Here’s a story idea for a half-hour comedy, which focuses on a relationship between a married couple, something along the lines of “Mad About You.”

In the opening sequence the couple are sitting in the living room, drinking coffee, perhaps looking through the paper. Better yet, the husband is reading the paper and the wife is checking Facebook. In doing so, she comes across a comment from one of her friends who has been dating a guy she met through an online dating service that helps people connect through “dimensions of compatibility.” This incident leads them into a conversation about the nature of compatibility, which eventually leads them to registering themselves on one of those online sites to see if they would end up on each others compatibility radar. Of course, the conflict and the humor of the story is that they don’t.

The rest of the episode is spent with them processing their supposed incompatibility, the nature of love, and specifically their connection with one another. They finally come to a place where they realize that though much can be said about what contributes to a good relationship, and much can be said about the nature of love, there is always some part that transcends identification, and whatever that is, they have it in spades.

Does anyone see the potential humor in this? Can you think of specific exchanges this couple might have either as they discover their supposed incompatibility, or as they try to make sense of their relationship?

As the chill of night withdrew under the morning sun, and bird songs began to fill the air, I looked at the tent wall and saw the silhouette  of an evergreen. This sight was justification for the previous night’s battle with mosquitoes as my family and I set up camp. We were at Princess Meadows, in Kings Canyon National park, and this was the beginning of our summer.

After breakfast we decided to hit the trail for which the campground was named. Though I could say much about the beauty of the Sequoias, I will refrain. Instead, I have a number of photos, many of which were taken by my 8 year old daughter, Elena, that I would like to share.

In conclusion, I will simply say that summer is looking good.

Around fourteen years ago I heard the voice of God while cruising on the Pacheco Pass. A couple of months before, Paula moved to Wheaton College to begin a graduate program in Psychology, and I knew our relationship would have to move forward or we would have to break up. So, in the midst of sorting through my ambivalence, and picking at my broken cuticles, a voice cut through to say that I needed to leave my cuticles alone in order for them to heal. I knew this was a commentary on my life. After this, I continued to think about Paula and my feelings for her, and more sharply than before the voice told me that I was not to seek my happiness in her, that my happiness was to be sought in God alone. Suddenly I felt a love for Paula I had not known. Perhaps the love was always there but obscured by my state of confusion, or perhaps it was birthed in that confrontation. I cannot say for sure. What I knew, however, was that I was going to marry Paula.

Yesterday we celebrated our thirteenth anniversary and we are still in love with one another, and our love has matured over the years. I would like to give an account for how this is so, as well as provide principles for a successful marriage, but it strikes me that even though thirteen years is no small accomplishment in our modern world, this would be a bit premature. Moreover, I cannot really point to any specifics as to why we have grown and thrived. It seems to me that relationships are an organic reality that does not readily submit to blueprints for success. Along with this, I sometimes feel that our success has been a luck of the draw, and yet, I know that successful marriages don’t just happen.

So, as I have looked back on our years together, two interrelated elements emerged that I think were critical to our success. First, is the awareness that we are both sinners. Second, is the conviction that marriage is not ultimately about our happiness and bliss. At this point I would like to provide some commentary on these elements, but after talking it over with Paula, I have decided to take her advice and let my readers do their own thinking about what I have written.

It’s summer and I wanted to do something different. Besides, I’ve noticed that my hair is thinning, and so, in case I go bald, or get that horseshoe look, I have to know I have options.

I am happy to report that I don’t have an oddly shaped head, and I don’t have any weird bumps, except for a couple of little, red-like moles on the side of my head. Sure, I don’t look badass like Vin Diesel, but neither do I look like an Hare Krishna.

Maybe I’m somewhere between Michel Foucault (noted French intellectual, primarily known for his associations with post-structuralism) and Vin Diesel. Call me Vin Foucault. On second thought, just call my Anthony (Tony is alright too).

If the only thing keeping you out of hell is a fear of hell, then you’re not actually escaping hell. Conversely, if the only thing that moves you toward heaven is a fear of hell, then your are not really seeing heaven, and are therefore not likely to enter in.

Do you believe in the ineffable? Do you think every experience that humans have can be expressed in words? Can we have an awareness of something that transcends ideas and the language we use to express them?

I often sense something that is just beyond my ability to grasp, perhaps something at once subterranean and transcendent. This something has to do with God, and his deep connection to me and to all of us, and this something is related to the incarnation of God in Jesus. The image I have is of a hand reaching down into the unspeakable depths, to the taproot of our collective disorder, and seizing us. In this place a word is spoken that I cannot hear. And yet, I feel its presence, but as fleeting glimpse.

Later, knowing that all was now completed

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn

and so that the Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said,

Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power

“I am thirsty.”

Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips.

[I] pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain

When he had received the drink, Jesus said,

Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

“It is finished.”

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

I don’t like writing when I have to write, but when I don’t have to write writing is alright. Actually, it’s more than alright, it’s outstanding! Writing is a living tension: it is a source of pleasure, even as it is a source of pain. The pain is the looking at a blank page, which is a symbol of the myriad of possibilities that exist in my mind regarding any topic that I might address, as well as the ways I might address it. This can be overwhelming, and it is this sense of being overwhelmed that often keeps me from writing. A counterpoint to this, perhaps even a counter-pressure, is my overwhelming desire to express myself, particularly through words. I have come to see that in the process of writing, I am enabled to see what I likely would not have seen. It’s like Joan Didion says, “I write entirely to find out what I am thinking, what I am looking at, what I see, and what it means.” This is my experience, and thus when I don’t write I am always wondering what I am missing. So this is my tension, I live between the overwhelming possibilities of a blank page, and the overwhelming idea that if I don’t write I might miss something crucial.

Muscle pudgy is the term that came to me recently while I was at the gym looking at the other patrons and noticing that a lot of dudes, no matter how much they lift weights, still have a nice layer of fat over their big yet undefined muscles. Having made this observation, I have to be careful lest I become a hypocrite, as I am borderline muscle pudgy. I go to the gym, I lift weights, and I have a little bit of a gut. One thing, however, that currently saves me is that at 6 feet 4 inches, I tend to hide my extra 20 pounds moderately well. Of course, this will last only so long, since my aging metabolism is slowly working against me.

The thing about muscle pudgy is that I can’t help but read it as an expression of American decadence. We are a culture of abundance, and convenience, and in such a place discipline and self-control is not readily encouraged. Yes, regularly going to the gym can certainly be an expression of discipline, but somehow our gyms seem to fit all to nicely into our fast food landscape. It would not be too odd, in other words, to see somebody leave the gym and on the way home stop by a Starbucks drive-thru to order a vente (20 oz) vanilla latte, but hey, at least it would be served with lowfat milk.

Shooting from the hip, my guess is that the connection between the gym, Starbucks, and decadence is a kind of schizophrenic me-ism that is obsessed with giving the self all it wants while at the same time trying to achieve the ideal self. The problem is that achieving ideals often requires the opposite of indulgence: sacrifice, and this is what we Americans have a hard time accepting. Related to this is that both the indulgence and the achievement of the ideal are centered upon the self, and this is not how humans were made to function. To summarize the Christian tradition, our very being was made to spin in orbit around God, and thus when we are not in this orbit we become subject to all types of disorders and contradictions. So, in the end, muscle pudgy is just one expression of the contradiction that exists at the center of our common and individual humanity.

In saying all this, I have to acknowledge that some of those muscle pudgy dudes likely have the misfortune of a generally slow metabolism, and so, I don’t want to assume that all pudginess is directly correlated to a lack of discipline. In fact, I probably shouldn’t make any kind of personal judgment regarding muscle pudgy people, as I don’t have the full picture, and its really not my place. And yet, the prevalence of muscle pudgy does seem to be symptomatic of some kind of cultural disorder.

Oh well, the one thing I can do is work on the borderline muscle pudgy dude I see in the mirror, because I do happen to know that he struggles with discipline and indulgence.

Today, as I was searching online for books for summer reading, I came across The Interpretation of Cultures by noted anthropologist Clifford Geertz. While reading through the book utilizing the “look inside” feature, I was struck by Geertz words, which were inspired by sociologist Max Weber, “man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun.” Geertz approach to culture is semiotic, which is to say that his study of culture is centered upon systems of signification by which humans make meaning and accordingly regulate behavior and relationships.

I draw attention to this Weberian inspired quote by Geertz, because, as I said, I am drawn to it. On the one hand it expresses a nice turn of phrase, and on the other, it seems pregnant with possibilities for understanding humanity and the human condition. Along with this, it resonates with my religious experience, insofar is I am Anglican, which is to say that I am liturgical, which is to say that I deeply connect with patterned and symbolic expressions of faith and devotion.

When I think about this web in which we are suspended that we ourselves have spun, I see in it an expression of being made in God’s image. God is the “creator of all things, seen and unseen,” and like him we are creators, not just of art, architecture, and institutions, but in some profound sense we are creators of the world we inhabit. We construct the categories by which we divide and sort the world, and through this process of dividing and sorting we construct meaning. This is the world we create.

I realize that some out there might see this as a capitulation to postmodern presuppostions, and that I have run headlong into an embrace of relativism. The threat, of course, is that ultimately this kind of thinking denies the reality of an objective God who has endowed the world with meaning to discover. I am sympathetic to these concerns, however, I am not sure that my assertion necessarily leads to this denial. I cannot completely resolve this tension except to say that perhaps God has made us dynamic, perhaps he has endowed us with creative powers so that we would have a hand in the construction of the world that he has placed us in. In short, our ability to construct meaning, even a multiplicity of meanings, was intended by God to be the means by which his manifold grace and glory could be expressed through the multifacets of many cultures, which together create one brilliant diamond that refracts and sparkles with the glory of God.