Jesus is better than narcissism. (part two)

My studies in psychology and social behavior operate upon the presumed given that all men are narcissistic. All men are selfish and turn their eyes inward (like Joseph Addison's Beau) and nervously from side to side, reassuring themselves that they truly are important and well-beloved by their peers, men and women, children, the elder generation. Narcissism is paralyzing, obsessive, anxiety-inducing, and vain. Truly narcissism is as fleeting as youth, and time keeps on slipping into the future. Our lives are but a puff of air, and men pine into shiny glasses to check their pores or to preen their hair, not knowing that they are turning into stone by a riverbed, waiting their watery demise. There's a time and a place for everything, for sorrowfully-shaven heads and well-groomed fingernails alike.

Television (and other forms of literature and art, to lesser extents) will act on this narcissism by drawing men into stories, beauty, and complex and wondrous things. Men are grasped into the narratives and they surrender their souls for a few hours so they can be glamorous and heroic and strong, but this is not the purpose of Beauty. Beauty is not sedate, it is not a copycat or a liar, and it does not seek to please itself, but points to God. Television makes the viewer believe that he is dialogueing with the characters, the teevee setting, and the other audience members.

Jay-Z's new single "Holy Grail" points out the vanity of fame:

...Caught up in all these lights and cameras/
But look what that shit did to Hammer/
Goddammit I like it/
Bright lights is enticing but look what it did to Tyson/
All that money in one night/ thirty mil for one fight/
But soon as all the money blows/ all the pigeons take flight/
Fuck the fame, keep cheating on me/...

And we're all just entertainers, and we're stupid and contagious, and we're all just entertainers. (referencing Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit")

Now I got tattoos on my body/ psycho bitches in my lobby/
I got haters in the paper/ photoshoots with paparazzi/
Can't even take my daughter for a walk/ see em by the corner store/
I feel like I'm cornered off/ enough is enough/ I'm calling this off/
Who the fuck I'm kidding though/ I'm getting high/ sitting low/
Sliding by in that big body/ curtains all in my window/
This fame hurt but this chain works/ 
I think back you asked the same person/
If this is all you had to deal with/ 
nigga deal with/ this shit ain't work/
This light work/ cameras snapping/ my eyes hurt/...

Jay-Z and Justin Timberlake are speaking towards the allure and emptiness of fame. The "you" continuously referenced in the song seemed at first to me to be referring to a woman, but truly it makes more sense to think of the second person addressed as an anthropomorphic "Fame." Fame is fickle, yet these men admit that they love her enough to tattoo her name forever on their bodies, though she may take everything from them, from the clothes off their backs to the air in their lungs. Fame holds the keys to health and wealth for these stupid and contagious entertainers who can't help sipping from the "holy grail" of fame.

Jesus finally and totally smashes this false conception by allowing us to take our eyes off of ourselves with decisive words from the Psalmist and his son, also quoted by Peter:

The eyes of the LORD are upon the righteous, and His ears are open unto their cry. (ps.34:15)
For the ways of man are before the eyes of the LORD, and He pondereth all his doings. (prov5:21)
The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good. (prov.15:3)

For the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and His ears are open unto their prayers; but the face of the Lord is against them that do evil." (1peter 3:12)

If God watches all things, we can have the satisfaction that narcissism demands: a vigilant and caring audience. The Judge of our performance scrutinizes the thoughts of our hearts--what else could the narcissist require? Yet thanks be to God that our fallen efforts are not left in vain to condemn us before the thrice-holy God; for He has installed new hearts within Christians young and old to love Him and faithfully carry out His commands to rejoice and rule over all creation.

No longer are we bound to sip from the "holy grail" of fame, which never satisfies; Jesus is better in that He bled Himself dry and breathed His last so that we could have living water and a living hope that doesn't disappoint us. 

Bleeding Out.

Today a little girl bled all over me and I forgot to wash my hands in the flurry of paper towels and tissues. It was a hot and dry day (I can hear my Arizonan friends saying "It's a dry heat, really..."), and her nose bled like it normally does in those weather conditions.

It's amazing how quickly young children can react and become exceedingly helpful and resourceful, forgetting their own aches and worries in order to help the bleeding girl. I'm very proud to have watched her grow to the point that she doesn't hardly cry over big things like bee stings and incessant nosebleeds.

Any ideas for outdoorsy games for small children? I'd much appreciate them. 

Personal #10: I'm tired.

This post is dedicated to Stu Ogilvie, aged 69.
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Today I cried in a public restroom in typical Mary fashion.

Let me back up. Today was (and is!) a great day. Things are lookin' up. And yet there have been so many things that have been going wrong lately, so my eyes could restrain themselves no longer. This past Thursday, a dear man of Westminster's congregation, Stu Ogilvie, died when he slipped into a coma during a medical procedure. He was a mature Christian, a retired English teacher from the local high school, and one of my budding friends. I had asked him only the Sunday before to swap English-teaching horror stories and to help me better teach English in the Czech Republic, and he said he would. I look forward to hearing his horror stories in heaven!

This past week I've been more productive than usual: I gathered information about senior portraits, my field study, writing resumes, interviewing well, and even making connections in my classes. I've begun to use my free time better than I had before (working out is much more important than a Breaking Bad marathon!), and I've convinced Calvin and Ariana to take a Krav Maga self-defense class with me next quarter. I also met a few of my old friends while walking around aimlessly.

But today, after Calvin and I finished our workouts at the ARC, I noticed that my "Low Tire Pressure" light was spazzing out on my dashboard. Sure enough--there was a nail in one of the tires. Stupid UCI--why'd you gotta be Under Construction Indefinitely? The nail reminded me of the loss of Mr. Ogilvie, who was scheduled to greet those coming to morning worship this past Sunday, of the things I've destroyed, I've squandered, I've driven away. It reminded me that though I might drive perfectly, nails can make the sound of my own wheels drive me crazy.

Calvin's going to be driving his car until my tire is replaced (the walls were damaged when it blew out on the way to the garage), and hopefully that will happen this Saturday without a hitch. Tires are pretty expensive.
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Team Praha has been led consistently for the past three years by pastors who love to sing. Four years ago in 2010, Pastor Christopher Chelpka (he was only an intern then!) led the group in song both with the small children we were teaching and in our devotions. Three years ago, Pastor Mark Mueller sang U2's "40" to Erin Blake and me while we were having a particularly quiet day in the nursery. This past year was no different.

On the way to the eastern mountain range in which we hiked this year in the middling/peak week of Team Praha, Pastor Jesse Pirschel sang "Stubborn Love" by The Lumineers. This song is a hopeful song about a man's stubborn love towards his ugly beloved, who spits at her lover's stubborn love. The lover consoles the listener and his beloved to learn to love and not grow tired and indifferent. The train ride was an emotional roller coaster for me, and I regretted not sitting with the Czech boys and girls until Pastor Pirschel sang this song that gave me hope for my mission of the week. Similarly, I often feel hopeless and weary these days when it is unusually apparent how heavy my loads are. 

From "Demons" to "On Top Of The World"

Here's a little update about me, O reader, before I nerd out about these songs.

I used to be able to go a whole week without shaving, so that I would clean up on Saturday night (since I didn't want to cut myself Sunday morning and bleed over the communion wine-- which would be sacrilegious and only a little bit funny and embarrassing) as an extra way of sanctifying the Sabbath day. Nowadays I can't go a single day without Calvin complaining that I need a shave. I suppose our families know us best and notice these things more frequently than others.

One of the first-grade girls started crying during the latter part of P.E. class yesterday. At first I didn't take it too seriously, since she's a little bit too sensitive about failure, lacks confidence, and bruises easily. She's the type to default to tears when something bad happens, before she realizes that she's not actually hurt or endangered. But yesterday she was scream-crying. It was awful and terrifying, really. So I ran over from helping some of the other boys learn to jump rope and I noticed that she was clawing at her shirt, screaming that something was inside it. I shook her shirt and saw her scratching at her neck. Two small red welts confirmed my suspicions: bee sting. We walked back to the lunch benches and I used a credit card to remove it from her neck. One of the mothers was early for picking up her son and she rapidly attended to the poor girl's crying. When they returned from the bathroom, she was clutching a small pack of ice cubes and she felt much better. Hallelujah!

My last year of undergraduate studies has begun! It started much too late, to be honest. My brain was turning to mush for the month and a half after serving the Lord in Prague, though I was able to visit Chaplain Chuck McIlhenny at the Gardena Hospital my father's house for about a week up in Tehachapi. Calvin feels uncomfortable going there by himself, especially when our stepmother and half-sister are around. I also feel the same way, but I'm learning to bear all things in order to reach but a few people for Jesus. If Mary and Charisa can don a clown costume for the Czechs, I can act like a son, learning obedience through suffering just like my Savior.

My classes are a mixed bag. There's a psych class about language development, which is similar to my linguistics class last year, there's a logic class that hasn't taught me anything new yet (nor will it, since it deals with hypothetical truths using simple rules of operation), and there's an upper-division philosophy course on Immanuel Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. This class seems promising, but Kant does not: his thesis is that faith is not predicated by empirical knowledge. This may be true of all besides the Christian, for we serve the God of the living Who raised up our expert witness, the Lord Jesus Himself, to testify throughout history of the veracity of the gospel.
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I recently purchased Imagine Dragons' album Night Visions during iTunes' discounted sale. It's a good album, and I especially like the progression from "Demons" to "On Top Of The World" because it reminds me of the Beatles' Abbey Road and their progression from "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" to "Here Comes The Sun." Here's a link to the latter progression.

Imagine Dragons (unintentionally?) mimicked this progression masterfully in that the first song brings me to tears with the sad truths the singer speaks and the second song raises my head with hope.

Similarly, my demons may bury me, but Jesus doesn't leave me to rot on top of the world. The law points out my shortcomings and my demons, and I can only agree. "This is my kingdom come," and the hour of my visitation is upon me; who can save me from this body of death? With the knowledge of God comes the knowledge of my sin and unworth, my demeritorious nature, which causes me to recoil at the sight of grace. Truth and grace are repulsive at first; for what do light and darkness have in common? My blood's run stale, I'm hell-bound, I can't escape this now; but thanks be to God who gives us the victory in our Lord Jesus Christ!

Our Jesus never leaves us and never forsakes us. He bore the disgrace of desolation on the cross, and conquered the temptations of the demons who offered Him the whole world if He would abandon us. Jesus doesn't cut corners, and like one of the bad guys of Breaking Bad once said, "[good fathers] don't skimp on family." He takes it in but doesn't look down or backwards like Lot's wife, and he truly can take us with Him.  

Not what my toiling flesh has borne-- [Part 1 of 5]

can make my spirit whole; ...

My mother has a full head of hair, though every week she cleans the bathroom and notes how massive the pile of hair is. She can tell what's hers based on the silver ones and the length (though her hairs aren't that much longer than Calvin's at times!). She told me this morning (11/24/12) that she considers her thick hair to be a blessing from God, though it seems that what she's lost grows heavier and greater no matter how often she cleans. Then she made the metaphor to her life: God has afflicted her, but she said that she ought to look instead at her proverbial "crown of glory" than at the ashes on the ground.

Calvin used to think my mom was utterly devoid of emotion, since she seems like such a type 1 person who didn't have much interaction with people outside of the family.

She's kind of an emotional boss, regulating and expressing emotions like nobody's business.

I've developed some skill at regulating emotions in order to be a better actor and to be more stoic in the face of my inheritance, but I now realize that even Jesus wasn't like that. When it came time to obey His Father's will, He responded with obedience, quietly at times and loudly at other times, with tears and shouts of joy. His method wasn't just to "grin and bear it," but rather to bear it grinningly. For joy He set His face like steel towards Jerusalem, where His peace would be punctured.

I often get stuck in the expression and execution phase. I'm like my father sometimes in this respect, when he tells me that he loves me in spite of the evidence (his fruit/actions) that speak to the contrary. What good is it if you can talk the talk when you can't/don't walk the walk? Or, brothers, if a man's hungry, do you merely pray for him? If a woman needs a doctor, should I only pray for her healing? No. These are the reasons numerous organizations have been founded by Christian churches for the health and clothing and employment and feeding of the tired, the poor, the wretched refuse and the homeless, the tempest-tossed.

The origin of these true humanitarian endeavors comes from our own rebirth, born not of our power but of the power of the God who loved us and adopts us into His kingdom.

Not what I say or do can give me peace with God;
Not all my prayers and sighs and tears can bear my awful load.