swimming in the dark

Last Friday Ken and I had a date day. We took advantage of a gift card and had lunch at Olive Garden before heading to an early matinee to see Zero Dark Thirty. We found our seats in plenty of time to get a good start on the popcorn, and settled in for the previews of coming attractions.

Generally I anticipate a couple of what I call "shoot 'em up" trailers, and a film heavily dosed with computer generated imagery, with perhaps a drama or comedy or two for balance and good measure. On this occasion, with the exception of a dramatic biography of Jackie Robinson, every trailer previewed stories that included violence, abuses of power, excessive use of weapons, vengeance, and the domination over or destruction of one party at the hand of another.

How can we not draw the inescapable conclusion that we live, and move, and have our being deep in the stench of violence? The darkness of the trailers--and you can interpret my choice of that word in any  number of ways--invited me to look from another angle at the conversation raging about gun violence in our society. What I saw, in a succession of vignettes, was that any means seemed justified to accomplish a desired end, and the end (see the list in the paragraph above) is where the problem lies.

I have no idea how many scripts cross the desks of movie producers, but I suspect that those chosen to reach the screen represent disproportionately the genres from which to choose. There are many good stories waiting to be told and brought to life that would impact and, perhaps, change lives. There is history to be reviewed, music to illuminate our souls, and laughter to carry us away from the anxieties and concerns of our own lives. What we apparently pay good money to see, however, is the dark and tawdry stuff that is best viewed in darkness among the likely presence of strangers. Darkness translates as dollars, and Hollywood appears eager to give us that for which we are so very willing to pay.

We are a culture in trouble, sad and lonely and indulging in feeding the ugly side of our  natures. When what we actually hunger for and need most is light and life, we gravitate toward death. I don't believe this makes us trigger happy. I do think it gives room to the minds of those who might otherwise feel constrained to stretch toward and tap into a well of permission to "go there." We blame the media for sensationalizing the horror and fueling our voyeuristic inclinations. They do so because we lap it up and beg for more. We are all culpable, even if we are not responsible.

Again I am reminded of the words of Shakespeare, penned as the voice of the Prince of Verona lamenting the deaths of Romeo, Juliet, Tibalt, Mercutio and Paris as he cries out, "All are punished!" The word "punished" may catch our attention, but the solution is to be found among "all." Somehow when we clamor for rights--whether for ourselves or for others--we must also speak to its twin, responsibility. Individualism is trumping the collective good over and over again, shredding the very fabric that holds us together as a society and a nation. 

I started this post with this thought in mind: it's no wonder that violence is so prevalent when so much of our world is saturated with darkness. Yes, guns are part of the problem. The greater problem is that we have become so detached from one another--for whatever reason--that we don't value who we are as a whole, blunting our ability to value each. This generalized statement overshadows the good work being done by many to shine light into darkness, to do right for and by others, and there are certainly a multitude of those good souls among us. Our voice, however, lacks strength, and our actions are too often obscured.

In spite of seeing with new eyes the forces at work around us, and lamenting the steepness of the road that leads away from the pit into which we are sliding, I do believe there is hope.  I am grateful that the faith community of my early life taught and reflected the belief that  God's light shines within each and every one of us. Not only does that mean that I am in the presence of the divine at all times because I carry it within me, it means, as well, that I am able to share it at all times and in all places.  As a popular adage circulating these days states: a candle doesn't loose its light when it lights another candle. 

So, light-bearers, let's be about letting light shine through and from us. Better yet, let's keep igniting the light within others so that the collective brilliance of God may overcome the darkness that surrounds us. It is a daily effort, to be sure, but one that helps us find our way, together.

Photo from Zero Dark Thirty chosen with intent. Feel free to ponder it.

friday five: a-ha!

At RevGals KathrynJ writes: 

In the midst of the holiday season I had one of those moments where a path suddenly was made clear - A-ha! This experience has prompted me to wonder what some of your A-ha moments may be.

They can be mundane - a realization that you like/don't like a certain food or that you really look good in that color you never had the guts to try. They can be sacred - a way to better pace your day clicks into place or finally a devotion or meditation practice that really works for you. They can be profound - the moment you realized he/she was the one (or wasn't)or the moment you realized where your deepest passion could meet the world's greatest need.

Please tell us - what are five (more or less) of your 'A-ha' moments. Where have you had a moment of clarity?

Oddly enough I actually had a significant "a-ha!" just before Christmas. I meant to post about it, but one interruption or another kept me from blogging for most of the holiday. As big of an a-ha as it was I was also struck with the obvious nature of it and did the "I could have had a V-8" smack on the forehead and promptly forgot about it. Until now!

I have struggled throughout my life (or at least dating back to the third grade when I was the only Brownie on stage that got overlooked during the "flying up" to Girl Scout status ceremony) with the experience of seeming invisible to others. In the case of the lone, unpromoted Brownie, that seemed to be a physical case of invisibility, but there are any number of times when I have raised a question, made a point, or offered an idea within a gathering, have it acknowledged, and then at the conclusion of the gathering have that very offering attributed to someone else who made no contribution whatsoever to the conversation in question. ???!! This is just one example of the invisibility cloak at work.

I have finally made the connection between the experience of invisibility and being an introvert.  For a long time I have valued the benefits of introversion and taken in stride that I simply lack extroverted tendencies. For the first time, however, seeing this connection has also made it painfully clear to me (literally) how introversion has been a very real deficit in a number of respects.  The a-ha has been bittersweet. It has made it possible to connect all sorts of dots, which has been a good thing. It has also caused an internal upheaval with the peace I had come to embrace about the limitations of introversion. If I want to alter my relational and social experiences that suffer from being an introvert, I will have to fight against the natural tendency of introversion.  Insert the sound of an anguished cry here. 

As a recent a-ha this whole matter needs considerably more reflection and processing, something that will be accomplished in true introvert fashion.  In the meantime a sort of resignation has settled over me that I am trying hard to resist. I take that as a good sign, in spite of the fact that this is all also very wearing. Other "I's" will understand. 

Other epiphanies? None really come to mind, but this one seems big enough to fill the bucket.  More positively, Epiphany is my favorite liturgical season with its emphasis on light and incarnation, so I rejoice in the internal infusion of both those divine entities that are ushered in on this holy day.