leaving christianity

Hillside

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Thu, 02 Jan 2025 19:45:00 +0000

Jesus would oftentimes get overwhelmed by the size of the crowds that his messages would bring. In Matthew chapter 5 verse one from the message, the author states that when Jesus saw how large a crowd his message drew, he went and climbed a hillside. I know this is only part of that verse, but some things here can be unpacked and applied practically to my life today.

First of all, Jesus‘s message drew huge crowds. That’s not uncommon. Go to any Taylor Swift concert, Texans football game, or Jim Gaffigan comedy show, and you will see what kinds of messages draw huge crowds. While I believe that Jesus was trying to reach every person he could possibly reach, I also think that being a human being, he found himself on the spectrum of introversion. Nothing wrong with that. I know many introverts. There is nothing wrong with it and it is no better or worse than being an extrovert. For introverts though, energy is depleted through interaction with people. And the way to re-energize is to withdraw to oneself and to take a moment or two or three to breathe. Large crowds especially can be overwhelming. Being an introvert doesn’t mean that you don’t like being around people. That’s not at all what I am saying. I am saying that being an introvert means that, as opposed to being extroverted, we gain our energy from being alone. On the other hand, an extrovert gains energy through being around people. For an extrovert, energy is depleted through being alone. For the introvert, energy is rebuilt through being alone. Those are the differences between the two. Neither one is good. Neither one is bad. That’s just how it is. And so, first off we see a striking difference between Jesus and Cesar.

And the whole reason for the sermon on the mountain in my estimation is that Jesus wanted to use the message to establish the striking differences between the kingdom of Caesar and the kingdom of love. And you may replace the word love with God or Christ or ultimate reality or spirit or whatever you want to call it. But for ease of writing, I’m going to use the word love in place of God. And so we have two different kingdoms butting up against each other in the first century: The kingdom of Caesar and the kingdom of love. Now, I’ve done some hiking in my days, and I know that when I’m planning out a trail to hike, I am not just randomly withdrawing to the first trailhead that I can find, not knowing where the trail leads, where it finishes, or how long the trail will take. I have to do careful planning to make sure that I’m gonna be back before dark, and that I have enough supplies, enough food, and everything else I may need to have a successful hike. I’m assuming here that Jesus‘s departure to a hillside was not a weeklong trip but probably more like a half day or a few hours. I’m also assuming that Jesus was not an expert on the layout of the land. He probably had to go see some people to determine where he could go to withdraw from the crowds for a few hours. And then, he probably had to gather some supplies. Some food maybe. Some first aid supplies. What this tells me is that his hiking trip if you wanna call it that, was premeditated. I think that before Jesus even uttered a word to the masses he had already planned an escape route so that he could decompress and rebuild his energy reserves. It is also well known that exercise helps build energy reserves. If you’ve ever gone on a run, you would have noticed that your muscles and your body are somewhat tired, but you feel this sense of energization within your cells almost like they are dramatically reproducing, and you can feel like you’re in tune with that whole process. I think Jesus knows all this. He was a walker and he probably ran some too. I don’t know. Jesus was used to walking from town to town in the village to teach what he believed was an unending kingdom of love that could not be overtaken by any kings or systems of the Earth. This part of the passage doesn’t say what Jesus did once he got to the hillside and, sidenote, being that he went to the hillside means that he did not climb the whole hill. Jesus knew what he was doing. He was not leaving the crowds behind out of neglect, but he was leaving the crowd behind to love them more deeply.

We just came out of what I think is the most stressful time of the year when you string together three holidays in a row: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. There are lots and lots of gatherings. For me, it absolutely drains me to be around a lot of people a lot of the time. And if I don’t have at least an escape plan to where I can step off to the side out of sight out of mind for a few minutes, an hour, or even a few hours, I know that I’m in for a bad time.

But there’s another part here that I would like to hone in on now. That part is that Jesus's goal was not to draw masses of people to himself for the sake of bringing people to himself. I don’t believe he was self-centered like that. I don’t believe that his purpose was to make himself The Jewish version of Caesar. I believe he was doing the opposite. I believe that Jesus thought of himself as a bridge connecting people to Love. Caesar, on the other hand, drew people to himself for the sake of glorifying and raising himself up. In all of the Scriptures, we don’t see anything that tells us that Jesus was trying to raise himself up and glorify himself to match Caesar’s power. In contrast, Jesus attempted as much as possible to lower himself so that people would not be drawn to himself, but to the kingdom of love that he represented. And that kingdom, he believed, only worked through the art of diminishing oneself to raise another. Caesar was about calling himself Lord and the son of God while Jesus was about calling himself a servant of love. I’m sure many different applications can come from this one little passage, but I’m going to focus on what I think I believe what’s going on here.

The author who is writing this passage, wants the reader to know that if we want to truly love the people that we’re around, we have to be able to withdraw to an isolated place and rebuild our energy reserves so that we can love consistently and fully. On the other hand, if we are about the kingdom of love, we are not Caesars. We are not in the business of building crowds for the sake of numbers and likes and follows and shares. We’re not in the business of drawing people to us to fulfill some sense of self-worth or value. The sole reason we draw people to ourselves is to present a theater of love. Love comes in countless ways. Love looks like doing the dishes. It looks like washing my daughter‘s hair. It looks like mowing the yard. It looks like giving five dollars to a homeless man who needs food. It looks like writing a nice letter to someone you haven’t seen in a long time. It looks like going to an AA meeting to help someone who can’t stop drinking. It looks like helping the old lady in the parking lot with her groceries. Love isn’t this grand scheme. It’s not a production. 99% of the forms of love come in the most nondescript and unnoticeable ways. A lot of times the love that we put out into the universe is only seen by us. Yet, that’s what we seek. We seek to imitate the theatrics of love that Jesus put on display. These theatrics, small as they were, were a dangerous and deadly game that Cesar wanted nothing to do with. These little acts of love eventually got Jesus killed as an enemy of the state. These little acts of love eventually got some of the disciples killed as enemies of the state. Kingdom love flies in the face of all governments and political systems. Love has no part in war, discrimination towards migrants, arms dealing, or any form of discrimination. This kind of love dies to itself to raise the least of these to expose them to the best opportunities available. To serve with this type of love, it’s essential that from the beginning we construct an escape route so that we can re-replenish our energy reserves. Once we get rattled, and start running out of energy, we get irritated. And it becomes very easy to turn the love that we started with into an irritation. And then we end up turning the same people away that we had originally drawn.

To wrap this up, The kingdom of Caesar had a lot of similarities to the kingdoms of this modern day. While America may be a little more advanced than kingdoms throughout the world, there is still an inherent evil and anti-love that threads itself through the fabric of our laws and our politics. The kingdom of love is for everybody. But it takes work to be a participant. It takes work to love and it takes energy, but that is what Jesus is doing as he sees his message draw these huge crowds and he withdrawals to a hillside.

Love. Recharge. Love some more. Recharge. The rhythm of the kingdom of love.

Grace and peace.

The Bot Knows Joy?

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Thu, 24 Oct 2024 20:54:00 +0000

Recently, I went through a short phase. I don't know about you, but my life is like a million short lived phases that either stick or don't. This most recent phase was about joy, or the lack thereof.

My understanding of the work that Jesus did, is this:

It is finished.

Yet, my REAL understanding is that I have about 8 million things that I have to do in order to stay joyful - which, if you read the second sentence, there is no joy in the first place.

I asked ChatGPT (yes, I'm that person) one night as I was walking, "How do I reconnect with joy?" I gave a synopsis of the last 10 years of how I once was filled with this everlasting well spring of life that continuously overflowed with the fruits of the spirit: joy, kindness, patience, love, and the other ones that I can't remember. I told the Artificial Intelligence of how - at some point - in the last 10 years, I capped off the well. I metaphorically covered the well and it stopped flowing.

And I died inside.

And I'm dead inside.

And will I ever be alive again?

After I finished giving my shortened life story to the bot, I asked it to give me a downloadable, practical, daily, step-by-step guide on how to reconnect with the joy I have seemingly lost. And here it is:

____________________________________________

Practical Approach: Reconnecting with Joy Through Teachings of Jesus

This guide offers practical steps to help you reconnect with the teachings of Jesus and integrate

meaningful practices back into your life, even outside of traditional Christianity. The goal is to nurture

your emotional well-being while maintaining harmony in your relationships.

1. Start with Personal Intentions, Not Structure

Begin by reflecting on what draws you back to these practices. Consider journaling briefly about

what your spirit longs for and what you hope to recover through these practices.

2. Create a Simple Morning Ritual

Start your day with a brief scripture reading (2-3 times per week). Use a gentle translation like 'The

Message' and reflect on what stands out to you. A short journaling session afterward can help you

capture meaningful insights.

3. Practice in Solitude and Mindfulness

Incorporate simple internal practices, such as:

- Breath prayers: e.g., 'Peace, be still.'

- Gratitude reflection: Note one thing you're thankful for each evening.

These practices are quiet and personal, helping you find moments of calm without external conflict.

4. Apply Teachings to Your Inner Life

Focus on one teaching of Jesus per week (e.g., the Sermon on the Mount) and reflect on how it can

shape your thoughts and actions. Ask yourself, 'What does loving my neighbor look like today?'

5. Observe Seasons in a Personal Way

Revisit meaningful seasons like Lent or Advent in ways that resonate with you:

- Lent: Let go of small distractions to create space for renewal.

- Advent: Light candles and reflect on themes of hope and waiting.

6. Set Boundaries for Conversations

Explain to those around you that these practices are personal and not about imposing beliefs. This

is about finding emotional healing and inner peace.

7. Explore Alternative Forms of Community

If you miss community, explore online spaces or engage with podcasts and books that reflect on

Jesus' teachings without dogma. This can provide connection without straining your relationships.

8. Embrace Gradual Growth

Allow yourself to grow slowly and intentionally. Pay attention to what brings joy, and build on those

moments. Each small step will move you closer to the peace you seek.

May these practices help guide you back to joy, peace, and emotional freedom.

__________________________________________________

So, Day 1 I started. I did all the things. I read all the scriptures and contemplated all the stuff. On Day 2, I did some of the things. I read some of the scriptures and contemplated some of the stuff. On Day 3, you see where this is going.

It eventually led to today.

Me. Wondering. Where. The. Joy. Is.

My conclusion led me to the notion (which loops back to another sentence above) that IT IS FINISHED.

Which opens up a whole other can of worms.

Salvation.

Salvation from what?

From whom?

I was under the impression that Jesus finished it for us, so I don't have to go through these existential crises of wondering what happens after I die. That's what Christianity seemingly did for me:

It scared me into hell, saved me into heaven, and left me wondering what the fuck do I do now with this tangled, heavy, mess of nothingness that rests just below my sternum? Is that my chest bone or something?

Depression is not fun. All Christianity had to say about it was: IT'S A SPIRITUAL PROBLEM THAT NEEDS A SPIRITUAL ANSWER!

My life has seemingly turned from a journey going somewhere to a daily war against the terrorism of depression. All the ammunition is in full use, including therapy, sobriety, exercise, medicine, psychiatry, meditation, and still...

I'M DEAD ON THE INSIDE.

Do I need different meds?

Do I need to ask ChatGPT in a slightly different way?

Do I need to crack open the Bible again?

Do I need to get back to church?

Do I need to...

And the hamster wheel of experimental antidotes to my suffering rolls on and on and on.

What happens when I run out of things?

What happens when I run out of energy?

What happens when days like today happen, when the depression is so thick and tarry that I go to bed mid day just to make it go away for a little while?

There's so much: struggling marriage, kids with impossibly complex needs, self-created chaos of running my own business which isn't necessarily paying the mortgage on time, twisty toilet seats, brown grass, Trunk or Treat, what am I going to wear for Halloween, go vote, hope the sales get better fast, sign up for DoorDash, listen to Rob Bell, join his Patreon, move faster......................................

And somewhere deep inside, locked up inside a black cabinet down a dark hallway is a sign.

STOP.

STOP?

stop.

The archenemy of joy is movement, or, a busy mind and body.

I've had joy + depression for more years than I've had depression - joy. That's a minus sign by the way.

What gives?

Addition by subtraction..

What in my life do I need to subtract? And it's most likely not physical. It's mainly mental. What do I need to not devote headspace to?

I'm very systematic and the idea of stopping threatens my ability to survive. But rock bottom can't be much lower than this.

Stop. Rest. Breathe. Continue.

That Lady Changing in the Corner

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Sat, 19 Oct 2024 13:33:00 +0000

Yesterday I was at the thrift store, which, for those of you who don't know - this is what I do for a living. I buy pre-owned clothing for $2 or less, then sell it on Ebay for at least $10. So, as I do every day, I'm shopping at the thrift going thought the pants section. Now, when you walk into this particular thrift store - just to give the layout - there are racks of women's clothing directly in front of you. If you take a left and walk all the way until you hit the wall, take a right, and all along that wall are pants hanging up. If you walk all the way along the wall to the back wall, there is a corner. Master of the obvious - two straight lines come together to form a corner or right angle. When I shop this store, I always start with the pants because not as many people are over there. It requires a bit more effort because they are hanging fairly high and you have to use a little upper arm strength to go down this whole line. I always start at the end of this line of pants, moving from the corner of the store to the front.

In the corner, there was an older lady - probably in her 70s - and she had sort of built this fortress of pre-owned clothing around her. She had two shopping carts parked in front of her so that all anyone saw was her standing behind the shopping carts. Hanging on the shopping carts were hangers filled with clothes. Basically, you could see her torso and above, but nothing below that. In order to start going through the pants section, I have to begin right where she is in the corner. Now, let me just give a brief description of this lady. She had curly blondish-white hair, a solid color blouse, and then - and I only know this because I was close enough that I could see in the corner of my eye - a pair of black undershorts. She was chewing gum, which was quite an intelligent ploy. When you chew gum around other people, it makes you seem more normal than if you're not chewing gum. It also diverts any attention away from the lower body and focuses all attention on the mouth that's chewing gum. Now, the problem was that these undershorts were under something at some point, but currently they were not under anything. So, essentially, this lady was literally turning this corner of the store into her own personal changing station.

As I flipped through the pants, I would take a brief look over to her. And, let me just make clear that - is there not always a bit of a thrill when you catch someone doing something that they think no one is noticing? So, every few minutes I would slyly peek over, and in my head I was playing a game to see if she would catch me looking. I could tell that she was chewing the gum a bit more drastically as if she understood that someone was on to her.

As other people would come by, I would watch their faces to see if they saw what I saw, but no one noticed. Or, if they did, they noticed and then their brains immediately blocked it out because the situation was so out of the norm that it presented an obstacle to the task at hand. Sometimes I love my brain because it allows me to press into those situations in which the normal reaction would be to filter it away and focus on the task at hand.

In other words, the situation and the lady were so obvious that it was not obvious. I'm sort of grateful that I was able to notice the obvious yesterday. Because, most of the time, I am so focused on the task at hand that the obvious quickly becomes not obvious. The human brain has been so conditioned through millennia of fighting for survival, that it's constantly scanning for dangers and detours that may threaten to throw off our routines of finding food, clothing, and shelter. Now, this conditioning is what keeps us alive. If our brains do not give out signals that danger is ahead, then we'll walk right into the jaws of that lion that is patiently waiting for us as it's licking its chops.

As Americans, we have been convinced and re-programmed to believe that the dangers that used to threaten us are not enough. So, our minds have been fed new and less threatening dangers but at the same time these dangers have become paramount to everything we live for. For example, it used to be dangerous to not have shelter, but shelter is so obvious now that the real danger is not having an A.C. unit. It used to be dangerous to go hunt for food, but now it's considered dangerous to not have a working refrigerator. Life without A.C. and refrigeration can't be fathomed because they are the life-blood of existence (here in the U.S.). In most parts of the world, it is still dangerous going to find food and shelter.

So, what's obvious (the need for food) has been replaced with the need for refrigeration. If you don't have refrigeration, then you can't have food. If you don't have A.C., then you can't have a house. What used to be essentially basic to our survival has been replaced with a lower level accessory that is meant to improve what the original thing was.

Yesterday (before I saw the lady at the thrift store), I was helping chaperone a field trip with my girls' class, and when it came time to eat lunch there were three tables available. There was one homeless man at one table, and another homeless man at another table. That left one table for everyone to eat at, but in reality there wasn't just one table to eat at. There were three tables and two of them happened to have one seat occupied by a stranger. And so our minds mapped out the situation and at first, tried to make the one table work but it just wouldn't fit everyone. So, our minds took a basic inventory of the two men, and decided which man looked less threatening. One man was talking to himself and looking at the ground, and the other was looking at his cell phone. Since the one looking at the cell phone was more relatable, we chose to start sitting children (and chaperones) at that table. ]

Our brains weighed the dangers, mapped out any scenarios that could turn south, and made the conclusion that Table B was better than Table A.

What does all of this have to do with anything? There is a phenomenon going on right now, and it's been going on for several years. People who have had their brains unwired from "the world" and re-wired through a framework of religion (I'm mostly talking Christianity), have somehow created a mental switch that allows them to bypass the electrical currents of danger that are being presented by Donald Trump, and have reframed and reconditioned through media and the news the wiring that originally would have been avoided at all costs. For example, lets say someone became a Christian and "rewired" their thinking to stop watching R-Rated movies. They determined that watching R-Rated movies was no longer something that presented itself as congruent with their new way of thinking and living. Well, at some point Donald Trump came along, and he himself was and is the R-Rated movie that was previously determined as not helpful to the current worldview. But somehow, the same wiring that deemed R-Rated movies as wrong is now deeming the R-Rated person as right.

As a result, the obvious (the R-Ratedness of Donald Trump) has become not obvious (Trump has been called by God). And this isn't just a political thing. It's happening all over the place. We only notice if our brains are not constantly being rewired by social media and the news. But the mental switch is a major problem because it's allowing a very large population of people who ten years ago would have had nothing to do with this man, to becoming staunch supporters of this man through some kind of electrical re-tweaking.

What do we do about this? I don't know. I'm just pointing out the obvious.

in the beginning...

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Sat, 19 Dec 2020 22:09:00 +0000

5 minute read

i've been doing a lot of question asking on atheist and agnostic facebook pages. one of the questions i asked was, what was one book that helped solidify your disbelief in god? remarkably, the question received over 250 answers, and the bible was the most often mentioned book that helped solidify disbelief in god. but, i don't have that experience. while i don't believe in the christian god (the one that has the ability to do human things), i haven't completely turned away from the concept of god.

i'm standing with a sign in front of a spacious office building in pasadena, texas. i'm about 10 years old, and my whole family stands in solidarity - my parents, my brother, and my sister. apparently, us kids have nothing better to do than to hold anti-abortion signs at a christian protest in front of a planned parenthood facility. little did i know then, that the stance that i was taught about abortion was much more complex than what my young mind could comprehend. and this is a problem. when topics like abortion get interwoven with topics like noah's ark and jonah and the whale, the ability to decipher what is real and what isn't gets distorted in a major way. we weren't given several alternatives to believe, and we weren't told there were other ways to look at the story. there was one way, just like there was only one way to view abortion.

i don't remember much from the protest, besides knowing as a young kid that the people working inside the building were monstrous baby murderers.

and then there are all the words i was taught at a young age by the adults: heaven. hell. god. jesus. cross. resurrection. satan. repent. sinner. sin. blasphemy. unforgivable. prayer. worship.

all these words combined together and floated around in my head and became part of my vocabulary at a very young age. they eventually helped form a belief system, and in that belief system emerged another word: evangelicalism. i learned that i had one job on this earth, and it was to save as many souls as possible. if you didn't believe in jesus, you were hell-bound, so heaven and hell became the lens through which i viewed my world and the people living in that world.

the only music allowed was christian music. movies were christian movies. the only avenue i managed to find that would expose me to art outside of christian art, was books. i was an avid book reader, and i would smuggle books by the armload into my room and read. i didn't know it then, but looking back i was probably looking for some kind of escape route.

mission trips were inevitable. you were expected to go on them, and you were expected to teach the gospel. you were expected to assume that the people we were visiting were lost, and they needed to be saved. you were expected to assume they needed food, clothing, and the american way of doing things. they needed american christianity. i don't even acknowledge anymore that any sort of belief in jesus had anything to do with these trips to mexico. i think it all had to do with spreading american christianity to a culture that was already steeped in its own, valid, religious systems.

everything was true in the bible. from creation to the end times, it was all true. it was literal. it was not questionable, arguable, or to be swayed from the slightest.

kids were expected to make vows and exchange rings with their parents as a promise to stay sexually pure until marriage. i participated. and i eventually broke my promise along with warping my view of sex not only as a kid, but well into my twenties. sex wasn't a gift, but a command. it could only be done a certain way, with a certain kind of person, at a certain time.

we were told christmas was not about santa, or trees, or lights, or presents, but the most sacred of days in which our lord was born in a manger. and there would be a religious halo around this holiday for most of my life. it was a crime to not believe in baby jesus and everything surrounding him. it was all true: the wise men, the star, the census, all of it. the same went for easter. if you didn't buy into easter, i mean come on, you don't have a chance in missing hell. and it too was all true: the death, the resurrection, the empty tomb. all of it.

little did i know that future me would look back on this era of my life, and see what kind of damage was done that would take decades to undo. and that was the first phase of my leaving christianity.

introduction

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Sat, 12 Dec 2020 21:24:00 +0000

i just named my blog title today. a part of me wanted to hold back and just call it leaving religion, but i know that just saying religion will not be accurate. and this blog-go-round, i want to be accurate. while i'd love to use religion as my scapegoat, i can't claim any other religion than christianity. it's my go-to. it was my bread and butter for so many years. and it's christianity that i had to make a conscious decision to leave. i haven't posted since february 14th, just a few days before the world entered the darkest place it's ever known. and i was in a sort of darkness myself. although i'm [mostly] on the other side of said darkness, i've come out with the realization that there are probably scores of people just like me who have traveled this lonely journey before me, or are currently navigating the rocky roads of religious self-doubt, questions of literalistic readings and teachings, and wondering how am i a part of something that claims to love so much, and at the same time treats my gay friends like second-class citizens? and, there are others who have walked past me on this road and have gone to new spiritual heights outside of christianity. this blog, hopefully, is a megaphone to all those who find themselves questioning the very fiber of christian doctrine, and a guide on how to move forward. i will warn you though, that there is nothing easy about this journey. it requires very difficult conversations with loved ones who will disagree at a minimum, and it will require saying goodbye to your christian reputation if you have one.

leaving christianity is active tense. while there is a conscious decision to be made, it's an ongoing conscious decision. because christianity - over a period of 35 or so years - was entwined into every fiber of my being, there is a process of unraveling. some parts of the process are easier than others. for example, it was easy to stop attending church on sundays because it became nearly impossible for me to mentally sort through and interrogate each thing the preacher was saying, to separate the wheat from the chaff. it was exhausting and i found it better to just not go.

it was not easy to cut myself off from the community i was a part of. there were multiple variables that played into this part of the unraveling process, and those will be waded through in later posts. the short of it is, i was in a place where i could not (in an emotionally healthy way) engage with the community. i'm sure not everyone who has left christianity left their christian friends behind, but it was a decision i had to make - for my own sanity.

friends leave. naturally. once my core beliefs got turned on their head, the friends who were like-minded became not like-minded. and they dropped faster than anyone. understandably so. on the other hand, i've gained friends that i can relate to, who are very open to spiritual conversations. i can share my experience with them, and they with me, and neither of us has to try to convince the other that the other's truth is the correct one.

another thing that was not easy was leaving the bible, and i haven't completely, 100% left the bible. it's still a beautiful piece of art to me...but not in the literal sense. my brain doesn't comprehend the writings like it used to, and there is a lot of forensic exploration involved. however, i don't adhere to the christian belief (obviously) that the bible was written by a god, breathed into existence by a god, or inerrant. i think those claims are bogus and i'll get into that i'm sure over the course of the blog.

i didn't completely leave christian music. i still have a spotify list with worship songs that move me while i'm running or driving. for deeply theologically-worded songs, i can appreciate the delivery a lot more than the theology. something about someone being brave enough to put words on a paper and then sing them out to the universe is revealing to me. it takes guts. it's not preachy. it's real.

i didn't completely leave christian speakers and authors. i still hold dear to my heart rob bell's teachings, richard rohr, marcus j. borg, and bishop spong to name a few. i still love the occasional reading of brennan manning. however, i've also read dawkins and found his worldview fascinating and in some ways liberating.

i've left the concept of preaching. it baffles me to this second that one person can claim to know exactly what god is, what god isn't, what god does, what god thinks, and most of all, that god is made in the form of a human. no pastor i've ever heard ever mentioned the possibility of god not being a deity, but a force, or a power that is not human and that does not take on human characteristics. and that's sad to me. preachers are some of the most dangerous people on earth when they get a good flock. i'll get into that later.

what is my identity now? i consider myself an agnostic, leaning very heavily toward atheism. an atheist does not believe in god, and an agnostic believes in something. in this moment of life, i feel as though my ability to comprehend any sort of deity has been tainted and marred by christianity. maybe it's not christianity's fault, but right now it is. until i do some more internal searching, i won't know for sure.

i am not closed off to evangelicals, because who doesn't love a good debate? i've had countless discussions, and i love them. i don't like to argue, but i find it fascinating to see why people believe what they believe. most of the time, people regurgitate what they were given as children, and most of the time with the evangelical faith, theology is married to racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and many other forms of prejudice. one of the concepts that fueled my exit was the thought, how can i be a part of something that curses my friends? i can't be an accomplice to religious hate anymore.

and that's about it. i don't know why i'm not using any capital letters, but it seems appropriate. i'm starting over spiritually. if you have anyone in your life who is questioning christianity, questioning the bible, and questioning the church, please let them know about this blog. i'm here to help, not hinder.

Swing

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Fri, 14 Feb 2020 12:22:00 +0000

I met Tim at a party. It was a Thanksgiving party I believe. I had spent about two hours building a bonfire, starting with twigs and leaves, then adding one to two inch thick pieces of wood. It was in the style of a teepee, and I kept adding wood until three and four foot logs were covering the outside. I even had a wick of newspaper curling out of the bottom for easy lighting.

As I was building, a guy I'd never seen before walked up to me and asked what I was doing. His intentions were obviously to strike up a conversation with someone he'd never met before, as it was pretty clear what I was doing. Out of all the people at the party drinking, conversing, and enjoying the night, it was me he chose to meet. I guess he liked that I was isolated from the rest of the group, deeply focused on the wooden work of art in front of me.

Once the bonfire was complete, he and I stood there with eager anticipation, knowing that we were about to behold the lighting. While everyone else enjoyed the warmth inside, we were about to enjoy the warmth outside.

Tim was different from the rest. He had an odd way of speaking, and he seemed very intelligent. He liked to talk about subjects that were foreign to me, like Shakespeare. I'd never read Shakespeare, and I hate to admit that I still haven't - at least, for entertainment purposes. He'd talk about philosophers like Kant, authors, and German theologians. He talked about his catholic upbringing and his current catholic beliefs. And, we shared our stories right there beside that bonfire.

More people gathered around, but he and I were drawn to each other. I believe we found each other to be quite exotic. He, drawn to my outgoing, adventurous passion for creating stuff, and I, drawn to his mysterious intelligence. I simply had never met anyone like him, and he fascinated me.

As the night progressed, we made our way to a hanging swing perched on a tree branch out in the front yard. He proceeded to tell me more about his personal life, and I got the sense that we could possibly be very complementary to each other, not in the romantic kind of way, but in the friendship kind of way.

At this time of my life, I was very conservative in my beliefs. I wouldn't say I was still holding on to my Southern Baptist doctrine, but I was definitely still infused with some of the remnants of the wretched philosophies. One of those remnants was this deeply held belief that gay people were exotic, flawed, misdirected, and more darkly - wrong. The idea was engrained in my head that gay people chose to be gay, and because of that choice were not heirs to the same privileges that I had as a straight man in my twenties.

And so, as we swang on that swing, he came out to me. In full confidence with a stranger he'd only met that night, he told someone for the first time that he was gay.

And I responded in a way that I regret today, at 37.

I downplayed his admission, but not only did I downplay it, but I giggled awkwardly, like I had just received information that I didn't know what to do with, because it went so against what I knew. It went against everything that had been formed in my mind, my philosophies, and my theologies.

And I took it even further.

I shared his admission with others, just to get a rise out of them. You see, not only did I meet him for the very first time that night, but I hurt him for the very first time that night. And that wouldn't be the first time. Several years later, I hurt him again through a similar way. I came out for him to another person who we'd sort of become friends with. Instead of letting him tell his story on his own time, I rushed to conclusions and told his story for him.

This time, he was deeply hurt. For years, there was a distance between us. He couldn't forgive me this time, and I could understand why. For some reason, I had this lingering flaw inside of me that seemed to point to a falsehood that I was better than him. And I could always use this as ammunition if I needed it. I could always have a sword at my side, as long as this deeply infused belief that I was better than him provided a sheath.

Eventually, through years of drinking myself stupid and needing him to rescue me on many occasions from killing myself or others, my blinders came off. As infant and immature as it sounds, I saw him as my best friend. I saw him as a gay man, but I appreciated his gayness. I loved it in fact. But I didn't appreciate it any more or less than he did, and I believe he needed one person in his life that could do that. He's my best friend today. In fact, I love him. He has been there for me when I needed someone the most, and he can say the same about me.

We've lived together, gone through dark nights of the soul together, cried together, and laughed together. He's forgiven me for the horrible ways that I betrayed him, and he loves me like a brother. I wish we would spend more time together, but he lives about thirty minutes away, works a lot, and I've got a family now that I invest most of my time and energy in.

Because of the pain I caused Tim, and because of our years together, there is no confusion anymore about privilege. I'm privileged - not because I've done anything better or believed anything better - but because the society I live with chooses to devalue the LGBTQ+ community. And, the religious institution of the Bible Belt chooses to do the same. I know hate when I see it today. And, I know when I've crossed the line from friend to adversary due to my own internal stereotypes that I have yet to destroy. I will not stay silent when I hear someone around me slander or cast judgment on the gay community. It's hateful, and it's wrong, and it's essentially saying that being gay, or lesbian, or transgendered, or bisexual, is being less than human - unworthy of basic human rights, unworthy of love, and unworthy of anything that the straight community enjoys.

Wherever there is hate, there needs to be a louder voice of support and advocacy for the gay community. Wherever there's a preacher screaming about gay people going to hell, there needs to be someone screaming louder about the hateful preacher. Wherever there's a law preventing the LGBTQ+ community from enjoying the same benefits that straight people enjoy, there needs to be a louder law explaining why it's clearly unconstitutional.

And wherever there is any form of hate, there needs to be a louder, unstoppable voice of love.

Align

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Thu, 13 Feb 2020 11:56:00 +0000

The light can be so bright sometimes

walking with purpose and a mission

The truth is etched around the fabric of the heart

and nothing can shake it. nothing.

In the morning I rise

and not a sound in town

the energy of knowing that the best day

might just be today.

Giddy and energetically walking through the day

with the hope of finding another sign

that this is where i'm supposed to be

right now. in this moment.

The words align with the ambitions

the prayers align with the life

the speech aligns with the heart

the conversation aligns with the words

the words align with the speech

the conversation aligns with the prayers

and everything aligns with everything

the foundation cannot be shaken.

But

what is this? is this a fluke?

it can't be. there's no way.

Doubt. Questions. Crisis. Terror.

The morning is dark. The night is too.

And my soul seems lost, dark, black.

and my mind. my poor, confused mind.

Preacher, why? writer, why? professor, why?

Scholar, how? author, how?

Into the dark hole, lost

but seeking

hurt

but searching

resentful

but hoping

disappointed

but discovering

A new time. New era.

Fresh insight, fresh alignment.

And the conversation aligns with the words.

And the mind alight with passion

to Unlearn everything, and swap it out with

TRUTH.

A new foundation. New spirit. New zeal.

The day has come again.

Dark night gone.

Bright world, teach me what's good

and discard what's not.

Heartbeat aligning with the rhythm of the galaxies

A new beginning.

The Wave

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Wed, 12 Feb 2020 12:15:00 +0000

I don’t know if you know this, but I hope you know after I read this, that there is a powerful, powerful wave moving through the world as we speak. I don’t know the source. I don’t know what it’s made of. Actually, I do know what it’s made of, but I’ve been too afraid to say what materials make up this wave.

So, first of all, waves have an epicenter - an origin. They don’t just spring from nowhere.

And in order to tell you about the epicenter, I need to tell you a little about myself.

I was born into a long line of Southern Baptist believers. My feet have been standing on the dirt of the Bible Belt since the day I first opened my eyes. My great ancestors, great great grandparents, great grandparents, grandparents, and parents all got handed an instructional manual - a torch to carry if you will - that says how to follow Jesus.

And the instructions kind of flow like this:

You must believe that Jesus is the only Truth.
You must believe that Hell and Heaven are real, and that only Christians are spared from an eternal life of suffering and damnation.
You must believe that every other religion outside of Chrisitanity is false.
You must believe that Jesus died on the cross for our sins, and rose again on the 3rd day.

And these were the essential instructions: the ones that you can’t waver on.

However, what was unspoken were all the subliminal rules that were embedded in these rules, like what follows:

If you’re not heterosexual, you’re going to hell and you’re a sinner.
If you’re not white, you don’t belong in our church.
If you’re not male, you don’t have a voice of leadership.
If you’re not middle class or above, you don’t have forgiveness.
If you’re not American, you don’t have it all right.
If you’re not still married, you didn’t try hard enough.
If you’re not still carrying a child, you didn’t follow God hard enough.
If you’re not pro-life, you didn’t obey the ten commandments.

And these are just a few of the endless unspoken rules that I grew up with. I haven’t even touched on the theological rules - the ones that are non-essential but will still lead you to hell if you don’t follow enough of them.

What I’ve laid out to you is the epicenter of the wave I’m going to talk about now, except, this isn’t a wave of destruction but a wave of justice.

There are millions of people in this world just like me, who were given blinders at a young age. These blinders were very powerful. They had to be, because they had to be strong enough to cover our eyes from seeing basic civil and human rights - rights that all of us here today would agree that are natural and characteristic of every human being - broken and shattered into thousands of pieces. These human rights were being violated everywhere, right in the open of the close-doored church.

To be honest, and I’m ashamed to even admit this, my blinders were on all the way until I was about 32 years old - or, five years ago. I know this sounds silly, but I was so brainwashed into thinking that everything in the Bible was literal that I couldn’t see the injustice that was happening all around me.

But I got free. I got free from the chains of hatred, ethnocentrism, sexism, homophobia and every other form of discrimination that I was actively participating in as a member of the Church. And I’m saying Church with a capital C because I now believe there isn’t a religious institution inside of Protestantism that doesn’t have some form of discrimination happening right under the nose of the same government that allows it to be tax exempt.

And there are tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of others like me who have gotten free from the chains of the Protestant Church. We see what we’ve been a part of, and we see the kind of white, male privilege that we’ve been handed. And I’ll be the first to tell you that I’ve had it easy as a straight, white, male in the church. And I aim on using this privilege to send a message from where I stand today, a message that’s needed to be said for thousands of years actually.

Thanks to the foundation of bigotry that the Protestant church stands on today, there is a wave of vibrant, free young people who are opening their eyes to the disgusting reality that is the church, and they are moving away from it. They are moving away from this epicenter and moving out into the world to expose the injustices that are being kept behind lock and key.

And that’s what the materials of this wave are. They’re people. People who have been discriminated against and people who have done the discriminating, all within the church, seeking to turn their stories into exposes in order to shine a light on what is happening. The women who have been raped, the children who have been molested, the black families who have been cast aside, the gay couple who has been rejected, the girls who had no choice but to abort who have been casted out, along with people like me who turned a blind eye for so many years, are all moving with this wave, going out from the epicenter of injustice, and moving through culture with a story to tell.

This wave is getting bigger by the minute, and it’s not going to stop.

This wave is what used to be called in my childhood - a revival!

A revival back then was this collective understanding that something big was about to happen - that Jesus was about to do something to get the attention of all the world.

Well, this revival is coming and it’s going to get the attention of the whole world. And I don’t want to be sitting in a church service on a Sunday morning when it happens. I don’t want to be sitting in a church service, when the report comes out about all the women who have been marginalized through the doctrine of Paul. I don’t want to be sitting in that church service when the report comes out about all the people of the LGBTQ+ community who were treated as non-humans. I don’t want to be sitting in that church service when that report comes out about all the trillions of dollars that went to preachers living lives of luxury instead of using that money to bless the poor.

I don’t want to be caught red-handed participating in the legacy of hate and discrimination.

But there will be a time when every eye, not only on the outside but the inside as well, is opened to these realities. There will be a time when people like my mom - who has been part of the Southern Baptist tradition for her whole life - will discover that they have been manipulated into thinking they don’t have a voice in the church, and that they should never be able to teach men.

These realities are coming, and THAT is going to be the biggest revival this country and this world has ever known!

DeMoCrAssy

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Tue, 11 Feb 2020 00:13:00 +0000

As the most sovereign nation in the universe,

It’s our God-given duty to spread the gospel of democracy

Throughout the ends of the earth.

From the exotics in Belize to the Afghan terrors,

Democracy is the key!

Take the message here and far.

We are the chosen, the proud, and the righteous,

And no one comes to the Father except through us.

Every knee shall bow and every tongue confess

That Jesus’ America is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

So come all you weary, you tired, you run down,

As long as you have a valid passport…

...and are not from Africa.

You have a place at the table!

Come all you sinners and ignorant of true democracy,

We’ll help straighten you out and plug you in

To the wheel of capitalism where you’ll reach

Your highest goals and proudest ambitions!

Raise the flag! But don’t touch it!

And don’t let it touch the ground!

But let it touch the Bible.

But don’t let it touch the Quran!

Welcome all you hard-working strawberry pickers!

Just dust off your feet as you cross back over.

You can come as long as you learn the way

Of American culture and language!

Come one, come all to the greatest country on Earth!

But don’t bring your family, because they might be daaaaangerous!

Here, we’ll set you up with some guv-u-ment help,

But make sure you do just as we say!

Join the church and support your local [republican] congressman.

He’s giving a talk next Sunday, so come show your vote!

Bring your friends and family because we’ll have food!

3 years later

Oh, what’s that? You don’t have a job?

Oh what’s that? You make less than the guys?

Oh what’s that? You got pulled out of the car by that officer?

Oh what’s that? You’re up to your neck in debt?

Oh what’s that? Your kids can’t get into school?

Oh what’s that? Your kids were sent back home?

Oh what’s that? You weren’t able to adopt?

Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you could’ve spend more time working

So you didn’t lose your job.

Maybe you should’ve worked harder than those guys.

Maybe you should’ve put your hands above your head when he pulled you over.

Maybe you should have gotten a second job so you wouldn’t be in debt.

Have you considered WikiHow? Or learning a skill?

Maybe your kids should have had papers.

Maybe you should have read the fine print. IN GOD WE TRUST

Fenced

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Sun, 09 Feb 2020 18:39:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I ran into an old friend who had been part of the same church as me. She was very involved, and she and her husband even opened up their home to take in several people at a time who needed a safe place. This church was a very liberal establishment in a sea of pro-life, homophobic conservative Christianity.

This church (which I’ll leave unnamed) was making splashes into the societal roles of what a church is supposed to be: making it clear that anyone and everyone is welcome to be a part of the mission of helping everyone who needs it. This church had a female pastor, a huge no-no in the sexist Bible Belt. Scores of female members left with their husbands after this announcement was made. This church opened its doors to the community seven days a week. This church practiced non-traditional rituals adopted from more high church practices.

It was a safe haven for atheists, addicts, alcoholics, and the angry.

As we talked, she told me that they were no longer a part of this congregation. It startled me, because she and her husband were practically founders of the church because they had been there since the beginning.

And the reason startled me even more.

A few years back, the pastor of the church (who is there no longer), befriended a gay couple who was adopting a baby boy. The pastor thought it would be a good idea to have a baby dedication service - which, traditionally, is a service in the Southern Baptist tradition in which parents bring their new babies up to the front of the church and sprinkle water on the baby’s head, welcoming them into the church family.

So, one Sunday, the pastor performed a baby dedication service for the gay couple. I happened to be there when it happened, and I thought to myself, Finally, a church has stepped out and openly supported the gay community! It was beautiful. It erased a lot of doubts I had about the church and the role I played in it.

This was at a crazy time in my life though, as I was exiting a five year relationship, and entering a relationship with my now wife. My life was overwhelming at the time, my depression was consuming me. I was fighting the urge to say FUCK IT and throw everything I had done the previous eight years out the window, and turn back to drinking. In addition, I was having a mind fucking conflict going on about Christianity, Jesus, God, the Church, and just about every facet of religious and spiritual life. I decided at that point that I never wanted to step foot in a church again, and I never wanted to have anything to do with Christianity ever again (unless I’m writing about why I hate it).

My friend told me the reason they ended up leaving the church was because, the gay couple - who the pastor was so eager to dedicate their baby - had decided to get married after the Supreme Court made it legal. And naturally, as they had formed tight, affirming relationships with the church community, they thought it best to recite their vows in front of their home community. So, they approached the pastor about it seemingly worry free.

But what they expected in support was instead replaced with a let me chat with the elders, and I’ll get back to you.

First red flag: that’s never a good response if your a gay couple in the Bible Belt seeking to get married in a church.

And here’s the part that angers me more than anything, and essentially the reason why my friend and her husband decided to leave.

One of the elders was a mole. He said the right things, he prayed the right prayers, and he gave the right talks. Throw in a few semi-liberal Jesus-y statements and you’ll have the crowd thinking you’re a tried-and-true social justice warrior ready to take on Big Church. This elder was conveniently on the board of a very well-known, conservative, college outreach organization that made it clear in its bylaws that no board member could be part of a church that supported gay marriage, or anything “gay” for that matter.

And the other elders knew this. The other elders were willing to turn a blind eye to this tainted kernel of yeast that was eventually going to taint the whole batch of dough, in order to feel like they had someone less liberal than them to balance them out. They were willing to preserve the health of the leadership in exchange for the heart of the community.

As a result, the gay couple was rejected. They would have to find another home for their ceremony. And the church community would join every other church in the Bible Belt in their efforts to marginalize the LGBTQ community.

And that’s the second red flag: a church can act and appear to be the most liberal and real and authentic and loving and radical and innovative and revolutionary church in the history of mankind, but as soon as it rejects ANYONE on the basis of race, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, religion, or the like, it becomes just another house of bigotry.

And houses of bigotry are invading the South.

Franklin's Truth

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Sat, 08 Feb 2020 23:52:00 +0000

Earlier this week, or maybe last week, Franklin Graham (the son of the late Billy Graham), was shunned by numerous venues in the UK for blasting homosexuality. As a result, I've decided to put myself in his shoes to see if I can even come close to grasping how this philosophy still resides in the minds of millions of religious Boomers.

I'm Franklin now, speaking to my staff during a morning prayer breakfast in London:

As you all know, several venues have gone against their word and canceled hosting our tour. This is to be expected, because as we all know, there will be those who are for God, and those against God. We have been commissioned to spread the gospel of Jesus to the lost, and this country is in deep need of the true grace that Jesus brings to the soul that chooses to follow Him.

My dad taught me the art of evangelicalism. As a child, I would watch him in his studies, as he poured over the Word of God, exegeting and extracting every truth and every principle he could attain. At times, his devotion to the scriptures and to the gospel took him away from his family for extended periods of time. We forgave him of course, and he sought forgiveness, knowing that always hanging in the balance was his relationship with family and relationship with God. He was a warrior for the Gospel, but not in the sense of attacking or demeaning his adversaries. He always told me to tell the truth and speak the truth, no matter what pressure is being applied. Jesus told us with his own words that we would be persecuted for spreading His gospel,s, and that is what we're experiencing today.

Our world is becoming darker by the minute. Evil has taken on unlimited forms, and if we're not careful, culture will subliminally slide into our ways of thinking, and start making us consider whether the words of Jesus and the apostles still carry true today. Brothers and sisters, I can't tell you enough that we have to stand firm and tell the truth, no matter what. We're up against forces that are dark, and they're trying to rip us apart. We have thousands of churches that are holding us up in prayer as we speak, holding out for a revival of the words of Jesus that roars through the West, the East, the North, and the South. The word says that every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess that Jesus is the Savior and that Jesus has come to set all of us free.

And this morning, I want to speak about one form of bondage that is gaining steam as each day rolls on. That bondage is homosexuality. Not only are men committing acts with men - something clearly called abominable in the Word, but women are committing sexual acts with women, and countries are now accepting not only the homosexual lifestyle, but propogating it through allowing homosexual marriage. Culture says we should accept these ways of life, but is culture what we are called to follow? Does culture teach us how we're supposed to love God and people. Did culture die for our sins and rescue us from eternal damnation?

This question - as trivial as it sounds - needs to be answered by each and every one of us this morning. In fact, before we leave this prayer breakfast, each of us needs to take a moment, close our eyes, and think for a minute or two exactly why we're here. If we are going to follow through with who we've been called to be as disciples of Christ, we must stand up and represent not only the ways of Jesus, but also the words. It's clear as day that homosexuality is an abomination, and that no one who chooses to be gay, or lesbian, or transgender, can enter the kingdom of heaven until they repent from their ways and surrender these sinful lifestyles to Jesus.

Our role in this process is speaking the truth to sinners who are yet to be redeemed. And as long as we speak the truth, there will be adversity. There will be persecution. Persecution is guaranteed for us if we have chosen to follow Jesus and be the salt and light in a hurting, dark world. And these venues who have decided to cancel our tour are just the beginning of the persecution we will be receiving. There will always be opposition when you carry the torch of truth, the gospel of Jesus.

So, as we close, we're gonna turn down the lights and turn on some music. As we sit here in this place, we're just going to take some time to search deep within ourselves and solidify our devotion to following Jesus to the ends of the earth. Once the lights come on, today's itinerary will be outlined and any questions about the next few days will be addressed.

Thank you for pouring your lives, your time, and your devotion into being a vessel of God, letting Him break yourself open to be a living sacrifice for a lost world in need of redemption.

I'm back to being me again....

This is truth for millions and millions of people. Fortunately, millions and millions of other people are breaking away from the deep roots that Christian evangelicalism holds, and calling it for what it is: homophobic, racist, sexist, genophobic, ethnocentric, and every other type of discrimination that exists in the world. Personally, I hope Franklin's brain gets unwashed and he gets the eyes to see how disgusting his beliefs are, and how hateful they are to his neighbors. He's not loving people, but he's loving his prideful attachment to a theology that's been handed down from generations before him. He's carrying the torch that was handed off to him.

I

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Fri, 27 Apr 2018 11:40:00 +0000

Alotted Writing Time: 21 minutes

I've overcome drinking.

That's a hard thing for me to say.

Not because I haven't had a drink in a long time,

but because the statement is packed full of philosophical ideals that I haven't come to terms with yet.

Or maybe I have come to terms with them, and that's why I don't like saying it.

Mainly, it's the word I.

I is the one who started drinking in the first place.

I is the one who chose to drink in the first place.

So was it I or some transformed version of I or something completely outside of I that overcame drinking?

I remember a line familiar only to people who've sat in meetings: You can't use the same thinking that got you into the problem, to get into the solution.

So true.

I think I sit in the middle between I and something completely outside of I.

While I don't think I was responsible for getting me out of the mess of drinking, I was a willing participant in the conquest.

But something happened in me.

And something happened to me.

And it's hard to put words to it because it was so subtle but at the same time so profound.

There was definitely a change of the way I think.

It wasn't a temporary change either.

It was a change that didn't happen all at once, but it started and it didn't seem to have an end in sight.

And the change is still happening.

Sometimes I'm not as aware of it as others, but it's happening.

I would say that if this change hadn't started happening, there would've been no overcoming the drinking problem.

And if this change doesn't continue, I don't believe the drinking problem will stay overcome.

And so it's hard to say I overcame the drinking problem, because something had to change in I in order to even think about a life without alcohol.

Transformation started and it hasn't stopped.

Each day presents a new aspect, or piece, of this transformation.

If I want to put it in words, I'll sometimes call this power, or change . . . God.

But even that word doesn't fully grasp what has happened and is happening.

There's so many linguistic and fantastic attachments to that word, that it's hard to separate truth and fiction.

It's not I who created the newness of life, but I who got to be the object of transformation.

So, I'll just rest in the truth that I was blind, but now I see.

Politik

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Thu, 26 Apr 2018 11:40:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 21 minutes

I think I've gotten way too deep into politics. Probably because I fell in love with Bernie Sanders the first time I saw him interviewed. I went to his political rally at University of Houston, and for the first time became one of them. I bought a Bernie shirt a couple of weeks ago, but my wife did something with it. Evidently it looked tacky. I figured with all the Trump shirts I see walking around here, I could at least counter punch. But really, I love Bernie. I voted for Bernie. What do you mean you voted for Bernie!?

I wrote him in. There was no way I was gonna vote for Grabber or Crooked Hillary. I thought about voting for what's his name from New Mexico, but when he didn't know what Aleppo was, my vote was confirmed.

I've gotten too deep though, like to the point where I let it have a pull on my life. Like, where, I'll actually get worried about something. Like, stuff that I shouldn't be worried about. And then I start thinking about why I'm worried about it, and then I start thinking about what happens if I don't worry about it. For example, I'll have a shot of anxiety about a wall being built and all the immigrants in America being deported, but then it will pass when I think about how so disconnected I am from even having the capacity to quantify that sort of thing. But then if I don't think about it, am I doing my immigrant friends an injustice? Am I supposed to be fighting for my immigrant friends, or at least thinking about the possibility that their lives could be compromised through potential legislation?

And then there's male privilege. White male privilege. I'll get a shot of anxiety about Planned Parenthood or abortion or women's rights, and I'll have to calm myself down by thinking about other things because, after all, I can do whatever I want with my body right? But in order to calm down I have to deny that I have two daughters and a wife who would potentially be directly affected by legislation having to do with these issues.

And then I'll get a shot of anxiety about healthcare, and all the whirlwinds of chaos surrounding that. And I'll have to calm myself down by reminding myself that I'm taken care of. But in order to do so, I have to push away the thoughts that my wife and two daughters don't get the same privileges as I when it comes to health care because over the course of a lifetime, they're gonna have babies and do pregnancy tests, and have problems that only females have, and have to pay all the copays and deductibles that come with that. And I'll have to forget that the pharmaceutical industry has set up a whole economy based on women's health and wellness. And all the while, my male privilege tells me not to worry about it. It doesn't concern me.

Maybe I'm not into politics enough. Or maybe I'm relying on politics to do the work that I should be doing already. Maybe politics is advocating for or against what I personally should be advocating for or against right now.

Sweater

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Wed, 25 Apr 2018 11:40:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 17 minutes

I've been walking all day. My feet are killing me. I haven't had a meal in two days.

My shoes are little more than a piece of rubber with feet on top. My pants are worn into shreds, and the only shirt I have is this thick red sweater that sticks to my back from pre-summer sweat. People look at me like I'm crazy, because I always have a half grin, my hair's a mess, I haven't showered in days, and I mumble when I speak - not because I'm drunk either. If only.

I was diagnosed with schizoid personality disorder over twenty years ago, and I haven't had the luxury of a doctor or psychiatrist since that time. Because of this disorder, I've always been detached from people and unable to form relationships. In other words, I'm a lone wolf. Because of that, I've never had a family of my own. My parents are long passed. I've lost every job I ever took because I just couldn't maintain any type of social acceptance with the people around me. Instead of trying to understand the disorder, by bosses always made it personal - an unwillingness or choice to isolate emotionally from people. They don't ever get it right. It doesn't help that I never finished high school and never went to college or learned a trade.

I've fallen in the cracks of society. I don't live on welfare, because I don't meet the requirements to get food stamps or any other kind of help like that. I rely completely on the god I learned about when I was a little kid. For food, I rely on whatever pantry is open on whatever day it is. For water, I use the sink at whatever bathroom a restaurant or gas station owner will let me use. If I'm lucky, someone will let me use a cup and get water from the soda machine. Cold water is like ice cream to me.

I don't fly signs and I don't ask for charity. I move and I stay on the move.

If you see me today, know that you don't have to feel awkward, or scared, or sad. Just be human because I'm human. Lets start there.

Red

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Tue, 24 Apr 2018 11:36:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 16 minutes

A puddle of red had already formed on the concrete floor, and it was just getting larger. The poor guy laid there, holding his side, probably rethinking his whole life. You could see where the blood was coming from because his hand was covering a two inch wide slit just under his ribcage.

Several other men and one woman stood around him, mentally rehearsing what they were going to tell me once I stepped inside the room.

Minutes before, I'd been sound asleep - well - as soundly as one can be when running a flophouse that has a revolving door of sleep-ins throughout the night and early morning. I myself was a wrong drink away from being a resident instead of a tenant, so I could kind of relate to the chaos. The only difference was the chaos was mostly in my head and hadn't quite reached the external portions it had with these men and women.

I ask Steven what happened with the guy on the floor, and he tells me an elaborate story of how some dude that had already left had stabbed the guy laying on the floor, because he knew he had crack on him. He was dopesick and needed a fix as fast as possible. So he stabbed him. Maybe he should have asked first.

I told Steve to take the guy to the hospital. I needed to go back to sleep because I had work in about three hours. As far as I know, the trip to the hospital happened. I never saw the guy again. I don't know, maybe they took him somewhere and finished him off. I'll never know or understand the culture of crack addiction, or heroin addiction, or oxycontin addiction. My true love was always alcohol mixed with nothing else except the occasional joint.

But in my mind, I didn't see the difference. We were all screwed as I saw it. We were just screwed together. It's always better to be screwed together than alone.

I made my way back up to the bedroom, and stuffed it all deep inside so I could get some sleep. A new day was soon to come.

Flashing

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Mon, 23 Apr 2018 11:39:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 7 minutes

The other day, I Googled home maintenance schedule. Then, I searched through tens of different calendars showing every major maintenance project that should be done on a house over the course of a year. After I found the one I liked, I copied everything off of that calendar onto the calendar on my phone. I did it for the whole year.

Yesterday was the first maintenance project: Inspect the flashing.

But I don't know what flashing is. So, I pull up my handy WikiHow app (a very important app if you're as bad at handyman stuff as I am). There are diagrams and blueprints of the skeleton of houses, and it looks like the flashing is a piece of sheet metal and keeps water from seeping under the shingles. It's supposed to be placed under the bottom side of anything that's fastened to the roof.

I go around to the back of the house and look up. Okay, there it is. Now, how do I get up there? Well, today I'll just walk around and visually notice that the flashing is there.

Tomorrow I'll get up on the roof and inspect it right. Or maybe Saturday. That'd be better. It'll be hard to get on the roof and do that in the time between getting off work and 7:00. 7:00 is the stopping point for all work.

Streetlight

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Fri, 20 Apr 2018 11:39:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 24 minutes

The man was out of his mind as he stood at the bar with slits as eyes and breath like fire. As much as he loved the idea of taking a couple friends with him, the morning would come and reveal the stupidity that wrapped around him the night before. This was the process: get nice and toasted starting about 5:00 (earlier if there's not much to do that day). Announce to the housemates, Who wants to go to Murphy's tonight? Walk to Murphy's on 25th and Market. Give the ATM card to the nearest housemate. Let them be in charge of buying the drinks and whatever else they can get their hands on.

For some reason, the man could not think of a better idea than turning the formerly homeless couple into his credit union for a night, but this is what would happen every single time he got tight.

He would pay attention to his bank account, because he knew that he wouldn't like what he saw, yet he couldn't not throw his money away like that.

In his mind, he was being a Mother Theresa figure, showing the downtrodden what a good time looks like, but really, his financial privilege was oozing with pride. He assumed the homeless had no concept of a good time. He figured that if he just threw money and drinks at them, they would be catapulted into this world they would otherwise never experience.

Well, they took him for a fool, but they also felt bad for the guy. They knew he was insane when he drank, and a bit fucked up right before he took his first drink. They knew they could get away with committing the perfect crime, because after all he did give them permission to do what they would with the ATM card.

The man didn't believe in leaving a bar early. It had to be 2:00. Every time. And he definitely didn't believe in having any time go by that he didn't have a drink in his hand. Now the cigarettes had nothing to do with his beliefs. For some reason, he just couldn't help but have a cigarette for every drink. And, by the end (the blackout) of every night, he would have smoked 1.5 packs of orange Pall Malls. Talk about a nasty cough the next morning.

By the time he finally did leave the bar, he was a stumbling mess. No longer could he see the world around him. All he saw was blackness and street lights, and they would somehow guide him back, ten blocks, to his bed. Leaving the bar, he would manage to find a dark alleyway to relieve himself, not cognisant of the fact that almost always, someone was looking, since he was only yards away from the bar traffic. But how could he care? He had no concept of care at this point, no concept of concern, no concept at all. He was nearly unconscious and nearly overdosed on alcohol. Five years ago he would've been overdosed on alcohol. He would've been in the hospital receiving charcoal treatment.

But here he was, chronically drunk to the point that his blood had learned to cope with the extraordinary amounts of alcohol injected into it.

Into oblivion. Into darkness. He stumbled along from shining streetlight to shining streetlight, nearly face planting on the concrete every step of the way.

This was the night life of the drunk, and he could not get away from it.

Training

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Tue, 17 Apr 2018 11:41:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 26 minutes

Dear Driver,

My close friend Joseph and I were riding our bikes one evening. As usual, we were wearing our white button shirts, black ties, black slacks, and of course helmet in case on of us took an unexpected fall. All of a sudden, I felt something slam into the back of my head. It was a bottle of water that was full, but the cap was off so not only did it hit me in the head, but water went everywhere, drenching me from head to toe. Luckily all my books were in my backpack so they didn't get soaked. We were coming from the neighborhood in which you currently live, because we had just had a two hour long conversation with one of your neighbors about the love of God and how transforming and healing it is.

When that water bottle hit me, yes, it caught me off guard, but I was almost expecting it. I have to. Every day when we go out, we get tormented by people who are supposedly Christians. I know we're treading around in the land of the Bible Belt, but there is a certain privilege that comes with being a Christian that most people don't talk about. Whether a Christian by word or by deed, or both, you are accepted by the majority. If you're born into it, you don't have to worry about anything because you're part of the team. But if you're born in the Bible Belt as a Mormon, and you choose to stay on that path through your adulthood, you've prepared yourself for some pretty awful things.

First of all, we are viewed as a cult - not the kind of cult representing a fresh new startup of a spiritual sort of gathering, but the kind of cult that gets ridiculed and persecuted for believing things that are just a little bit different than the mainstream religion. But part of our training has been teaching us how to love our enemies. We have to in order to keep our mission of sharing God's love first and foremost.

Secondly, for a reason I do not know, we are considered the enemies of Christianity. For centuries, our history shows that as much as we have tried to put differences aside, we still get labeled as anti-Christ, pagans, devil worshipers, and "lost." We know deep in our hearts that this isn't so, but we hope from that same depth that unity comes. We are a mockery at school and at work. There are made up stories about what we believe, and they circulate faster than a phone call or text message. To put it to rest, no, we don't wear special underwear. And two, we don't expect to have our own planets. That's all part of the cult narrative surrounding Mormons. We believe in Jesus, but just like Islam and Judaism, we believe he was one of many prophets acting as announcers of God's revelations. The father of Islam was Muhammad. The father of Judaism was Abraham. And the father of Mormonism was Joseph Smith.

If you've ever wondered what I thought about that evening, I want you to know that I don't hold it against you. You were only following through with what you've been taught. But I hope that if you ever find this letter, that you'll know with everything in your bone, that I love you and I forgave you that same evening. I hope we will meet one day my brother, and we can share our stories.

Your Friend,

Todd

written in the perspective of the Mormon boy whom I persecuted

Blockbuster

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Thu, 12 Apr 2018 11:40:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 19 minutes

It was a rainy night at Blockbuster when their eyes met for the first time. Luckily for him, I was already friends with her, so it created the perfect opportunity for an introduction. She played basketball, and I happened to be the manager of the guys basketball team, so we had many interactions on a daily basis.

It was thought that he would marry the girl who'd seemingly had a crush on him for a decade. They were inseparable. It looked like the picture-perfect setup for a lovely life together.

Yet, here she was, blonde hair and athletic figure, meeting the man whom she would eventually call her husband. For them, the night stood still even though the exchange of hellos lasted a few minutes. When we left the movie store, he wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted me to set them up on a date.

And so I did. And yes, that night at Blockbuster was just the beginning of a long and arduous, but exciting and wonderful dance that would take them to new heights they could have only dreamed of. Who would have known that night at Blockbuster that two years later they would've each stormed out of the house after the most horrible breakup conversation ever?

Who would've known that four years after Blockbuster he would've watched with a damp eye as she rode toward him in a carriage fit for a princess, ready to exchange the words I do.

Who would've known that six years after the video store run-in, they would own their first home?

Who would've known that ten years after that rainy night exchange, they'd be frantically searching for medical help for their second daughter in order to extend her precious life?

No one would've known, and that's why every exchange with every human being has the potential of being a new story that lasts a lifetime.

Service

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Wed, 11 Apr 2018 11:39:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 32 minutes

So, I've been at the restaurant I work at since August of 2008. That's ten years I think. Quite a long time for this alcoholic who couldn't hold a job for more than a year up until '08. I was freshly sober and highly crazy when I started working here, and thanks to the dishwasher at the time and my manager at the time, I had relief.

When I would start getting crazy, Roy the dishwasher had just the right words to say to keep me going. Jeremy my manager would let me go out back and yell, which happened two or three times a week. I didn't know how to not be crazy or drunk. I hadn't learned yet. It was pre-12 step days, long and nutzo.

I hated my job for about the first year. I really hated my first manager (not Jeremy). She would always tell me to do things like sweep the floor. I didn't like being told what to do, especially by a female. I didn't like it when people I graduated high school with came in wearing business suits for business lunches, and I bussed their tables or swept their crumbs. I was embarrassed and envious at the same time.

Once the first year ended, I could feel everything in me gravitating toward the exit sign, ready to make another dumb choice and quit another job before having another lined up. But somehow I managed to stay sober and stay at the restaurant. I worked at minimum wage for over a year before I finally got a $.25 raise, and I was ecstatic. I'd never gotten a raise before, even when I was a manager at my previous job. I'd received a title promotion, but not a financial promotion. So when that $.25 came, I calculated it out to be something like an extra $40 a month. That was a big deal. That was like a cell phone bill raise.

My biggest struggle throughout my whole life (and I'm sure there's probably worse ones, like getting drunk) has been wanting to be somewhere that I'm not. I'm never okay just where I am. It's like I'm always shooting for something more - a different job, a different place, a different church, a different religion, a different set of values, a different routine, a different project, and the list can go on and on until I'm so mentally exhausted that I just throw everything I'm doing now out the window and say what's the point anyways?

I'm not going to devote the rest of this to telling you how I overcame this struggle, because it's still here. I haven't overcome discontentment. I still have this little voice that likes to come on at the most unexpected times, even when I'm completely happy and fulfilled with life as I'm currently living it, and say You should be doing more. You should be doing that. You should be doing what you're supposed to be doing. Not this.

And that voice - if given power - will sink me into the deepest of depressions and will eventually lead me to change the way I feel with drugs and/or alcohol.

I had to go through the mundane, undesirable, unsatisfying work of that first year to realize that I wasn't Mother Theresa or Jesus with skin on. I had dreams and visions of being a world changer and going to far off places to fix a bunch of people. I thought if I wasn't being the yes man then I wasn't living up to my god-given potential. I thought that if I didn't stop every time someone was in need or something needed to be fixed, then my god wouldn't like me anymore. In other words, my mission field was somewhere else. Not here.

One of my prayers lately, and for the last six months, has been Help me to be a servant before being a leader, and a leader before being a manager. When I'm not at work, I just leave off the manager part. God knows all my family needs is me to manage them.

Service work today looks like (and doesn't flesh out like this most of the time) being a servant to the people around me where I am now. At work, my service is to the people who work there and also the guests who come into the restaurant. Relationships are the centerpiece of service. The way I treat others is the gauge of how well my service is to my god.

If I'm being a servant first, then the leader part and the manager part naturally fall in line. If I'm not being a servant before anything, then run away from me because I'm trying to control you and it's gonna make both of us miserable before long.

Dance

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Tue, 10 Apr 2018 11:37:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 37 minutes

I don't know where I learned to dance. I must have just picked it up from trips to Eddie's Country Ballroom when I was in high school. That was the place to go for seniors. The Emotions were the band to see then. Our friend Kevin was the lead singer, and although it was a bit boy-bandish, we all felt somewhat important knowing we were dancing to songs put out from one of the boys. But when I say dance, I mean the Texas two step. Nothing else. No booty dancin'.

My first ever trip to that ballroom was also my first ever ticket for a non-traffic related offense. I got caught dipping Skoal Straight by one of the sheriffs who paraded around the property. MIPT. Minor in possession of tobacco. That was a hefty fine from what I remember. And a hefty punishment from the parents as well. But having Amarillo By Morning play over the loud speakers with a fiddle and a steel guitar made it all worth it when you had a partner and a two step.

And then there was Wild West. I had to be real drunk to dance at this bar. They had a huge dance floor, and there wasn't a live band. However, the drink specials are what kept this place busy. $1 beers on Wednesday nights would get us in the car to drive 45 minutes, knowing that we'd be less than sober driving home. I'll never forget the night of the fart. As I was leading a friend of mine around the floor to some slow country song, the music was just quiet enough to where I could hear the sudden sound of flatulence coming from the person I happened to be dancing with. And then the smell made its way from behind her, to between us, and up right into my nostrils. I said nothing, and I tried to refrain from putting the grimace on my face that naturally wanted to occur. I didn't dance with her the rest of the night.

There was that time on 6th street in Austin, where I drunkenly stumbled into the hip hop bar and decided that I was the best street dancer Austin had ever seen. I don't remember much except sliding belly first on the floor, between some girl's legs. And I remember Vince Young being there.

Another memorable dance came on the beach of Crystal, on High Island. It was spring break, and I along with thousands of other high school partiers camped out for a week without showering or brushing my teeth. I don't think there was any food involved except for the occasional offering from someone grilling hot dogs or hamburgers. The number one priority that week was to get as drunk as possible as often as possible. For some reason, I thought that it'd be okay to do my own version of the Riverdance in front of a highway patrol officer. He didn't think it was too funny. Or maybe he did, because he didn't write me a ticket.

But let me tell you about the two best dances of all. The first happens in a much less chaotic setting. The dance floor is made of wood and sometimes carpet. The girl in my arms is wearing a yellow dress with white laces, just like Belle in Beauty and the Beast. She's a little shorter than I, but that only improves the spins. She looks up at me and I at her, and the smile and the twinkling eyes melt my heart away. It's as if she's practicing for something, something daddy's too afraid of thinking about right now, but something that daddy knows will happen eventually. But for right now, daddy's gonna hold her tight because it's nowhere near time to let her go. She loves to dance, and she loves to spin. Just the other day, she kissed the top of my hand. My heart just about floated away.

And the best dance of my life hasn't happened yet. It's a future dance. It's a dance that will involve the love of my life, my wife. It will be on our wedding night. All eyes will be on her as her favorite soundtrack plays over the speakers. That will be a hard dance for me, because I will most likely be tunneling all of my energy into keeping the tears from streaming down my face as I look into her eyes. It's been a roller coaster us two, but the important thing is we're riding it together. Thank you Shelby for the dance you're finally going to have with me.

Tugboat Jon

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Fri, 06 Apr 2018 11:40:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 26 minutes

When the call came, I was pretty much looking for anything that would keep me from drinking. Every day was the same - wake up, work enough to get a 30 pack of Natty Light or Lone Star (preferably Lone Star), and drink as soon as the second item on the agenda is accomplished. There are hardly any days the second item isn't accomplished, not because I pride myself on being a hard, dedicated worker, but because I'm in love with the foul-tasting Lone Star beer. Lone Star ensures that no one else will be stealing any sips.

It's Mr. Butler. "Hi Jon. You wanna come work on a tugboat?"

After little consideration, I responded, "Sure. When are we leaving?"

"I'll pick you up at 4:30 in the morning."

I say, "Sounds good! I'll see you in the morning."

I don't actually remember how the conversation went down, but I can tell you the one going on in my head was way different than the one that actually happened. I'm pretty sure the one in my head determined this was not a good idea and that no alcohol would be making its way into my mouth if I were to say yes to this offer.

Damn.

We loaded up, sad that I didn't have time to say my fairwells to Lone Star the night before. Mr. Butler isn't much of a talker, so we sit akwardly in his Chevy 1500 as we make our way to the Intercoastal Waterway.

It's a brand new boat, he tells me. It's going to be christened as soon as we get back. Oh yeah, when do we get back?

"You come back in three weeks, and then you leave again after the christening."

I don't remember if the fear in my heart allowed me to say anything, but I was scared. I was already thinking about how I would plan my escape once the boat hit the Houston docks again.

The boat was huge and had huge ropes and huge chains. Everything was massive it seemed, and here I was, a scrawny 150 pound A&M Galveston dropout who couldn't get his shit together for anything. There were huge men. They all wore overalls it seemed. They had beards and were exactly what I'd imagine tugboat crewmen to be.

Not longer after I was shown where I'd be sleeping, I met the captain. He assigned me to the overnight shift, which to my surprise included cooking breakfast for the crew. Outside of bowls and bowls of cereal and the occasional pop tart, I had never cooked breakfast for anyone ever - much less a bunch of scruffy, huge men on a tugboat.

For the first few hours, one of the men showed me the way around the vessel. And the training started on how to tie off the ship. It required carrying and pulling rope that weighed twice as much as I did. I struggled handily. I couldn't do it. I literally wasn't strong enough to get the job done. It was pathetic but I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't know I was going to be required to carry 300 lbs of rope to tie the ship off. I didn't know!

So the first training was a fail. I guess that's when the captain decided that I wasn't gonna be worth a damn for anything other than cleaning. And that's what I did for three weeks.

One night, I decided that I'd done enough and I'd get an early start on a good night's sleep. When I woke up, my walkie talkie went off. It was the captain and he told me to come up to the top.

He said, "You put every single person on this ship in danger. You slept on fire watch. Do not let this happen again."

I honestly didn't know what was at stake there. I mean, I was just treating myself to come more sleep since I finished my chores early. That didn't happen again.

For the next milennia I polished a bell. A big, brass, bell. This thing looked like it'd been sitting in a bucket of grease for ten years, and it took every bit of patience for me now to chunk this thing into the bottom of the canal. Needless to say, I lasted one crew change. After those three weeks were over, I said goodbye and never looked back.

And that's how I became Tugboat Jon.

Morning Weather

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Thu, 05 Apr 2018 11:39:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 19 minutes

The wind is still, and one may only know the wind even exists because of the few leaves rustling in the trees. One lonely bird is singing, trying to wake up her friends. The corner of my eye catches a black blob running across the windshield, but it turns out to be the neighbor's cat. The night sky is slowly turning to the morning sun as one twinkling star shines far into the universe. The streetlight reflects off of several dark leaves, turning them into a shiny silver spots among millions of green and black. A few more birds chime in as they make their morning coffee.How am I going to finish my research project in time? More birds. More light in the sky. The neighbors rose bush shakes violently from a small wind, leading the unsuspecting eye to believe the wind is bigger than it really is. What's the doctor gonna say? The wind is picking up it seems. The sky has turned to a greenish blue. Why am I constantly trying to fill a void? The sky behind me is light blue now because the sun's light is coming from that direction. I've settled. The wind is picking up still. I can hear it now. The darkness kept me from seeing it in its fullness. Ten more birds have jumped in on the conversation about the weather. Some are chirpy and some are whistly. How much vacation time do I have left? The birds have created a full ensemble, declaring to the world that a storm is rolling in. Car engines begin to fight for auditory attention. Am I gonna need to find somebody to work this weekend? I need to go to a meeting.

Moments

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Wed, 04 Apr 2018 11:42:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 7 minutes

Have you ever been swept away by a faint whisper, coming from inside your soul, reminding you that everything is going to be okay?

I've had those moments. In fact, I long for those moments. They can happen anywhere: at the store, in class, at work, working in the yard, playing with the girls.

In these moments, it seems as if I've just been touched by the power that holds the whole universe together. The feeling is much like the feeling of running into an old friend whom I haven't seen in years, and finding out that they are alive, and that our memories are still alive and well, and that there's someone else in the universe who's breathing the same air as I do, and just the conversation makes everything okay.

Those are my god moments today. Nothing extraordinary. Just a deep profound sense that all these responsibilities, this life, the future, the kids, the house, the car, this job, this school, the bills - are all gonna get to where they need to go without me needing to force them there.

Militia

noreply@blogger.com (Tuck) — Tue, 03 Apr 2018 11:42:00 +0000

Allotted Writing Time: 15 minutes

To get back to the second amendment discussion, we have to define what a militia is. Now militia (a proponent of military) is a group of people, either organized or unorganized, that comes together to serve a common purpose in defending something. The national guard is a militia, as well as the Texas National Guard. There's been much controversy since the amendment was created about the right of citizens to form a militia.

But lets put the word in its original context.

The founders of the constitution were a militia. They had rebelled, as a group seeking independence, against the European government. They were armed and willing to fight to the death in protecting and preserving this independence.

But who formed the militia? White, English-speaking, slave owners who had money and power.

Slaves (or non-whites) were not included in this amendment regarding militia, and we see this today.

Several years ago there was a standoff in I think in Las Vegas, where the news showed a bunch of white men wearing cowboy hats and holding shotguns. There was a fence separating the feds and these men protecting their land. The federal government was trying to get the land owner - Cliven Bundy - to pay for using public land to graze his cows. In trying to secure the money, the government started seizing his cattle, and that led to the standoff. Eventually, the government backed down and Bundy won the fight.

Imagine if this were to happen with a bunch of armed black or Hispanic men. Would there be a peaceful reluctance on the government side to back down? I don't think so.