your job or how much money you have in the bank.") leads to a nearly monastic-style of community living which becomes a terrorist army! And in the end, the selfless voice is the extreme ramblings of a schitzophrenic whose other personality is the yuppy affluent idividualistic character that Tyler most hates! ("You're Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass!") It is as if it is being suggested that the conflict between animal and civilization exist in each of us. In the end, once the credits roll, I am left confused, wondering if anything Tyler claimed can be taken seriously!

The ideas of Shane Claiborne have the opposite problem: I'm not sure if Claiborne actually believes what he says, because the actions he recommends don't jive with the words he says. Specifically, he claims that poverty cannot be ended as long as there is wealth. He says that Christians are not called to donate money to charity at all, but to get down in the dirt and help people. In fact, he claims that charity actually acts to legitimize class barriers, because it assuages the wealthy's guilty conscience without bringing about any real change. He says that the people at places like Salvation Army are professionals put in place to keep donators from ever having to come face-to-face with the poor they are trying to help. Basically, Claiborne believes that only by being in poverty can we end poverty.

I think Claiborne struggles with a lack of perspective inherent in college students and college graduates who moved a long way from home. He does not know what it is like to be responsible for people and he doesn't know what it is like to be old. I am neither responsible for people or old, but because I am plugged into a community of families, I can see that his idea of new monasticism is not the only face of Christianity, but only one way that wrongs can be righted. He did say, as the interview progressed that he knew a couple who couldn't have children who took a pregnant homeless woman off the street, and the woman and her daughter have lived with the couple for ten years now. He used this as an example of new monastic living besides selling everything and joining a comune. He told about a "suburban family" (that wonderfully patronizing label) who decided that for every one of their childen that they put through college, they would start a fund and put one at-risk student through college.

I look at my family, and realize that - without ever labeling ourselves so - we have (my parents have) had those opportunities and taken them gladly over the years. I look at my community and realize that we are pretty close to achieving the kind of genuine community of real genuine people that Claiborne has created in Philadelphia. We are not there yet. We are hardly there. But I am not discouraged by the thought that Fight Club's connection with self and God can only be found in insanity or that Claiborne's community church can only be found by 20-somethings. I am encouraged to think that Doxology might just be for real, a family. I only hope that we can overcome our fascination with self a little better, our desire for nice things a little further, so we could be grateful for each other and our cave-like warehouse a little more.

---
Letter from David Christie to George Ellis
The following letter from a Scottish soldier was sent to Dr. Ellis after he received the Templeton Prize in 2004. Ellis read this during the live event at WHYY in Philadelphia to illustrate his concept of kenosis in action in a strange situation. Ellis says that despite the British army's overpowering force, they risked their lives in order to achieve peace by not retailiating but by exercising restraint, even while being attacked. It's this type of sacrifice, Ellis points out, that can be applied to the situation in Iraq.

"In 1967 I was a young officer in a Scottish battalion engaged in peacekeeping duties in Aden town in what is now Yemen. The situation was similar to Iraq, with people being killed every day. As always, those who suffered the most were the innocent local people. Not only were we tough, but we had the power to pretty well destroy the whole town had we wished.

"But we had a commanding officer who understood how to make peace, and he led us to do something very unusual, not to react when we were attacked. Only if we were 100 percent certain that a particular person had thrown a grenade or fired a shot at us were we allowed to fire. During our tour of duty we had 102 grenades thrown at us, and in response the battalion fired the grand total of two shots, killing one grenade-thrower. The cost to us was over 100 of our own men wounded, and surely by the grace of God only one killed. When they threw rocks at us, we stood fast. When they threw grenades, we hit the deck and after the explosions we got to our feet and stood fast. We did not react in anger or indiscriminately. This was not the anticipated reaction. Slowly, very slowly, the local people began to trust us and made it clear to the local terrorists that they were not welcome in their area.

"At one stage neighboring battalions were having a torrid time with attacks. We were playing soccer with the locals. We had, in fact, brought peace to the area at the cost of our own blood. How had this been achieved? Principally because we were led by a man whom every soldier in the battalion knew would die for him if required. Each soldier in turn came to be prepared to sacrifice himself for such a man. Many people may sneer that we were merely obeying orders, but this was not the case. Our commanding officer was more highly regarded by his soldiers than the general, one must almost say loved. So gradually the heart of the peacemaker began to grow in the man and determination to succeed whatever the cost. Probably most of the soldiers, like myself, only realized years afterwards what had been achieved."

Day 8

Week 2 Begins!

And 5 weeks remain. So far, this week has passed pretty fast. If things stay this way, I don't see myself having a problem. We had doctor's visits today, and he says that for now, everyone is in the range they want them to be in for the rest of the study, so as long as nothing changes in the next week, we should all go on to finish out the whole study. So... no problem there.

Today I listened to several episodes of "Speaking of Faith" which is the podcast version of an NPR radio show. We don't get it in Austin, but I heard it first driving back on the day of my birthday from taking Wyatt and Alex to Aquire the Fire.

I love long car rides alone. There is no better place for me to think than behind the wheel of a car. I have heard that the breath patterns and brain activity levels after driving for a while nearly parallels the state of awareness and meditation that Buddhist monks yearn for. So there is some science in saying that I am nearer to God while driving. It is a shame then that my spirituality is so expensive: financially, ethically, and politically.

Another thing I like about long trips is scanning the radio as one station fades to static and another takes its place, and learning what is the same and what is different in the music and commercials and DJ accents. In the country, once you are far enough past the major cities, stations become harder and harder to find, and the signal is weaker than in the cities, so you spend longer and longer scanning the dial until (if you are far enough from civilization, like on IH-10 halfway to El Paso) the station run out and you realize that you are finally a long way from home.

Anyway, on that particular drive from Dallas to Austin, I was having difficulty staying awake, so I blared the radio with all the windows down and sang whatever the local DJ decided I would sing. One hour in the middle stretch, far from any city, I picked up somebody's NPR station, and they were playing "Speaking of Faith". This was the day before Easter, and Krista Tippet was examining the story of Passover and Easter from the Jewish, Christian, and Islamic perspectives. It was intensely fascinating. Right up until I dropped behind that final hill and the signal disappeared for good. At the next DJ's implicit demand, I bellowed "I've Got Friends in Lowly Places", sometimes singing as low as I could, sometimes attempting something like a harmony.

I forgot about "Speaking of Faith" until I started browsing podcasts on Sunay, but once found, I find it interesting enough to merit as much attention as I can give it.

One episode I listened to today was about slave spiritual songs, and I can't explain what exactly happened, but the amazing sense of endurance in the face of overwhelming badness inherent in spirituals just raked me across the coals, bringing up pain I thought I had healed from. While listening to Joe Carter sing "Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home. Swing low…" I looked at my dad's blog and read the comments that I had not read before, which just killed me. But the source of my raw soul was a cause of its healing:

"Ms. Tippett: The paradox of the spirituals in their context of slavery was that they gave themselves over in some sense to, to suffering and to the hardness of life and to — really to an essential powerlessness. Now, this, this is where we are. This is where we live. And — but there was as an "and." And I am beloved, I’m graced, I am blessed, I have dignity, I’m alive and what I experience now is not all there is. You know, there’s, there’s a surrender and there’s an incredible power at the same time in the spirituals — and I don’t know, when life is sort of halfway better, maybe the surrender goes away and the power is diminished, too."

I started a poem while sitting on that windowsill in the cafeteria, listening to my podcasts. I didn't want to post to this blog until I finished the poem, but I realize now that I am a long way from finishing this, so I'll try to finish it by tomorrow. Or maybe I'll just sit on it for a few days and see what happens. For now, I think I'm going to go watch a movie with someone.

Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel
Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, why not everyone?
Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel
Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, why not everyone?

He delivered Daniel from the lion's den
Jonah from the belly of the whale
The Hebrew children from the fiery furnace
Why not everyone?

Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel
Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, why not everyone?

The moon runs down in a purple stream
The sun refuse to shine
Every star shall disappear
But Jesus shall be mine

Oh, didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel, deliver Daniel
Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel, why not everyone?
Why not everyone?
Why not everyone?

Day 7

A Good Day.

I accomplished so little today. Once I realized how fast I am capable of reading when I have all day to read, my goals exploded, and I hoped to read all the books I have with me, as well as the entire collected works of Shakespeare that I have at home, as well as... and so my expectations changed. But over the past couple of days, I have begun to add other goals for my stay.

I am currently listening to the following podcasts:
-A Prairie Home Companion
-A Writer's Almanac
-Speaking of Faith
-The Classic Tales Podcast
-KEXP Presents Music that Matters
-NPR: Fresh Air
-Selected Shorts
-NPR: On the Media
-Philosophy Bites
-The President's Weekly Radio Address
-NPR: Living on Earth
-WNYC's Radio Lab

Most of these are about an hour, and even though they come out once a week, I listened to an episode from each of them between yesterday and today.

Also, I've watched more tv and movies in the past couple of days than I have before. I watched Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers today. I have said for a while that I thought Peter Jackson stayed TOO true to the book, making the movies way too long, but I forgot until today that - if you have the time to watch it - his movies are still very good. I am now thinking about adding The Lord of the Rings to my reading list in here.

Lastly, I've spent some time talking to people! Actually... you know, hanging out. today was actually the first time I stuck out my hand to someone who had just told me his name and shook hands as I told him my name. I've been in the study for a week now, but our procedures are at different times, so we rarely pass each other until I saw him watching the news and asked him if anything interesting was happening. He's an older man, retired, which is part of the reason why I never made the effort to talk to him before today. Turns out he's from Portland, Oregon, and spent three years in Africa in the Peace Corp "last century". He introduced me to an international student from Cameroon in the redshirts who has the honesty and guiltless eyes so rarely found in young Americans.

Anyway, between the listening and the watching and the talking, oh and the creative writing, I fear I may not read as much as I thought I would. But we shall see... I have 5 weeks remaining.

Day 6

I finally wrote something besides my blog today! The downside is that I will not finish my 6th book today, breaking my one-a-day pattern for books. Of course, I just started Don Quixote, which is about a thousand pages, and I'm reading it slowly, so I'll be lucky if I finish this one book this week. Anyway, the point is that I wrote a poem! It's my first attempt at a certain form. I'm not big on writing in form, but it's a good exercise. I haven't decided if it's a good poem or not. Probably not, but I kind of like it. So, if you want, check it out on my other blog: Thoughts and Love: Wandering Words.

Today is Sunday. It's weird how every day is exactly the same in here. The schedule is exactly the same and everyone acts exactly the same, so it's hard to remember if it's Sunday or Thursday or Christmas Day. But I tried to make today a little different than yesterday. Taking time to write a poem was part of that effort. I intend to do more of that though. Maybe I'll write a story one of these days.

My Schedule For Today:
23:24 - Begin Food Fast
06:14 - Begin 3-minute sit
06:17 - Vital Signs
06:24 - Clinical Blood Collection (4.5 mL)
08:24 - Begin Water Fast
09:14-09:19 - Feel Check (not time dependent)
09:24 - Dose (4 mg Warfarin)
10:24 - End food & water fast
10:29-10:34 - Begin breakfast (subject must consume entire meal within 25 minutes)
10:30-10:54 - End breakfast (was all food consumed?)
13:29-13:34 - Begin lunch (subject must consume entire meal within 25 minutes)
13:30-13:54 - End lunch (was all food consumed?)
15:00-15:15 - Clinical urine collection (40 mL)
18:29-18:34 - Begin dinner (subject must consume entire meal within 25 minutes)
18:30-18:54 - End dinner (was all food consumed?)
22:29-22:34 - Begin snack (subject must consume entire meal within 25 minutes)
22:30-22:54 - End snack (was all food consumed?)
23:24 - Begin food fast.

And that's exactly what every day this week has been like, and what every day next week will be like.