"If Christianity should happen to be true -- that is to say, if its God is the real God of the universe -- then defending it may mean talking about anything and everything. Things can be irrelevant to the proposition that Christianity is false, but nothing can be irrelevant to the proposition that Christianity is true."
-- G.K. Chesterton
A couple recent poems. They aren't fantastic, but I suppose they aren't vomit-worthy either. Neither of these is actually titled, but I felt like I needed to title them to post them. I'm sure I'll read them again in a few months and either burn or revise them (...for the umpteenth time. Alas). But until their demise or further verbal (plastic) surgery...
Silent Melancholy Sits
Silent melancholy sits
Crouched beside the path
Well-worn and soft,
Like tired earthen backs,
With the stately steps
Of distilled centuries.
Green, it hides,
And gray, it hangs.
It waits for me to pass
With tender silent tread
And turns blithe inspiration
Heavy, entering like a mist
And choking like a sigh.
Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes.
This remarkable line captures the essence of the epic hero. It is this sentiment of mankind’s glory that makes myths and epic poems. Literature, in all its historic vastness has painted images of the ideal man: men like Hector, Odysseus, Aeneas, King Arthur, and Beowulf. The great Greek and Humanist sculptors of the Renaissance attempted to carve the body of this ideal man. In pursuit of this ideal, we are often willing to excuse the faults of a great man if his greatness outweighs his faults: giants, for instance, like King David, Martin Luther King Jr., and Churchill.
However artificially, we create and frame certain men as approaching the ideal – as heroes – out of a need to observe such men. If history has taught us anything, it is that mankind naturally tends toward evil; it is only through careful vigilance and the constant threat of losing our freedoms that we can maintain them. Perhaps in setting such men on pedestals and disregarding their failures, we are not such much admiring them as we are reassuring ourselves of humanity. If giants can arise out of society, perhaps there is hope for us: perhaps there is hope for humanity. Such heroes help us preserve the idea that man can be good, despite all the evil, suffering, and failure in the world.
The scandal to which we are daily exposed has perhaps destroyed our ability to believe in such heroes. The men and women who are supposed to be extraordinary, often seem to prove themselves so only by the exceptional number of their moral failures. We are reminded of Lord Acton’s famous dictum: all power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Adultery, illicit affairs, financial dishonesty, and various other corruptions seem as common among politicians and celebrities as runny noses in a nursery.
On the flip side of our desire to believe that man can be great, is both the realization that a greater capacity for goodness carries an equally great capacity for evil and a secret desire to see great men fall. The danger of greatness draws us to it; he who has the greatest capacity to save life has the greatest capacity to destroy it, and the balance can easily swing in either direction. Every good and powerful man is like a man dangling from the edge of a cliff, and breathless, we watch.
When great men fall, we are secretly pleased and fascinated, even though it only inspires cynicism. When great men fall, our own failures become a little more excusable. If we can excuse great men, perhaps we can excuse ourselves. If even great men cannot escape moral failures, how are we – the ordinary – be expected to escape? If it’s inevitable, perhaps we aren’t to blame.
No one is perfect, and so every time we set up a hero, we must ignore and cover his blemishes. This is not deceit, it is elevation of the good to the point where it fills our vision and we are unable to see anything else. Heroes are men as they should be, not men as they are. No matter how good we become, they are bigger and better still, and we are to continually reach after them.
It serves us better to create heroes than to destroy them.
Peter Vidala was fired for telling his coworker her homosexual marriage was wrong. He spoke up because he's a Christian, saying, "I see, like all real Christians, homosexuals as people who, like me, are sinners and need to be told the truth in a loving way."
He clearly identifies himself with his Christianity--it's who he is.
As you might recall, I posted this quote a while ago:
"When someone is attacked for being who they are, and for being proud of who they are, there is no other explanation for that attack than hatred and bigotry," said New York City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, the first openly gay speaker of the city council.
He was clearly fired for being who he is, and being unashamed (proud?) of who he is. Thus, the only reasonable explanation is that he's a victim of hatred and bigotry. Hey, not my words. I'm just applying things equally.
"Yeah, but he didn't have to say anything to his coworker. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Christians should keep their religion private."
--Oh really? Well what if I said this?
Homosexuals shouldn't flaunt their sexuality. They should keep their mouths shut. They should keep their homosexuality secret.
Blatant double standards, anyone? They're giving out free extra-portions! Get your pink slips while they're hot!
Alas, I realized we were already in November late last night. I've been planning on doing No Shave November for months, but I've been so busy that I lost track of time and WHAM, I forgot to shave on Saturday. Thus, I'm going into No Shave November with an untrimmed 'stache and goatee and scruff all over my neck.
I can't grow a full beard for the life of me. Get ready, here comes the beard joke:
My beard screams "Geronimo!" ...'cause it's a patchy beard! (Get it, Apache beard? Ha. Ha. Ha...)
