Homer, Marilyn & Billy

It’s link to other people’s content day!

The Simpsons are finally legitimate cultural icons. Homer’s “Doh!” made it into the Oxford English Dictionary.

On an encouraging note, the end of the teeny bopper era may be near. And on a completely different note…

Marilyn Manson is not exactly a favorite conversation topic. Most people would rather just write him off as a freak or a Satanist and hope he goes away. But he hasn’t gone away, and in fact, I’ve noticed he has a few intelligent things to say.

A few years ago I read his autobiography, The Long Hard Road Out of Hell. It was not a fun book to read. It was full of violence and sex and drugs—basic depravity. But it was also full of twisted religion. Manson spoke of his roots, the Christian church.

It makes it all kind of ironic that Christians freak out over this crazed Satanist—yet he’s a product of Christianity. “A lot of people like to pass me off as a devil worshipper,” Manson said in a Beliefnet interview. “I think that could only be true if I considered myself to be the devil, because I tend to be narcissistic and believe in my own strength and my own identity.”

“Maybe I should become a Christian and make them all happy,” he said. “But I think if I found Jesus—which, I didn’t know he was lost in the first place—I don’t think he would be all that different from me.”

At this point I’m sure a number of Christians have turned away. After all, why should they read the words of Marilyn Manson, of all people? When your greatest enemy was once one of your own, perhaps you should listen to what drove him away.

He thinks Jesus wasn’t that different from him. Jesus was misunderstood. Jesus was rejected. Jesus tried to make people think and challenged the establishment. Marilyn Manson fits that bill. Of course Manson also does drugs and wears leather and make up. Don’t be too offended at his comments. There is some truth to them.

“And I think that image [the cross] has caused more pain and suffering than a swastika or the hammer and sickle,” he said. “And those images are taboo, while the crucifix will always be considered holy. But think of how many people died in the name of that image.”

He’s got a point there. It’s a sad state of affairs that the very history of Christianity can be used against it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, man is fallible, our mistakes don’t discredit God. But our hypocrisy does discredit God in the minds of an unbelieving world.

“My Bible teacher would ask the class, ‘Is there anyone in the room that’s Catholic?’ or ‘Is there anyone that’s Jewish?’ If there was no response, she would talk about how wrong those other religions interpreted the Bible. So at an early age, Christians already started to appear to me as people who believed that their interpretation of God was the only one that was right.”

Marilyn Manson had a Bible teacher? He went to a Christian school. Like I said, he’s a product of Christianity. It really makes you think sometimes.

In the interview Manson also described a trip to the Vatican. As a side note, I can’t help but wonder if he just walked in looking like his usual self. You’d think the Catholic church wouldn’t look too highly on that.

“I was kind of overwhelmed by the Vatican,” Manson said. “I was overwhelmed by the amount of gold that was used to create the building, while so many people complain about hunger and homelessness and the pain and sufferings of the world. And buildings like that are supposed to be what God intended. It doesn’t add up.”

Again, Manson has a point. Perhaps you should consider what drove him from Christianity before you write him off.

On a completely different and unrelated tangent, I was reading a chat transcript with Billy Graham on the way home tonight. Someone said that they were a young pastor and wanted to know what advice Graham would give them.

“Study the Bible constantly,” Graham said. “That’s where I think I failed. I don’t know the Bible nearly as well as I wish that I did, and I wish I spent more time studying it.”

Follow Through or Betray Who We Are

I sat down on the bus tonight next what looked like your average old man. He looked a little odd, but not to freakish. He had a tote bag on his lap, a tattoo that said “Dee” on his arm — and he was missing at least four bottom front teeth, creating a really bizarre looking gap. So he seemed a little odder than I first thought.

I sat down and opened my City Pages, eager to check tonight’s movie listings. But the old guy wanted to talk. I guessed immediately guessed he was a Christian. It wasn’t anything he said. It was just in his manner. He was nice. Overly nice. I felt like I couldn’t get out of the conversation, and I didn’t want to be rude.

It turns out he was saved at a Billy Graham Crusade in Denver over 20 years ago. The guys been involved in Christian counseling, ministry, and the charismatic church. He was trying to convince me that healing and speaking in tongues are still common occurrences today, at least at his church. I nodded and smiled, wondering if this was just another bus passenger conversation for him. I wondered why I had so little desire to talk to him. Why would I rather read a so-so newspaper then talk to someone.

Sometimes I can be pretty shallow. At first I hoped he’d get off at the next stop. But then I realized he was probably in for the long haul. He ended up getting off a few stops before me. Long enough for me to sit there by myself and wonder why I cared so little about this fellow brother in Christ.

Some things never change.

“But we’ve got to follow through on our ideals or we betray something at the heart of who we are. Outside these gates, and even within them, the culture of idealism is under siege beset by materialism and narcissism and all the other isms of indifference and their defense mechanism knowingness, the smirk, the joke.” – Bono’s address to the Harvard University Class of 2001

I’m a social butterfly.

For the past week my wife and I have been social butterflies. By the end of tomorrow evening we’ll have hung out with different people five different times. That’s more social interaction than I ever got in college. The amazing this is that we can actually sit around our family room and talk for several hours without ever doing anything. No games, no movies, no organized interaction. Just talking. Isn’t this what adults do?

Prayer for a Bloody Nose

A bloody nose seems to be standard protocol for me. They happen fairly often, so it’s usually not much of a surprise. That’s why I stock extra Kleenex in my backpack. It’s happened more than once that while I’m on the bus or waiting for the bus my nose will start bleeding.

Today it happened while I was between buses. I step off one bus, walk half a block, and get on another bus. Just before the second bus pulled up my nose started bleeding. Not a big deal. Although I’ve learned from experience that bus drivers aren’t too keen about letting you on the bus when you’ve got a bloody Kleenex held to your nose and blood smeared on your fingers. One bus driver actually told me I had to get off the bus if I had a bloody nose. I told him it stopped. Another bus driver shrugged his shoulders and apologized for not having any Kleenex.

But since I was at the bus stop, I figured my best bet would be to sit down with my Kleenex and wait for it to stop. I’m usually early to work anyway, so I had no reason to hurry. I sat down, Kleenex to nose, blood on fingers, waiting for it to stop. My eyes focused on the concrete sidewalk, but I could see the people rushing this way and that way, catching their buses and walking in to work.

Then I started to wonder if anyone would stop to see what was wrong. If someone was sitting on the sidewalk with blood on their fingers and a Kleenex held to their nose, would you stop to help? And what kind of help would your, or could you offer? It’s not like I needed help. I had a travel pack of Kleenex, and that’s really all you need. But I was still curious what people would do.

Just when I thought no one would stop, a woman slowed down, and then walked up to me. I was looking at the concrete, so I couldn’t see her face. She asked what was wrong, and I said it was just a bloody nose, no big deal.

And then she did something interesting. She started praying. She prayed for my bloody nose to stop in Jesus’ name, for the Holy Spirit to stop my bleeding nose. I smiled, and kept staring at the sidewalk. She said Amen, and walked on.

I cocked my head to watch her go, pastel pink jacket and baby blue shoes. That was it. Just a prayer. No Kleenex, no words of encouragement, or well, anything. Just an odd, charismatic prayer. It’s not like a needed anything, so maybe it’s exactly what I needed. A bit of divine provision. But is this the kind of assistance elderly women often doll out to strangers? An odd prayer? It may have been fine for me, but I wonder how it would have suited another? Perhaps that’s asking too much, stretching too far, taking this out of context. And that is a bit unfair. But I can’t help but wonder.

At any rate, when I finished watching her go, I carefully eased the Kleenex away from my nose. The bleeding had stopped.

Take me out to the covered ballpark.

My wife and I went to a baseball game today. The Minnesota Twins took on the Pittsburgh Pirates, and surprisingly, the Twins lost. I expected them to win. But that wasn’t my only expectation that was shattered this afternoon.

Sunday afternoon baseball games are supposed to be great. Blue sky, green grass, sun burnt knees. That’s what baseball is all about. Grass stains and over priced concessions. The pretzel man. The guy selling peanuts on the corner outside the stadium. Wearing your favorite baseball cap to shield your eyes from the afternoon sun. Losing the ball in the sky. This is what I remember of baseball.

But in Minnesota, they do baseball a little different. First of all, they play under a dome. The Metrodome. Goodbye blue sky. Goodbye sunshine. Secondly, they play on Astroturf. Goodbye green grass. Goodbye grass stains. The combination is kind of upsetting. Rather than losing the ball in the sky, you lose the ball in the white dome and lights. It’s just not the way I remember baseball.

Sure the jumbotron screen lets you see instant replays, but it’s nothing like the black and yellow light bulb driven signs that featured great Batman-esque slogans like “Crash,” “Score,” “Homerun,” and “Roar!” Instead we get to see Coca-Cola commercials between innings. The one thing they did manage to hang on to is the organ. I never understood why you’d play an organ at a baseball game, but oh well.

Where I grew up we watched baseball in the afternoon sun. At Tiger Stadium, that’s how things were done. None of this pansy dome. None of this wussy Astroturf. When it rained, it rained.

Oh well, at least we got to go out on the field after the game.

Goodbye June.

You know, I never seem to notice June going by. It’s probably the best month of the year. It’s finally nice out (okay, so that’s yet to be the case this year), it’s not too hot, you have the longest days of the whole year, it’s just a great month. My birthday is also smack in the middle of June, which always helps. June is a great month for school kids–they finally get out. It’s an all around great month.

It just always feels like I don’t realize it’s June until it’s July. I noticed that today is June 8th. That’s eight days into June. That’s more than a week. And I hardly noticed. It’s kind of depressing. I’m hoping the next 22 days left in June don’t go by as quickly. You only get one June a year. I’d like to enjoy mine.

Traffic

I watched Traffic tonight at the cheap theater. It’s not a feel-good movie. It’s not a family movie. It’s not an entertaining movie. When you slap your money down on the counter to see this movie, you’re not paying for a good time. You’re paying to have you eyes opened. You’re paying to get slapped around. You’re paying for the truth.

Or at least what I can only guess is the truth from Hollywood. Traffic is what appears to be an honest portrayal of the drug trafficking industry–from the Mexican police to the U.S. “legitimate” businessmen to the street dealers to the suburban white girl who lies to her parents and does drugs in the bathroom.

The scariest thing about this movie is that I went to high school with that suburban white girl. I sat behind her in class, listening to her stories of getting high and how she’s been clean for a month, for two months, for a whopping three months. What amazes me is how I was not there. I was hanging out in church with the youth group, learning how to read my Bible. Perhaps that’s the way things are, and that’s the way things need to be. I doubt that my Jesus-boy high school self could have been any help to a drugged up sophomore girl. I probably couldn’t have handled myself in that situation then, and I only think I can now.

But it still amazes me where the church is. The church is not on the streets, keeping kids of drugs, shutting down the dealers, saving families and showing love to the least of these. The church is hoarding a few safe white kids in their youth groups and trying to show ’em a good time and maybe teach them a thing or two about God. Yet the girl who sat in front of me in American Literature seems to have slipped through the cracks, and I wonder how many others are just like her.

What really sickens me is that it takes a movie to make me realize this.

U2 vs. NBA Finals

(today is National Yo-Yo Day)

Game 1 of the NBA finals was tonight. NBC expected poor ratings so they tried a little stunt during half time to give the ratings a boost. They showed U2 live from Boston.

Well, sort of live. They showed “Where the Streets Have No Name” live and then “Elevation” taped from earlier in the evening. The game’s in the third quarter now, but they also promised more after the game. I can’t help but wonder how much NBC paid for that.

Except for Bono’s slurred lyrics on Where the Streets Have No Name,” (he sounded drunk) it was some quality concert footage. I’m continually amazed at the way U2 can focus on faith and God in a way that doesn’t turn people off. Bono introduced “Where the Streets Have No Name” with some words about God and heaven (mostly incoherent thanks to the crowd noise, but I’m sure they’ll be on the web in no time) and the closing chorus of “Elevation” transformed into “Jubiliation,” which I can only guess is a reference to Bono’s work with Jubilee 2000, an attempt to bring debt relief to poor countries.

U2 is not afraid to touch on some deeply spiritual issues. And Bono has done some pretty powerful work to make debt relief happen, something the church should be actively involved in. You might not agree with everything U2 does, and they don’t have it all together, but they do set an example worth noting.