Chesterton on Christmas

GK Chesterton may be my favorite author of all time. A Catholic, he was a journalist in England in the early 1900's and spent much of his efforts sparring with people like HG Wells and the disciples of Friedrich Nietzsche. Some of his books were immensely influential in CS Lewis' journey towards Christianity.

My favorite book is his Orthodoxy, which is a fresh and extremely unique defense of Christianity written almost 100 years ago. Another one of his excellent books is The Everlasting Man, in which he seeks to defend Christianity as entirely unique from all other world religions becauseit is the only religion that meets all of man's appetites perfectly (for mythical wonder, for intellectual depth, and for the conquering of evil).

The first half of the book explains how human history played out in a way that perfectly prepared for the birth of Christ. The first chapter of that half is called "The Man in the Cave". The second half of the book explains how human history has been irreversibly and profoundly affected by the birth of Christ. The first chapter of that half is called "The God in the Cave".

I know it is pretty long, but it is worth it to take the time to read the following quote (one of my favorites) from that chapter on Christmas:

"Christmas for us in Christendom has become one thing, and in one sense even a simple thing. But like all the truths of that tradition, it is in another sense a very complex thing. Its unique note is the simultaneous striking of many notes; of humility, of gaiety, of gratitude, of mystical fear, but also of vigilance and of drama. It is not only an occasion for the peacemakers any more than for the merry makers; it is not only a Hindu peace conference any more than it is only a Scandinavian winter feast. There is something defiant in it also; something that makes the abrupt bells at midnight sound like the great guns of a battle that has just been won. All this indescribable thing that we call the Christmas atmosphere only bangs in the air as something like a lingering fragrance or fading vapor from the exultant, explosion of that one hour in the Judean hills nearly two thousand years ago. But the savor is still unmistakable, and it is something too subtle or too solitary to be covered by our use of the word peace. By the very nature of the story the rejoicings in the cavern were rejoicings in a fortress or an outlaws den; properly understood it' is not unduly flippant to say they were rejoicing in a dug-out. It is not only true that such a subterranean chamber was a hiding-place from enemies; and that the enemies were already scouring the stony plain that lay above it like a sky. It is not only that the very horse-hoofs of Herod might in that sense have passed like thunder over the sunken head of Christ. It is also that there is in that image a true idea of an outpost, of a piercing through the rock and an entrance into an enemy territory. There is in this buried divinity an idea of undermining the world; of shaking the towers and palaces from below; even as Herod the great king felt that earthquake under him and swayed with his swaying palace."

I've been Enchanted

You may be wondering why I've recently been blogging so much after going months without a single entry. The answer is very simple: Since it's Thanksgiving, I've had this entire week off. Normally, I am really busy and don't care enough about blogging to dedicate some of my meager free time to it.

When I am busy, things I would rather do than blog:

1. Try (in vain) to finish Les Miserables.
2. Make plans to sleep overnight in various outdoor locations around San Luis Obispo county.
3. Skateboard.

But, lately, I've had much more time to blog.

Now, I usually am not one to go to the movie theater. Like blogging, watching movies falls pretty low on my list of priorities, unless it is a great movie I will remember for the rest of my life. But since my family is really into going to see movies, I usually end up seeing one every time I go home.

This weekend, I saw both August Rush and Enchanted. I have to admit, I was really skeptical going into Enchanted since I had just watched August Rush that morning and was in major movie/sitting-still overload.

Between stealing Chex mix from my six-year old cousin and fending off his tickle attacks, I was pleasantly surprised at how entertaining this movie was. I usually don't make blanket movie recommendations, but I'll do it here: Go see this movie. It cleverly mocks it's own genre while still standing on it's own feet as a great Disney princess/fantasy/dragon-slaying movie.

But, of course, Belle is still the greatest Disney princess of all time. By a long shot.

After the movie, I was able to get out all of the anxiety that came with sitting still for so long by trying to teach my cousins how to kick themselves in the head. This time, we weren't successful, but I'm hoping for a couple of head-kicking proteges by Christmas.

Thanksgiving Update

Yesterday was Thanksgiving.

Many normal things happened, such as:

1. My sister disinterestedly watching the Macy's Day parade while I did something else
2. I sat at the kid's table for Thanksgiving Dinner. A few years ago, the "adults" extended the olive branch of peace to me, inviting me to their table, but by then I was already the hardened lover of the kid's table that I am today. "The man" isn't going to put me down.

Some interesting things happened:
1. I saw a sign that said "Juvenile Justice Complex" and I thought, "If I were going to name a new death metal band, I would surely name it that."
2. As my mom lives in Oxnard, I was privileged to hear lots of mariachi music and I glowed as I thought about all the different cultures celebrating the same holiday.

A unique thing happened:
1. As I helped my mom to prepare the Thanksgiving meal, she passed me the can of cranberry sauce. As the cold steel touched my hand, everything seemed to stop around me. I could hear nothing but my mother's request to open the can. I could see nothing but the seductive label that invited me to find the nearest can opener. I could taste nothing but my taste buds dancing as they anticipated the sweet nectar to come. I knew what I had to do: I had to find a can opener, for this was the greatest task yet giving to me on that fateful Thanksgiving day.

But this year, I had the courage to ask my mom the one Thanksgiving question I had been desperate to ask for so many years: "Mom, can I just slide the sauce out untouched and leave it in the shape of a can? I kind of like it like that." She rolled her eyes, but reluctantly obliged and I was later privileged to joyfully slice a chunk of the gelatinous cranberry goodness to appease my idolatrous salivary glands.

An interesting, but not unique, thing happened:

1. My cousin forcefully kicked a volleyball at me from about five feet away. It, as usual, hit me in the face and sent my glasses sailing onto the sidewalk. After wearing glasses for 18 years, I am well-used to this kind of thing, so I coolly picked up my spectacles, but was saddened to find that part of the frame cracked. Luckily, though, I think they will hold up and the crack is unnoticeable because it is directly adjacent to my temple.

Fox - 1
Volleyball - 0

Why Bruce Springsteen is better than Avril Lavigne

Note: I just got back from Israel. There's plenty of things I could blog about that have to do with my trip, but right now I am compiling my thoughts on the fascinating implications of Sabbath laws in Israeli culture. I will blog later.

But for now, we're talking American pop culture.

Begin true blog post:


Avril Lavigne: "Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend." (from "Girlfriend")
Bruce Springsteen: "Man turns his back on his family he ain't no friend of mine" (from "Highway Patrolman")

We're going to break this down, but first, I need to confess something: For a long time, I hated Bruce Springsteen. When I heard his name on the radio, I couldn't help but push the gas pedal all the way down and steer my car right into the nearest brick wall.

Why? Because the only song I'd really heard by the Boss was "Born in the USA", which I couldn't (and still can't) stand.

But then, everything changed: Colin brought home his album Nebraska. Recorded in the early 80's, Bruce did the whole thing alone in his living room: no drums, no bass, no electric anything - just guitar, harmonica, and a big slice of America. I immediately found the album eerily beautiful - perfect for a night like tonight where I am tiredly sitting in a quiet house.

But onto why Bruce rips on Avril:

Avril recently wrote a song about why she doesn't like some dude's girlfriend. After a painfully long series of stanzas in which Avril talks about how awesome she is, she finally starts flinging mud:

"She's like so whatever"

Really, this contains less substance than an open can of Diet Pepsi left in the rain. The "like" and the "so" are gravely unnecessary, so I am removing them in the name of science. I'm assuming the "whatever" is something negative, but what could it be? I will put forth some ideas:

"She is prone to fashion-crisis."
"She is a fan of Jane Austen."
"She is really a zombie, but you don't know it, and you should open your eyes before she sticks an axe in your spine and eats your brains."

Any of those would fit, but obviously, Avril can't quite put her finger on why she doesn't like this dude's girlfriend. Rather, she is consumed with herself and can do nothing but say things like, "I want you mine." Sorry Avril, the only person who can get away with those kind of grammatical gymnastics is William Shakespeare.

Now, Bruce Springsteen just says it like it is without being trite, but also without having to use complex language. Springsteen's music is so quintessentially American that whenever it plays, Abraham Lincoln and George Washington start finger-snapping in their graves.

In the song "Highway Patrolman", Bruce assumes the persona of a cop who struggles about how to deal with his reckless and criminal brother Frank. The cop knows why he doesn't like his brother: "Man turns his back on his family he ain't no friend of mine"

While Frank can hardly be called "friend" by a brother who is constantly chasing him down in the name of the law, Frank knows that the bond of brotherhood is deeper than friendship and one that calls for grace:

"It was out at the crossroads down round Willow bank
Seen a Buick with Ohio plates behind the wheel was Frank
Well I chased him through them county roads till a sign said Canadian border 5 miles from here
I pulled over the side of the highway and watched his taillights disappear."

Masterfully, Bruce Springsteen paints a vivid picture of an ambiguous relationship, while Avril Lavigne vomits simplistic and meaningless banalities of junior high love.

Therefore, you should listen to Nebraska.

Injuries and Israelis

This past week has had the highest rate of minor injuries in my entire life:

-I've been injured 4 times on my bike: twice involving me eating a fat slice of asphalt, once involving a jagged pedal to my achilles tendon, and once involving a gear shifter and my thigh.
-I've burned my arm on a pot while cooking pasta
-I've cut my feet while bodysurfing in the Mediterranean Sea.

There are the injuries. And now, onto the Israelis:

I am in Israel right now with my church. After 24 hours of travelling (that began at 1am on Monday night), I dropped off my bags in our Tel Avivian hotel room and immediately jumped into the sea right below. There, I swam out past the wind-breaking waves, bobbed around for a while, nursed my cut feet, and wondered what it must have been like for the biblical prophet Elijah to wait and pray for a little cloud to appear over the sea after 3 years of no rain.

After emerging from the water, I walked south for a little while and thought, "A little to the south, Palestinians are struggling to assert themselves in the West Bank. A little to the east, Iraqis are killing each other and Iranians are giving the world the middle finger. And here I am, swimming in 80 degree water with no other care in the world. This is a bizarre place in the world to be."

I continued walking and decided to put my shirt on as I was walking through a beach for ultra-orthodox Jews where covered-headed mothers cooed their skull-capped and side-curled little boys. After walking a little while longer, I went back to the hotel to eat a feast of hummus, cucumber, and chicken. I was surprised at how well I slept last night.

After a breakfast of yogurt, salted fish, and more cucumbers, we went to the ancient section of Jaffa/Joppa/Yaffa/Yoff, where Jonah began his journey of (trying to) give God the middle finger and Peter brought a woman back from the dead, a miraculous activity only to be followed by his bizarre vision of lizards and pigs and crows falling out of a sheet as God said, "Eat these."

Fun Joppa facts:

1. It's the oldest seaport in the world.
2. Napoleon went there.
3. Along the sidewalk, they sell packs of cigarettes in those crane machines that are normally used to try and win a stuffed animal.

Tomorrow, we are off to Caesarea (where Paul was a prisoner), Megiddo (the site of the battle of Armageddon), Mt Carmel (where some prophets of Baal quickly learned that God doesn't mess around), and the Sea of Galilee (where much of Jesus' ministry centered).