Relics and Simulacra

The other day I heard a radio commercial that said "Guys, get a haircut and ditch the flannel. It's not 1992 anymore!"

After a most disparaging comment about the man's taste in music, I stopped to think about what that means for me. I still love Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Nirvana, and if I never liked Pearl Jam, it's OK, because they were posers and sellouts from the very beginning, and Alanis Morisette alone could have kicked that band's collective ass.

I don't get fashion styles that involve Buddy Holly's glasses, but not his music. I still prefer the time when men didn't talk about shoes unless one guy tracked poo into another man's house. Clothes, when I come from, were not discussed. It's cool for you to like the logo on my t-shirt, complimenting the neckline and thread count is an invitation to get your ass kicked.

I'm a relic. I'm not even 30, and I'm a relic of an earlier time, when "clean" didn't matter, because our music was "thrash", or "grunge", and when we weren't listening to that, we appreciated the music of Jewel and Alanis Morisette, and felt bad that Paula Cole was right and most of the cowboys were (and still are, I suppose) gone.

Chicks were beautiful back then, too, not "hot". "Hot" wasn't really around yet, and the girls wore street clothes in their videos, unless they were trying to make a point. They got pissed off because some guy cheated on them, they didn't try to out-cheat him. In some cases, righteously pissed, and it was awesome, and guys respected it.

So, I'm a relic, but if I'm a relic, then what's a guy who cuts his hair just because the voice on the radio tells him to, then drink the protein-fiber-steroids shake offered in the next commercial, just so he can self-realize the self-indulgent 2012 mockery of the Ubermensch, with over-developed muscles, and a cage-fighting t-shirt?

A copy of a non-person, a person modeled after not another person or persons, but instead an impersonal image that no one has ever resembled. A perpetual desire to be something other than oneself. It's not even a valiant struggle to change oneself and rise above the masses, but to simply be the fullest realization of groupthought fashion. It is a pursuit, not of self-expression, but of artifice.

Self-expression, the oft-championed cause of starving artists and unnaturally-colored high-schoolers everywhere, is in fact a very rare thing. To express one's self requires one to be fully aware of what  one's self is, and while it may be flamboyant or reserved, it's never artificial.

I heard a quote attributed to a glam metal musician about the rise of grunge, and while I've sadly forgotten who said it, it basically went "Then Nevermind came out, and I thought 'Oh, guess I better buy some flannel'. We just did not get it." The musician did not understand what the flannel meant, did not understand that Kurt Cobain wasn't chasing an image, he was simply wearing clothes.

Self-expression is not an image that can be chased. Self-expression is expressing oneself in a way that naturally and logically flows from that Self. This is not to say that all forms of self-expression are necessarily invalid if they are unconscious, it could hardly be said that the grunge movement's appreciation for flannel was a meaningless coincidence, but neither could it be said to be a conscious, self-expressive choice.

If there could be said to be a downside to self-expression, it is that people, as they grow older, do not naturally remain caught up with the latest fashions. There comes a time when a certain combination of clothing, haircut, and mannerisms has become, or perhaps has been allowed to come from, the self, and although that combination will slowly change, it will not change in accordance with the fashion-conscious public.

In time, people slowly get cut off from the flow of time, and become relics, but they're real, and that is *always* to be preferred.

And all that to say: "Screw you, man, I like having long hair!"

Soren's Grass is Greener Than Yours.

At a small group I meet with on a weekly basis, I told them I was seriously debating intentionally staying single, for life, to serve God better, despite my desire to have a family. It wasn't an idle comment, but it's not the point of the post.

What merits a full rant is the response I got from one of the guys in the group, who'd just told us how he's praying for guidance about how to approach starting a relationship with a girl he likes, that he's pretty sure likes him.

"I wish I could do that" he said.

I managed not to ask him what the fuck was wrong with him. Dude has definitely got to get his head checked.

For the benefit of everyone who's ever been jealous of flying, gun-building, 3.9+ GPA, school-paid-for, not-needing-to-work Soren, here's some other things that have happened to me in the past three years. Read the whole list, then decide if anyone should really want any part of my life.

1. I've been fired twice.

2. My ex dumped me for being so hateful that I couldn't possibly be a Christian.

3. Cops have pointed guns at me, detained me, and searched me. It's actually a pretty funny story, despite the total violation of my constitutional rights.

4. I've held a job for less than half of it.

5. I've gotten into a car wreck.

6. I've been openly used by "Christians" as a resource they can call on when it's bad, but don't mind forgetting when things are good.

7. I've been thrown out of a college.

8. I've been hospitalized against my will.

9. Three people I never threatened filed anti-harassment orders against me that I had to borrow money to hire a lawyer to get rid of.

10. Moved 1500 miles past my house because my family, "always there for me", didn't want me in their spare bedrooms.

11. Moved in with a friend that turned out to be an alcoholic man, with a medical history of paranoid schizophrenia.

12. I've been on a work trip that involved buckling a vomit-covered acquaintance into the SUV rented for the trip. Then stopping twice while he puked, and finally dealing with his mother, who accused us of putting him up to the drinking.

13. I've been forced to use violence to remove the aforementioned schizo from my room.

14. I've been forced to call a friend at 2330 to ask for a couch to sleep on.

15. I've spent a night in a homeless shelter. Not because of the friend I called, though. Different situation.

16. I no longer talk with two of my family members.

17. Two other family members died.

18. I've been woken up in my bed by cops.

19. I've watched otherwise-normal Christians invent reasons to have me locked up.

20. I've had to listen to my pastor tell me to not go into missions.

21. I've lost friends because of things I never did.

22. I've been called a fool for daring to learn from the only philosopher that ever inspired me to follow God.

23. I've cooked a full dinner for friends, only to be forgotten about the very next night when they went out to a restaurant.

24. I've had three emotional breakdowns.

25. I've seriously considered killing myself, twice.

26. I've been depressed, in the clinical sense, for most of the last three years.

27. I've had to run out of the house at 2 AM and drive across town because a friend who was talking about suicide suddenly stopped responding in chat.

28. I've seen Bible-college professors misrepresent what I believe in order to call entire denominations of Christians "heretics".

Look, I wouldn't trade my life for anything, and I love it, but unless you are out of your mind, you don't want any of this. Nobody asks for this life unless they're insane, and I wouldn't ask for round two. Don't be envious of the places I go, or the things I do, unless you really, REALLY want to walk the path that brought me here.

You don't.

Sergeant God, Senior Drill Instructor

I once saw a documentary on the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot at Parris Island. It showed the intense training raw recruits go through to become Marines, and one of the things that struck me was how seriously every minor rule was taken by the drill instructors. Some kid got smoked because his uniform was slightly rumpled, nevermind that it came back from the launderers that way. Show up late, get smoked. Show up early, get smoked because something else wasn't done properly.

Doing everything right, the first time, every time, is something the drill instructors take pretty seriously at Parris Island. So is following every order, no matter how silly or unimportant it seems. No one will die because someone's mustache extended past the corner of their mouth, but it's not about mustaches, it's about obedience. Silly orders are obeyed because every order is obeyed, every time, and if the recruits start to think about which orders can be obeyed, and when, then people will start dying.

Do you ever stop to think that Christianity is rather similar? That God, knowing the plans He has for us, might have some orders that He needs us to follow, otherwise those plans may not work out as well as they might otherwise?

But that's not how we always look at it, once we're honest. A lot of the time, we see a list of God's Standing Orders for humanity, like most of the Bible, and think we're smart enough to know which orders matter, and which ones don't. We've read the book, we say, and it's not like we're out killing toddlers, so our little bits of disobedience don't matter much.

So we say.

But really, we're still being disobedient, with not a single clue to tell us whether or not the commandments we break in secret are important or not. God never tells us there are sins that hurt no one, instead we're told to never sin.

Ever.

Not minor sins, like little white lies (that still cause other people pain later when the truth comes out), like stealing music (which is still theft, no matter how many times I tell myself the music industry doesn't need another $5), or like looking up just a few more porno vids (which poisons every relationship I'll ever have with a distorted view of human sexuality).

Surely those little orders can't matter too much?

Surely God doesn't need us to follow all those rules, right?

Surely those Marines don't really need to learn to obey their sergeants 100% of the time, right?

Maybe He does, for the same reason those Marines learned to obey orders 100% of the time: Orders are obeyed, or people die. Kids who disobey orders in battle get not only themselves killed, but other people as well.

Christians who disobey God's commands often do serious spiritual and emotional damage to themselves, and other people, and like Marines who get shot or blown up in Iraq, the damage often lasts forever.

What those drill instructors will never tell a recruit is that sometimes battlefield commands are simply wrong, and instead of saving the day, will get a squad killed on accident. That's because the commanders are human as well, and all humans make mistakes.

God is not, human, though, and His orders will never get us killed or damaged on accident. The easy argument of "The Sarge is wrong", while probably stupid, simply cannot be applied to God. If God is God, then God is not wrong, and disobeying God is always the wrong move.

Even if it doesn't make sense, like perfecting a crease on a dress uniform.

Everything Dies.

I'm pretty depressed. It seems that God has blessed most of my friends with families, and in His wisdom, has kept me single, lonely, and forced to watch my friends start new lives with their spouses. I despair of ever having a family, or a house to call my own, or friends that I won't leave behind when I leave this town for the next one.

And I couldn't be happier with my misery. Seriously.

I'm going into a career that was made famous by a guy who, along with some friends, got speared to death by the tribesmen he was hoping to preach the gospel to. I've walked past what's left of his airplane, and it's a pretty harsh reminder that flying skill aside, I'm not signing up for a safe career flying a bus through the friendly skies.

Most people, reading Paul's letters, don't stop to think about Paul as a real guy writing to real people unless they're either trying to understand the audience alone, or trying to criticize the veracity of what he says. Normally, Paul is simply the Giant Apostle, responsible for more of the New Testament than any other author.

But me, I read through Paul's letters, and see a man who was profoundly depressed for most of his career. I see a guy who knew it wasn't going to end well, who had seen both sides of vicious persecution, and simply walked the bleakness of his path with the full knowledge that the next day, it could be his ticket that came up.

Take, for example, Philippians 1:21-23. (NASB)

To Live Is Christ

21 For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. 22 [a]But if I am to live on in the flesh, this will mean fruitful labor for me; and I do not know [b]which to choose. 23 But I am hard-pressed from both directions, having the desire to depart and be with Christ, for that is very much better; 24 yet to remain on in the flesh is more necessary for your sake.

You realize what he's talking about, right? He's saying that death is better than life, but that life must be lived because of the other people he can help.

Not because life is good.

Not because he's happy.

Not because he's having fun.

Not because life is "worth it" simply because.

But because the longer he lives, the more he can spread the Gospel. Because that's all that matters, and if he wasn't committed to helping other Christians grow in their faith, than life would not be worth living.

Pay close attention to verse 22.

Notice the line "I do not know which to choose"?

Ever see someone who's debating whether or not to stay alive?

Do we really think that's a happy person that just saw the morning sun and thought "Man, this planet is soooo awesome! I think I should end my life right now!"

I've made the choice to stay alive on more than one occasion, but I've never even thought about that choice on a good day. It's always the days when I look forward to a bleak future, despairing of things changing, knowing that things changing won't suddenly rewire my brain into "happiness" mode.

I heard a song by Type O Negative the other day, and it hit me how well the singer had the problem figured, but didn't get the solution. The song was "Everything Dies", off their album World Comes Down.



See, the guy's right. Everything does die. His girl's quite fit, but she'll die. The singer's now dead, too, actually.

The solution isn't immortality, and physical ailments are still only a fraction of the causes of death on this planet. The solution is not giving a fuck about our eventual demise, because the sooner it happens, the better, but the more we hold it off, the more we can do for God.

When God called me into missions, and I gave up the dreams I had been chasing, I gave up nothing that would have made me happy. Money's worthless, nor did I have a girlfriend that I had to leave, nor did I have a career-path job, nor an especially comforting home, nor a church that always built me up.

I left behind nothing that made me happy. It was a good choice, made swiftly, but never regretted. Today, there is nothing that makes me happy to be alive, and in five years, I don't think I will have found anything that will make me happy, either.

Which is great, because I have nothing to lose. If I get killed, I won't leave much behind, and that's fine with me. I suppose if this world made me happy, and not depressed, then it would make me want to stay, but it doesn't.

So tomorrow, when I get up, if God does not see fit to smash my house with a tornado, then I will do my best to live for Christ. If God sees fit to not allow my survival past this night, then I get to go Home, and will be better off for it.

It's right there in the book, for all the depressed people to see.

Meat-market Christianity.

"Of course I love you. You're the eight-prettiest, fourth-smartest, sixteenth-most-godly, ninth-funniest girl at the Bible college I was attending when I met you!"

I've noticed that when it comes to relationships, Christians are just as bad as everyone else. We make a mental list of the other singles at our church, or bible college, and try to figure out which one we're supposed to marry. It doesn't get much better as we get older. When I first moved to Tulsa, I got sent to a 30s/40s singles group, and the air fairly reeked of desperation.

And beneath it all, what we're doing is making a list of human attributes, ranking members of the opposite sex by them, and then going down the list.

Which pretty much mandates that you're never going to be with your first choice, and that the one you're with is only "good enough", but not "what you wanted. Imagine if we were honest about that with ourselves and each other?

Broken relationships errywhere. Nobody'd last, because when it comes to honesty, we've just narrowed down a meat-market mentality to a list that only includes Christians. It's not Godly for us to pick the girl with the nicest breasts, so that gets replaced with "most intelligent". Great legs gets replaced with a ranking of how interesting she is. Instead of "prettiest face", we say "most godly."

Meanwhile, they're all still on a numbered list, and the list is still being sorted by "most desirable", and still being progressed down from top to bottom.

Meanwhile, aren't we proud of ourselves for not treating people like meat? After all, we don't judge people based on physical attributes, but by what's beneath the skin, right?

Well, no, not even close.

See, the only difference between us "Christians" and the "shallow" heathens is what we're ranking each other on, not how that ranking is treated.

What if, instead, we tried something completely different?

What if, instead, we could say "Of course I love you! You're the one God kept telling me to love!"

What if, instead, we trusted God to show us which girl we should date instead of trying to date every single girl that ranked anywhere near the top of whatever list we're sorting them by?

Just a thought.