Pagan Christianity?

Have you ever wondered why the traditions in life are the way they are? It's probably just me. People are creatures of habit. For proof just go into a classroom, without a seating arrangement students will move around for a few days or weeks but will eventually settle on their own. If anyone were to move seats one day there would be plenty of drama. For a better example visit a church, find a seat that has a cushion that looks like it does not belong and sit down for the service, then watch as a saintly old lady comes and tears you a new one. If people are so willing to get into a groove on such an insignificant thing how likely is it that the grooves of religious life are not quite in sync with what Jesus and the apostles had for us? How much of what we know as "the church" is flavored with local beliefs throughout the ages? That's why I'm reading Pagan Christianity? exploring the roots of our church practices by Frank Viola & George Barna. So far so good, it seems to be written for me. I just want to share a poem they employed at the end of the introduction.

The Calf-Path

by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)
One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.


Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.


The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bellwether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bellwethers always do.
And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made,

And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ’twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed — do not laugh —
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.


This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.


The years passed on in swiftness fleet.
The road became a village street,
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare,
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.


Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed that zigzag calf about,
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They follow still his crooked way,
And lose one hundred years a day,
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.


A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,

And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,

And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah, many things this tale might teach —
But I am not ordained to preach.

Ability vs. Desire

The other day I got involved in a tangent.

The discussion orbited around the dispersion of women in the workforce. The discussion went the normal direction that these kinds of discussions go. Why isn't the workforce a statistical representation of the population?

The natural flow of the conversation does not account for enough factors. It relies on idealism and statistics. It may sound that I am anti diversity, but far from it. The truth is that it will take time for that kind of equality to happen. Generations is the likely timeframe we are looking at. Not years. The other thought is that not all jobs appeal to all people across the spectrum. Perhaps there aren't enough aspiring female crab fisherpeople or CEO's or aspiring male administrative assistants.

Well the discussion becomes even more complex when considering ethnic background. Or are people the same across ethnic lines and have the same internal interests and only outwardly different? No I think our background builds our values. Our values determine the kind of work we will do.

I will now refute the claim that "a job is a job." That is simply untrue. It can be true that people do not enjoy the work that they do but they have the option of doing something they enjoy or settling for something they find to be laborious. Do CEO's say "hey it's a job"? No. Everyone always has the option of doing something they would enjoy versus something that may either pay the bills or be convenient. That is up to the individual and how much they have bought into that futile rhetoric.

Lastly, how likely are children to do something the same or similar to their parents? or family? Without the exposure to certain professions a child may never determine to pursue such a career.

I know where I've been.

I know of the Irish very little. I have been surrounded for most of my life with the Americanized version of their culture. I like to imagine that it is a very poor representation. The drinking, fighting, and breakfast cereal endorsements do not seem to fit a functioning society. I’ve been to Ireland, sort of. It was really Belfast, which the Irish want back. It’s still full of Irish or “Ulster Scots” depending on who you ask. Let me recount my experience in Northern Ireland.

I was living in Leeds England for the summer with two other people. We were Americans who had come to volunteer with a church. For most weeks we went on an excursion somewhere in the UK just to see the sights. This day the team hopped on a plane to Belfast. The flight was short and we were grateful for small blessings. The weather was so brisk when we got off the plane. I say brisk but what I really mean is cold, it was really cold. It had easily been 80º F in Leeds but when we arrived it felt like 50º. It doesn’t sound cold now but in the midst of summer it was quite a change of pace. That day the skies were very grey, they looked like rain but none ever came.

 The first obstacle to overcome was finding a ride into the city. There were some very slow looking bendy buses, a few yellow cabs, and other assorted vehicles. Then my team saw it. There was a Jaguar in all of the rabble. I had never been in one and neither had my teammates. I can’t remember whose idea it was, but someone convinced the rest that we should totally take a ‘Jag’ to the city. I didn’t need to be convinced, we only had to persuade the driver to take us. As I stared out those windows I spoke very little. The silence was awkward but it allowed me to do what I like to do best while a passenger. I sat and stared out at the landscape as it swept by. I was often astonished that such an old country wasn’t drastically overpopulated. I imagined that Europe with all it’s history would have a more vast populous than my homeland. The other detail that caught my attention were the trees, or the lack of trees. The hills rolled on and on and they were covered with grasses and shrubs but not trees so much. It astounded me more than anyone else. It felt like there was a nakedness to the land, or perhaps it was instead immodestly dressed.

Belfast itself was not unlike other cites, it had streets and sidewalks that hemmed in buildings and small patches of grass. We had a bit of a miss with the meeting place. Paranoia helped us to wrongly decide that we should walk away from where we were. Down one street and up the next, the neighborhood was very quiet. Banners and flags hung from everywhere. They weren’t Irish flags but the English flag with a hand in the middle. It was a world cup year and an abundance of flags was the norm. We walked down one street to what seemed like a main street and every few blocks we could see piles of wood stacked ten or twelve feet high. It was all very curious. A timely phone call and a few minutes of retraced steps later we met up with our friends from the Belfast team. They did what we did but in a different locale.

Hugs and handshakes started our official tour of Belfast. We asked questions and got updates from all our friends. They even brought along a local kid who was gonna show us the town. We quickly stopped in at the house they all stayed at and got a cup of tea, as is custom. I discovered that those flags denote the “Ulster Scots” and many in Northern Ireland do not see themselves as “Irish.” Most importantly I discovered those piles of wood were not rubbish but instead they were for “The March of Orange” which is a huge celebration in Northern Ireland where they march to the border to snub their noses at the Republic of Ireland. Like a sibling who doesn’t want to admit that they are in the same family, very few would admit to being ‘Irish.’

In town we rode buses to everywhere we wanted to go. We wandered down to the markets and poked our heads in to stores looking for some “Irish” wares. I wanted a Claddagh ring for sure, my teammates wanted postcards. Whenever we mentioned it our teen guide would get very uneasy, looking around, whispering to us that the violence isn’t completely over yet. We finally came to a shop that we could call “Irish” they sold Claddagh rings, shillelagh, a silver scale replica of the Titanic, there was a lot of green. I picked out my ring and then we were on our way to see the sights. There were new buildings and old buildings and all done in a normal western style. Huge statues were in front of the Government building, there was great craftsmanship in these structures. From there we had to do the one thing we had not yet done in Europe.

Hopping a bus in the opposite direction we went away from the city center and towards the coast. We were going to a castle! I had never been to a real castle before. The castle was not especially large, inside there were painted fiberglass statues to give a sense of life to the cold stone walls. It gave our little gang a great chance to run around and take picture after picture. Posing here and there it was like a photo shoot that very few would ever get to see. From there we wandered here and there but always heading back to where we started.

The day was finished. We got back to our plane and headed back home at the end or our whirlwind trip to Belfast and back again. It was a very beautiful country, with very kind people. The actual history of Ireland and Northern Ireland has shaped the people very differently from how American consciousness likes them to be portrayed. They certainly have their culture, and beliefs. I did not find them so alien that I could not recognize the parallels that we all share. I know not nearly enough about these people as a whole, however I do have some first hand experience.

Carp Seized

When I woke up this morning the sky was grey, which means I will be grumpy. It didn't really matter that I was grumpy because today I was going to hang out with someone made up of rainbows and sunshine. I was up extra early which made me groggy/grumpy. I have been getting steadily more anxious about starting at sunglass hut. Something about selling expensive things makes me feel guilty, on top of that their dress code is mostly shades of grey. I've gotten rid of all my non bright clothes over the last few years (I think I have been wanting my clothes to match my personality). So with the dread of drab clothes that I don't really own, grey skies, and a job I'm not sure I'll like in front of me I set off to hang with Alverina. Well we decided to go do some shopping for me. It was strange showing up to the mall so early, there aren't many people around at 10am on a weekday.
I am now the semi-proud owner of a grey wardrobe, with some black.
After dropping her off back at Gordon I had to go right back to the mall. three hours of training sounded like a breeze. There was some reading and question answering, I even sold a pair of Ray-Ban's. "Hey I want to try some wayfarers, yah those, yah these I'll get these" Easy Peasy they knew what they wanted. The three hours dragged by. I learned some here and there but at a kiosk there are always customers. Aside from learning a few things and trying on some different frames it was fairly slow with lots of people watching.
Once I got out it was freedom!
Across the street to cash a check and then down the street to spend it on gas.
I had a roadtrip in front of me and an empty tank. I was invited down to Wrentham to have dinner with the Moore's and whoever of my snowboard family showed up. It was a full house with the Grand Pubah and Chris making their faces known and all of James' family in attendance plus Kali's bf. Did we eat at a reasonable hour? Well I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so no. Let me say that it is always worth the wait when Chris and James decide to cook. Aside from good conversation and company we had a delicious meal. Steak & salmon with grilled eggplant, asparagus and baked potatoes.
Heavenly.
I lingered there for a while but not nearly as long as I would like. Even helping with dishes, as good 'family' is prone to doing. I hit the road for the much quicker homeward journey. The classic rock d.j. was a extra good tonight.
What started off gloomy has ended on a full day, which is my favorite kind. There are too many days that slip through my fingers I long for more days to be fully seized and not wasted.

Worst of the Trivial

I realize that at times people will say "this is the best/worst thing ever!" Of course people aren't complete idiots... Well who are and aren't isn't the point. The point is that if I ask them if it reeally is that which they claim they fold. I'm guilty of the same thing.

This morning I went through one of the worst of the trivial experiences, if not the worst (It's in a category so that makes it more plausible). As I generally do every morning I woke up climbed down from bed and lumbered to the kitchen. I was groggily able to fill the water pot and turn it on for tea. Then reached above, like I do nearly every day of the year, and pulled down a bowl. With practice half-awake grace I shuffled across the kitchen swung open the pantry door and pulled out my golden morning prize. As I poured my morning portion of honey nut cheerios I opened the refrigerator door to add the desired amount of milk that would soon be turned into a honey mixture to drink down as a final breakfast treat. To my dismay there was not a drop of milk in the fridge, my shoulders hunched, my spirit defeated. My only choice was to repeat my morning ritual in reverse and pour back my cereal. I had been demoralized, I couldn't go on. My alternative was a pair of Pop-tarts but how could I eat them without milk? Tea had to do. With each bite I was reminded of how I could not have what I most desired, cold cereal had eluded me.

It was the worst of the trivial.

Thank You

Thank You,
Health Nuts for ruining my already healthy favorite snack.
Multigrain wheat thins, they aren't even square anymore.

The bug has bit.

Well it has officially happened.

I have contracted that seasonal STD (stoke transmitted disease). I feel like my heart is about to bust through my chest and I'm so antsy I can barely read. I know it's August but I really want to go snowboarding. I'm waiting for 3:30 so I can go meet with my friend to talk about that winter 'sport'. For us it is more like a way of life. I was looking forward to this rendezvous and then to eat up some time I read an article on mogul riding. Thanks K.C. it really put my mind back in the zone. It's amazing I'm not back to "bro speak" too. I will relish the days when my Saturdays are filled with Park Monster training and evenings spent with dear friends discussing tactics or when the next storm will hit.

I really was loving the spring and summer. Living a few blocks from the Atlantic will do that I guess, no haunting peaks to remind me of winter. But all that relaxation is over now. It will be replaced with anxiously awaiting when the snow guns will be turned on. Waxing, tuning, and pouring over the newest gear, drooling with delight at thought of hidden stashes and perfect spins.

If I don't go mad first.

I await.