all points converge here

The Shadow of Cain, Reflected in the Mirror

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It’s against human nature to point out our own flaws. No one really wants to take Jesus’ advice and remove the logs from our own eyes, so we can see clearly to remove the specks from our neighbors’ eyes.

Sarcasm, snark and mockery are the hallmarks of my generation, and over the years -sad to say- I’ve become a master of all three. I throw stones from inside my own glass house all the time. Sometimes the best way to try to cope with a broken and messed up world is to find the humor in it.

Hypocrisy runs deep through the fabric of humanity. It’s funny when stupidity happens to someone else but we are just as stupid- even though the stupidity may take a different form.

I have to admit that no matter what I do my image is shot through with the shadow of Cain. I plot revenge against my enemies (even if I don’t have the means or the heart to carry out said revenge,) and I have to admit I have a certain sense of schaudenfreude when those I perceive to be assholes and/or idiots get theirs. I shouldn’t enjoy it, but I do. Too much…which is not at all like Jesus, Who warned us that we risk the fires of hell whenever we call our neighbor a fool- even if he or she is one.

Confession doesn’t come naturally to the sons and daughters of Cain. Our instinct is to put on our fig leaves and attempt to cover up our wickedness with our own self-righteous justifications. As flawed as we are, we still want to play the merit system- and we want to believe that God grades on the curve.

No one is worthy before God on their own merit.

In spite of what I do, or more likely fail to do, I still come to the table like Isaiah in Isaiah 6, the man of unclean lips, a filthy, disgusting piece of nastiness in the sight of a perfect, holy God.  The shadow of Cain is shot through me completely and I can’t fix it or wash it out.

The only merit earned in God’s merit system is a merit earned outside of us, a merit bought and paid for by the blood of Jesus Christ.

Even so, we all try to justify ourselves like the Pharisee in the temple.

“At least I’m not doing that.“

“I go to church every Sunday.”

“I give to the church and contribute to Christian education.”

Very well. As you should.

But…

No matter what I do my good works are as Isaiah describes in Isaiah 64:5-6. The ESV uses the polite term “polluted garment,” but the original Hebrew of this text isn’t quite so nice. The actual reference would be more like a used tampon or a bloody maxi pad. Something unspeakably nasty, and those are the good things I try to do.

I am thankful that even someone like me- a sinner who has no right to stand before my holy God has been invited to His table. His fiery coal burns the evil from my lips. He removes my guilt. He gives me His clean garment as a gift.

I still live in the shadow of Cain until the day when my Lord sees fit to call me home. But He forgives my sins. He heals my diseases and is fitting me for life in His Kingdom.

Plus ça Change, Plus C’est la Même Chose- Except for the Scenery

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I don’t remember much from high school French, other than the old saying that the more things change, the more things stay the same. Maybe if our illustrious French teacher, Mme. Novatny, could have gone out to smoke fewer than 3 Virginia Slim Menthol 120s per 45 minute class period, I might have learned more French in three years than je m’ennuie tellement. (I am so bored.) Apparently the Gen X ennui wasn’t confined to the Marion Harding Class of ’86. We were exemplary at it, but we didn’t realize it was a generational trait. We were told there was something wrong with just us.

Fast forward 38 years, and the ennui remains. For me, so does the depression and the sense of being deprived. Our heritage and history were stolen.

We lived the fall of the 20th century, just as we were coming of age. In 1983, as we were cranking up the Frontiers album and Steve Perry reminded us that all the heroes have gone east of Eden, we were in a very real sense being banished from the utopian idealism of the modern age.

We weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths. We were thrown outside to fend for ourselves while Mom locked the screen door and turned up the TV.

We were born in the fallout of the end of a golden age, and we were denied our own.

I struggled from the beginning- overworked, underpaid, living in constant anxiety and existential dread. Add two failed marriages, near death in childbirth, working for insane employers for 20+ years, and dealing with years of chronic pain and expensive chronic illnesses, and I am just as downtrodden and hopeless as I was in 1986. I have absolutely nothing to show for all the aggravation. I am not beautiful or wealthy or successful or well liked. Nothing has changed there.

Only now I know that all my striving wasn’t worth a damn. If I would have known where I would end up I wouldn’t have tried so hard.

Granted, I have taken more of an interest in learning a second language. I have been studying German for about three years. Ich bin müde, und hoffnungslos. Je mehr sich die Dinge ändern, desto mehr bleiben sie gleich…

I cling to God. That part is different because I was so confused and cynical about spiritual things when I was younger. I honestly believe that it is by the grace of God alone that I haven’t blown my brains out. Lord knows it has been a temptation at times.

If anything my life has been an exercise in futility. Perhaps I should read Ecclesiastes again, or maybe Job. I don’t have a right to question God. It doesn’t make the futility of life make sense though.

I Think I’m Afraid to Flush, Way Too Much Rain, and All Points Converge Here

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A peculiar quirk here in Central Ohio during the Monsoon Season (the two months – give or take a week or two- between the seasons of Snowbooger Grey and Stygian Heat, usually from mid-March to late May) is that occasionally storm drains overflow into the sanitary sewers, making it possible for effluvia rinsed down sinks, flushed down commodes, etc. to go the opposite direction than the one intended.  Low elevation, painfully flat landscapes, clay soil and torrential rains do not make for an optimum environment for natural drainage.

During the monsoon episodes, should one need to relieve oneself, in a good part of Central Ohio, you get to play a rousing game of “toilet roulette.”

Should I flush?  If it’s yellow, let it mellow?  If it’s brown, will it actually flush down?  What are the odds of ending up with a floor full of unspeakable mess?

At home I am not too averse to waiting to flush until the storm subsides, and I can see that the storm sewer grate is clear outside, as I really don’t want a backflow situation in my own bathroom.  But in public places it is extremely rude to leave your leavings without giving them their final send off, or at least making the attempt.

So far so good today.  For now.  Hopefully the deluge will take a break for an hour or two and let the storm sewers clear out some more.

I am glad it wasn’t raining like this yesterday when I was up in Marion.  It actually was a pretty good day. Steve-o got his hair cut and got some shades he wanted.

Dad had mentioned something intriguing when I was up there that I had some peripheral background on, but had not really taken a whole lot of notice.  I grew up not even really noticing the trains because trains went through town constantly and they still do.  You don’t notice them until you leave, and it either seems oddly quiet, or the trains are replaced with another background noise, which in my case today is the airport.  I live less than half a mile from Port Columbus.  I don’t notice the planes unless I make it a point to pay attention to them, but I certainly did notice the silence on 9/11 and the days following.  Passenger aircraft constantly taking off and landing, and F15s flying over have vastly different sounds.

In the early 20th century there were five different railroads that converged in Marion- from all points across the country.  Only two of those rail lines remain- the trains still go through pretty much constantly, with their endless cargos of coal, but the trains haven’t actually stopped in Marion since the early 1970’s.  If one looks close enough one can see where these rail lines once intersected which is sort of interesting.

At one time there were a lot of people going everywhere and nowhere.  Of course people are still going everywhere and nowhere, but the ride is a lot less scenic and usually is taken up with either phone conversations, electronic gadgetry, and the endless monotone of  flat, straight Interstate.  I enjoy a road trip (and even more if I make it a point to take a less traveled road) but I think something might be lost in the autonomy one has when you drive.  The train journey leaves your whereabouts at the mercy of another force, but paradoxically it also gives you the freedom to drift off into that void between everywhere and nowhere.   Sleeping (or even that delightful realm of half-sleep) and driving don’t mix.

The ghosts are restless at those convergence points.  It’s easy to imagine them at the train station even though trains don’t stop there anymore and only part of the train station remains.  Someone waiting for the next train.  Someone running down the platform.  Someone looking for someone who will never return.

I’m haunted by those stories, especially those of the troop trains.

Everywhere and nowhere.

Eventually the rain will stop, and I will get beyond my little melancholy foray into a past I don’t really understand.

On a lighter note, there are seasons here in Central Ohio. We have five.   That’s why the people who live here part of the year, but go to Florida part of the year, go down there for most of them.

Winter.  Begins right after Halloween, lasts until mid-February or so.  Best described as, “The Brass Balls Have Frozen off the Brass Monkey.”  Lots of precipitation. Dark most of the time.  Freezing rain, snow, ice, etc.

Snowbooger Grey. Mid-February or so until mid-late March.  Like winter, but with temperatures hovering right around freezing, so the snow all melts and the landscape everywhere looks like those snowboogers that accumulate in the splash guards and wheel wells of cars.  Since it’s slightly warmer than winter there’s more rain, and a bit more daylight, if you can notice through the overcast, grey haze that hangs over everything.  Dismal.

Monsoon.  Mid-late March-mid-late May.  Or so.  Just rain.  Constantly.

Stygian Heat.  100% humidity.  100% bugs.  Late May-mid-September. Plenty of rain.

Fall Monsoon. Mid-September-Halloween. Do you like rain? 🙂