Happy Birthday, Jesus

Seasons greetings to the Savior from an agnostic.

I’ve always been a little standoffish towards religion, and I suspect that’s largely because I feel like I haven’t been exposed to its better face. Though at times I’ve been intellectually in love with the scientific, I’ve never quite been able or willing to abandon the idea that there is a supreme being out there. If anything, I’ve wondered to myself about the possible nature of such a being, mostly because all the religious conceptions of God that I’ve heard sound suspiciously like someone else’s mind control tool. Though I don’t believe that my own theories and apprehension of what He/She is have much title to accuracy or truth, I often find it impossible for me to believe that the Almighty would be so self-absorbed and petty as some of the religious doctrine out there would insist.

If I were to associate myself with any religion at all, it would be Christianity, mostly by upbringing and association. Most Christians wouldn’t consider me Christian because I have too many doubts. Or, to put it another way, I lack “faith.” And honestly, I don’t deny that I experience a lack of faith. If you don’t mind the peculiar comparison, I liken my attitude towards religion to my attitude towards martial arts: I love the art, but I hate the sport. Similarly, I love the spirituality but I despise the institution.

I actually went to a Christmas service last Sunday. I had been hoping to hear a warm, uplifting message about the Savior’s compassion and sacrifice. There’s a lot that I do love about Jesus and what he stands for; unconditional love, the power of loyalty, the willingness for forgive well-meaning but flawed people, his brave and selfless sacrifice… in this holiday season, these are the messages I hope to hear. The tenets of Christianity embrace so many wonderful things.

But what did I hear? An expository on the genealogy of Christ. A declaration that God planned everything from the time of Adam, that the Savior be born unto a very particular bloodline – that if you didn’t know who Christ really was, you’re not revering the real Christ. And about half the time, the pastor was busy lambasting “enemies of the faith” – liberal scholars and the educated class. The hedonistic youth. Anyone with a PhD. I’m serious – he termed the enemies of the faith in such broad terms. He called them sinners. He called them despicable. He said that they sought to tarnish and corrupt the purity of Christ by inquiring into the details of his life, as though the revelation of any detail that admitted that he was a human being was to be unfaithful to his glory. He dismissed the theory of evolution as scientific nonsense. In fact, anything scientific was sinful. There were so many metaphysical inconsistencies in the message that the sermon was downright painful to hear, and I sat in the pew with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, irritated at the preacher’s choice of messages on a day of holy remembrance.

He noted that the message of Christ was delivered first unto the lowest of the low, the uneducated, and not to the priests or scholars or politicians of the time. He said this was to emphasize that the worthiness of a human being as we humans measure it is nothing under the eyes of God. Right, no argument there – why would mere human accomplishments, mere human power mean anything to an omnipotent being? If the message is one of humility, that I appreciate and wholeheartedly believe in. But he takes it too far. Surely human worth as measured in material terms means little in the eyes of God… but engaging in human endeavors is not sinful. It is not sinful to be an academic. It is not sinful to ask scientific questions, or to contribute to the body of knowledge. The pastor’s blanket statements damning all human endeavor were absurd and overbroad. Why should the theory of evolution be inherently corrupt and sinful? If planning the birth of Christ from the days of Adam and Eve is proof of the Lord’s ultimate ability to orchestrate anything flawlessly, why could it not be possible for this omniscient, omnipotent being flawlessly to orchestrate something as complex as evolution? Why couldn’t evolution in all its improbable complexity merely be a divinely engineered coincidence? Shouldn’t it be equally blasphemous to suggest that the coincidence is so impossible, it would be beyond the power of the divine to achieve? And as a staunch conservative, the preacher labeled all liberals as the enemies of Christ as well, as people who seek only to twist and pollute Christ’s image to justify their nefarious and sacrilegious ends (as though standing up for the wretched and the oppressed and the disadvantaged was something of which Christ would categorically disapprove). Conservatives aren’t categorically bigots any more than liberals are categorically immoral, and I don’t like it when people in a position to dispense wisdom distort the world to fit convenient oversimplifications. I think they do it more to convince and comfort themselves of their absolute knowledge of the real “truth” than to bring any real healing to the troubled spirits of our times.

But enough of my dissatisfaction with the details of the preacher’s textualist dogma. Even as an agnostic, what bothered me most was that he chose to deliver this animosity-laden diatribe on a day that even a doubter like me wanted to remember the goodness, selflessness, justice, love, and courage that the Savior stands for. If I believe in a God at all, it is these things that I believe about Him or Her.

Disconcerting sermons aside, a very Happy Birthday to you, Savior. Whatever ideological and doctrinal difference this preacher and I might have should really be pretty irrelevant on this day. On this day, I remember the purity of all the principles you stand for, ignoring all the petty differences of our world’s obscenely warring religions. Joy and happiness to you and the Big Daddy. We down here on earth spend too much time worrying about our own souls and our own politics. We glorify you and fight wars over you because we think you want our loyalty and our faith. Well, as an agnostic, I don’t know about that… but despite the appalling imperfection of my faith, as it were – I offer You my love, and my thanks for making me what I am, unhappiness, dissatisfaction, and all.

Third of Fourth, thanks and goodbye

It’s been a while, but I’ve done this many times since then. A soft landing, and then a quick snap into a broad, stable stance, left arm stretched far, right hand holding the broadsword in the hidden ready position. A moment’s pause precedes a coil and a whipping, guarded turn, sword and empty hand flanking me. A split second of rotation is followed by the familiar metallic ring of a sharp sword thrust.

Some things have changed, but this art is still with me. The blade I hold is heavier, sturdier, having taken its place in my right hand, a replacement for a sword that I had worn out earlier this fall. The blade is heavier, as is my heart, but still I practice. I hope my heart proves sturdier also.

I cut widely to my right side. Muscle memory drives careful footwork, the successive steps lost to my conscious mind. A clearing block in midair sweeps past my right leg and I wind back in the other direction, a smooth vertical cut tracing forwards in the second dizzying change in direction. A moment of poise, and then a fast chamber followed by a low stab, then a launch into the air. My facing again changes, with the edge tracing a twirling arc ending in a swift chop straight to the floor as I land in a drop stance, empty hand at the ready. Poised over my shoulder, the blade traces past the side of my head, occupying a guarded post in my peripheral vision.

Finals are over. They hold little peril now. Prior to this last set, I’ve taken eighteen sets of college- or higher-level level finals and quite an array of standardized tests, and taking them becomes easier each passing time, each time less stressful because I know what to expect. It doesn’t change the generally unpleasant nature of the trial, by any means, but practice makes everything easier. Perhaps this even includes being rejected. It involves, amongst other things, the simple task of staying focused on the goals you still have. They were there before this, and they will be there after this. The important part is to stay strong even as your heart wants to duck under the covers and cry.

Stepping forward into a second low stab, I lunge and slash to my left in a full circle, prelude to a butterfly kick. Body lowered over my right leg, I swing myself across my center of balance and launch off my left leg as hard as I can. The broadsword turns a full circle beneath my body, now horizontal off the ground. Both legs trace sweeping aerial kicks above the line of my body. Hand, blade, and legs trace the air, one after the other like spinning knives hurled sideways, instruments of vengeance orbiting the eye of the storm.

That butterfly kick seems to come more naturally to some people than others. I’m not athletically talented, so the only way I can get it down is to practice it until my body figures it out. Even then, some days I’ve got it, and some days I don’t. I wish I knew what made it tick, what factors make it easier to pull off on some days than others. I sure wish I knew what makes it easier on any given day to get over someone you loved. Part of it is sticking to the things you know. Some part of my subconscious knows of a life before this person was even present in my thoughts. I will have to remember that life and return to it. She’s not going to be missing me the way I’m missing her. But much of it is made easier by having good friends, thoughtful, wise friends who’ll speak to you straight, who won’t belittle your intelligence while trying to comfort you. Had dinner with Druidess the day I finished my finals. She was kind enough to answer a forlornly short-notice request for companionship on a working weekday. “Oh, it’s all right. Complain to me if you want. At least you can be witty about it. Not everyone can.” Druidess is a kindred spirit. Fond of psychology, the written word, wrath, and black roses, she’s wise, cynical, understanding, and caring, proof that good-heartedness is as often as not found in prickly places, rightfully guarding itself from the thoughtless with an array of thorns and talons. Delicate wisdom framed by a sharp exterior. Tuesday was largely spent at an extended tea with Enji, one gifted with, amongst other things, a remarkable talent for giving voice to life’s stories with timeless eloquence. We talked of many things, but looking back on it, I confess that much of the time was spent talking about my own problems and the subjects of my academic thoughts. I had not realized until now how selfish of me that must have been. But then, if it bothered her at all, she didn’t let on. I’m quite grateful for that; it was a wonderful day, filled with the tastes of tea sandwiches, cider, and scones, chili-flavored chocolate, indulgently heady discourse, and the cold December crispness of a clear night’s chill. Blushingest compliment of the evening: “You have many of the qualities of a superhero. But no cape. That’s from The Incredibles, by the way.” “Really? I’ll be watching for that”

A smooth landing, and thank goodness for that. A retreating step, guarded by another one of those smooth and measured upward cuts. More backpedaling, shielded by a vicious forward stab, and then a swirling deflection guarding the flank and overhead.

Though I must eventually leave my sentiments for my crush behind, perhaps the sooner the better, I still learned some things from her that I hope to keep with me forever. She has a remarkably agile wit and a genuine joy for life. I couldn’t keep up with her remarkably random sense of humor; mine centers itself on dark irony, dry delivery, and insight adulterated with ruefulness. Hers, by comparison, draws from the droll spontaneity of the moment, unsullied by any lurking bitterness, mixed with her unabashed enthusiasm for life and her shining self-confidence. She manages this in the face of a multitude of responsibilities, the demands of two jobs, her classwork, and the pain of knowing that her father left her, her mother, and her siblings in search of another life for himself. I deal with my problems through a peculiar blend of motherly kindness and merciless rancor, but I have never been as comfortable in my own skin as she is in hers. I admire her wit and her strength; she’s been sorely tested in her life, but she continues to be her own champion, and even if my friends think me strong in the face of adversity, I have to wonder how it would measure up against her phenomenal resilience. I have no place in her life, but if nothing else, I should learn this from her.

The section ends with a slash right that settles into a light and relaxed stance, finally springing into a standing guard position, stock-still on the right foot. The last stance ends regal and tall, but forbidding and poised. The section is finished, but the set remains.

Time to move on. It’s been painful, but informative. Another life’s lesson learned. I wasn’t good enough for her, but if I can learn how to cultivate her kind of strength and claim that quality as my own, maybe I’ll be more ready the next time I fall for someone. I may be the better for it in the end. This may be the first time I’ve learned a positive lesson from heartbreak.

Kind Gift

I got a gift yesterday from Shysmile and Chivalrous... a daily 2005 calendar full of legal anecdotes and lawyer jokes. It might seem like the kind of throwaway gift to get a law student, knowing little else about him... something you might expect from a distant aunt or other family member only peripherally aware of what you're up to in life.

But not so. It was chosen quite thoughtfully... I had been having an emotionally bad day several weeks back, which came up while Shysmile and I were discussing the content of her legal studies paper. Half an hour into an academic conversation mostly occupied with utilitarianism, religion, nonviolence, and Kantism, Shysmile suddenly asked me if I was alright. She noted that my face had lately betrayed a certain desolate sadness... I told her what had been on my mind, and she asked me what it was I wanted most in a girlfriend.

I typed without much conscious thought. The first thing that came to mind: the ability to make me laugh. I've not done enough of that in my life. Sometimes I don't even know if I know how to laugh - sometimes, when I hear the sound of my own laughter, I wonder if I did it correctly. I don't do it often enough to know what the sound of my laughter is supposed to be like, or how it's supposed to feel. I find myself wondering if it sounds forced, artificial, awkward, or insincere. Yesterday, something happened at the teahouse that made me laugh, and a few of my recent and newfound friends looked up and said, "Wow, I've never heard you laugh before!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's nice. I've never heard you laugh!"

*laughs* "Am I really so morose all the time?"

"No, we've seen you smile - but never laugh. It's cute!"

I was talking to Moe, a friend of eleven years, today about Shysmile's Christmas gift to me. A short and simple rhyme found its way into my speech regarding Shysmile's understanding of my feelings.


and I don't live the life I want.
I want to smile instead of sigh,
I want to laugh instead of cry


I stared off into the flowers of his shop after saying that, gaze straying over and past buckets of stargazer lilies and freesias. My speech is prone to a certain ludicrous verbosity, overlapping layers of linguistic redundancy, haphazardly pounding certain thoughts into shape with a multi-pronged attack of artlessly arranged brute spoken force. I'm not a poet, and certainly not a spontaneous one. For the desire to be spoken so simply, circumventing the wanton affectations of my usual speech, it must lie close to the soul indeed.

I had just finished unwrapping the gift, reading the sampled courtroom excerpt on the back with geeky glee. As Chivalrous fixed up a few snacks for the evening's slacking, Shysmile reminded me of our previous conversation... said she wanted to get something funny and intellectual for me... that neither she nor Chivalrous really got many of the jokes within, that you'd probably have to be a law student to catch most of the punchlines... but she and Chivalrous wanted to get me something that reflected their view of me, particularly what they graciously view as my sophisticated wit, as well as their hopes for the happiness - or at least laughter - that they knew to be so elusive. As she continued to explain, I felt very touched... she'd spent a lot of time picking the calendar out from a number of alternatives, hoping to find something that embodied the sentiments she was trying to convey. Part of the fun in receiving a gift thoughtfully chosen is trying to puzzle out the symbolic meanings and subtexts, guessing at phantom messages that might or might not be there. But this time, it was nice having it all spelled out, given the compromised state of my rational thought processes. I vaguely remember some sort of apology from Shysmile about not being very eloquent, but it got somewhat drowned out by the background noise of my thoughts, like the placid sound of the sea meeting the shore... Shysmile's good with people's feelings. As much as I love the interplay of words, I'm more touched by being understood.

We spent the rest of the evening watching the Two Towers. From time to time I glanced over at them, the loveliest couple upon whom I've ever laid eyes. Couples are often hard for me to look at, usually being painful reminders of all the betrayals, rejections, and disdain I've been subject to in the past. I usually turn away even from talk of couples, not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. I don't begrudge them what they have, but I must avert my attention lest the stabbing pains of the past and present dominate my thoughts.

But not Shysmile and Chivalrous. They're beyond beautiful to me, and I am again reminded of how thankful I am that they have found one another.

There is at least one thing right in this world.