Every now and then I come upon something that totally changes my way of thinking. Most of the time, when it comes to Great Topics of the Faith, I tend to hold the middle ground until I'm good and sure I feel one way or another. Even then I tend to move back to the middle after a while, but not always. It's as if while trying to understand who God is and what's going on in this universe he created, I come to a fork in the trail. And, looking down either trail, I'm not really convinced that either is the correct route. I don't want to go too far down either one, because if it's the wrong one then I'll have all this backtracking to do and I hate that. So, I end up just camping out at the intersection until someone comes along with a map, I remember something the guide at the trailhead mentioned, or there's a clearing in the weather that lets me see what's ahead.
In college, I walked down the trail that led to Salvation By Works Gorge a little too far before I'd realized my mistake. I'd even half-considered switching to Eastern Orthodoxy because they've got the whole self discipline down to a science. But I quickly realized it wasn't really working. Life still sucked and I just had less time on my hands and way more guilt. So I gave it up. I decided that the rituals were what was holding me back. Empty shallow prayers at mealtimes, sleepily skimming the words of the Bible at dawn, chapel service after endless chapel service where we'd sing "Yes, Lord" till we where hoarse in the throat--I was done with it all. I decided that ritual was bad. Meaningless. And that I was going to follow after the Person of God. Know him as a real individual capable of being known like any other individual. And to Hell with the rituals.
I think it worked, for the most part. But I find myself often in a quandry. How do you get to know someone like God? How does that even happen?
I think there's two ways.
First, I will sheepishly admit that ritual can actually work--to a point. And the point is this: the moment you depend on the ritual to lead you to God, you're skipping down the wrong path. My wife and I decided that, even though we're married now and see each other pretty much all day ever day, we'd still set aside one night every week for "date night". We take turns thinking up something interesting to do, we get dressed up and we go out. There are certain requirements though: I have to open the car door for her. We have to talk about one of the following: hopes, dreams, fears or stories from our childhood. It's a ritual we have found to be valuable, even in our happy-go-lucky first year of marriage because it forces us to be more than just roommates with benefits and to concentrate on our mate. Because the point of our relationship isn't the marriage, it's each other. The ritual of Date Night helps remind us of that. That's the point of ritual. It forces us to stop the mind numbing drudgery of everyday life and focus on what's really important. It's like driving across the country. If you don't stop from time to time, look at a map and think about how great a time you're going to have when you get there, then it's very easy to just tune everything out and become some sort of driving zombie. It's very dangerous, both to other drivers as well as to yourself. But when the ritual becomes just another mind-numbing drudgery, it's time to change the ritual.
The second method is what I call the anti-ritual. It's the sudden and out of the ordinary, not even repeatable act of faith. It's not something you can do everyday because the very nature of it is so big that it's like suddenly hitting a right angle turn on a road you're speeding down. Sometimes these things are forced on us. My sudden loss of a job just before my marriage was one of those things. It required me--and still does--to focus on who God is and where we're going with this new fact in life. Other examples from my life are going to Romania to work with orphans while I was in college. Loaning a large sum of money to a friend that was never going to pay me back. Agreeing to lead a discussion group at church on the topic of God and Sex as a single guy who'd barely kissed a girl. These kinds of decisions threw me off balance and caused me to change my idea about who I was and who God is and what we could be together. It dragged me back to him. To go back to the hiking metaphor, it was like suddenly coming around a corner and finding a cliff in my path. I had to wait for God to catch up and show me the way or backtrack till I figured out where we'd gotten separated.
So these days I've decided to bring back some of those rituals in college that I'd left behind. A little bit of Bible in the morning. A little prayer at meals. Because I think I'm back to the point where God is the point of the ritual, not my guilt relief. Sometimes, while I'm camped out at the intersection, the real answer is a small unnoticed footpath that leads between the other two. That's the trail I'm going to follow this time.
3/19/10
3/18/10
Life's a Beach
I have a picture from one of my drives up the coast that I wish I had with me so I could post. It's the perfect picture of one of the more fascinating differences between Chinese and American culture. Unfortunatly, that picture is sitting on my computer at home, so you'll just have to suffer through a thousand word description.
The picture is taken from the top of the cliff just outside Jenner, CA. It looks down on the sandbar that borders, and sometimes separates, the mouth of the Russian River and the Pacific Ocean. The bar is home to a herd of harbor seals that have lived there for, well, as long as there's been harbor seals probably. You can walk out on the sandbar from the south side and get as close as the law allows, or you can drive up Hwy 1 to this cliff and look down on them in all their cute glory. I was taking the photo from the second location.
What prompted me to take the photo wasn't just the seals. It was actually kind of a bad day to be doing photography, so it was more of the "check out what I saw" kind of picture rather than the "this is an amazing shot" kind. The harbor seals were there in full force, laying in close contact with each other if not on top of each other in a giant pile of blubber and fur which completely covered the tip of the sand bar. Next to them, as if there was some sort of glass wall between them, was a flock of seagulls. They too were hunkered down in the wind and formed a whiter stripe of feather below the shiny black stripe of fur next to them. And then, to complete the picture were a flock of cormorants on the other side of another invisible glass wall. This formed another black stripe on the sand bar which now sort of resembled an Oreo cookie seen from the side. It was as if some obsessively compulsive Seal Watch volunteer went out onto the bar and organized all the animals into nice little rows.
The reason this picture comes to mind now is that it looks like a picture of the way Americans and the Chinese view our personal freedoms. The difference lies in the way the seals and the sea gulls organized themselves within their groups. (The cormorants might mean something too, but I couldn't come up with anything, so they're just there for visual closure.)
In America, we love our personal freedom. We pride ourselves on the fact that we can do whatever we want. We drink when we want at meals. We eat only as much as we want to. And while it's polite to offer more food, it's not polite to force it on another. We follow the traffic laws and stay in our lanes. It's completely rude to pull out in front of another person because that person was going somewhere and you have no right to stop them or make them slow down for you. That would violate *their* rights and if we all respect each other's rights, then we'll all be happy and free.
This is exactly how the seagulls were organized. They had spaced themselves out fairly evenly on the sand, each bird maintaining a certain boundary between themselves and the others. There were small clusters here and there, maybe a younger bird and their parent or maybe just two un-seagull-like cuddlers, but for the most part they respected each other's space. When you have feathers, it's totally understandable. I won't ruffle your feathers if you won't ruffle mine. We're all happy.
Opposed to this was the harbor seals. As I said, they were organized in a solid pile of fur and blubber. You could watch them wriggle and move as individual seals suddenly felt the need to go out to the water or just roll over to the other side. Inevitably this meant pushing other seals out of the way, climbing over them, sometimes even barking and biting to get out of a particularly tight squeeze.
I've always watched seals and thought it would suck to be one. On the one hand, they look magnificently happy lying there in the sun when they're not sliding through the water and that kind of appeals to me. But if it meant having to be climbed over and bumped and moved around in the middle of my sleep--then forget it.
But (from what I can tell) this is the Chinese approach to personal freedoms in a nutshell. If there's no one in front of me, I'm going to pull into the lane even if you're barreling down the road. I know you'll stop. And you won't even get mad because you did the same thing when you pulled onto this street earlier. I'm not going to take a drink at our meal without you because it's sad for us to drink alone. We'll all eat out of the same dish because we're eating together--even if we end up sharing our sickness. Harmony. Family. Together. These are the Chinese values and they are strong!
As an American, it's very grating sometimes. I am a seagull in a land of seals and my feathers are so ruffled it's not even funny. Sometimes I feel like I can't even breath because of the weight on my back. But while we Americans promise that "I won't step on your toes if you won't step on mine," the Chinese promise that "It's OK if you step on my toes because I'm probably stepping on yours." It's crazy to watch, but it works. And it probably works better in a land of 1.3 billion seals, er, people.
The picture is taken from the top of the cliff just outside Jenner, CA. It looks down on the sandbar that borders, and sometimes separates, the mouth of the Russian River and the Pacific Ocean. The bar is home to a herd of harbor seals that have lived there for, well, as long as there's been harbor seals probably. You can walk out on the sandbar from the south side and get as close as the law allows, or you can drive up Hwy 1 to this cliff and look down on them in all their cute glory. I was taking the photo from the second location.
What prompted me to take the photo wasn't just the seals. It was actually kind of a bad day to be doing photography, so it was more of the "check out what I saw" kind of picture rather than the "this is an amazing shot" kind. The harbor seals were there in full force, laying in close contact with each other if not on top of each other in a giant pile of blubber and fur which completely covered the tip of the sand bar. Next to them, as if there was some sort of glass wall between them, was a flock of seagulls. They too were hunkered down in the wind and formed a whiter stripe of feather below the shiny black stripe of fur next to them. And then, to complete the picture were a flock of cormorants on the other side of another invisible glass wall. This formed another black stripe on the sand bar which now sort of resembled an Oreo cookie seen from the side. It was as if some obsessively compulsive Seal Watch volunteer went out onto the bar and organized all the animals into nice little rows.
The reason this picture comes to mind now is that it looks like a picture of the way Americans and the Chinese view our personal freedoms. The difference lies in the way the seals and the sea gulls organized themselves within their groups. (The cormorants might mean something too, but I couldn't come up with anything, so they're just there for visual closure.)
In America, we love our personal freedom. We pride ourselves on the fact that we can do whatever we want. We drink when we want at meals. We eat only as much as we want to. And while it's polite to offer more food, it's not polite to force it on another. We follow the traffic laws and stay in our lanes. It's completely rude to pull out in front of another person because that person was going somewhere and you have no right to stop them or make them slow down for you. That would violate *their* rights and if we all respect each other's rights, then we'll all be happy and free.
This is exactly how the seagulls were organized. They had spaced themselves out fairly evenly on the sand, each bird maintaining a certain boundary between themselves and the others. There were small clusters here and there, maybe a younger bird and their parent or maybe just two un-seagull-like cuddlers, but for the most part they respected each other's space. When you have feathers, it's totally understandable. I won't ruffle your feathers if you won't ruffle mine. We're all happy.
Opposed to this was the harbor seals. As I said, they were organized in a solid pile of fur and blubber. You could watch them wriggle and move as individual seals suddenly felt the need to go out to the water or just roll over to the other side. Inevitably this meant pushing other seals out of the way, climbing over them, sometimes even barking and biting to get out of a particularly tight squeeze.
I've always watched seals and thought it would suck to be one. On the one hand, they look magnificently happy lying there in the sun when they're not sliding through the water and that kind of appeals to me. But if it meant having to be climbed over and bumped and moved around in the middle of my sleep--then forget it.
But (from what I can tell) this is the Chinese approach to personal freedoms in a nutshell. If there's no one in front of me, I'm going to pull into the lane even if you're barreling down the road. I know you'll stop. And you won't even get mad because you did the same thing when you pulled onto this street earlier. I'm not going to take a drink at our meal without you because it's sad for us to drink alone. We'll all eat out of the same dish because we're eating together--even if we end up sharing our sickness. Harmony. Family. Together. These are the Chinese values and they are strong!
As an American, it's very grating sometimes. I am a seagull in a land of seals and my feathers are so ruffled it's not even funny. Sometimes I feel like I can't even breath because of the weight on my back. But while we Americans promise that "I won't step on your toes if you won't step on mine," the Chinese promise that "It's OK if you step on my toes because I'm probably stepping on yours." It's crazy to watch, but it works. And it probably works better in a land of 1.3 billion seals, er, people.
3/13/10
Random thoughts from China
1. The Chinese are as impressed that we can use chopsticks as we are that they actually use them.
2. "Never follow strangers to the happy places."
3. A can of shaving cream is a "very dangerous thing" to have on a bus, but if you pretend not to hear the x-ray technician trying to make you remove it from your bag they'll just let you walk through.
4. If you transliterate my name you get either Stupid (Ben) or Half Man (Benjamin). I haven't decided which is better yet.
5. You can do pretty much whatever you want while driving as long as you honk first.
6. The Chinese really do write like that.
7. If you're a baby, you can pee on the floor wherever you want and people think it's cute.
8. Chinese food (real Chinese food) is really good. Except when its not. Then its probably good, but its also really weird.
9. I just learned that eight is the perfect number in Chinese culture. Unfortunatley, I didn't learn that until thought number nine.
2. "Never follow strangers to the happy places."
3. A can of shaving cream is a "very dangerous thing" to have on a bus, but if you pretend not to hear the x-ray technician trying to make you remove it from your bag they'll just let you walk through.
4. If you transliterate my name you get either Stupid (Ben) or Half Man (Benjamin). I haven't decided which is better yet.
5. You can do pretty much whatever you want while driving as long as you honk first.
6. The Chinese really do write like that.
7. If you're a baby, you can pee on the floor wherever you want and people think it's cute.
8. Chinese food (real Chinese food) is really good. Except when its not. Then its probably good, but its also really weird.
9. I just learned that eight is the perfect number in Chinese culture. Unfortunatley, I didn't learn that until thought number nine.
The Wheels on the Bus
Right now I am on a bus in China. My wife and I are on our way to city number five on our speed tour of the Middle Kingdom. This is the, um, 'less cared for' bus we've been on so far and since I cannot sleep (for fear of being jostled out of my seat), I thought I would write.
The bouncing seat back, made for a person half my height, isn't the worst part of this particular vehicle. It's the horn. In China, the horn isn't so much the rude sign of anger it tends to be in the US. To us, hearing a horn blast is almost an audible middle finger. To them though it's just a way of saying 'I am here!'. And if you saw the way they drive you'd understand why the driver of our bus seems to feel the need to announce his presence nearly every time we pass another vehicle. He's doing it for our safety.
At least this is what I think is happening. One of the more frustrating things about traveling in other cultures is not knowing what everyone is saying. With the Chinese, it's often hard to even read their faces. So for all I know, our driver is a seething raging cauldron of dangerous anger. But I don't think so. I think he's just being the chinese version of a good driver.
Of course he's also still honking at everything that moves around us, so I'm going to focus on not being thrown out of my seat and try to ignore the fact that WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE!
The bouncing seat back, made for a person half my height, isn't the worst part of this particular vehicle. It's the horn. In China, the horn isn't so much the rude sign of anger it tends to be in the US. To us, hearing a horn blast is almost an audible middle finger. To them though it's just a way of saying 'I am here!'. And if you saw the way they drive you'd understand why the driver of our bus seems to feel the need to announce his presence nearly every time we pass another vehicle. He's doing it for our safety.
At least this is what I think is happening. One of the more frustrating things about traveling in other cultures is not knowing what everyone is saying. With the Chinese, it's often hard to even read their faces. So for all I know, our driver is a seething raging cauldron of dangerous anger. But I don't think so. I think he's just being the chinese version of a good driver.
Of course he's also still honking at everything that moves around us, so I'm going to focus on not being thrown out of my seat and try to ignore the fact that WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE! WE ARE HERE!
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