I am giving a talk to a bunch of youth about peer pressure in a month or two, and that is something I have a problem with. Not youth. Peer Pressure. Man do I think it is overrated. Yes it is there, yes it is a concern, but I think that it is a symptom, and you can't just treat the symptom. The fish rots from the head so they say. According to George Barna, parents list peer pressure as the biggest challenge facing their kids today, while 'challenges to their faith' and 'value development' was at the bottom of the list.
Isn't that backwards? If values were developed, and students trained to overcome challenges to their faith, wouldn't peer pressure be less of an issue? Studies show that like minded kids hang out together. So, if your kid is hanging with a bad crowd, you may have a bad kid, not a good kid being unduly influenced.
But there is pressure. I do not want to belittle that. The world is out to sell you something, and it has a slick presentation, and it wants to get you early.
We are the Insurgents. We have the truth, that there is something better, something they don't want you to know about or experience. And they will do everything they can to shut you up. Satan doesn't play around. It isn't a game. He doesn't just want to make your kid wind up in detention, he wants them beaten and bloody, dying and alone. And he seduces our minds.
He tells the young women that they are valuable only for their bodies, but they must meet impossible standards. He tells young men that they must be powerful, and that power comes from intelligence, money or force. He tells them that sex is free, greed and consumerism is good, and that having every whim or desire met is a noble goal. There is a war going on for our minds. But there is hope. We are the insurgents. We will not be conformed to this world, and have been transformed by the renewing of our minds.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Iris makes me sad
I have always carried a soft spot in my heart for the Flash. Both Barry Allen and Wally West. Before gaining super powers, Barry Allen was a forensic scientist for the Central City Police Department, and an avid comic book collector. One stormy night, he is working on something and a lightning bolt shoots through the window, through some chemicals and into Barry. These electrified chemicals gave him his super speed. He adopts the name "Flash" from his favorite comic book hero and starts to fight crime.
His girlfriend Iris however, is totally unaware of his extracurricular activities which often keep him from showing up on time to their dates, or having to make awkward excuses for leaving. In the past, I thought that she always took these interruptions good naturedly, but recently, I've discovered that she really didn't take it so well. She constantly berates him for being late, accuses him of being lazy and having no ambition, and seems to make his life miserable. The only respite he seems to get is when he uses his Flash powers to impress her or poses as the Flash to make excuses for Barry to Iris.
In spite of all of this, they get married, Barry reveals himself to be the Flash, and their love shapes not just their lives, but the lives of many of the DC heroes. So what can we take away from this? What spiritual insight can we gleam from this? Probably none. But maybe that loving somebody means accepting all their faults, all of their failures, their weaknesses. That the quality of and the test of love isn't in moments of frustration, or of personal failure, but in the lasting effect it has on others, the people around you. If by exposure to that love, it makes other people's lives better, or makes them want to emulate or experience that love.
I think all of us can be like Iris and the Flash. Relationships are funny, the people we love the most can sometimes bother us the most. We can be ugly, mean and petty. But we can also be beautiful and loving. FYI, I'm more like the Flash.
His girlfriend Iris however, is totally unaware of his extracurricular activities which often keep him from showing up on time to their dates, or having to make awkward excuses for leaving. In the past, I thought that she always took these interruptions good naturedly, but recently, I've discovered that she really didn't take it so well. She constantly berates him for being late, accuses him of being lazy and having no ambition, and seems to make his life miserable. The only respite he seems to get is when he uses his Flash powers to impress her or poses as the Flash to make excuses for Barry to Iris.
In spite of all of this, they get married, Barry reveals himself to be the Flash, and their love shapes not just their lives, but the lives of many of the DC heroes. So what can we take away from this? What spiritual insight can we gleam from this? Probably none. But maybe that loving somebody means accepting all their faults, all of their failures, their weaknesses. That the quality of and the test of love isn't in moments of frustration, or of personal failure, but in the lasting effect it has on others, the people around you. If by exposure to that love, it makes other people's lives better, or makes them want to emulate or experience that love.
I think all of us can be like Iris and the Flash. Relationships are funny, the people we love the most can sometimes bother us the most. We can be ugly, mean and petty. But we can also be beautiful and loving. FYI, I'm more like the Flash.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
New Year's Resolution
I resolve this year to be awesome. Not just awesome, but really awesome. 80’s metal awesome. Big-Wheel awesome. Bill S. Preston Esquire and Ted Theodore Logan awesome. I’m talking ‘high-fiving, backboard-shattering, popping-wheelies awesome’.
When I was little, I bought my first skateboard from a garage sale with my own money after my parents refused to get me one (since they were dangerous and for hooligans). The big kids who lived next door to us had built a ramp out of plywood and old railroad ties and they were skating pell-mell down the street and doing radical things like ollies and kick flips. To my young eyes, they seemed to move in slow motion and to have achieved a level of awesome that existed only in movies.
In a moment of daring, I brought out my $5 neon colored skateboard and skated slowly on the sidewalk, to embarrassed to ask to join in. One of the older boys asked me if I wanted to go, and got all the others to stand back and cheer me on. I stood there in front of the ramp, one foot on the board the other on the hot pavement, as heat waves radiated up and clouded my vision. My heart started to hammer in my chest and the world seemed to slow down as I bent down, picked up my board, and walked inside the house. I didn't skate much after that. I missed that chance to be awesome, my fear won, it overpowered me.
Life has changed a lot for me. Gone are the neon colored skateboards, the older boys who engage in radical acts that cause spontaneous bursts of high-fiving to break out, and the goofy kid in the knee socks. But that fear is still there, lurking. And it can happen at any time, all of a sudden I'm standing on that board again, in the afternoon sun, staring at the spray painted plywood ramp. This time though, it's going to be awesome.
When I was little, I bought my first skateboard from a garage sale with my own money after my parents refused to get me one (since they were dangerous and for hooligans). The big kids who lived next door to us had built a ramp out of plywood and old railroad ties and they were skating pell-mell down the street and doing radical things like ollies and kick flips. To my young eyes, they seemed to move in slow motion and to have achieved a level of awesome that existed only in movies.
In a moment of daring, I brought out my $5 neon colored skateboard and skated slowly on the sidewalk, to embarrassed to ask to join in. One of the older boys asked me if I wanted to go, and got all the others to stand back and cheer me on. I stood there in front of the ramp, one foot on the board the other on the hot pavement, as heat waves radiated up and clouded my vision. My heart started to hammer in my chest and the world seemed to slow down as I bent down, picked up my board, and walked inside the house. I didn't skate much after that. I missed that chance to be awesome, my fear won, it overpowered me.
Life has changed a lot for me. Gone are the neon colored skateboards, the older boys who engage in radical acts that cause spontaneous bursts of high-fiving to break out, and the goofy kid in the knee socks. But that fear is still there, lurking. And it can happen at any time, all of a sudden I'm standing on that board again, in the afternoon sun, staring at the spray painted plywood ramp. This time though, it's going to be awesome.
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