The World

What is “The World”?

After my tirade about Us vs. Them, (you may want to read that post before reading this one) I got to wondering about the meaning of “The World” as used in the religious sense. James 4:4 states that “the friendship of the world is enmity with God”. That sounds pretty bad. 1 John 2:15 encourage believers to “Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him.”

But doesn’t John 3:16 (written by the same author) say that “God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son?” So, it seems to me that there must be a distinction between the people of the world and some other kind of world–the one that 1 John 2:16 discusses: “all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but of the world.”

Romans 8:38-39 is the apostle Paul teaching that “I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Separate Us from the love of God. Who is the Us that Paul is talking about? Is it just the Romans? Just the members of the church to which Paul belongs?

I submit that the Us is all of God’s children; all mankind.

Then I see some guy in a three piece suit sitting in church, talking about how the world only cares about money. Who is he talking about? Who is the They that he dispises so much? Who are the unfortunately people who don’t belong to his club? I don’t think he knows. I think he just likes having someone else to look down upon. I know I do. I like to look down on well-dressed Mormons. They aren’t as enlighted as Me.

So, next time you hear someone talk about “The World,” do me a favor: ask him what category of people he is talking about, and why he doesn’t fit into that category. Then let me know.

Us vs. Them

I hate most religious discussions that focus on Us vs. Them. I am convinced that God wants people to be united in the cause of good. Call it Zion, the Kingdom of God, or Islam or whatever you like. This idea seems to find its way into religions of all kinds. There is the basic idea that We are better than Them, and if only They would be one of Us, the world wouldn’t be a terrible place anymore.

This is where most bloggers people denounce “organized religion” and say that more people have died because of religion than anything else. I don’t know if that is true, but I wouldn’t doubt it. Religious people seem to be really good at missing the point of their religion. They are so interested in making Us better than Them, that they fail to realize that the Us/Them mentality is the problem in the first place.

In “The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ”, there is an account of the Resurrected Jesus Christ visiting a group of people that had been ravaged by their own evil practices. After preaching and establishing his church among these people, Jesus left them. Very uncharacteristically, these people didn’t immediately revert back to self-destructive practices. Instead, they took the message of Christianity to heart. They shared their possessions with each other. “There were no envyings, nor strifes, nor tumults, nor whoredoms, nor lyings, nor murders, nor any manner of lasciviousness; and surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God. And there were no robbers, nor murderers, neither were their Lamanites, nor any manner of -ites; but they were in one, the Children of Christ, and heirs to the Kingdom of God. And how blessed were they!” (4 Nephi 1:16-18) (This should be verses sixteen thru eighteen, not a crumby emoticon.)

Previously, there had been several groups that had been named according to their respective progenitors. Much like the many, many -ites of the Old Testament, there were Samites, Lamanites, Lemuelites, Nephites, Zoramites, and other -ites. However, it is noted that these people were extremely happy at a time when there weren’t any -ites. There wasn’t an Us/Them mentality. There was only Us.

The story continues to tell of the next four hundred years, and how this society became depraved and abominable. We aren’t just talking about vanity, theft, and murder–we are talking about Nazi levels of evil. Feeding women the flesh of their husbands, for example. What I find interesting, is the first step down this slippery slope. What is it? Vulgarity? Drugs? The Media? No. “There was still peace in the land, save it were a small part of the people who had revolted from the church and taken upon them the name of Lamanites; therefore there began to be Lamanites again in the land.” (4 Nephi 1:20)

The account continues to discuss the evils of valuing possessions, so most people that read the account dwell on that. For me, it is the division that is so troubling.

To the credit of the non-Lamanites, it was the Lamanites that started it. The Lamanites left and started calling themselves Lamanites. They weren’t kicked out and labeled. But regardless of the cause, the division was made.

For reasons still unclear to me, I decided to start attending many different churches. One immediate benefit of doing so was a dissolve of the artificial Us/Them boundary. I had heard to much about Them by religious types, that They had been painted as people that were blind at best, evil at worst. They didn’t know what We know, so they are lesser people. We can try to save Them, but if They won’t be saved, They have no place in Our kingdom.

It just isn’t true. After all, it isn’t Our kingdom. It is God’s Kingdom. Since He is nice enough to let Us in, doesn’t it stand to reason that He will let Them in too. More to the point, do you think God really looks at His children in the same way we look at each other? I doubt it.

I see the boys in my second grade class play at recess, and I notice a very normal phenomenon. When they play, they must first decide who is a Jedi and who is a Sith. You see, a light saber is not fun without someone to use it on. What good is force lightning without an enemy? So, the purpose of being on a side is not to know who is in the club, but rather, to know who is not in the club. If everyone was a Jedi, it wouldn’t be any fun to have super powers.

As for my religion, I have tried to put my lightsaber away and say, “You know what, we all have the force in one way or another. Why don’t we just work together to put on a really cool magic show?” That went about as far as a sandpaper plate on a felt tabletop. The Baptists tell me that I shouldn’t worship with the Muslims; the Muslims say I shouldn’t worship with the Catholics; the Catholics say I shouldn’t worship with the Mormons; the Mormons say I shouldn’t worship with anybody. Everyone is so nice and welcoming until they find out that I don’t want to switch clubs. I just want to be friends with everybody, but everybody says no.

I’m Glad No Adults Saw This

When the day was over, I looked at my white board.  Then I had a good laugh.

There is a good reason for everything that was written there, but I’m glad my principal didn’t pop in for an evalution that day.

Coolest Graffiti Ever

If found this while I was on a walk in American Fork.

I’m not saying I agree; I just think it is friggin’ hiliarious.

Even If We’re Different…

I found this delightful truth scratched onto one of my students’ worksheets.

That’s right, it reads “even if we’re different, we still share chocolate.  P.S. it’s very, very yummy.”

Financial Security

I attended a conference last year, and Wells Fargo was kind enough to offer some some training on Money Management. The first slide of their PowerPoint presentation did not inspire confidence.

I waited for the inevitable question to be asked by the unsuspecting presenter: “Any questions?”

I raised my hand with enthusiasm. After I was called on, I asked, “Why is my finacial future represented by a house of cards?”

The presenter turned red, looked at the slide, looked at me, looked at the slide, and admitted that she had no idea.

She Doesn’t Fit Her Face

She would curse her face

if she didn’t love her temple.

Her face will never bear the scars

that she inwardly treats at night.

Her smiling stone wall

wishes for a safe passage gate…but not yet.

She needs a man that doesn’t want

and a woman that doesn’t compliment her greenly

She loves her family without reservation—

it is the only love she can give safely.

Her sunshine is wasted, only shining strangers

while her darkness overpowers familiar flames.

She keeps her distance;

she has no closeness to keep.

She knows why she cries—

mostly on accident.

She knows why she should smile, and so does it often—

mostly on purpose.

She hopes people will see past her shine inherited

jealous of the sparkle earned.

She will someday love a flesh-filled statue

because he will know her.

She will forget her face, just as it begins to fade.

Made Up

Someday, you’re going to make some man think he’s so happy. 

That’s when you will learn what real love is.

You will let your true self out

And you will be amazed that he stays with you.

But he will just call it engagement jitters.

He will look forward to the you that he fell in love with

In the first place.

The other you; the spurious you.

By the time he realizes that he didn’t want to marry you

But rather, the catalogue of you,

It will be too late.

He’ll be stuck with the real you; the atrophied you.

You’ll never feel rejection like this.

It will hurt you every night and with every kiss.

You won’t be able to cover that up with make-up,

But you will die trying.

Friends

Every Sunday at 12:01, I see her.  I imagine that she leaves for the same reason I do—but I can’t be sure.  Friends don’t talk about that kind of thing.

Before we were friends, we would have the most wonderful discussions.  She discussed philosophy with me.  She would give assertions followed by confirmations and disconfirmations.  She would ask questions that were so thought provoking that I would actually have to think to answer them.  She was not the usual female stimulus/response model that I was used to feeding questions through.

Before we were friends, she was an elegant cynic.  She hated all the right things for all the right reasons.  Beauty was so much more that aesthetics and she knew it.  She lived it.  She could heckle high art not because she didn’t get it, but because she understood it better than the hack that created it.  She could twist her voice into a low registered giggle that thumped with intelligence.

Before we were friends, I failed to compliment her on her wardrobe.  It was so very plain that there were no punctuation marks to arouse my voice.  She wore a monotone of fashion that focused all of her beauty where it belongs.  Her eyes, her smile, her mind.

As we started to become friends, I could tell her that she looked nice.  Of course, these were the times when I could tell that she had made an effort to pretend to be someone else.  I was feeding the beauty lie because that’s what she was supposed to want.  I was saying, “There is only one kind of beauty and you are approaching it.”  I imagine that she hated hearing it as much as I hated saying it—but I can’t be sure.  Friends don’t talk about that kind of thing.

What I wanted to say was, “You are beautiful.  Why aren’t more girls beautiful like you?”  After all, she is the kind of beautiful that she can’t rub off by falling asleep on a corduroyed couch cushion.  She isn’t two faced in appearance, juggling wake-up face with make-up face.  Even when she has a cold, she is breathtaking.  Even when she limps, she is graceful.

Then, the idea that I had heard thousands of times rang true for the first time.  “Men are idiots.”  How could I not be an idiot to have this pinnacle of form wandering off in my periphery?  Why was I not treasuring her?  I must indeed be an idiot.

She did not deserve an idiot.  She deserved something salient and potent.  So I made every effort to pretend to be someone else.  I gave in to the beauty lie because that’s what she was supposed to want.  I was saying, “There is only one kind of beauty and I’m approaching it.”  I don’t have to imagine that she hated seeing it as much as I hated being it—I’m sure.  She told me.

She also told me that she wanted to be friends.  This is, of course, a code.  ‘Friends’ means not friends.  Like telling someone that you love the Christmas sweater; ‘I love it’ is code for I hate it.  It is so very difficult to say such things that only the opposite can come out.  The phrase “But I’d love to keep going out” actually means “I don’t want to go out anymore.”

Now that we are friends, I don’t keep tabs on what interests her.  I don’t try to remember what flavor is her favorite or what country she wants to visit someday.  I don’t call her to tell her that today coincided with what we talked about yesterday.  I don’t get her take on something I have been thinking about.  That’s not what friends do.

Friends ignore each other.  Friends hope that the phone won’t ring.  Friends get on with their lives and look back on what they learned.

Now that we are friends, we don’t go out anymore.  Not to movies, or parties, or strolls.  We don’t even talk anymore.  There is no more philosophy or assertions.  We rehearse the empty dialogues about the weather and how nice church was.  She asks me how I am and I do my best to change the subject.  How can I tell her that I am more enamored by her than I have ever been?  How do I tell her that she is standard against which all other women are held?  How can I tell her that I will never be fine in her presence again?

Now that we’re friends, I imagine that she is more comfortable—but I can’t be sure.  Friends don’t talk about that kind of thing.

 

Fleeting

.

I’ve got that feeling.  The feeling that I can walk out into traffic and no car will hit me; not out of luck, but out of genuine respect for how great I am. 

I am a genius again. 

I am a justified narcissist. 

I am the guy to know; I am the man to desire. 

It must be September.    

I’ve got that feeling.  The feeling that I can walk out into traffic and no car will hit me; they’d better not, they owe me. 

I am the wasted genius again. 

The world doesn’t deserve me, but they are too stupid to know that. 

The guys laugh at me; the man to be admired at a distance. 

It must be December.    

I’ve got that feeling.  The feeling that I can walk out into traffic and no car will hit me; but, oh, how I wish it would. 

Maybe I’m just a retard with delusions of grandeur.

They didn’t even care that I was here.

They will recognize me in a restaurant some day, but they won’t say hello.

It must be May.    

I’ve got that feeling.  I hate all this traffic. 

Maybe I should just run my car into that Wal-Mart truck; do the world two favors that they wouldn’t appreciate even once.

I should build a bomb that would flip them off before destroying them.

Principles are for chumps like me; they’d like me if I bought riches and beauty.

It must be July.