Christianity, and other collective mythologies founded on faith in a mystical deity are flawed. (<- Early contender for the most obvious sentence of 2012 award) The highest form of faith is believing in something that can ultimately be disproved. The more impossible the belief, the stronger the required faith. This is irrational and certainly not a virtue. For the purposes of this screed Faith = faith in a god. 

Faith is not a virtue - simply having it doesn’t make one a better person. For many, their morality is steered by faith and religious doctrine, but in no way is faith a prerequisite to moral living. Faith, however, does make one more hopeful. Faith spurs a hope that something bigger and smarter and better is in control or has the power to change our present or future reality. Faith may lead to hope that we’ll all somehow get what we deserve after death. In that hope, people find comfort, but it is not truth. Faith enables hope (good) but it also requires us to believe that which may or may not be true (bad). The Apostle Paul affirms this in Hebrews 11:1: Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

Hope can be a positive life force when we strive towards the improbable (e.g. beating illness, trying hard at anything worthwhile, etc…), and it can show itself in many forms, but it is certainly not exclusive to faith (in god) or spiritualism.  

For the past several years, I’ve been struggling with this question of why I still attend church and participate in my religious community despite my apostasy. I don’t believe in the Christian teaching of God or soteriology. And while I’m open to the possibility of anything and everything existing in the unseen realms of energy and death, I certainly don’t have much belief in a heaven or a hell or reincarnation or all of us returning to planet Melmac. Upon death, we may become worm food or wormholes, I really have no idea.

But the church is what I know and what I love. It’s where I’ve met some of the best people in the world (and some of the worst). It’s where I’m comfortable and accepted. It’s a place that makes me feel needed and useful. It’s somewhere I can ponder bigger things in life and establish deep, meaningful relationships with others. These are the reasons that keep me coming back, despite hearing things about “relationships with Jesus” and how “God is in control” that make me want to claw my eyes out. 

So, imagine if churches, in their current structure, were to acknowledge that faith was flawed and our own mythologies were no more “truthful” than anything else. How do things change? What does a church look like without the doctrines of our collective mythology? What if we kept all the undeniably positive aspects of religion and threw out the mysticism? Who wouldn’t want to be a part of a community like that? 

The 5 C’s: Things I love about church now.

Constancy: knowing who will be there, the routine and order of service, steady location, consistency of environment and atmosphere, knowing what I’m getting into
Comfort: comfortable surroundings, old friends, welcoming, non-judgmental environment where I can be and express myself, a place to be away from burdens of the workweek - a place to unplug
Connection: seeing familiar friends, meeting new ones, a perfect level of interaction for “acquaintances,” eating together, familial support, collective joy/grief, a place where it’s not weird (rather encouraged) to make a “deeper” connection with people - generally unavailable in the workplace, a safe place to bring children and meet like-minded parents, sharing/venting concerns and helping find solutions for them, having the sense of a shared, collective purpose/cause 
Creativity: opportunity to hear and play live music, learning through lectures/talks/stories/sermons, hearing new ideas and reaffirming old ones, high-tech showmanship (sound systems, computers, projectors, etc…), artistic expression/interpretation of shared values/beliefs, challenging intellectual discourse, 
Collaboration: working on projects as a group to tackle a problem or organize an event for the common good, having an elected, hierarchical leadership structure that leverages individual talents/passions, sports/games/activities bonding through conflict/adversity

If we were to build a formal community that cultivated the 5 C’s I’d be all in. I already am, we just have that whole “Jesus is God” thing that irritates me. A community like this would not be immune to all the negative characteristics of any group: discrimination, gossip, conflict, etc…, but with the right alchemy and leadership it could evolve into a community that seeks the common good. I wouldn’t call it a church either, I’d call it the Common Community. Imagine attending a TED conference every Saturday. TED is the first thing that comes to mind when visualizing the Common Community. Someone like Chris Anderson would be the “Pastor.” The cultivator and leader. The facilitator. The Pastor is integral to the success of the community, but he is not the sole source of knowledge. He curates more than he creates. A true communal learning experience. Ok, I’m getting excited now. 

Elements of the Common Community:

1. No more sola scriptura: Eliminate reliance on the Bible or any other religious doctrine as the sole source of truth. Lectures/talks can reference anything that holds observable truth or otherwise presents itself as theory. 
2. Love Rules: Exploration of love and compassion as the highest principles and virtues - not faith
3. Observation, not explanation: Exploration of science and the beauty and mystery of our world through observation - not mysticism
4. Speak Well: Compelling speakers, experts in various fields speaking with authority
5. Get Real: Discussion of real societal problems and how our community can help
6. No Such Thing as Blasphemy: Irreverence for dogma, reverence for our community and shared values
7. The 5 C’s: cultivate all the great things about religion, without requiring faith

Let’s do it!!!

_____

Update (1/17/12): So I wrote all of that ^ while suffering a bout of insomnia last week. Today, TED (speak of the devil), released a brilliant talk by Alain de Botton who is making way more sense than I am. Atheism 2.0. So brilliant. 

good luck beating that, 2012. 

This is my family. We wandered along the beach to watch the sunset for Christmas. We then got korean food takeout and watched sunday night football at home. It was perfect. 

so, this is christmas

Tim Tebow believes everything he says. I know this because I used to be Tim Tebow. Well, not literally, of course, you dumbass. I mean I used to say the things Tim Tebow says and I used to believe the things Tim Tebow believes.

There’s a temptation among “non-believers” to lump all “believers” into a single category of “crazy religious people.” It’s actually quite easy and fun to do this, especially when the majority of religious people seem to fall so readily into the “crazy religious people” bin. You’ll know they’re genuinely crazy religious people when they take pride in being labeled as such and then proceed to picket military funerals or strap C4 around their belts and ride the bus. I’d like to suggest that this level of “crazy religious person” is actually quite far down the periphery of religious folk and Tebow is definitely not in their ranks.

Tim Tebow is passionate in his belief and love for Jesus. (I’m going for the Most Obvious Sentence of 2011 Award). Although this may be classified as crazy by some, it is not disingenuous. Tim Tebow is a devout, well-intentioned, evangelical Christian in the truest form. This is why he is so beloved. This is why he’s treated like Jesus Jr. within his community of faith and observed like a zoo animal by the rest of the godless horde.

While some may be dismissive of the idea, there actually is quite a large spectrum of belief and praxis within Christianity. The diversity of theology and culture is what makes the faith fascinating (to me, anyway), and what we’re seeing in Tim Tebow is a classic evangelical Christian. Evangelicals wear their God-lovin hearts on their sleeves. In theory, they don’t do it to show off or be prideful in their piety; they are up-front in their expressions of faith because they believe that Jesus is the most important thing they can offer the world. This is the underlying philosophy of short-term overseas mission trips: while clean water and food and a sustainable economic infrastructure are great, the Gospel is the most important thing I can give to my Third World neighbor. Jesus is the bread of life, not you know, actual bread.

So, when Tim Tebow says his annual summer trip to Dad’s orphanage in the Philippines is what makes him most happy, he means it. It is his adherence to a higher calling. It is living life in the most fulfilling way possible - the way Jesus would have done. Evangelicals believe it is their duty to be the hands and feet of God. That means everything they do, whether in word or in deed, is intended to honor the Almighty. As an Evangelical, everything matters: what I say, what I do, how I walk, how I dress, how I behave in front of Brent Musburger.

I’d bet a year’s salary that Tim Tebow has read or heard about a book called, The Prayer of Jabez. It’s a pocket-sized text based on the prayer of a little-known character in the Old Testament named Jabez who invoked a simple prayer: “’Oh that you would bless me and enlarge my territory! Let your hand be with me, and keep me from harm so that I will be free from pain.’ And God granted his request.” Evangelicals interpret this prayer to mean, “bless me so that more people will be within my sphere of influence.” In other words, “God, help me be successful so others will look up to me and I can tell them all about You.”

Every time Tim Tebow wins a game, his territory is enlarged and when he mentions his faith or thanks God in an interview or Tebows after a game, he’s doing you a favor. He is sharing with you the most important message he knows. Like The Secret before The Secret. He may not be preaching to you directly and he may not be holding a bible study in your home, but he is bringing God into your conversation, and that honors Him. Tebow believes that his actions and expressions of faith, no matter how indirect they may be, will somehow compel you to be like him. The crazy thing? When you’re Tim Tebow, it works! Tebowing toes the line of irony because it’s often done in jest but is also a huge win for the evangelical Christian community. When was the last time words like “faith” and “God” have so dominated the dialogue of sports? Tim Tebow is God’s bulldozing hype man into the secular world.

When asked by reporters about his frequent conjuring of the Lord in interviews, Tim Tebow disarms the questioner by responding, “If you’re married, and you have a wife, and you really love your wife, is it good enough to only tell your wife that you love her on the day you get married? Or should you tell her every single day when you wake up and have the opportunity? That’s how I feel about my relationship with Jesus Christ.” While godless heathens like Chuck Klosterman are surprised by such a lucid reply (jk, CK, i love you, I’ve got all your books), it’s just one of many canned analogies Evangelicals are taught from an early age. There will be more, especially if you start questioning his beliefs. Tebow will explain the Trinity to you by comparing it to the 3 molecular phases of water (ice/water/steam=God/Jesus/Holy Ghost). Tebow will talk about the faith of Abraham and Job and he’ll encourage his teammates by reciting a proverb about iron sharpening iron. This is what a good Christian boy does, and he does it earnestly.

There are more “crazy religious people” within the Christian faith than I can shake a stick at; and at times, it seems the hypocrisy of the church knows no bounds. It’s the diversity of belief and culture that’s led to the proliferation of hundreds of denominations and the unbelievably asinine nature of “church drama,” but if all the in-fighting has honed one skill, it’s our ability to spot a fake. No one is faster to accuse a believer of hypocrisy or impure motives than a fellow believer. I’ll tell you this: no fellow believer doubts Tim Tebow’s motives. He’s criticized for being calculating and throwing religion in your face. Well, that’s because he is. That’s what he’s trying to do. In everything he does, whether in word or in deed, Tim Tebow wants you to look at him and think about Jesus. If Tim Tebow sold steak knives for a living, he’d be the same way. Except he’d be the “crazy religious steak knife guy.” Football is just what he happens to be doing now. He wants to win games and be the best quarterback of all time because it broadens his territory. His final destination is not money or fame or victory, they are means to an end: to hype Jesus on the biggest platform in America; ‘cause Elway ain’t done shit for Jesus.

Tim Tebow is modest about everything except his faith. That’s because he’s following the words of the Apostle Paul: “I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile” (Romans 1:16). In a world full of Jews and Gentiles, Tim Tebow is not ashamed and he’s not lying.

I knew the weed was kicking in when my fingers became cold. My body temperature was dropping and I felt my head bobbing back and forth with the motion of the bus. Not violently, but in a way that made my head feel about 3 pounds heavier.  

And then came the intense focus on listening. “I have super human hearing right now!” was the first thing I muttered when I was fully lit. I could hear everything: the drunken, murmuring up front, the three clowns arguing about nothing a few feet away, every word to Theophilus London playing in the background, the crunch of Fritos beneath someone’s feet. I was taking it all in. I wished my hearing would stay that way; listening with such clarity and focus. 

Everything was funny. Every insight, groundbreaking. Every moment deserved my undivided attention and love. I was hunched over with my arms crossed into my chest and just staring, listening to my terrific friends and being thankful. I kept making mental notes to remember how thankful I was to have such amazingly funny and entertaining friends, each with his own “classic” identity that amplified itself when inebriated, or at least when I was. I’d keep it together and giggle like mad every 2 minutes when someone would say or do something that so perfectly summed up who they were:

“I’m really feeling like opening these shades is what I wanna do right now. Yea guys, let’s open these shades and see the sun.”
He opens the shades and the rays of a perfect sunset splash in.
“Wow, this is the best idea I’ve ever had in my entire life. It’s such a beautiful sunset guys.”
Without missing a beat, someone yells from the back: “Shut the f*ck up.”
I laugh hysterically. So classic those guys! 

I wanted so badly to write on that bus, to remember what I was feeling and record my thoughts about the characters around me. I was high and freezing. My sense of hearing was incredible and moving proved to be overstimulating. So was eating. Someone tossed me a fun sized Snickers bar and it kicked my ass. Chocolate and nougat pounding away at the tip of my tongue. I raised my hand to get the attention of the drunken horde:
“Guys, this flavorful chocolate bar may have been a huge mistake on my part. It is just too intense for me right now. Please be careful.” 
We all laughed. I was hilarious.

While I kept climbing I became more still, listening harder. I was now picking up subtle changes in road noise and hearing the small rattle of a zipper from the luggage packed behind me. My vision was in tilt-shift, adjusting my focus as I listened in on a quiet conversation up front:

“I’m not f*cked up right now. I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are! Don’t lie!” I yelled across the bus.
Everyone’s head turned.
“Why are you listening in on our conversation motherf*cker? How did you even hear us from back there?”
“Cuz I told you, I can hear EVERYTHING right now motherf*ckers!!”
We all laughed. I was hilarious.  

It was fun while it lasted and it lasted a more than a few discomforting hours. Edibles are to be taken with caution, boys and girls. I think it’s real what they say about our true selves being revealed under the influence; in vino veritas. I suppose that means deep down I’m just a giggly bitch who loves his friends and wants to write about how great life is. What I miss the most, even more than the super human hearing, is the courage that comes with the high. Well, not so much courage as it is diminishing fear and insecurity. I needed a guitar and a mic on that bus. I played DJ without giving two shits what other people thought about the music I was playing. It was good enough for me. 

This is all stoner talk and I sound like an imbecile, but I swear I had some genuine bouts of clarity while I was high. I was happy and grateful and brave. I wanted to write and make music. I had deep empathy and compassion for the people around me, as flawed as we were. I was a funny sonuvabitch too. I’d like to think that’s who I really am. I’d also like to have the super human hearing back. Classic me. 

This is where I grew up. 
This is why I am the way I am and why these kids will probably be too.  

Frederick, MD 21702.  

Vince Gill at The Troubadour 11/16/11.
Can’t remember the last time I paid $25 to see a 20-time Grammy winner play a venue that fits less than 250 people. Did I mention he played for 2 hours and 45 minutes with no intermission or opening act? This is why I love country music.

The guitar playin warn’t bad neither.

Vince told about a dozen stories throughout the night. Stories about his badass judge dad and his inspirations for songs like Cowboy Up (Levitra) and Go Rest High on That Mountain. He spoke a lot about his first time playing the Troubador 35 years ago. He was 19, had just moved to LA and the Troubadour was his first gig. In the audience that night? His two biggest idols: Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell. Vince actually covered one of Rodney’s songs that night and was invited up to the dressing room. He and Rodney became best friends and Emmylou wanted to write with him. Talk about fate. 

Back for the first time in 35 years last night, Vince walked up on stage, strapped in his tele and took a good long look at the audience staring back at him. No greeting, no wave, but he had that trademark Vince Gill-ian warmth in his face and the first words out of his mouth were, “it’s gonna be some crazy shit in here tonight.” The band rolled into One More Last Chance and kicked ass for the next two and a half hours. 

Feist at The Wiltern 11/12/11

Chilly Gonzales opened. Funny and brilliantly entertaining with his spiel on politics and transposing well-known major key songs into minor. Minor version of Ode to Joy and Happy Birthday were particularly “jewish” as he noted. Chilly’s piano playing is furious and reminds me why the piano is in the percussion family. Loved it.

Feist is a songbird in every way. She sings her between song banter. Her voice is clear as a bell and her guitar playing is sparse and tactful. The songs take on a whole new life (as they should) in a live environment and her music is so incredibly dynamic if you let it breathe with a full band onstage. Metals has a significantly darker tone than her previous two albums, but the sounds were deep last night. The highlight for me was My Moon My Man which was timed perfectly and loud as fuck. Love it when drummers do that. 

(photo credit: Timothy Norris)

It’s always the morning after that’s most revealing. Whether it means recovering from tragedy or reveling in triumph, the morning after is what defines us. Throughout each of our personal histories of break ups, and birthdays, and pink slips, and funerals, and graduations, there come those mornings when we can’t believe what just happened the day before. Sometimes we wake up numb to it, like we almost forgot. When we lose a loved one it seems we become surrounded with daily reminders of their absence: a picture, a scent, a sound.

September 11th was the most significant global event that affected each of us personally. For those old enough to remember, it shook us then and the shock of the day is still palpable. The aftermath of that one morning has shoved and wriggled its way into our lives in innumerable ways. But now, looking back 10 years later, I remember September 12th, the morning after. I remember being relieved that I could return to my routine. I remember feeling thankful the chaos was over, and naively certain that the terrorists were done for now. I imagined the potential devastation of repeated, relentless attacks and I prayed for our country’s protection. It was a confusing morning, but eerily peaceful. Pensive.

In some ways, it feels like it’s taken 10 years for the collective morning after to arrive. Reading and watching all the memorials and commemorations yesterday it felt like the last 10 years were just a chaotic mix of reaction and adjustment to the events of that morning. But now, 10 years later, maybe we’ve finally turned the clock to greet the morning after. To reflect and remember and to turn our ‘new normal’ into a better normal: a grateful return to routine but with hearts and minds moved for the better.

It’s the morning after that will define us as a nation and I think the clock may have finally clicked over. Let’s rebuild. Let’s revive. Let’s be renewed as Americans strong in resolve, deep in compassion and ready to lead. Just as 9/11 was a collectively personal experience, 9/12 must be the same; each one of us, making it our personal duty to make life better for one another. And considering the hell we’ve just walked through together, that would be one heaven of a morning after.

So, last night’s Saints-Packers game was classic proof that I am indeed cursed. I’ve joked about it for years, and then the laughter turned to tears as I watched my Skins fail year after year after year. The curse is no joke and I’m gonna prove it now. 

I started a site to track all my NFL predictions and analyze what happens to them. I’ll probably make some gambling folks good money along the way. If you’re into the NFL or curious about my curse or like to bet on games or if you like anything that you enjoy then you’ll probably find this palatable: Cursed Bets

And now, a shameless self-aggrandizing excerpt: 

If you’re wrong, you’re wrong. How is it a curse?  

It’s not that I’m wrong, it’s how close I am to being right. Anybody can be wrong, but it takes a special kind of curse to string you along til the last possible second - only to be wrong in the end anyway. It’s a cruel suspense, but I’m sure it’s thrilling for the people who bet against me.

Game 1, week 1 of the 2011 season is a perfect example of my curse. The Saints were 4.5 point underdogs to the defending champion Packers. I took the Saints to cover in what I thought would be a close, high-scoring shootout. It was an incredible game: 2 TDs on special teams, Aaron Rodgers throws 3 TDs in the first quarter, Drew Brees lights it up in the second half. Down 27-42 in the 4th quarter, the Saints score with 2:15 left in the game to pull within 8. They fail to recover the onside kick. Green Bay ball at the Saints 45 and the defense only has one timeout. Game over, right? Nope! The Packers can’t convert on 3rd and 4 and are forced to punt with 1:05 to play. The punt is perfectly executed and it looks like they’ve pinned the Saints at their own 1 yd line. Game over, right? No, wait! The ref calls it a touchback - Saints ball at the 20. Drew Brees is in shotgun with 1:01 left and no timeouts. He throws 4 beautiful passes to drive the Saints down to the Green Bay 11. With :03 left in the game Brees drops back and throws a laser to the end zone - incomplete. Game over, right? No, wait! Pass interference on AJ Hawk! Saints ball at the 1 yd line! They’re gonna score! They’re gonna cover! The curse is lifted! Last play of the game with no time on the clock: Mark Ingram, halfback dive from the 1 yd line. Splat. Stonewalled. Game over, Packers win 42-34. After the game, Trey Wingo tweets: “76 points… and it takes a defensive stand from the one, on an UNTIMED play to seal it.” Profootballtalk can’t explain why Sean Payton, one of the most brazen playcallers in league history, lost his nerve on the Saints’ last chance.The curse lives on. 

oh what, nobody cares? ok got it.

22 Navy SEALs among 30 U.S. Troops killed in Afghanistan as NATO helicopter is shot down

This is absolutely tragic. There aren’t enough words or accolades to describe the extraordinary courage and sacrifice of our armed forces, especially when we lose 30 of our finest in one horrific incident. The War on Terror has gone on for nearly 10 years now, and it’s still surreal and sobering any time I hear of soldiers dying; it damn well better stay that way. The death of a soldier should never feel casual or be confused with one’s personal beliefs on war or violence or politics. They deserve better.

A soldier’s life lends itself all too easily to cliche because he is a real life hero. Unfortunately, our limited bank of hero vocabulary has been reduced to over-the-top cliches for the caped euphemisms in our comic books. The words feel empty in real life.

Since the news of OBL’s death, I’ve become mildly obsessed with Navy SEALs; reading accounts of the raid from every major publication and finishing a few great military memoirs along the way (Seal Team Six, Lone Survivor, The Things They Carried). If there’s a common theme to be drawn here, it’s that SEALs are not like you and me. There is an innate determination and resolve that can’t be faked and a sense of duty that is hammered into them through the most brutal training program on earth. These guys live on the edge so someone like me can enjoy a cushy life in the middle. 

It’s been a little over two and half weeks since the chopper was downed in Afghanistan and the world’s moved at a blistering pace since then: Somalia is starving, London riots, rebels liberate Libya, an earthquake shakes the eastern seaboard, Steve Jobs retires, Amy Winehouse did too, in her own way and Bert and Ernie’s sexual orientation remains ambiguous. Albert Haynesworth is a Patriot for god’s sake. August 6 seems like ages ago. It’s too easy to forget nowadays. 

And then I saw this

(photo credit)

That is Hawkeye. He belonged to Petty Officer Jon Tumlinson who was one of the 22 SEALs killed on August 6th. In the middle of Officer Tumlinson’s funeral, Hawkeye walked up to his master’s casket and laid down with a mournful sigh. 

There really isn’t much to say. It’s heart wrenching. It hurts to think about our best coming home in flag-draped caskets and a shame we allow ourselves to move on so quickly. We’ve created an age of perpetual news and narcissism to numb the pain and discomfort of raw emotion. But still, there’s Hawkeye with such purity in his display of grief; there is no politicking, no cry for attention, no agenda.

What must a dog think when he encounters death? It must be such a hopeless sadness. While we two-leggers lean on our collective myths about heaven and hell, a dog is cruelly trapped in a state of consciousness that lives in the moment, but with deeply seeded memories of the past. The dog cannot cope or dwell or even deny; he mourns in bewilderment, lies down with a heavy sigh and eventually follows his new master home. But he never forgets. Nor should we. 

Central Command confirms 6,194 U.S. casualties in Iraq and Afghanistan since 2003. 2,292 soldiers under the age of 22. 4,439 under the age of 28. The world is a terrible place sometimes. Take time to remember. Don’t buy into the asinine notion that “the best thing we can do is move on with our lives and do the things we enjoy.” Fuck you if you believe that. Soldiers don’t die so you can play golf and jerk off. They deserve our time and remembrance. Learn about them, thank them, remember them. Sing, write, dedicate. Do something. Read this. By all means take a minute of self-reflection to be thankful and mindful of how amazing we have it.

And if you pray, then pray for their families and their friends and their souls. Pray for their dogs and that we may be more like them.

3 years later and she’s as hot as ever. Me - not so much.