Saturday, June 22, 2013

Life's Great Lie: Truth and Loki's Philosophy of Freedom

            In The Avengers, Loki says, “Freedom is life’s great lie.”  I am inclined to agree with him.  The Oxford English Dictionary defines “free” as “not under the control or in the power of another.”  In our world, it is impossible to be completely free—that is, to not be controlled by anyone or anything.  The Bible teaches this truth, which agrees with Loki’s philosophy.
            The Bible says, “Do you not know that if you present yourselves to anyone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin, which leads to death, or of obedience, which leads to righteousness” (Rom. 6:16)?  When we accept the gift of salvation which is freely offered through Jesus’ death on the cross, we are set free from sin so that we are no longer obliged to submit to temptation or experience guilt (Jn. 8:32), but we are giving ourselves as slaves to God and his righteousness (James 1:1). 
            Sometimes true freedom can be found in confinement.  There was once a playground behind a school with a high fence around it to protect it from the dangerous road which ran by there.  School officials had the fence taken down so that the children might feel freer.  In the absence of the fence, however,  the children began to only play on the portion of the playground against the building—furthest from the road—because they were afraid to play next to the road where cars drove by so fast.  The fence was put back up, allowing the children to play across the entire playground.  The fence gave them more freedom. 
            Likewise, bondage to Jesus Christ is true freedom (Jn. 8:36, Gal. 5:1, 2 Cor. 3:17).  Loki wishes the same thing for humankind.  He sees the world striving for “freedom,” and in that freedom falling into turmoil and discontent (2 Pet. 2:19).  He sees that humans would be happier—and freer—if they were united under an authority.  Tom Hiddleston, the actor who plays Loki, affirms, “It is reassuring when we are well-led.  Winston Churchill was a great leader and the British people and the Allies of Europe loved following him. … Loki has come down saying, ‘I understand this about human instincts.  You actually love following more than you love leading.  I’m going to lead and you’re going to follow.  It’s the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation.’  Except that he’s terrifying and made of hate.  So he’s playing on something which is true and making it something incredibly wrong and tragic.”
            “You were made to be ruled,” Loki says to the people in Stuttgart.  “In the end, you will all kneel,” (Phil. 2:10) to which a brave old German man replies, “Not to men like you.”  The flaw in Loki’s philosophy lies in his setting himself up as the king, when the only true king is Jesus Christ (Mat. 27:11, Jn. 18:36f).  In submitting ourselves to his authority we find true freedom (Jn. 8:36). 


Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard VersionÃ’ (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway.  Used by permission.  All rights reserved.

Monday, May 6, 2013

The Good Homosexual


This is my modern retelling of Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan.  I tried to put it in terms that modern Christians would understand, since we no longer are familiar with the context in which Jesus told the story.

            I was walking back from Wendy’s at 10 p.m. when out from behind a bush popped two guys.  I barely got a look at them, but they hit me across the face and pushed me down.  One of them took my purse.  When I tried to get up, they stepped on my knee.  I heard a crack and cried out in pain.  The two robbers, my purse in hand, ran off down 82nd
            I cried for a couple minutes when I found I couldn't get up because of my leg, but then I saw an elderly couple coming out of the Thai restaurant, making their way to the car.  A flicker of hope burst up in my chest and I tried to call out to them but I didn't need to: the woman had already seen me.  She got her husband’s attention and pointed to me.  Whispering to each other, they hurried across the street without a look back.  I whimpered in dismay and pain.
            But then I saw, coming down the sidewalk, one of the professors from my school!  Finally, a savior!  I raised my hand to get his attention.  He saw me, paused for a moment, and crossed to the other side of the street.  I gasped in surprise.  A Bible school teacher!  And he walked away!  Maybe he thought I was a prostitute.  Couldn't he tell I was hurt?
            I buried my face in my hands and wept.  In a few minutes, I heard footsteps.  I peeked through my fingers.
            He had pink hair, spiked up, and metal in his ears, nose, and lips.  His shirt looked like one my friend Katie had, and his pants were so tight I wasn't sure he would be able to bend down, but he did, and stared me in the eye.
            “What happened to you?” he asked.
            “I was robbed,” I choked, still wincing from the pain in my leg.
            “Raped, too?” he asked.
            “No,” I said.
            “Good,” he said.  “What’s your name?”  I told him.  He pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1.  When the ambulance arrived, he rode to the hospital with me.  There he called my friends and family and waited until they arrived.
            Then, “You be careful, girl.  Take it easy.”  And he was gone.  The good homosexual.  

Monday, February 4, 2013

A Time To Embrace



            The air was hot and heavy; smoke hung in a layer just below the ceiling.  The hum of a large fan mixed with the din of twenty voices and the faint sound of music in the adjacent studio.
            A thin girl with light blond hair opened the street door, allowing a cool breeze and a shaft of natural light to enter the dark room.
            “Hey, boss!” called one young man.  “Sophie’s here!”
            The music in the studio stopped and a middle-aged man wearing an orange T-shirt emerged.
            “Hi, Sophie,” he said to the blond girl.  “Glad you could make it.”
            “Hey, George,” she said, her soft voice like a kitten’s belly.  “I’ve only got about an hour.”
            “Then let’s get started,” he said, leading her toward the studio.  To the crowd of people lounging in the main room, he said, “While we’re working, why don’t you guys air it out a little in here?”  A bearded man stumbled toward him and hiccupped.  “And get Todd a cab.”
            “Yes, boss,” they chorused.
            Entering the studio, George rubbed his hands together and said, “Let’s get to work.”
            “We’re doing ‘Runaway Train’ today?” Sophie asked, thumbing through a stack of chord charts. 
            “Yeah, we’re gonna try to get it right this time,” George replied, shutting the door.  “That’s your mic there, Sophie.  Alright, guys, make me proud.”  The drummer counted off, and the band started playing.
            The music had definite symphonic metal tones, but some electronica seemed to have influenced it as well.  Sounds of an orchestra flowed from one synthesizer while futuristic, non-descript noise came from the other.  Electric guitar backed the music, but the pounding bass drum seemed most prominent.  As Sophie’s low, clear vocals began, George smiled, leaning back in his seat and admiring his lead vocalist.

            “Sorry, guys, but I have to run,” Sophie announced about an hour later.
            “Come on, just one more run through,” George said.  “We can do it this time.”
            “I already gave you one more run through,” Sophie said, taking off her headphones.  “I have a job interview and I can’t be late.”
            “You’re going to a job interview in that?” the drummer asked skeptically, eyeing her ripped jeans and slouchy Killers T-shirt.
            “Of course not,” she snapped.  “I’m going home to change.”  Opening the studio door, she said, “Sorry, George, but I gotta run.”
            “It’s alright, Sophie,” he replied, dropping her keys in her hand.  “We still on for tonight?”
            The corner of her mouth twitched as she said, “Sure thing, boss,” and passed through the front room, leaving a chorus of good-byes behind her.

            At a corner bar on 12th Street, a cab was parked on the curb.  In the backseat, the beautiful blonde was applying red lipstick.
            “Meess, you going to pay and leave?” the cab driver asked, turning to look at her.  “I must go.”
            “Yes, yes, I’ll get out,” she said impatiently, capping her lipstick, dropping it in her purse, and tossing some money over the seat.
            She opened the door of the cab and stepped out onto the warm sidewalk.  Smoothing her hair, she walked into the bar.
            “Fashionably late, Sophie?” George said, sliding off his bar stool and approaching her.
            “Always,” she replied.
            “How did your interview go?”
            “I think I got the job,” she said smoothly.  “Does it always reek like this in here?”
            “It’s just cigarette smoke,” George answered.
            “I don’t smoke.”
            “Neither do I, but in my business, you get used to it.”  Sophie smiled and said, “Only in your end of the business, George.”
            “What do you mean?”
            “I doubt producers at Columbia Records encounter as many chain smokers as you do.”
            “They don’t encounter as much talent, either.”
            Sophie shrugged and propped herself on a bar stool.
            “Are you gonna be available to work tomorrow?” George asked.
            “It’s Saturday,” she responded.
            “We need to finish the record.”
            “I’d rather not work on Saturday.”
            “If you insist,” he said, sighing.
            “I’d also rather not talk about work tonight,” she added, smiling.  “Let’s talk about something else.”
            So they did.  All night, until finally they each caught cabs home.

            As Sophie was applying her make-up the following morning, her cell phone rang.  Glancing at the caller ID, she ascertained that it was her potential boss, Jonathan, calling.
            “Hello?”
            “Sophie?”
            “Yes.”  She applied a second coat of mascara.
            “I was wondering if you could come in and do some work for me this afternoon.”
            “Then I got the job?”
            “Of course,” he said with a little snicker.
            “What time should I come in?”
            “About two?  And maybe you’ll be off by six.”
            “Will do,” she said.
            “See you then.”  And he hung up.
            “Work on Saturdays,” she muttered, opening her closet and pulling out a sophisticated skirt and blouse.  “Work clothes,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

            A crisp, white sign baked in the Tennessee sun.  Classic black lettering read “Music News Weekly.”
            Inside the air conditioned office, a handsome, dark-haired man sat behind a computer.  Running his fingers through his hair, he took a drink of his iced coffee.  He typed on the computer, scribbled on a notepad, snatched a piece of paper off the corner of his desk, checked his watch, and looked up as the door opened.
            “Right on time,” he said with a grin, standing up and eyeing his visitor up and down.
            “Wouldn’t want to be late on my first day of work, would I, Mr. Anders?” Sophie said, smiling.
            “Call me Jonathan,” he replied.  “I’m glad you could make it this afternoon.  There’s a new band doing a show in town tonight and I want to catch them beforehand for an interview.”
            “Why did you need me?” Sophie asked.  Jonathan grinned.
            “They’re young men.  They’ll respond better to a hot chick.”
            Sophie stiffened, but laughed and bit her lip.
            “Anyway, I’m just finishing up here,” Jonathan said, sitting back down at his desk.  “That’s your desk there; you can check it out.”
            As Sophie took a seat, she smoothed her skirt and let out an unsteady sigh.  Setting her things on the desk, she began inspecting her new workplace—opening drawers, testing the feel of the mouse, trying out the computer.
            “Ready, beautiful?” Jonathan said a few minutes later.  Sophie snatched her purse and notebook and said, “Yeah.”

            A cab pulled up to the curb in front of the Music News Weekly office.  A homeless man across the street watched an attractive couple climb out.  His stomach rumbled when he heard the man say something about dinner, but they soon disappeared inside the building.
            “I don’t know…” Sophie said as they were greeted by an air conditioned rush.
            “Come on, I have reservations for six-thirty,” Jonathan urged.  “You look so nice; I have to show you off.”  Sophie turned her back and began digging through her purse.
            “Well?” Jonathan asked.  “Will you go with me?  It’s a Chinese place, with authentic food.”
            “I’m actually not that hungry,” she said over her shoulder.
            “You will be when you see their fried rice.”  He approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders.  “Please?” he whispered in her ear.
            Sophie stepped away and turned to face him.
            “What can I say?” she said with a nervous giggle.  “I guess I’ll have to go.”
            Triumphant, Jonathan straightened his tie, checked his watch, and announced, “Then we had better get going.”

            George pushed open the door of a restaurant entirely unfamiliar to him—but a friend had recommended it.  On the night he was alone, he would eat well.
            After ordering Mongolian beef and fried rice, he began inspecting the other guests.  An older man near the corner ate like he hadn’t in weeks.  George peered further into the corner, where a couple snuggled in a booth.  He was tall and dark, with a look of Chris Pine about him.  Her hair was so blond it looked white.
            George rose with a start, walked just close enough to the table to see her grey eyes shining out of the shadow, and left the restaurant.

            “Who was that?” Jonathan asked, resting his fingers on Sophie’s left hand.
            “Just my other boss.”  In her right hand, her napkin became a tight ball.
            “He looked upset.”
            “He was just trying to recognize you.”  Her nails clawed into the napkin.
            “He was probably wishing he were young enough to go out to dinner with a girl like you.”  Jonathan stroked Sophie’s wrist.
            “Mm.”  Sophie grabbed her glass and took a drink.
            “Is this your napkin, beautiful?”

            A classic, southern woman walked out of church, greeted the pastor, and yelled at her unruly son.  Behind her, a far-from-classic southern belle turned her cell phone on as she stepped out into the late morning air.  A middle-aged man pocketed a rarely-used comb as he caught up with the girl.
            “Sophie!” he called.  She stopped and turned.
            “Hey, George.”
            “So you got the job.”
            “They say the job market’s on the rise,” she commented.
            “I doubt that had much to do with it,” he said with a grimace.  She placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
            “I’ll work tonight if you want,” she offered.
            “The guys are hung over,” George replied.  “I’ll give them another day.”
            “I’m not doing anything at all today, then.”  She looked at a tuft of grass in a crack.
            “How ‘bout a drink at my house?”
            “Just one?”
            “Just one.”
            The corner of her mouth itched toward her cheek as she agreed.

            George’s house wasn’t large, but it was neat.  He served martinis in martini glasses and beer in mugs.
            At the bar, he leaned close to his pretty friend.
            “My birthday is coming up,” he said, tracing the rim of his glass with his fingertip.
            “Old man,” Sophie teased.
            “I’m going to be forty,” he said.  “That’s almost old enough to be your father.”
            “You’d be an awfully young father,” she answered.  “You were only fifteen when I was born.”
            He raised his hand tentatively to touch her chin.
            “You’re so young,” he said.  “What are you doing hanging out with an old guy like me?”
            “Expanding my horizons,” she said.
            “Trying new things?”
            “Learning to love.”
            He looked at her for a moment, then held up the bottle of champagne.
            “Another glass?” he asked.
            “You promised: just one,” she said, smiling halfway.

            Rock harmonies and cigarette smoke floated out the open door into the street.  A couple young men and a red-haired girl sat on the sidewalk, playing their guitars and singing.  A well-dressed man passed by the door and wrinkled his nose.
            Inside the studio, Sophie and the band were perfecting their last song for the album, under George’s supervision.  As the last strains of music faded, George cut the recording and heaved a sigh.
            “That’s it!” he said.  “We’ll shoot the pictures for the cover tomorrow, Sophie.”
            “You’ll be taking those?” she asked.
            “Yeah.  Hey, listen, I’ve got a new song I want to show you.  Stick around, alright?”
            “Sure, just get me out of this room.  The heat’s making me develop claustrophobia.”  Sophie stood up and entered the main room.
            At any given time in the day or night, there were usually about ten aspiring musicians hanging around George’s studio—more when George himself was there.  They all hoped to get their big break when the boss heard them play, and while they were waiting, they talked about music and wasted their money on cigarettes and booze.  George let them stay because they had potential and did odd jobs for him.
            Thomas had been around, playing his guitar, keeping the other wannabes under control, and admiring Sophie for years.  No one knew how he made enough money to live, but no one asked.  They all wanted him to stay forever.  The studio wouldn’t be the studio without Thomas.
            As she took a seat, Sophie let out a sigh and turned her face toward the door.
            Putting out his cigarette, Thomas came and sat next to her.
            “Waitin’ for the boss?” he asked.
            “Mm.”
            “Role reversal.”
            “What?”
            “He’s been waitin’ for you long enough.”  Thomas smiled at Sophie’s surprised expression.  “Don’t you know he heard you sing in Boston five years ago?  He’s been waitin’ for you to grow up ever since.”
            “Boston…” Sophie muttered.  “I like to pretend I’ve never been that far north.”
            “What’s a high class girl like you doing in a joint like this, Sophie?” Thomas asked.  She turned her grey eyes on him and he knew.  “In a way, you have been waiting for the boss to grow up, too, haven’t you?” he said.  “For him to grow up enough to see that there’s nothing magical about age.”
            “Maybe,” Sophie murmured.  And George walked in.

            A rare cool day in Tennessee allowed Sophie and George to spend hours outdoors taking pictures.
            “This lighting is amazing, Sophie,” George said.  “The clouds are perfect, and you look beautiful.  It’s a wonderful day for a photo shoot.”
            “Wonderful day for a photo shoot,” Sophie echoed sarcastically.  “I think six new zits appeared this morning.”
            “Ah, I remember the days of acne,” George said with a smile.  “But those days are long past.  Anyone that suffers from acne would never notice anyone like me.” 
            “That’s not true,” Sophie retorted.  He turned to look at her.  They paused for a moment, each wondering the same thing.
            “Is it time?” he whispered.  “Have I waited long enough?”
            Sophie approached him and took the camera from his hands.  Setting it aside, she asked him, “Would you want to take care of a kid?”
            “Could you possibly like an old man?” he asked.  But Sophie placed her hands on either side of his face and said, “He aged well.  I’m not sure I would have wanted him ten years younger.”
            George pulled his little girl close and did what he had waited five years to do: he kissed her.  But kisses are like wine—the longer you wait for them, the sweeter they are.

            Inside the Music News Weekly building, Jonathan had just finished a job interview.  She was plump and eager to please; he didn’t like her.
            “Welcome to work, Sophie,” he said as his favorite piece of candy walked in from the morning air. 
            “The girl outside said she’d just interviewed for a job here,” Sophie said as she walked to her desk.
            “That’s right.”
            “I think you should hire her; she’d make a good journalist.”
            “I’m not inclined to,” he said, leaning back in his chair.  “For one thing, we don’t have an empty desk.”
            Sophie snatched her crisp, new name plate off her desk and dropped it in the trash.
            “Now you do.”  With that, she strode out of the office, across the street into the waiting arms of her favorite boss.
            “Sophie,” George whispered into her ear.  “’Runaway Train’ hit iTunes at nine this morning.  It’s already at the top of the charts.”
            “No!” Sophie gasped, looking up into his face.  “Really?”
            He nodded.  “Darling, you’re a star,” he said.
            She pressed her lips to his. 
            “I love you,” she said.
            “Ah, my little rock star,” he answered.  “How lovable you are.”

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

I'm Asking for Your Heartbeat


Press my ear up against your chest
Let me hear your heartbeat
Let it be the music in my ears
I want that rhythm to pound in my veins
I want my heart to beat with yours
Lord Jesus, let our hearts beat as one

Let me look through your eyes
See what you see
Give me your vision
May your vision be mine
May my vision be yours

Knit my life into yours
Let me be caught up in you

Monday, September 24, 2012

A New Shade of Blue


There is a blue unlike the ocean
Unlike the sky
Unlike the thread in my mother’s box
Unlike the pencil between my fingers
It is the depths of a mile-long well
Where sunlight doesn’t reach
Except in streaks of lighter blue
That highlight the deeper hue
It is a story of love and anguish
Of excitement and despair
It is a word with no name
It is a message that cannot be said
This blue is a sky realer than real
A sea deeper than deep
It is a world I’d love to explore
It is incomprehensible, this blue
It is the colour of your eyes

Interesting note: I don't usually revise my poems once I've finished them, but I did go back and change a couple lines in this one just because I was having such a hard time describing this particular shade of blue.  I would read it and go, "No, that's not quite right.  This phrase would be more accurate," and change it.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Relationships, a River


When you meet someone, you’re jumping into a river.  The river runs with chemicals; they affect your emotions.  The water feels good; the water is happiness; it is pleasure.
Soon, as you float along the river, there is a fork.  To the left, a wide stream flows fast and deep into the great unknown.  To the right, a slight trickle flows over gently sloping ground, far into the distance until it disappears into the distant mist.
Here, a decision is before you: the slow, waning stream with not quite enough water to satisfy, or all that beautiful, gushing fluid in the main rush?  The current pulls you to the wide and the fast, so of course that is where you choose to go.
It is pleasure beyond measure, plenty of water, plenty of love.  But your gushing river rounds a corner, turns sour, and pours into the ground, disappearing.  No more pleasure, no more love.  You can’t go back now, but you think about what could have been.
You could have fought your way down the trickle, drinking up all the water you could.  It would have been long and hard, but in good time you would have reached the sea.  There it is: the sea of limitless pleasure.  No boundaries, only happiness.
“I don’t know what his price would have been, but it would have been worth it.”

Saturday, June 16, 2012

God's Reasonable Expectations

1 Corinthians 10:13-14 says, “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptations he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.  Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry.”


Paul says, “Flee idolatry,” with all this stuff about how God will help you escape temptation, and how this is not an unreasonable request.  I think to the Corinthians, idolatry may have been one of those sins that were so prevalent in their culture that Christians thought it was going a bit too far to try to avoid them.  In 21st Century America, these might be premarital sex, immodest clothing, of even “little” things like gossiping, joking inappropriately…


But when God asks us to refrain from these things, he is not being unreasonable; he will not allow us to be tempted beyond what we can bear.  With the temptation he will also provide a way of escape.


Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®(ESV®), copyright ©2001 by Crossway.  Used by permission.  All rights reserved.