Image Bearers

Mirror

(A Watercooler Wednesday post on art, culture, and society)

She displayed it proudly on the rear bumper of her blue Ford Taurus:

               Born again

                     PAGAN

It was next to her more obscure:

               Sometimes the dragon wins

bumper sticker. I thought it a strange way to display oneself to the world, and that got me thinking about the many ways we do just that.

Like the gentleman in my neighborhood that always wears a March Hare-like top hat, a purple vest, bracelets with 4” spikes, and black military boots (and pants, too, I should add). I have seen him over a dozen times in the past year, and he is always wearing this same outfit.

He is displaying himself. He is saying, “This is me, and if you don’t like it, F*#& OFF!”

(At least, this is what I imagine him saying). 

I have an image, too. 

I display a put together me: my ducks in a row, my T’s crossed, my I’s dotted, my checkbook balanced, my fly up, my shoelaces tied, my socks matching.

Some days I wish it were more than just a cheap veneer. 

Whether I like it or not, I show the world what I want the world to see. Rarely do I so completely lose control of myself that something undesirable comes out. This is the whole point of the word scandal – something got out. I didn’t want it to get out, but it got out, and now you all get to bask in the glory of my shame. Were I a celebrity, the tabloids go crazy, Entertainment Tonight does a little “Woo! Woo!” dance for their ratings. 

My life is a picture on display. The question is, what am I painting? Somewhere underneath the paint that I use is the residual image, the scarred image, of an invisible God that made me. I either choose to paint over, or to work with, this original image. 

I am an image bearer.

My choices are painting an image for the world to see. I bear, like thousands of cut images, the photo album of my life, and the images rattle through time like broken teeth, on some days, or like precious lumps of gold, on others.  

I wear a face that I want you to recognize. I have a voice that I want you to hear.

But I don’t mean you, the reader. I mean, Him, the Artist.  

Your life, reader, is a picture, too.

What are you painting?

Published in: on June 4, 2008 at 4:40 am  Comments (6)  
Tags: , ,

The Gift of Fire

Prometheus

How far would you go for passion?

(another post to Randy Elrod’s Watercooler Wednesdays)

The picture is called the “Torture of Prometheus,” by Jean-Louis-Cesar-Lair. It represents the punishment inflicted on the Titan Prometheus, by Zeus, for bringing fire down from heaven to man.

Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus were given the responsibility of making man along with all the animals necessary for man’s preservation. The problem was Epimetheus did his job too well – giving the animals speed, strength, wing, claw – and there was nothing left for man. Prometheus did not despair, but with Minerva’s help went into heaven and lit a torch at the chariot of the sun, and brought it back for man. The fire came down, and it gave man his place above the animals (Bulfinch’s Mythology). As punishment for bringing to man what belonged to the gods, Prometheus was chained to a rock, and each day a vulture landed on his stomach and ate his liver. It grew back overnight, and the next day the vulture returned and ate the liver again. And again. And again. 

What is it about fire that made Prometheus willing to suffer the wrath of Zeus? Why did he risk so much to give this gift to man?

Fire brings warmth. 

Before electricity there were two ways man had to stay warm: put on more clothes, put on more logs. Fire gave him control over his environment. Without it, he would die in the cold. 

Fire gives light.

Picture the world before electricity – a man wanders into the middle of a dense Washington forest, the kind of forest with trees 20,30, 60 feet tall. It’s the middle of the night, and one way or another he must find his way to the other side of the woods. He gropes forward, stumbling from one tree to the next, hours on end, until the sun’s early light reveals he has gone only a few hundred feet..

Now picture this same man entering the forest with a blazing torch. He sees the path, clearly marked before him. He reaches the other side with time to spare. 

What does this have to do with passion? 

We associate passion with fire – the greater the passion, the more it burns.

“Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.”  D.H. Lawrence

“Blaze with the fire that is never extinguished.” Luisa Sigea

“Each of us has a fire in our hearts for something. It’s our goal in life to find it and to keep it lit.” Mary Lou Retton

“Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark.” Henri Frederic Amiel 

Without passion, we are cold.

Without passion, we are shades, just ghosts of men trapped in a dark world.

Passion is a gift given to men from heaven, though I would argue not from gods but from God. Mankind has passion because God breathed His Spirit into us when he made our first father and first mother, Adam and Eve. His Spirit is what separated us from everything else in the world – there is no animal that has God’s Spirit, and there is no other created being that has passion like we do. And instead of a created being going into heaven to steal what was hidden, our Creator God sent His Son to give us what was hidden – relationship with Himself.

How far would you go for passion? I believe He went further.

 
Jesus on Cross

Published in: on May 28, 2008 at 4:43 am  Comments (6)  
Tags: , ,

The Myth of Adulthood

Kids playing grownup

This is an essay I wrote for Randy Elrod’s Water Cooler Wednesday.

It feels good to write an essay oozing faith. It reminds me of my Bible college days, my theological studies, and the time in my life I was studying to be a pastor (can you believe it?!). The desire to be a pastor has faded, but my love of truth, and my desire for wisdom has not.

The essay is called, “The Myth of Adulthood.“

… … …

We are the Never Never Land generation. A generation of Pans fleeing adulthood and the very mention of growing up.

Adulthood at 18 is a myth…

It is a myth created by parents to get kids out of the house. It is a myth perpetuated by adults who are little more than children themselves.

Adulthood at 21 is a myth…

Step onto any campus, from Washington to Maine, and we find 18-25 year old kids that fail to show up to class (What?! No playground breaks?!) and thereby fail their classes; failing to show up to class, and without any kind of job, they will still take money from Mommy and Daddy to pay for their snacks and lunches, and they know how to share too well (especially around test time).

Adulthood at 30 is a myth…

Tucked within the cul-de-sacs of America are Desperate Housewives also acting like kids: playing (the grownup word is partying); stealing cookies (it’s called 50-year mortgage terms – a.k.a. wanting what you really can’t afford); and not playing well with others (cheating on and/or then divorcing spouses)

Shall I continue up the age ladder? Let’s not..

If growing up and accepting responsibility is not about age, what is it?

The Gospel writer Luke says the following about Jesus:

“And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was upon him.” Luke 2:40

I would like to propose 4 ways we can become adults (responsible, godly, wise, mature)

1) Grow

Stop pretending like we can remain children forever, and grow up. This doesn’t mean we can’t be funny, or creative, or even childlike, but it does mean taking responsibility for our lives, and to stop leaning on our parents.

2) Become Strong

We become strong by training. The Scriptures teach that we are to train as though we were soldiers enduring hardship (2 Timothy 2:3). This means accepting pain. Being an adult hurts in a way being a child doesn’t, but there are joys to being an adult that are not found as a child.

3) Get Wise

I don’t mean being a smartass. We’ve got a lot to learn, you and I, but that doesn’t excuse ignorance. Children are very good at asking “Why? Why? Why?” So must adults. The difference is to stop asking the same question 100 times, until those around us wish we were children so they could smart us on the ass (and don’t think our Heavenly Father doesn’t wish this when we keep making the same mistakes!).

4) Get Grace

Growing up is not about independence. This is the great lie of adulthood. We are not independent. We need each other, but most of all we need God. You and I were made to run on God’s love like a machine was made to run on oil, or like grass was made to live on light. Growing up is admitting we need help, and that in the long haul we are really nothing more than children hoping someday to really grow up.

And who knows, maybe Pan was right, and we will find that Never Never Land is real and waits for us beyond death, with nothing more than happy thoughts forever.

In faith, I hope so.

… … …

(Most challenging for me was my 4th proposal. It is difficult to be needy. Or to admit I am.)

Published in: on May 14, 2008 at 5:54 am  Comments (4)  
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Going Nowhere

Lloyd from The Shining

-Screenshot of Lloyd from The Shining

The following piece is something I wrote using a writing prompt from a magazine I subscribe to called Writer’s Digest. 

The prompt was, “A man walks into a bar. But it isn’t a bar.” 

It’s called, “Going Nowhere.“

…………

A man walks into a bar. But it isn’t a bar. In fact, the room isn’t part of a building, and it isn’t in our world, and it isn’t in any world. The bartender isn’t a real bartender, either, and he has a joke he likes to tell to explain it all.

“A guy and a girl and another guy walk into a bar that’s not really a bar, and the first guy says, “there’s no beer here,” and the girl says, “I know,” and the third guy says, “I want to live here forever,” and then he kills the other 2 so that no one can ever find him.”

It’s not a very funny joke.

But he tells it to all the newcomers that he meets. He usually tells it to them while offering a beer he doesn’t have.

“Where am I?” asks the newcomer.

“You’re in the bar between worlds,” the not-bartender lies.

“How do I get home?” asks the newcomer.

“You don’t,” replies the not-bartender, just before shooting him.

The not-bartender takes the body and dumps it through the door that leads to some place that’s not really an alley; He whistles as he works.

He used to wonder what happens to the bodies that he throws out the door – once he saw something impossibly long moving through the shadows; he shut the door quickly as beads of sweat fell into his eyes.

He’s decided that it’s not the kind of thing he should worry about.

Back inside, he wipes his hands, and stretches.

Ding!

It’s the doorbell to his place that’s no place at all.

Another customer. 

Published in: on May 11, 2008 at 7:06 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , ,

Post 14 Excerpt

Post 13 Picture taken by me in Seattle

“Do you hear that?” Lyle continued. 

We leaned closer.

“It’s her voice over the bridge. It swallowed her up, but she’s still in there, frightened and alone. You hear?”

I heard one of the girls gasp.

“It’s her warning,” Lyle said.

I listened closer than most. When Lyle first told me his plan, rather impromptu at the party, I was skeptical, but intrigued. We had spent many nights in our dorm room telling ghost stories when we should have been typing papers. I had heard Lyle tell some truly terrifying tales, but he was on top of his game tonight. Even I thought I heard a girl’s voice.

“It’s game time boys and girls,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked (My response was planned, of course).

“I dare someone to go to Post 14 and back.”

Lyle and I exchanged glances quickly.

“What’s Post 14?” one of the girls asked.

“The trail’s marked,” Lyle explained. “Every 100 feet there’s a wooden post with a yellow number on it, tells you how far you’ve gone. Here.”

He led us to the edge of the trail.

“There’s Post Number 1,” he said.

He pointed to the wooden marker. It leaned precariously in the marsh, like an accusing finger from hell.

“That’s over a quarter a mile!”

“What are you crazy?” 

“I’m not going in there!” 

It was the loudest our group had been since we left the cars. 

“Do we get a flashlight?” one of the guys asked.

“Sure,” Lyle answered.

“You gonna do it then?” Terry asked (Terry went with us later. He drove the Ranger). 

Before he could answer, another boy interrupted.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

We were all surprised, me most of all. 

I hadn’t expected anyone to take Lyle’s dare seriously. 

-This is an excerpt of a story that is “finished” but still awaiting editing. It has been far too long since I promised it to readers of The Horror Experiment, and so I decided to give you a taste of a small edited portion. 

-If you like what you’ve read, feel free to comment on the site, or send me an email: rivene@hotmail dot com

 

 

 

Published in: on April 24, 2008 at 5:02 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , ,
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.