Leviticus

Day 8 of reading through the Bible in 90 Days has landed me in Leviticus. Reading Leviticus is kind of like that feeling you get when you show up at a party full of people you don’t like, and you’re terribly overdressed. You think, I don’t belong here. It’s like you’re ten chapters into a Jane Austen novel when all of a sudden you turn the page and Hemingway shows up. It’s like one minute you’re watching figure skating and suddenly a hockey game breaks out. 

It’s not as if Genesis and Exodus were walks in the park, but the first 12 chapters of Leviticus read like a How-to book for starting your own slaughterhouse. There’s more blood and guts than a Tarantino movie. But, it’s not just the grisly details of animal sacrifice, it’s the maddening fastidiousness of it all. Step one: take hold of beast by placing right thumb next to left ear of offering...take special care in this regard, for if you screw it up you shall surely die. It’s like Robert’s Rules of Order for the Old Covenant.

I’m sure there is a much deeper meaning here than meets the eye. All of this will eventually make sense as part of the grander sweep of the story, I’m sure. My pastor, David Dwight has a marvelous gift of being able to make complex and confusing things easier to understand, without dumbing down either the material or his audience . I eagerly await his take on Leviticus. 

He has his work cut out for him!

“You’re not the boss of me!”

This morning, I completed my first week of reading through the Bible in 90 Days, having made it through the end of Exodus. For what it’s worth, I find myself developing an intense dislike for the children of Israel, a brooding swarm of petulant brats who wouldn’t know how to pour piss from a boot if the instructions were written on the heal. If I had been Moses, I would have left the whole lot of them to their own devices and built a retirement home back in Midian. Surely, there has never existed a collection of people more whiny and ungrateful than God’s chosen people...with the possible exception of we Americans.

So, yesterday I had a text conversation with my son. My wife and I, having just finished season 2 of The Crown, find ourselves in a showhole, and I have been hearing much buzz about another Netflix series called Black Mirror. Since this show is billed as a modern, high tech version of the Twilight Zone, I decided to defer to my high tech savvy son to get the scoop. He and Sarah, it turns out, have indeed watched the show, around 8 episodes so far, so he had lots of opinions. He went on and on about the story lines, the intensity and darkness of some of the plots, the way each story is exhausting to watch because your brain is going a million miles an hour by the end, etc...Then, he throws this out...

...Do not watch the first episode of season 1. Just don’t.

Why would my son say such a thing? In this regard, he is not much different than my daughter, both of them seem certain of the kinds of things I would like and those things that I would hate. My children seem to know my tendencies so thoroughly that they can tell me with confidence exactly which episodes of a show I should avoid? (In his defense, he warned me against going to see The Book of Morman.) But here’s the thing...when somebody singles out something as specific as the first episode of season 1 with dire warnings, why does it make me want to watch it all the more? It’s like, I think..Wait, why can’t I watch that particular episode? I’m a grownup. I’m perfectly capable of deciding what episodes of a show I can watch. I’ll watch whatever the heck I want to watch, thank you very much! I was watching television long before either of my children were even born. Where do they get off telling me not to watch episode one of season 1? I’ll show them!!

My reaction was not much different than the reaction of Adam and Eve to God’s warning that they could eat of any tree in the Garden of Eden, except one. My conclusion is that human beings are hard wired for rebellion. We hate nothing quite so much as being told what to do. It’s as if the one unifying cry of all of mankind throughout all of human history is the same cry one hears from their middle school children...You’re not the boss of me!! 

Come to think about it, sounds exactly like the Israelites...

A Stable Genius?

It has been nearly a month since I have made any reference, specific or implied, about the President of the United States. Ignoring him in this space has been mildly therapeutic, since grappling with such a man has proven to be quite a challenge. The audience for this blog is a disparate group which includes some who are ardent supporters, some who are cautiously optimistic, others who are thoroughly confused, and a fourth group who are horrified by the man. I fluctuate wildly between the last three groups. 

For all of my adult life I have been a fascinated observer of politics and politicians, and an admirer of very few of them. My overarching opinion is that politics is a grubby, pedestrian, unfortunate neccesity of our republican form of government. The people normally drawn to it are egomaniacs and narcissists of ordinary intelligence who either arrive in Washington rich, or quickly become rich during their tenure. If this makes me a cynic, so be it. A quick glance at the historical record, in my view, practically demands cynicism, but that’s another story. My general attitude towards government and the people who comprise it has been to give them a wide berth. I have endeavored to go about living my life in such a way as to limit interaction with politicians or at the very least, attempt to insulate myself and my business from their most egregious dictates. In this project I have enjoyed considerable but limited success. I say all this to place into proper context what I am about to say about the President’s latest(I think) tweet.

I follow the President on Twitter. I have never responded to any of his tweets, and never retweeted any of them. I follow him out of a combination of civic duty and my lifelong attraction to all things puerile. It has been a fascinating journey, reading the thousands of short, hastily constructed, emotionally charged outbursts which have gushed from the fingers and thumbs of the 45th President. But, this morning’s beats them all:

Actually, throughout my life, my two greatest assets have been mental stability and being, like, really smart. Crooked Hillary Clinton also played these cards very hard and, as everyone knows, went down in flames. I went from VERY successful businessman, to top T.V. Star to President of the United States (on my first try). I think that would qualify as not smart, but genius....and a very stable genius at that!

Apparently some Democrats in Congress had been promoting the analysis of some shrink somewhere who had positted a theory that the President had taken leave of his senses and therefore, pursuant to the 25th amendment, a committee needed to be formed to make a determination of his mental fitness, etc... Since this shrink and the suggestion of envoking constitutional remedies came from the Democrats, I dismissed it as nothing more than the usual unhinged partisan rancor that has forever flowed from the party out of power. But, this particular President always feels compelled to crank up his Twitter account, and respond, so respond he did...and what a response!!!

My parents were consistent in their advice to me in only a few memorable things. One of them was in the area of pride. Every body hates a braggart, they would warn. Never toot your own horn. Let others praise you, never take up the job yourself. This was part of their lifelong negative opinion of self-promoting hustlers. Besides, they would insist, if you call yourself a Christian, you should be more concerned about the well being of others than you are about your own well being. Pride goeth before a fall became one of my mother’s favorite axioms, which she trotted out at the first sign of boasting among any of her children. So, what to make of the President’s tweet?

For starters, I don’t know that I have ever heard a really smart person actually say, I’m a really smart person. Most of the super smart people I’ve ever been around, if anything, have tried to hide their brilliance, sensing that it separated them from others. But, now we have a chief executive who is telling us about his two greatest assets being his mental stability and being, like, really smart. Later in the tweet, just in case we missed it, he goes one step further by declaring himself to be not only genius, but a very stable genius.

I, for one, am very grateful for the stability thing since history is full of examples of the perils of unstable genius.

So, this tweet had the effect of producing a President-themed blog post. I probably should have resisted, since now somewhere around 40% of you are pissed. I suppose the reason I gave in to writing this was the fact that sometimes I still manage to be astonished by things. Reading the words of a sitting President bragging about his genius is an entirely higher level of astonishment. Surely, most of our previous Presidents thought themselves geniuses. This one proclaims it from the rafters. 

Pride goeth before a fall......

Can Men Be Replaced?

I’ve been seeing lots of stories in the news recently about the rising popularity of sex robots among Japanese men. With the evolution and refinement of robotic technology, these robots are becoming more accomplished and lifelike with each passing month, and this is presented as a potentially serious threat to women. With regards to the Japanese, this is a particularly vexing question, since that country already suffers from a negative replacement birth rate. If female sex robots are the future for Japanese men, then Japan is literally doomed.

But, I’m thinking that it’s men who better be worried. Speaking as a man, I can say without hesitation that it hasn’t been a great couple of years for my gender, what with all of the sexual harassment allegations flying around everywhere. Can you imagine how it might go for my grandson once robotic technology advances another twenty years or so? What’s a woman to do if in the year 2030 she is presented with a choice between Bot #5678, a dead ringer for Brad Pitt, or Frank in accounting? Sure, Bot #5678 would involve a sizable upfront investment, but he would be covered by a thirty year warranty. Frank, not so much. In addition, Bot #5678 would have other things going for him that poor Frank couldn’t possibly compete with:

Bot #5678 would never forget to take out the garbage.

Bot #5678 would never not ask for directions because his GPS is built in.

Bot #5678 would always listen and respond immediately to spoken demands.

Bot #5678 would come with an empathy add-on which would force him to always share his feelings.

Bot #5678 would never forget birthdays and anniversaries.

Bot #5678 would excel at all household chores, especially if equipped with the vacuum attachment.

Bot #5678 would understand every aspect of the female anatomy.

Bot #5678 would always prefer romantic comedies over anything in the Fast and Furious franchise.

So, fellas, I have seen the future and it’s not very bright. We better get our act together...and fast!

My Love/Hate Relationship With Snow

I have a complicated relationship with snow. It’s very much a love/hate thing. I love how it looks when it’s falling. I love the anticipation that accompanies a weather forecast that calls for snow. I love the feeling that comes over you when you realize that a blizzard is coming and you have a refrigerator full of treats. I love how you feel when you venture out in it for the first time, laying down the first footprints.

But, that’s where the love part ends...abruptly, and is quickly replaced by deep, intense hatred.

I hate the fact that a snowstorm no longer absolves me of all of my worldly obligations. When I was a kid, six inches of snow meant freedom. There would be no school, which meant no homework, which meant spending the day building snowmen and throwing snowballs. Now, a snowstorm means I have to shovel the stuff away from the entrances to my house and drive through the stuff to the office where my worldly obligations await my attention. I hate how this shoveling business gets harder each year, leaving me stiffer and stiffer with each new storm. I hate how the world looks a mere 48 hours after the snow stops falling, a dirty, slushy mess. I hate having to share the road with all of the obnoxious owners of 4-wheel drive trucks who think that by virtue of owning such vehicles they are rendered immune from the laws of physics. I hate how freaking cold it is after a snowstorm. I hate the prospect of a loss of power. But mostly, I hate how a miserable little 3 inch snowfall reminds me of what an insufferable wimp I am compared to my hearty brethren in Maine. Also...note to self: Never, EVER move to a State where this sort of thing happens for five months a year.

On a brighter note, this particular snowfall has a silver lining in that it is a very finely frozen sort of snow, which means it can be removed with my leaf blower. In addition, today was the only day over the next three weeks that was appointment free, so no one will need to be rescheduled, a major win. 

One more thing...when I consider that my brother had to sling mail in this sort of weather for twenty years, my admiration for him goes off the charts, making me very grateful that he is now retired, sipping his morning coffee while reading this blog. Good for you, big brother.

A Brave Woman

How quickly the pace of life changes. From Christmas Eve through New Year’s Day, everything slowed down. There was plenty to do, but the rhythm and structure was gone, each day lacking a fixed schedule. Now, suddenly, I’m back on the treadmill with a vengeance, facing two weeks of back to back to back meetings, with the space in between filled with specific and familiar duties. The strange thing is...I think I prefer the treadmill. It requires greater discipline, and I take an odd comfort in discipline.

So, today Lucy has an appointment. I have shared previously here our need to find a place to board her during our upcoming floor tumult. I wrote about our unnerving experience at a local doggie daycare establishment in Short Pump. Later that day my sister told me that someone had posted a reply on Facebook asking me to send a private message concerning this matter. Intrigued, I looked and, behold, it was true,(a little reading through the Bible in 90 Days humor there). A very sweet and kind woman who has been a faithful reader of this blog and therefore was familiar with the trials and tribulations of Lunatic Lucy, simply could not bear the thought of me boarding her in such a scary place. She miraculously offered her own home, where she lives with her own skittish sheltie, Maggie, as an alternative. Of course, in this world there exist skittish dogs...then there’s Lucy. There’s a very real possibility that she will go bonkers at the meet and greet, forcing this angelic woman to rescind her kind offer. Nevertheless, today at 4:00, I will be sitting on a sofa in a house of someone I have never met to discuss terms. If this thing works out, this lady, (whose name I am withholding because A. I don’t have her permission to use it and B. My desire to protect her identity if things don’t work out), will be my new hero and earn a permanent place on our Christmas card list.

In preparations for this meeting, I have tried to imagine how it might go, and my morbid and warped imagination has conjured up a whole host of off the rails outcomes, including but not limited to, a repeat of Lucy’s imfamous Christmas Eve projectile pooping fiasco. But, my experiences in life have generally taught me that things never turn out quite as badly as we imagine they will. Our feared worst case scenarios seldom materialize. Maybe Lucy will conduct herself with great grace and decorum, in which case my reader might suspect that I have exaggerated her psychotic tendencies. I dearly hope so. On the other hand, if things don’t work out, I will always be grateful for her willingness to help poor Lucy out. Dog lovers sometimes do crazy things because of that love...like volunteering to dog-sit this girl:

The Bible in 90 Days?

Ok, so my church has challenged it’s members to embark on a plan to read the entire Bible in the first 90 Days of 2018. When I first heard of this scheme, I was skeptical of how the membership of Hope would respond to such a thing. Don’t take this the wrong way, but my impression of the congregants at my new church is that they wouldn’t necessarily be a group that would be all that eager for the Word of God. Writing that thought out makes it sound like a gratuitous insult, now that I read it, but it’s not meant to be. It’s just that Hope is a rather affluent, comfortable group of people, not a demographic which I associate with spiritual hunger and discipline. Boy, was I wrong! At last count, Hope had sold over 1400 special read the Bible in 90 Days bibles, the cost of which was subsidized by a couple of members. So, apparently, I have misjudged my new congregation. After two days of this project, I have made it through the first 28 chapters of Genesis. A few observations:

Having been a Christian for most of my adult life, I am quite familiar with the Bible, having read it with various levels of consistency and seriousness over the years, even having read it through once before, years ago, albeit over 12 months instead of 3. However, I must here confess that it has been quite awhile since I’ve spent very much time in the book of Genesis. I know every story. I’ve read them all before. But, going through 28 chapters in two days brings into sharper focus...some truly bizarre stuff.  

So far, it occurs to me that the book of Genesis probably should be banned from the public schools, or at the very least, one should have to provide an ID before being  allowed to read it, much like we must prove our age to consume adult beverages. Holy Cow, every where you look there’s somebody sleeping with somebody else’s wife, or even worse, somebody else’s slave girl! There’s rampant nakedness, mass circumcising, and even deliberate, premeditated incest. There’s drunkenness, lying, stealing and entire cities dedicated to decadence. Let’s just say that God’s chosen people cannot be accused of producing an account that makes them look very noble. The Bible is not a whitewashed, airbrushed, purified account of the Jewish people. So far, they are presented as quite a duplicitous, conniving, cutthroat bunch. But, to tell the truth, this is the thing that has always drawn me to this book. The biggest hero of the Old Testament, King David, is presented to us completely unvarnished. We see him at his admirable best and his scandalous worst. If it was only glorification and propaganda, why would the story of his despicable behavior with regards to Bathsheba be included in the narrative? For someone like me, this full picture of the heroic and the horrific give the Bible it’s credibility, and it also gives me hope. If a man about whom it was said, He was a man after God’s own heart, could suffer such monumental failures, then the fact of my own failures places me in good company.

Anyway, I’m only two days in, so who knows how long I’ll keep up the pace. So far, so good.

On a side note...I’ve enjoyed reading all the punditry over the past couple of days about how far the SEC has fallen in the college football ranks, of how the other conferences have caught up and, wow, how about the Big Ten going undefeated?!! So, the fact that the national title game will feature Georgia vs Alabama is truly hilarious to me. Listen up people...put away the shovels. Apparently, the stories of the death of the SEC were greatly exaggerated!