Blessed Are Those

There is no scripture that indicates Jesus said to anyone, “Girl, lead your best life. You deserve this. Get you some.” There’s not one scripture that even hints at the slightest possibility of that message, & yet here we all are, telling each other blessings are coming if you do you, boo.

This is, like, the opposite of Christ’s teaching. By every metric, the message of Christ is that we are actual living, breathing crap and we have to change. He loves us so much that even though he knew we were nothing more than animated monkey feces pulsating with selfish urges, he died for us in the hope that we may want to be something other than that.

I get the impression a lot of people think God is just like your dog. He sees you naked (& the weird stuff you do when you are naked) & doesn’t judge you at all. He just loves you, wagging his divine tail. But the dog is judging you constantly; he just can’t articulate it. God articulated his judgment quite well all throughout the Bible (“You wicked generation”, etc.). And still he sent Christ.

And is Christ. As well as the Holy Spirit. Gotta throw some trinitarian mysteries up in this.

Right about now is when you expect I will drop a loving, warm, and hopeful point on you. I’ll drop this instead.

Christ said blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are those who are persecuted for his name’s sake. “Blessed” is also interchangeable with the word “happy”.

Happy are the miserable!

Why?!

It’s very hard to put into words unless you’ve achieved this, so I will flounder & you’re gonna get bored. I’m just warning you. You may want to turn on some music or something.

There’s an old story (or proverb or whatever) describing the 3 major Chinese religions. Confucius, Buddha, & Lao Tsu are presented with a barrel of liquid. Confucius & Buddha dip their fingers in, taste it, & make sour puss faces.

Lao Tsu, the Father of Taoism, dips his finger in, tastes it, & smiles. The other two are annoyed at the sourness of the liquid. Lao Tsu is happy because he’s experiencing something. He gets to taste. He’s learned what the liquid is. He has information.

I guess for super weirdo crazy Christians, the kind y’all make fun of, suffering is an opportunity to be closer to Christ. It’s not like Garbage’s “Happy When it Rains.” It’s more like “Eye of the Tiger.” It’s more like the montage of Rocky dragging wagons of hay around or whatever (it’s been a while since I’ve seen it).

It’s training. It’s boot camp. It’s the tempering of steel. It sucks, but it’s the human experience of suffering making you into a badass for helping others. You’re training to be Christ’s hands. You’re getting ripped to be Christ on Earth. You’re bulking up his Church.

A person who has suffered much & learned from it has what seem like super human powers. They can forgive easily. They are patient. They are humble. Nobody understands them. Everyone thinks they’re crazy. A few also envy them, or begrudge their existence.

If someone whose child was murdered can forgive the murderer, what the hell does our beef with the idiot neighbour say about us? We don’t like people who are actually Christlike because they remind us how very not like Christ we are.

Christlike folk are loved & hated. They triage everyone. Strangers in pain will come before family that isn’t. Friends will wonder why they are still kind to That One Ex. You’ll notice that people try to see if they can make them angry. They’ll seem childlike and naive to world-weary cynics.

Jesus’ own friends doubted him constantly. The man walked on water in front of them, & they were all, like, “But, are you SURE?” No wonder he was always yelling at them. I feel like Jesus probably smacked Peter in the back of the head a few times.

This is because the disciples were humans laden with original sin, & therefore ambulatory sacks of crap. And he knew that. And he loved them.

If you were friends with Jesus, you’d be that person Facebook messaging him urgently, “Dude, that Peter is such a douche. DROP HIM. Stop talking to him. He hella denied you.”

And Jesus would either ignore you or type back “🤷🏽‍♂️❤️”.

And you’d message all your mutual friends, saying, “We need to stage an intervention for Jesus, y’all.”

Ambulatory sacks of crap. That’s us.

And completely worthy of salvation.

For more of this sort of thing, check out my book Christ, Not Crisis.

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The Sin Collector

I dreamt last night that I had died, & God assigned me the task of noting & categorizing the sins of the newly dead by going through something like a highlight (or is it lowlight?) reel of their lives.

I was sitting in front of what seemed like some kind of AVID rig & going through The Tapes. Thankfully, it was not my job to count cruelty to children or sexual assault or anything like that. My particular “beat” was cruel things said.

That’s right; words do hurt.

But what was interesting is I was meant to establish context. The final tallies ended up in Degrees that, no joke, ranged from School Yard Silliness (eg. “YOU’RE a poopiehead”) to The Dozens (eg. “Yo mama so fat…”) to Almost Kind of Hitler. I won’t repeat any of that.

My instructions were quite clear. No one was to be marked down for saying words they didn’t know the meaning to, for repeating what others said with the intent to convey information, or for words that didn’t actually hurt anyone even if maybe another person who had no context heard them & found them offensive. My angelic supervisor was adamant that offense was not the same as pain.

Lies were also considered hurtful words.

And yes, anything that had been confessed was wiped from the tapes, so I wouldn’t even have seen them. I figured out fairly quickly who had ever been to confession & who hadn’t by the amount of gaps in their reel.

I was told that each evaluation then gets combined with other evaluations & a Judgement is rendered from the full report. Some of you would be surprised by who did poorly.

It struck me upon waking that this was a terrible job, & I am certain that God doesn’t do it that way. It also struck me upon waking that there are people alive in the world today on social media & elsewhere who have made this their job. They don’t get paid for it, but they quite literally scour people’s online history to find anything they’ve said that might be deemed hurtful or offensive or even slightly dodgy.

The difference is, they don’t give a damn about context. The Dozens becomes misogynist fat shaming. Teenagers calling each other the fringe words of their culture becomes racism & homophobia. People with self deprecating senses of humour are judged to be racist, body-shaming, or all number of things.

There are some people who really are quite awful online. That’s different. But finding the awful people has spawned something of a crusade to “get” others, with quite ridiculous results.

I always wonder if people are paid to take things out of context. Because in the context of a person’s entire life, what Skeeter McTweeter said on MySpace when he was 13 is not going to be the same thing he says on Twitter at 23. At least, one hopes not.

What someone drunk Tweets with friends at 24 is not the same thing she thinks at 34 with two children.

What someone said repeatedly over the course of a few recent months might be an established pattern of actual belief. If people employed common sense more often, this would be evident.

And yet here we are. I kind of wish knitting were still a thing everyone did. Keeps their hands busy. Less drama. More blankets.

I don’t want to live in a world where we police each other’s thoughts. If you say something I think is gross & we are not friends, I’ll just unfollow you. How’s that? If we’re friends, we’ll talk about it.

Simple.

But now that everybody’s a gotcha journalist/investigator, it can’t be that simple. It needs to be A Thing. “On October 14, 2008, you bought a pumpkin spice latte & made a shitty comment about white women.”

Well, yes. I am one, & I both lament & revel in my basicness. I AM GENETICALLY PROGRAMMED TO LOVE PUMPKIN SPICE AND BEETS WITH GOAT CHEESE leave me alone.

If you enjoyed this, you will probably dig my books. I don’t know.