The Power of Silliness

I am becoming an old person.  The years are stacking up.  I suppose retirement does that by creating an awareness that the times are changing and there is nothing that can change that.  Life is serious and that seriousness is being seen and experienced through younger and fresher eyes.  Generations experience life differently.  This transition into the realm of elderliness becomes more obvious with each passing day.  I and my generation are now becoming categories in Trivial Pursuit and the “do you remember” questions asked at the end of the nightly news.  I am becoming a relic . . . and old relic at that. 

This is not anything that has been pointed out by the masses.  We, there are those smart aleck people who relish the old age putdowns when they have the chance . . . but for the most part it is more subtle.  When going out to play with the grandchildren, I hear my children say, “Be careful with Papa.”  A reminder that Papa is getting older, slower, and more breakable.  Wouldn’t want to break Papa!  “You, okay?” is another subtle reminder I get whenever I moan or groan with any movement I make.  Most of the time I am just moaning and groaning because it is expected at my age and I do not want to disappoint.  Gotta play the part whether there is a reason for the moaning or groaning.  The children are gracious in their subtle hints at my movement into being old.

 

It is not like I am not aware of this transition into old age.  I may be old, but I get the hints.  The biggest culprit is my body.  It seems that arthritis and its buddy rheumatoid like to play tag with the joints and muscles in my hands daily.  Sometimes they even expand their playfulness and wander up my arms to camp out in my elbows.  Stamina isn’t what it used to be.  The heart and lungs rebel more than they used to.  They tend to send reminders to slow down and don’t overdo it.  The heart is especially adamant in letting me know that if it goes, so goes everything else.  Eyesight is fading . . . we now have a drive in size television.  Hearing is following closely . . . thank goodness the big screen television comes with closed captioning.  I’m not complaining about the hearing going as I am discovering that a lot of what people want to tell me really doesn’t matter to me.  Memory is staking a claim in the race to physical disintegration of my body.  I catch myself often forgetting little things here and there.  Which has actually been wonderful as it has provided multiple epiphanies once I remember what I forget.  A whole lot of “oh, yeah” moments.

 

So, yes, I am joining the ranks of the elderly.  I am assuming my place in the geriatric choir where we sing lots of songs from the 1970s—Beatles, Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, CSNY—instead of the hymns of our parents.  I am old, but I ain’t dead yet.  Nope, I’m experiencing a “Merlin”.

 

In T.H. White’s Arthurian legend, The Once and Future King, the child Arthur is taught and mentored by the old wizard Merlin. As the story begins Merlin has reached the peak of his age and has begun his descent down the mountain of age.  As the child Arthur grows older each year, Merlin grows younger—he lives backwards, starting as an old man and aging toward infancy.  I have entered the “Merlin” stage of my life . . . I regress.

 

What a wonderful gift it has been to backtrack and rediscover the beauty and joy of life that have been repressed by the duties, responsibilities, and expectations of adulthood.  There is much to re-learn, re-experience, and re-grasp.  Too often I forget this gift . . . this regression.  Yet there are those who remind me.  Where my children focus on my journey of aging, my grandchildren see the other side.  They see the gift of my youth shining through the wrinkles and cracks of old age.  They recognize the “child” in me and encourage that “child” to come out and play.  After spending a week with two of my visiting grandchildren it is more obvious that the “child” in me is emerging.

 

And the “child” rejoices.

 

The greatest gift revealed from my childhood has been silliness.  Garrison Keillor recently wrote in his weekly column: “Silliness is essential to human life, it’s proof that life can be joyful, we need not die from indifference.”  As my grandchildren have told me many times, “Papa, you are silly.”

 

They are right.  I am silly.  A week with my grandchildren amplified the silliness often hidden from the judgmental eyes of adults in my life.  From discovering rocks and their hidden identities waiting to be released with a little paint.  Drawing pictures with chalk releasing a world others cannot see on the sidewalk before them.  Making joyful and beautiful music with a kazoo that others claim is noise.  Drawing pirates, Easter bunnies, flowers, caterpillars, and butterflies on windows with markers.  Basking in popsicles.  Waging battles against unseen foes with all the sound effects of the old Batman series . . . boom, bam, wham, and POW!  Wearing two different colored socks.  Blowing bubbles in the milk glass.  Constantly giggling, laughing . . . and doing it some more . . . at really bad jokes, puns, and riddles.  Teasing.  A whole lot of silliness.

 

And it was joyful!  A celebration of life.  A wonderful dance of love . . . and if you have ever seen me dance, you’d know silliness.  For a while nothing else mattered.  There wasn’t the drama of a crazy orange person in the White House.  No worries about inflation and rising gas prices.  No thoughts about war and injustice.  No pictures of meanness or cruelty.  No fussing and fighting.  No darkness blocking the sun. Only blissfulness and joy of embracing the silliness of childhood and life . . . and it was good.  For this reminder I am thankful.

 

I may be seen as old and elderly by the world around me, but I regress.  As I regress, the “child” I once was with all the dreams and hope that youth can hold comes tumbling towards me.  It is a gift . . . a wondrous, beautiful gift of life that reminds me that I am loved and cared for.  I may be getting old, but I am not dead or forgotten.  Nope, I’m still here and I am . . . silly.  Silly and enjoying life.  And it is good . . . really good.

 

Life is pretty dark and tough right now.  We are all experiencing our age in these difficult times.  It is frustrating and scary.  Dark.  Because of this I encourage you to pause, find a child, and spend some time getting silly.  It is good for the soul.  It will help you to see and remind you that life is good . . . life is beautiful . . . that it is joyful.  Silliness reveals what the eyes cannot see but what we need to see.  As Johnny Nash once sang:

 

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

 

It’s gonna be a bright, bright

Sun-shiny day

It’s gonna be a bright, bright

Sun-shiny day

 

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone

All the bad feelings have disappeared

Here is the rainbow I’ve been prayin’ for

 

It’s gonna be a bright, bright

Sun-shiny day

 

Look all around, there’s nothin’ but blue skies

Look straight ahead, nothin’ but blue skies

 

The power of silliness . . . the power of growing old.

 

Beholder

“People often say that 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder,' and I say that the most liberating thing about beauty is realizing that you are the beholder. This empowers us to find beauty in places where others have not dared to look, including inside ourselves.”

(Salma Hayek)

I am guilty . . . but, I am not the only one.  We are all guilty.  I don’t think most of us mean to be guilty, but we are . . . it just happens.  In the realization that it has happened, we know that we are guilty.  What is it that we are guilty of?  Well, we are guilty of being judgmental . . . guilty of being snobbish and non-inclusive . . . guilty of being prejudice knowingly and unknowingly . . . guilty of being incongruent between what we say we believe, what we say, and what we actually do.  We are guilty of being hypocritical.  I am guilty of it . . . most of us are guilty of it. 

Whenever the congregations of the church gather for study, worship, prayer, and fellowship there is going to be a good time.  The brothers and sisters are going to let it all hang out and get into the spirit of hospitality and fellowship.  The Spirit is going to dance with everyone.  People are going to feel good.  There are going to be “hallelujahs” . . . “praise the Lord” . . . and smiles everywhere are people experience a sort of koinonia—a sense of community.  Church gatherings are always a blast as the brothers and sister come together . . . and, this past weekend it was no different as the communion I am associated with came together for its annual meeting . . . there was a feeling of “common unity” or community . . . koinonia. 

Yet, as perfect as that picture was . . . the body of Christ celebrating, worshipping, praying, and fellowshipping with as one . . . cracks were appearing from the git go.  Cracks that as the weekend went on became more apparent . . . and the guilt came seeping in to my mind and my heart.  As much as we all wanted to embrace this time of wholeness and holiness, the truth of the matter is that the edges of the picture was fuzzier than most of us would have imagined.  In the shadows . . . what was that that was lurking in the shadows . . . or, more importantly, who was that lurking in the shadows?

From time to time I ask the congregation that I serve to take a moment and look around the sanctuary . . . to look around the sanctuary and see who is not there.  I challenge them to look at the table—the Lord’s Table—and see who is not there.  It is peculiar to me how the “church” or the “body of believers” can say one thing while something completely different is the reality.  I cannot think of a “church” or “body of believers” that does not believe and state that they believe that Jesus and God loves everyone . . . EVERYONE.  So, we need to be reminded from time to time to look around the table . . . to look around the sanctuary . . . to see who is not there.

For the most part I do not believe that this exclusion is purposeful . . . I just think that, for the most part, we are just not conscious of it.  It might be because we live in pretty homogeneous communities where everyone pretty much does look and act like everyone else.  It might be that we have old church structures that are inaccessible.  Who knows?  The facts are the facts and they show that our communities of faith are pretty segregated . . . by race, age, abilities, gender, income, education, and so on.  Yet, each and every one of these communities of faith state that they welcome all to join them . . . to become one of the family.  So, why are there empty seats at the table?

My guilt hit me as the wife and I were decompressing from the weekend festivities on our long drive home.  She shared a conversation she had with another person who had been in attendance at this “family” gathering . . . how she and her husband had left their daughter home because they did not feel that she was “welcomed”.  Their daughter struggles with mental illness . . . she can be loud, unruly, and at times seem inappropriate.  This woman said that there was no place for her daughter in the church . . . the church could not handle her behavior, didn’t know how to respond, how to be hospitable to someone who was “different” than the rest.  No youth retreats . . . no church camp . . . no church gathering.  The crack widen.

I mentioned how there had been a call for help to those who were gathered.  How I witnessed one offer her services to help . . . but was refused.  She more than anyone wanted to handle.  Now, she was not refused gruffly . . . but, denied anyway.  I witnessed how others were embraced in their offers, while others were gently put off.  The crack widened a little more.

The youth . . . the good ol’ future of the church . . . they were missing for the most part too.  True, youth can be noisy, loud, rowdy, inappropriate, whiny, and more of a hassle than a help . . . but, aren’t we all?  Oh, we saw glimpses of them here and there, but they were never really fully welcomed into the fellowship as full members of the group.  For some reason they just sort of showed up for a few things here and there . . . didn’t really participate in the conversation . . . in the fellowship.  The crack . . . grew a little more.

People of color . . . well, we were pretty lily white . . . and, we were pretty old . . . as the ones who gathered from around the state.  Sunday morning, well the host congregation muddied up the waters . . . but, outside of the national speakers, there was very little color in our gathering . . . very few youth . . . it continued to widen this crack that started out so fine that the naked eye could not see it.

People of disabilities . . . again, few and far between.  There were a few in wheelchairs . . . and, a few others.  For the most part, we were a pretty healthy group.

I do not want anyone who reads this to think that this was not a wonderful event . . . a wonderful celebration . . . a worthy mark in the spiritual journey.  It was.  There speakers inspired . . . the music was beautiful . . . the hospitality was gracious . . . the fellowship fun . . . it was a great event.  Probably one of the best that our gathering has thrown in a long, long time . . . but despite the wondrous joy of it all, there were cracks in our gathering, shadows on the edge, and people missing from the table.  And, for the most part, it was unintentional . . . sins of omission.  I do not think that anyone purposefully set out to exclude anyone . . . but, it happened.  So, mixed in the joy I felt was guilt.

I like the quote above by Salma Hayek who reminds us that we are the “beholders” . . . we are the ones who hold the key to the gate.  If beauty is truly in the eyes of the beholder . . . the beholder is the one who controls the gate for who gets in and out . . . then what does it say about us as beholders when we look around and realize how empty the table really is?  I doubt if many of us really take the time to examine our “likes” and “dislikes” as we go about our daily lives . . . to listen to our words and compare then to what we do.  Are they congruent . . . or do we walk a different talk than we talk?  As I said, we are all guilty of it.

The Spirit works in mysterious ways in each of our lives.  Sometimes (if not a whole bunch of the time) we miss the Spirit’s prodding in our lives.  It was a beautiful drive through the mountains and landscape of Montana as we returned from the church gathering.  Yet, the Spirit was there working . . . poking . . . challenging . . . and, ripping open those cracks letting the sun shine through.  Guilt should not be embraced, but should be explored . . . explored for its root causes . . . to open up what it is exactly about ourselves that we did not like.  In the conversation of the journey, I came to realize that I still have a long way to go . . . I came to realize that the church has a long ways to go.  There are still those in the shadows . . . those on the edge . . . those missing from the table.  Sometimes I and others stumble into the kingdom, but more often than not we trip right over the opportunities without ever realizing it.  Yep, that is the Spirit at work.

The theme of our church gathering was based on the story of the Good Samaritan and Jesus’ challenge to “go and do” . . . to “go and do” as the Samaritan did in the story.  It was a rousing challenge and charge . . . one that I think many embraced . . . and, it scratched my heart and soul as it prodded me to reflect and pray . . . where do I “go and do”?  Where do I start?  I start with the Beholder . . . I start with myself.  If there were those who were absent from the table then it is up to me to invite them, assist them, and to stand by them so that the other Beholders can begin to see them.  It is my voice that must be the voice for those in the shadows . . . those who are forgotten.  It is I who needs to start living koinonia . . . living in the common unity of being God’s creations and children . . . if I am to be honest is getting up to “go and do”.  It is amazing what a little guilt can do to one’s spirit.

It was a wonderful weekend.  It was filled with honest joy and worship.  It had great fellowship.  As one who beholds—as a Beholder—the journey begins with me as I begin to clear my vision to embrace the eyes of the One who Beholds me . . . the One who sees beauty in me . . . loves me . . . and accepts me for who I am.  May all the Beholders find this same vision and beauty.

Laugh or Cry--The Weekly News

Oh, the shades of Lysistrata!  For those of you who do not know Lysistrata was a comedy written in 411 BC by the Greek playwright Aristophanes--a writer who knew his subjects well.  It is a simple premise: The women of Greece organize themselves and refuse to have sex until the men quit warring.  Now it seems that this ploy has been successfully used in Barbacoas, Colombia.  Apparently the the highway in and out of this community was in terrible condition.  It is so abysmal that it takes up to 14 hours to reach the nearest hospital, 60 miles away--far too long to save a mother and infant in a complicated childbirth.  Despite complains for a very, very long time the government did nothing to repair the road . . . so the women took matters into their own hands, or is that legs?  The women of the small community organized a "strike of crossed legs"--they decided to withhold sex from their husbands until the road was repaired.  The 300-some women were on strike for over a month before national coverage of the strike broke the story.  The government has promised to begin new paving work on the highway starting in October.  I wonder if that would work with our federal government?  You never know!

University of Texas economist Daniel Hamermesh states: "Ugly people earn less than average-looking people, and average-looking people earn less than the beautiful."  Apparently good-looking men earn an average of 17 percent more than average looking men, while good-looking women earn 12 percent more than the average-looking women--over a lifetime that could be as much as $230,000!  This is all proven through studies over the years.  Hammermesh's book, Beauty Pays: Why Attractive People Are More Successful, doesn't attempt to analyze this, but basically says that beauty does matter.  When asked whether or not unattractive people should consider plastic surgery to improve the odds of making more, he stated that plastic surgery doesn't help that much.  In fact, according to a study done by the Korea, plastic surgery pays back less than one dollar in salary for every dollar spent on it.  His advice? "Suck it up, live with it . . ."  Hmmmm . . . this probably explains why the state of Montana hasn't given me a raise in nearly three years!  Apparently I am not as good-looking as I thought I was!  This really puts a dent in my ego, but explains a lot--I always thought Brad Pitt and I were the spitting image of one another.

We Americans are a nation of "fast food junkies"!  A recent study by the Scripps Research Institute found that gorging on fast food actually changes the brain's chemical makeup, making it more difficult to trigger the release of dopamine (aka "the pleasure chemical").  That means that to find the pleasure of eating fast food one needs to eat more and more to achieve the original high.  I guess we now know why Kentucky Fried Chicken is so finger-licking good--its the Colonel's secret recipe!  Suddenly I'm craving a Big Mac!

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics state and local governments have shed 611,000 jobs since August 2008, including 340,000 in the past twelve months.  They are also predicting that that tens of thousands of layoff are likely in the next year with states and cities now slashing their budgets.  Make you wonder if they were all unattractive?

Well, we all know who is going to get the blame--at least according to the New York Times/CBS News Poll--the Tea Party.  According to their recent poll negative views about the Tea Party are rising.  Forty percent of Americans now view the Tea Party unfavorably, up from 29 percent in April.  Only 20 percent view the movement favorably, down from 26 percent.  It sounds as if the pendulum is swinging to the left--watch out!  The Coffee Party might be next!

No looks, no jobs, a fast food addiction . . . well, at least we can all look towards retirement!  Right!  Maybe not . . . according to a poll conducted by Reader's Digest not too many Americans see themselves retiring and enjoying the "golden years" before the age 65.  According to the poll 46 percent of Americans think they will not be able to retire until age 65 or older.  Only 30 percent still think they will retire before 65.  The most optimistic countries in the world about retiring before age 65 were Malaysia (67 percent), Canada (56 percent), and China (46 percent).  Four nations were more pessimistic about retiring by 65--South Africa, Spain, Brazil, and the Netherlands.  Mexico, India, and the Philippines ranged from 42 to 49 percent believing they will never be able to retire.  It almost makes you want to cry . . .

A good cry always makes one feel better, right?  Wrong!  A study conducted by University of South Florida researcher Jonathan Rottenberg concludes that "crying is not nearly as beneficial as people think it is."  Rottenberg states that 61 percent of those who were studied did not improve their moods with crying, and nine percent believed that their moods were even worse because of the crying.  Only 30 percent felt better after crying.  It seems that the type of crying that produced the best results for feeling better were the more vigorous bawling complete with "screaming and body movements"--good old fashion lamenting of the biblical kind.  Researchers then theorized that the biological purpose of crying isn't to release sorrow, but to elicit "social support" from others.  It's the sympathy, not the release of tears, that can make people feel better.

Well, that is the news for this week.  I think I am going to take my unattractive, low-earning self down to the closest McDonalds for a Big Mac fix and have myself a good old fashion lament.  You decide--laugh or cry? It is always our choice!