Saturday, April 30, 2005

A very recent discussion had over biscuits and gravy at Cracker Barrel tilled up some new soil in my thoughts.
The name of a well-known gospel singer and the reluctant bombshell he dropped on his unsuspecting fans prompted a wandering discussion between Devan and I about the origination of what we call homosexuality.
Seems the singer's admission that he struggles with homosexuality gives some credence to theory promulgated by homosexual activists that their orientation is an inheritance, a birthmark stamped on their genetic makeup, rather than a deliberate choice.
Any credibility lent to this idea makes us shrivel up inside, petrified at the thought that anyone could have been actually created with this malady.
My lack of knowledge on the scientific aspects of genetics notwithstanding, I personally believe that there probably are some people born lacking an attraction to the opposite sex, but I do not believe, again, personally, that people are born with a natural attraction to the same sex. I think that the power of suggestion in our society and in societies and cultures since the beginning of time (homosexuality is not a child of the twenty-first, twentieth, or even nineteenth century) plays an enormous role in actually creating homosexuals. If, strictly hypothetically speaking, a person were born with the genetic tendencies that they tell us lend themselves to homosexuality but born in a society where there had never been a homosexual and the concept didn't even exist, the idea would never cross their minds. The reason I specify, strictly hypothetically, is because I anticipate an argument brought that points out that there must have been a "first" homosexual, the pioneer and the reason the argument is rendered hypothetical is named Lucifer, the father of all lies.
But for me, the issue of genetics is important enough, but only secondary.
Why does it matter if homosexuality is, in fact, genetic?
More specifically, does being born with a tendency make it right to carry it out?
Obviously, no, if you believe, and I do, that all of us are born with the tendency, the bent, in fact, to do evil.
The concept we must battle is not a scientific concept of genetics born in the 'nineties, it is an ancient concept, a Medusa monster that never dies. Most notably, in America, it manifested itself in a free-thinking, make love, not war revolution we remember not-so-affectionately as the 'sixties.
That's right. If it feels good, do it has morphed into a self-justifying, self-edifying idea that whatever we want to do, it must be right.
Because. . .why? Because it cannot be wrong if you genuinely want it. In fact nothing is wrong. Right and wrong are subjective, anyway, and TRUTH, oh truth is relative, and how dare anyone presume to know the truth. Everyone has their own truth.
Welcome to the twenty-first century, where sin is not really all that different and creative. It's just the same tired, old lie it's always been.
It would be easier, perhaps, to rubber stamp homosexuality as demon possession or mental instability, and maybe in some cases, it is. But, I think in more cases, it is simply a mutant, particularly virulent strain of an old disease that infected us all from birth.
Thank God, there's a cure, instead of therapy.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Blogging, I'm reminded of something E.B White (essayist and more famously, children's author) said in regard to essayists.
Sadly, I'm reminded of it, but can't quite remember it.
The idea, however, was that an essayist, or anyone who commits opinions to paper, is one of God's most audacious creatures, being so enamored of their own thoughts, they are convinced that others would like to hear them.
(It's a little bit cheeky, I guess, but, writing that, I find myself thinking that there are a whole lot more people who despise writing, but are nevertheless positively delighted and, in fact, duty bound, to give any and all their opinion on everything from John Bolton to toilet paper, and E.B. White said nothing of them. I think that perhaps his statement was his way apologizing for presumption and presenting a front of humility.)
I'm not particularly humble myself, not nearly so much as I would like to be, but then, if I were satisfied with my humility. . .
I suppose that, like White, I'm a little embarrassed.
While I'm not that humble, I'm not really brassy. And that entails pride, not wanting anyone to assume that I'm. . . .proud. Pride is the undisputed master of disguise.
So why I am embarking on this great presumption?
I love to write, plain and simple, and if I do so happen, along the way, to discover that a few others enjoy, or at least, are intrigued by my musings, then so much the better.
I think that statement should cover me in the humility department.
Now with that settled, another nagging doubt throws a flag on the line of scrimmage.
What do I write about?
That's a big one. I think I know now, with a little less gravity, how pastors and evangelists must feel when they search for God's message every week.
I'm interested, fairly informed, and most often disgusted with politics.
I'm interested, fairly ignorant, and most often enthralled with theology.
I'm the farthest thing from an expert on any subject of particular interest, that is, except my job, and even if you did want to know about construction sites and loading boxes at UPS, I absolutely refuse to tell you.
So, I'm left with a dubious alternative.
I shall write about whatever interests me at any given time.
Which brings us to the following, why is it so incredibly hard to remain at all times fascinated and excited about an ever-deepening walk with God?
At times I find myself exhilarated, heart pounding, mouth dry at the enormous, unbelievable prospect of my relationship with God Almighty, and then, so much more of the rest of the time, I notice my devotional life inspiring about the same amount of awe, and taking up about the same amount of time, as brushing my teeth.
Maybe I'm asking the wrong question.
Maybe it's: why do I need to be continually entertained with some new feeling, some discovery, some new revelation or profundity about God, or about myself, for that matter?
Isn't that suspiciously like immaturity?
To be sure, a true walk with God will reveal these things to me, but is that why I serve Him?
Am I that childish?
Is human nature that difficult to eradicate?
Or am I just lazy, waiting for God to continually carbonate my spiritual life, when I should be doing it myself?
Or is life all Coca-Cola?
More later.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

When it's all said and done

The whole trouble with blogging is this pressure thing. For me, articulate broadcasting of opinion only ever follows an urgent desire to commit some inspiration to posterity by writing it down. An urgent desire to immortalize my inspiration only ever follows a ripple on the surface of my pond (I've been irked).
I haven't been irked lately, at least not sufficiently. The only thing mildly irking is my wife. She said I have to post a blog before we go out to eat. And I'm hungry. That's the only thing that's mildly irking right now.
So in my quest for inspiration, I checked the news. The pope wants open dialogue with the press. This is news. I would think it would better qualify as news if the pope had told the press that they can go peddle peanuts. He decided pressing matters would be tended to more quickly if all the journalists swarming around Vatican City were rounded up, given 'til sundown to get out of town.
I also see that critics of affirmative action are roiling the waters over this recent shooting in Atlanta where a linebacker-sized criminal took advantage of a five-foot-two female deputy and escaped, killing in the process. Again, I was struck with irony.
I think it is tolerance, more than anything else, that leads to so many tragedies in this country, and others.
Is it not obvious that a five-two female deputy may be a little less imposing than say a six-foot 205 pound male deputy in good physical shape.
Yes, it's obvious. But we must not hurt the five-two female deputy's feelings. We musn't give the impression that we view the 205 pound gorilla as stronger, faster, and more imposing.
So we give a dangerous, highly important, public safety responsibility to a lesser qualified individual and everyone feels terrific about themselves and everybody else. We feel good because we haven't been judgemental and stereo-typical and the deputy feels good because she hasn't been discriminated against.
The only people not feeling good about everything are the dead ones and their families.
Another triumph for tolerance. And civilized society progresses thus.
And so does my hunger.
More later. Need brain food.