WHAT DO WE HAVE TO SAY?

Last night I watched the final installment of the Scorcese-directed Dylan documentary, No Direction Home, on PBS. It was a compelling narrative about the perplexing Dylan persona as it evolved from the early days in Hibbing, Minnesota to 1966 and the motorcycle accident. But, the best moment in the film was a comment by artist Bobby Neuwirth.

In those days, artistic success was not dollar-driven. It was, you know, those were simpler times. If you had something to say, which was basically the way people were rated, you know, they'd say, "Have you seen Ornette Coleman? Does he have anything to say?" And it was the same with Bob or anybody else, you know, do they have anything to say or not?

Forty years later, there is no shortage of talking. But are we saying anything?

It's so easy for us to commodify our experiences as lovers, preachers, poets, and bloggers. Does size matter? What's your attendance? Have you been published? How many hits do you get? When we let salaries and test scores define us, when contracts and media attention signify the quality of our existence, we become less human and more widget-like. The result is just clutter.

When we grant a hearing to whatever whirling dervish catches our attention, we just perpetuate the problem. We're like kittens responding to the loudest TRUTH claims dressed up like tempting balls of string. We give them a swat, then claw the couch and look for the next distraction. Every time it happens, we just increase orders at the yarn factory.

That's all I have to say about that. You?

PRIORITIES

I'm not abandoning the previous conversation, but I thought you might want to get this soon. A fellow MayApple artist, Eric Leick, recently wrote about our failures in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. He muscled a bunch of folks into the studio (most of whom are showcased on our upcoming disc), and made this song. Give it a listen. Pass it on. It only takes a spark.

THIS BLOG, IT IS A'CHANGIN'

But not much.

I'm not planning a big redesign. Mainly 'cause I don't know how...and don't really care.

However, there are some issues to address. Traffic has picked up quite a bit, but - with the exception of the more controversial topics - comments are holding steady or dropping off. This leads me to believe that there are numerous "lurkers" who, for whatever reason, don't feel comfortable jumping into the conversation. If you don't want to speak up, that's fine; but I don't want anyone to feel like what they have to say isn't appreciated. So, let me propose these guidelines for users:

1. If you have something to say, say it. Contrary to what some have assumed, you do not have to have a Blogger account to leave a comment; although I recommend it. Entering the blogosphere brings certain spiritual, financial, and physical rewards (I'm getting rich...and you should see my abs).

2. You can choose to name yourself in the comments section, or you can remain anonymous. Makes no difference to me, but it is easier for people to engage your ideas if you put a name to it. If you don't want to use your real name, make one up. I think "Biscuit" would be a cute name for someone...or "Cheryl."

3. Try to limit your comments to a brief paragraph or two, Biscuit. I don't know this for sure, but my sense is that the novel-length comments work to discourage the less verbose. If you have more to say on a topic, that's a good sign that you need to start your own blog. You can leave a link to your site in the comments section, and we'll go read what you have to say.

4. You will notice that I have started using a word-recognition security step for comment postings. That has nothing to do with you, it's designed to filter out spammers (scourge of the planet).

5. In case you didn't pick up on this recently, abusive attacks on me or others won't be tolerated. I am completely accepting of strongly-worded disagreements mixing up a cocktail of truth. I even support those who hope to muscle everyone into their perspective (if they can pull it off, more power to them). However, angry profanity-laden screeds will generally be removed.

6. If you have a personal message for me, send it to my email (thereacher [at] sbcglobal.net). The comments section works best if we are all engaging the content of the post, or the other comments.

Of course, you have the right to ignore my patriarchal ramblings; but, then, I have the right to put a boot in your rhetorical pooper.

One of the reasons I started this blog was to encourage dialogue. If you have ideas of how I can do more to improve things, no matter how absurd, let me know. Perhaps I'll present an award for the best idea (even though I'm pretty sure Biscuit will win).

AN OPEN LETTER TO CLOSED MINDS

This message is for Christian fundamentalists.

First, let me say that I'm not particularly fond of you right now. On any given day I can tolerate you. Sometimes I even like some of you quite a lot. But now is not a good time.

Before I explain why, perhaps I should clarify who I'm talking to. I am not referring to honest, sincere believers who simply hold to a set of principles they consider fundamental. If this is as far as "fundamentalist" goes in describing you, we're okay. We may have contrary views on any given day, but usually the greater aims of love and mutual respect allow us to, at our worst, agree to disagree.

No, the fundamentalists I am speaking of are the religious operatives who use the theology of biblical inerrancy and reactionary moralism as a thinly-veiled strategy to harness the power of cultural certainty and ride their way to theocratic dominance. Slapping leather. Cracking whips.

If you have been paying attention to my blog, this should come as no surprise. So, I guess the play is the thing. Last weekend, the University staged a student-directed production of a Pulitzer and Tony award-winning play. It was magnificent. Maybe the best performance of its kind I've seen in my eight years on faculty. The play opened to rave reviews and audiences stunned by the vibrancy of the production.

Then it came. The shit. Hitting the fan.

Dr. Fussy Budget, the religion professor, sent an email of rebuke to the theatre professor and his advisory board. Among other things, he referred to the play as "shameful," "an embarrassment," "garbage," and "waste." He went on to comment that "We don't have to crawl into the mud with the pigs in order to know that it's dirty in there."

Was there nudity? Gun play? Were animals harmed in the making of the play? No. There were about a half dozen curse words, "alcohol" consumption, and the suggestion that two of the characters had been sexually intimate offstage. Far less offensive than the average half-hour of broadcast television.

Fundamentalists, this is where I remind myself that I'm not fond of you right now. I know you didn't do it. But, given the chance you would have. If not, the culture of intolerance you promote emboldened this guy to come after his colleagues with both holy barrels ablazin'.

He completely missed the point of the script, disrespected the efforts of the students, and villified the performance by way of a bastardized theology that has more to do with his own provincialism and personal hangups than it does with the nature of God.

I wrote him a lengthy response. I haven't sent it. It's harsh. I mean it's pretty brutal; and I struggle with how much I am prepared to become like him in my rebuttal of him. I am tempted to use Matthew 23 (where Jesus opens up some whoop-ass on the Pharisees) as my justification; but I'm not sure that's enough. On the other hand, I fear that too many believers let crap like this go unanswered because they have been taught that good boys and girls shut up and smile pretty.

What I do know is that it's bullshit. It's exactly this kind of bullshit that prevents us from being a light in the world. It is this kind of bullshit that corrupts and distorts the message of love and grace eternal. (If you are still wondering if this message is directed at you, ask yourself if my repeated use of the word "bullshit" bothers you more than the response of Dr. Fussy. Hint: If it does, this message is for you.)

What's even more disgusting is that Dr. Fussy goes on to suggest that the immorality of the University theatre will cost the campus recruits. Marketing. That's what it's really about. Not Truth and Goodness. I guarantee you, if we were flush with funds, this issue wouldn't have come up. Isn't that usually the case with Fundies? At the end of the day, it's about who has the power (financially, morally, emotionally, etc.).

Before you start weighing in with your charges that I am hoisted on my own petard because I deliver the very intolerance abhor, let me just save you the time and cop to the charge. Guilty. I am stuck. "One dead, the other powerless to be born," as Walker Percy said. I don't want to abandon the field to rhetoric of legalism and control; but I don't want to become the thing I despise.

It's amazing to me that anybody believes in God anymore. I mean, other than those of us who grow up believing because that's what our families did. It seems that the Holy has to cut through a tremendous amount of detritus, wade through a lot of slop, to get to us. I'm just glad Jesus is willing to crawl into the mud with the rest of us.

Oink.

EVERYBODY'S FREE (TO WEAR SUNSCREEN)

Interesting confluence of events.

I had just finished watching one of my favorite films, and I was reading columns about the post-Katrina world. I kept mumbling the song that played over the credits of the film. After a while the song got to me, so I looked it up. It sounded like literate advice put to a dance beat. Turns out the original song scribe is a columnist for the Chicago Tribune, who just happened to author a good piece on New Orleans.

The song is called "Everbody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen) Mix." The song's origin is another story unto itself. After its birth as a newspaper column, the song made an appearance in an Internet hoax, starring Kurt Vonnegut and MIT. Ultimately it became a hit in Australia, then found its way onto a soundtrack of a largely ignored, but brilliant American film.

It would probably be more appropriate to save this posting until graduation time, but I've never been much for timing. So, here it is.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but in your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Not the most groundbreaking lyric...or performance for that matter. But, settle it into the tail end of an amazingly dramatic closing scene, and mix it with just the right amount of techno to give it gravitas - or street cred - and you have the makin's of a fine piece of news column-commencement speech-cyber spoof-spoken word-dance track-movie theme-media convergence phenomenon.

HURRICANE HOUSING

Well, we did it. We registered to receive refugees into our home; and now we wait to be contacted. I think there are others in our neighborhood doing the same. We are hoping that we can get some families with children so they can all attend the neighborhood school together.

We have heard from most of our New Orleans friends. One couple's house was undamaged. They are still home with running water and gas, but no electricity. They are running low on food, so they'll have to leave soon. For now they are staying inside with their guns, since there are roving gangs in the streets.

Another family found out that their house is sitting in 15 feet of water. Fortunately for them they are pretty wealthy, so they were able to buy a house in Baton Rouge. Had to give more than the asking price and pay cash to get it. The husband's brother is an ER doc at one of the hospitals. He and the other hospital personnel are all packing heat in shoulder holsters to defend themselves against the drug addicts suffering from a disrupted supply.

We haven't been able to locate two other friends. They had just finished restoring a century-old house in one of the hardest hit neighborhoods. May God shine his face upon you, Greg and Art.

Let me encourage you to become a haven. You can register here to take a family into your home. If you can't give your home, give something: time, energy, money, etc. Do something that hurts a little. Check the comments here and in the post below for some good ideas from readers.

I'm going to go help load a truck. Have a good weekend.

A HURRICANE OF EMOTIONS

This morning I was listening to some of my students talk about all the cool stuff they're going to do over the three-day weekend. It sounded great. Lots of sun, fun, and family.

I lost it.

I had just watched video footage of poor, black people literally dying before my eyes. The dispossessed, the least of these. Right. There. In. Front. Of. Us. Chanting "Help. Help. Help." Is it okay to go back for seconds and talk about the game when people need help? I have always struggled with the rationalizations we use to justify our inaction.

So I said this -

Before you load up the car for a bitchin' time at the lake, don't forget to take a look at the people who will be sitting by their own lake this weekend. A lake full of disease, violence, and the bodies of their neighbors. Be sure, when you go to church this weekend, and you join with fellow believers in a celebration of your life in Christ, that you at least mention the single mom who now has no job, no home, no peace, no rest. Remember the filth, as you sleep on clean sheets. Remember the starvation, as you grill your burgers. Remember your homework, while so many look at the rubble that used to be their school. Be grateful for what you have, when so many others have lost it all.

If you think about all the suffering and do nothing, you are a liar. You say you are a disciple of Jesus; that you are committed to loving and living like him. But if you stare in the face of the newly homeless and do nothing, you lie. Write a check, if it will make you feel better. But I don't think Jesus called us to be check-writers. It's better than doing nothing; but I think Jesus asks us for more than a payoff. He asks us to get into relationship with the poor. Anything less is game-playing. Understand, I'm as guilty as you. I want to bring a family of refugees home with me, get them jobs, put their kids in school, etc. It scares me to think about bringing a strange family into my house. It might cost me. It might interrupt my comfortable existence. But where's my faith? I say I'm willing to die for my beliefs...just don't ask me to share my room.

In a strange way I am energized by times like these. It is an opportunity to separate the true believers from the bullshitters. You'll recognize the bullshitters as the ones who are more concerned about the word "bullshit" than the fact that thousands of innocent people are suffering. You can only trade on piety for so long, until the people in need recognize you for the phony you are. So, before you finalize your plans for a day of jet skiing this weekend, ask yourself who you are.

Okay, I didn't say the "bullshit" part, but it was definitely implied.

I am at sea here. I'm a little paralyzed. I have made some inquiries about housing a family. Dear God, give me the faith to follow through, if someone accepts my offer.