I have come to see the gift the horror genre has to offer the world.

Let me say this first: I know many people who would firmly assert the opinion that the horror genre has no gift to offer at all. They would argue that horror, whether you are talking about books or movies, has no value. I think, for example, of my mother, whose commentary to me as a teenager about any movie involving graphic violence was, “Why would you want those pictures in your head?”

I have a good friend who I respect immensely who would agree with my mom. He’s a stanch pacifist, and he won’t watch any film that includes graphic violence. I’m not saying that my friend or my mom are nuts for holding these views. I’m not even saying they are wrong. I suppose a great many people do not and will not appreciate certain kinds of artistic expression, and that’s fine.

What I am saying, however, is that horror does have something to offer. Something more than just blood and guts.

I once read that Stephen King said that one reason he writes what he writes is because, in creating demons and monsters for us to fear, we deal with our actual fears in the extreme. In some cases, we escape from our fears altogether, as the villains of horror often outmatch our fears considerably.

(The truth is, Stephen King said something like that, but I don’t recall exactly what it was he said or where it was that I read it. It’s entirely possible that this was not his point at all, but that his comments have simply morphed into this idea in my head. However, as Stephen King is a loyal reader of my blog, I’m sure he’ll promptly set the record straight if I have misrepresented him in any way.)

Okay, so what’s my point, right?

My point is that in fearing the boogie man, we learn to deal with fearing the real, day-to-day horrors that we face. Sure, if the credits roll and you can’t put the gore out of you mind, you won’t have created much of an escape for yourself. But if you can leave the book or the movie on the shelf when it’s all done, then there is real value in the ability of horror to so completely captivate, literally scaring our truest, deepest fears right out of us.

Some of you are rolling your eyes. I can feel it. You think this is a bunch of bunk. You’re entitled to your opinion. Me? Oh, I’m going to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre again and lose myself in the demented thrill of horror.

And, believe it our not, I’ll come out the other side with a little less stress.

books, movies, culture | 1 comment »

I got an email from my pastor today. He was telling me that he was disappointed that he did not see me at church on Sunday. I haven’t been there in three weeks.

You should know that my pastor is not one to say something like, “I was hoping to see you,” as a passive aggressive way of saying, “You really should have been there, and you should feel guilty about the fact that you weren’t.” If he said he missed me, he missed me. He’s a genuine guy.

That’s what made his email bittersweet. It’s nice to know I was missed. It sucks because I have no good reason for not having been there. My wife was out of town and I had become something of a hermit this weekend. I just stayed in the apartment all weekend. All weekend. I closed myself off from the world, even the parts of it I should be embracing.

I guess everyone does something like that every once in a while, something selfish and silly, something that reminds you that others are counting on you, which is good and bad, because it’s nice to know they want you around and real, because you know you are responsible to them. They get to hold you accountable because they care about you. It’s a package deal.

So I screwed up. My pastor noticed, let me know he was disappointed and let me know he still likes me.

I’ll be at church this coming Sunday.

relationship, church | no comments »

“…our only choice is pyre or pyre, that we live and breathe to be…consumed or purified by fire.”

—Dean Koontz, Brother Odd

Fire is unique among chemical reactions in the nature world in that it can be so destructive—always is—and yet is also a source of purification. For example, did you know that some of the greatest damage done to the national parks and protected wilderness of America has been that we have guarded against, not just fire caused by human carelessness, but also natural fires, which not only destroy the land but also purify it and allow it to flourish again?

Trite though it may sound, the obvious truth is that an encounter with fire, whether to hurt or help you, will certainly leave you burned. Fire is hot and unpredictable and alive in its own right. I mean, it breathes for crying out loud. And no living thing is safe. No living thing is anything but messy and unpredictable and dangerous.

I like the analogy of fire as a purification agent because I find that so much of life is like fire, a burning, furious struggle that leaves one deeply scarred and tends to eliminate all that is not fire-proof. All that is not permanent. So much of the silliness that we think matters, but doesn’t.

A fire is sweeping through my life these days and it’s only been in the past week that I’ve come to realize the purifying potential of that fire, rather than just dreading its destructive power. This is a key turning point for me, and though I hesitate to share on such a personal level with, well, the whole digital world, I am only too acutely aware that my best posts are also my most vulnerable.

My world, as I know it, is in a state of ridiculous upheaval these days. Really. My professional life, personal life, spiritual life, marriage, future, the whole enchilada, hangs in the balance. And it hangs by a thread. I have been to dark places before, dark places of the heart, that is, but none as dark as this.

And here it is that God speaks to me. He can be so weird.

I don’t want this to come off like, having “heard the voice of God”, now all the confusion and pain and darkness makes sense. Hell, no. That’s just not true. I’m still confused, still hurting, right now even as I right this, (and probably later, while you read it, I’ll be hurting still).

I mean, I don’t even really know what it is that God is saying just yet. I hear his voice but it’s like the muffled scream of someone whose head is buried in a pillow. Audible, but unintelligible.

And that’s really it, folks. No clever resolve or neat little bow to tie on this one. Nope. I’m hurting and confusing and, to use my earlier (slightly melodramatic) metaphor, burning, and I can kind of hear a voice I think might be God. Fun stuff, huh?

quote, transformation, surrender | no comments »

Once more Jesus said to them, “I am going away, and you will look for me, and you will die in your sin. Where I go, you cannot come.”

This made the Jews ask, “Will he kill himself? Is that why he says, ‘Where I go, you cannot come’?”

But he continued, “You are from below; I am from above. You are of this world; I am not of this world. I told you that you would die in your sins; if you do not believe that I am the one I claim to be, you will indeed die in your sins.”

“Who are you?” they asked.

“Just what I have been claiming all along,” Jesus replied. “I have much to say in judgment of you. But he who sent me is reliable, and what I have heard from him I tell the world.”

They did not understand that he was telling them about his Father. So Jesus said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will know that I am the one I claim to be and that I do nothing on my own but speak just what the Father has taught me. The one who sent me is with me; he has not left me alone, for I always do what pleases him.” Even as he spoke, many put their faith in him.

—John 8:21-30

Yesterday in a Bible study at church we spent some time discussing this confusing passage. I say confusing because throughout it, Jesus seems to be talking in riddles. He says things that sound more like the disjointed ramblings of a madman than the coherent thoughts of a deity.

And yet, there is verse 30, standing in stark contrast to the rest of the passage, declaring that while Jesus’ words troubled and confused the Pharisees, the people watching were prompted to put their faith in him.

This stands out to me as one of those times when simply reading the written account probably fails to fully capture all that was happening. Jesus’ words as recorded here don’t evoke faith in me. They evoke confusion. Even frustration. Why can’t you just say what you mean, Christ? What was it about this encounter that the masses found so…encouraging?

I think it had to be the way Jesus said what he said rather than the content of what he said.

Think about it: there are several times in the gospel accounts when we’re told that Jesus spoke “with authority”. Something about the way he presented himself gave the impression of strength and comfort. In this passage, he’s talking about his connection to the Father, which is fitting, as I believe this is the source of Jesus’ confidence. Certainly, Jesus thinks it’s the source of his message, (vs. 26 & 28).

I’ve met people like that before, people who know who they are so much that I find myself willing to follow them almost immediately. It does evoke a kind of faith, that underlying strength. More to the point, though, I want to be one of those people.

The good news is that this is the call of God—to be so genuine, so real, so confident in my knowledge of my own identity through my knowledge of his identity that I reverberate his strength in an elemental way. People will respect it, even fear it, regardless of whether or not they agree with it. (Think about the apostles. Men so feared that most of them were put to death because of the threat they posed to the religious establishment. Much like Jesus, himself.)

The bad news it that this requires great courage and undivided loyalty. If you are not one part warrior, one part monk, you cannot be this sort of person because that’s the kind of heart that is required. And yeah, God is in the business of transforming hearts, but it’s a messy and painful business. Being this real will very nearly kill you.

Funny. That aspect of being like Jesus hasn’t changed much.

relationship, Jesus, transformation | no comments »

I have a good friend who has been praying for me lately while I face off with a rather difficult personal issue. Actually, I have a couple of friends praying for me, but I was emailing one of them in particular today. I began to tell him “thanks for praying for me” when I was struck by how trite this sounds.

It almost sounds as trite as telling someone you’ll be praying for them.

Unfortunately, this is the “polite” vernacular of the Bible belt. We say things like “I’ll be praying for you” as a friendlier way of saying, “I want to acknowledge that what you just said is clearly important to you, though I will likely do nothing to actually help you out.”

Too harsh? That is what typically happens. I’m certain that most of the time when one southerner says to another that they will pray for them, they don’t follow through.

God, how many unprayed-but-promised prayers haven’t even made it past the ceiling of my own bedroom?

And then there’s the other side of the coin, thanking someone for their prayers, which can be little more than the polite way of saying “thanks for nothing.” (Truth be told, there have been times when I’ve thanked someone for their prayers, all the while secretly wishing they had actually done something to help me instead of just well wishing. But I’m sure you’ve never done that.)

I thought about all of this as I was hastily writing an email thank you to my friend and I had the wherewithal to let him know that this thank you, the one I was offering him, was real. It wasn’t one of the trite sort. I meant it.

Can you imagine what our lives would be like if we actually did what we say we’ll do? If we meant it when we said please and thank you? If we were genuine? If the very idea of being trite was foreign to us? Can you even imagine?

prayer, culture | 2 comments »

A friend emailed this story to me. I normally hate that sort of thing, email stories, but this one appealed to me. (If I knew who to credit for it, I would happily share.)

“In 1986, Mkele Mbembe was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Mbembe approached it very carefully. He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant’s foot and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Mbembe worked the wood out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot.

“The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Mbembe stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away.

“Mbembe never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

“Twenty years later, Mbembe was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Mbembe and his son Tapu were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Mbembe, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times, then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

“Remembering the encounter in 1986, Mbembe couldn’t help wondering if this was the same elephant. Mbembe summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder.

“The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Mbembe’s legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

“Probably wasn’t the same elephant.”

random | no comments »

Seth Godin wrote a wonderful post a few weeks ago about responsibility that I’ve been meaning to post a link to since I read it. Check it out here. There’s more practical application than you could shake a stick at. (That’s a lot.)

other blogs, culture | no comments »