Monday, September 08, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Clearing the Air, Muddying the Waters
Information isn't used in a purely objective fashion, of course. Never is: it's slung about to prove points, make points, drive points home. Data serve agendas. Sometimes such usage is so egregious as to make one cringe.
A smallish case in point. Last week or so my TiVo started wanting to show me a piece of cinema from an outfit called Shell Films titled "Clearing the Air." This slickly produced, glassy-eyed short straight from Shell's corporate boardroom propounds the doctrine that large companies aren't all that interested in profit, but rather with staffing themselves up with prophetic voices - characters determined to change the system from the inside, while wasting scads of cash, for the general benefit of humanity and the planet. I suppose the logic here is that with enough chutzpah anyone can make a dent in the larger pattern of corporate avarice, and that if you're one such person, your employer will stand by and let you do it.
Really? Can you still get dental?
Many folks are sufficiently attuned to this sort of hogwash and have an internal light that goes off, warning them not to give much energy to the consumption of such enterprises. To the rest, woe betide.
Such corporate prattle is no big deal, we think. We just allow it to pass as a one-off instance of self-congratulation - that they had money to spend on PR last year and by golly they spent it. That may be, but only in the smaller sense. You also have to stand back, look at patterns and contexts, see how things play over time.
And just what happens when you stop and add it up over the long haul? McDonald's becomes a major benefactor of NPR in the wake of "Super Size Me," and part of the critical machinery goes away. Coca-Cola generates an incredible quantity of logo impressions per half-hour in its "Screen Play" sponsorship of trivia games running in theaters prior to movies (which are themselves playing to Coke's massively coveted teen demographics, who are paying to receive such ad impressions!). Today it's "Shell Films presents..." In a decade, it'll be "Shell Films Presents, For Your Consideration..." Unless we ask for better.
I suppose it's not inherently evil for big money to attach itself to decent artifice (as opposed to outright propaganda). Disney's umbrella logo has been riding on Pixar's coattails for a good decade now, and without Starbucks, "Akelah and the Bee" may have lain fallow, which would have been a real shame. Heck, for that matter, would Michaelangelo even be in our art books if he hadn't had an underwriting pope? Yet in the long run, end and mean, messenger and message, are becoming so much more easily confused and comingled. Information, however spuriously cobbled together, is simply used to the benefit of those who wield it.
Although ... has it ever really been any different? Consider Jesus. On what we call Palm Sunday, he rode into Jerusalem and checked out the Temple. The next day he came back there and made a religio-political demonstration against the trade he found. It was the first of many stinging barbs of truth he handed out that week, and it wasn't just a hissy. It was an apt argument founded on the propositions of his faith. But I'll bet to a lot of people it came as a total shock.
It's just so easy to inure oneself to this ethos. The company no longer merely backs or approves the message; the company is the message, and you're going to take it. You're going to take it because they know where the line is and how far they can push it; they know where your breaking point is, and they'll probably never cross it. Isn't that alone enough cause for alarm?
Be smart, people. Don't let the corporations do your thinking for you.
[P.S. - You can read about using film for multiple high-end commercial purposes in the March 17th New York Times.]
A smallish case in point. Last week or so my TiVo started wanting to show me a piece of cinema from an outfit called Shell Films titled "Clearing the Air." This slickly produced, glassy-eyed short straight from Shell's corporate boardroom propounds the doctrine that large companies aren't all that interested in profit, but rather with staffing themselves up with prophetic voices - characters determined to change the system from the inside, while wasting scads of cash, for the general benefit of humanity and the planet. I suppose the logic here is that with enough chutzpah anyone can make a dent in the larger pattern of corporate avarice, and that if you're one such person, your employer will stand by and let you do it.
Really? Can you still get dental?
Many folks are sufficiently attuned to this sort of hogwash and have an internal light that goes off, warning them not to give much energy to the consumption of such enterprises. To the rest, woe betide.
Such corporate prattle is no big deal, we think. We just allow it to pass as a one-off instance of self-congratulation - that they had money to spend on PR last year and by golly they spent it. That may be, but only in the smaller sense. You also have to stand back, look at patterns and contexts, see how things play over time.
And just what happens when you stop and add it up over the long haul? McDonald's becomes a major benefactor of NPR in the wake of "Super Size Me," and part of the critical machinery goes away. Coca-Cola generates an incredible quantity of logo impressions per half-hour in its "Screen Play" sponsorship of trivia games running in theaters prior to movies (which are themselves playing to Coke's massively coveted teen demographics, who are paying to receive such ad impressions!). Today it's "Shell Films presents..." In a decade, it'll be "Shell Films Presents, For Your Consideration..." Unless we ask for better.
I suppose it's not inherently evil for big money to attach itself to decent artifice (as opposed to outright propaganda). Disney's umbrella logo has been riding on Pixar's coattails for a good decade now, and without Starbucks, "Akelah and the Bee" may have lain fallow, which would have been a real shame. Heck, for that matter, would Michaelangelo even be in our art books if he hadn't had an underwriting pope? Yet in the long run, end and mean, messenger and message, are becoming so much more easily confused and comingled. Information, however spuriously cobbled together, is simply used to the benefit of those who wield it.
Although ... has it ever really been any different? Consider Jesus. On what we call Palm Sunday, he rode into Jerusalem and checked out the Temple. The next day he came back there and made a religio-political demonstration against the trade he found. It was the first of many stinging barbs of truth he handed out that week, and it wasn't just a hissy. It was an apt argument founded on the propositions of his faith. But I'll bet to a lot of people it came as a total shock.
It's just so easy to inure oneself to this ethos. The company no longer merely backs or approves the message; the company is the message, and you're going to take it. You're going to take it because they know where the line is and how far they can push it; they know where your breaking point is, and they'll probably never cross it. Isn't that alone enough cause for alarm?
Be smart, people. Don't let the corporations do your thinking for you.
[P.S. - You can read about using film for multiple high-end commercial purposes in the March 17th New York Times.]
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Pastoral Ministry and SecondLife - What's reality got to do with it?
For those who frequent and hope to minister in SecondLife, one of the underlying questions is about reality itself – how “realities” intersect and overlap, whether in a continuous or discontinuous manner. This is not a flippant question, for it has to do with how we minister.
One problem or opportunity arises when attempting to define reality, especially a physical reality vis-a-vis a computer-mediated one. (Not least among these problems is the simple experience of language, since, in American English at least, “reality” is a word that generally points to physical actuality.)
As I see it, one of the most accessible metaphors for this special problem can be described as a meeting of certain elements of two commonly-known films.
In the first film, The Matrix, the actual, physical world is one that very few human beings ever live to see, although they surely do inhabit it. They are grown, helpless, with their minds wired into a mediated reality – a highly detailed computer program that provides them with a wide, if controlled, range of experiences, emotions, and so on: enough to meet at least the most basic needs of the majority populace, but only so that the needs of the physical world (power supply for a machine-based collective) can continue to be sufficiently addressed. The human being in the virtual and supplied world of the computer overlay/program is a functional member of a collectively imagined society (you might say an intended mass hallucination), when in the world of physical reality, he is just a widget and a producer of energy.
In the second film, Being John Malkovich, the main character (a master puppeteer) discovers a hidden portal that allows him to temporarily inhabit the consciousness of another person, including all that that person feels, hears, or sees. By taking repeated trips on “the Malkovich ride,” the main character learns how not to be ejected from the experience, so that he may permanently inhabit the person; and, because of his special skills as a wirepuller, he also learns how to manipulate his host just as he would any other object at the end of his strings. The subject involuntarily speaks his words and otherwise acts as commanded.
So in the first film, physical reality is overlaid with and obscured by virtual reality, while in the second film one physical reality is abandoned for the purposes of living in another one. SecondLife and other “massively multiplayer” online experiences are a marriage of these two films in that a person occupying a physically real time and place inserts himself into a computer-mediated reality using the virtual equivalent of a marionette.
(We’d be tempted to use more of these films than we need to for the purposes of constructing our metaphor – for example, much could be made of the difference between voluntarily and involuntarily entering into a virtual world. Or that the purpose of a SecondLife type program is wildly different from the purpose of a Matrix. Or that Mr. Malkovich’s reality is still a physical one, and that being in his consciousness is merely a window into another’s actual existence. Or that Mr. Malkovich, a genuine person in himself, suffers the sublimation of his own reality for another’s, and that there are surely moral implications to that. All true. But we need some kind of an opening metaphor – a basic construct for naming intersecting realities – and hopefully this simple illustration suffices.)
Now, what might be some of the pastoral concerns for ministering in an environment where real people living in real times and places inhabit virtual puppets and interact in a computer-mediated environment?
First, there are the questions of logistics: of technology and of the interface itself. Bandwidth, lag time, and the control panes (the “strings”) are all factors that demand Christians exercise the basic virtue of patience, especially when opportunities arise to listen and understand the life of another, and possibly do or say something to positively affect a situation as the Spirit may lead us to do. Part of the irony of SecondLife is that although it directs massive amounts of information to us, we tend to be impatient with it and with others whom we meet within it. Patience increases with prayer and experience.
Second, there is moral agency and shape-shifting. The possibilities for what my avatar (“puppet”) might look like, including very basic demographics like gender, are theoretically endless and may be traded upon instantly. Attendant identities about what is “fair” or “right” may fluidly shift along with the characteristics of virtual personhood. If you’re ministering to someone who is a person in one instant and a dog in the next, can you make the fluid connections about how to compassionately continue to minister in light of those changes, yet not compromise your own sense of integrity and self?
Third, there is the question of what’s happening “on the other end.” We must always remember that an avatar is a window into another person’s real life; that no matter how hard all of us try, there’s really no way we can cover up who we are. Pure anonymity is an abstract idea and for some a goal to strive toward, just as pure objectivity might be for a journalist. But that doesn’t make it a possibility. Everything I make public about my avatar – its groups, its friends, its clothes, its hangouts – is information about me. At one level this is totally obvious, and yet there are many who choose environments such as SecondLife so that they can forget about “real life” for a while – you know, go off and fly around somewhere. The wise pastor will see the avatar and remember the reality and complexity and humanity that’s driving it.
Fourth, virtual environments call for the highest degree of self-knowledge and congruence. One fancying him- or herself a minister of the Gospel of Christ is bound by the fundamentals of that gospel narrative, which is why knowing the fundamentals is so important. If, for example, the good Lord would not have us participate in activities that test the limits of our marriage vows in the tangible world, then how could a virtual environment create conditions where it would be possible to suspend or break those same vows? It couldn’t, not even if the rules or norms of that virtual environment allow or even encourage such behaviors, because the gold standard is found in a narrative that’s already been set down.
Fifth, and finally, the overlap of the actual and the virtual demands that we see evangelism not as the simple, one-way imparting of our knowledge about the divine life and energy, but rather as capitalizing on the opportunity to partake in mutual transformation in the name of God, that the causes of God may move forward. This is true wherever you go, be it computer-mediated or physically real. Real relationships and our ability to exercise compassion and love within them are the essence of the work.
I would love to read your thoughts.
One problem or opportunity arises when attempting to define reality, especially a physical reality vis-a-vis a computer-mediated one. (Not least among these problems is the simple experience of language, since, in American English at least, “reality” is a word that generally points to physical actuality.)
As I see it, one of the most accessible metaphors for this special problem can be described as a meeting of certain elements of two commonly-known films.
In the first film, The Matrix, the actual, physical world is one that very few human beings ever live to see, although they surely do inhabit it. They are grown, helpless, with their minds wired into a mediated reality – a highly detailed computer program that provides them with a wide, if controlled, range of experiences, emotions, and so on: enough to meet at least the most basic needs of the majority populace, but only so that the needs of the physical world (power supply for a machine-based collective) can continue to be sufficiently addressed. The human being in the virtual and supplied world of the computer overlay/program is a functional member of a collectively imagined society (you might say an intended mass hallucination), when in the world of physical reality, he is just a widget and a producer of energy.
In the second film, Being John Malkovich, the main character (a master puppeteer) discovers a hidden portal that allows him to temporarily inhabit the consciousness of another person, including all that that person feels, hears, or sees. By taking repeated trips on “the Malkovich ride,” the main character learns how not to be ejected from the experience, so that he may permanently inhabit the person; and, because of his special skills as a wirepuller, he also learns how to manipulate his host just as he would any other object at the end of his strings. The subject involuntarily speaks his words and otherwise acts as commanded.
So in the first film, physical reality is overlaid with and obscured by virtual reality, while in the second film one physical reality is abandoned for the purposes of living in another one. SecondLife and other “massively multiplayer” online experiences are a marriage of these two films in that a person occupying a physically real time and place inserts himself into a computer-mediated reality using the virtual equivalent of a marionette.
(We’d be tempted to use more of these films than we need to for the purposes of constructing our metaphor – for example, much could be made of the difference between voluntarily and involuntarily entering into a virtual world. Or that the purpose of a SecondLife type program is wildly different from the purpose of a Matrix. Or that Mr. Malkovich’s reality is still a physical one, and that being in his consciousness is merely a window into another’s actual existence. Or that Mr. Malkovich, a genuine person in himself, suffers the sublimation of his own reality for another’s, and that there are surely moral implications to that. All true. But we need some kind of an opening metaphor – a basic construct for naming intersecting realities – and hopefully this simple illustration suffices.)
Now, what might be some of the pastoral concerns for ministering in an environment where real people living in real times and places inhabit virtual puppets and interact in a computer-mediated environment?
First, there are the questions of logistics: of technology and of the interface itself. Bandwidth, lag time, and the control panes (the “strings”) are all factors that demand Christians exercise the basic virtue of patience, especially when opportunities arise to listen and understand the life of another, and possibly do or say something to positively affect a situation as the Spirit may lead us to do. Part of the irony of SecondLife is that although it directs massive amounts of information to us, we tend to be impatient with it and with others whom we meet within it. Patience increases with prayer and experience.
Second, there is moral agency and shape-shifting. The possibilities for what my avatar (“puppet”) might look like, including very basic demographics like gender, are theoretically endless and may be traded upon instantly. Attendant identities about what is “fair” or “right” may fluidly shift along with the characteristics of virtual personhood. If you’re ministering to someone who is a person in one instant and a dog in the next, can you make the fluid connections about how to compassionately continue to minister in light of those changes, yet not compromise your own sense of integrity and self?
Third, there is the question of what’s happening “on the other end.” We must always remember that an avatar is a window into another person’s real life; that no matter how hard all of us try, there’s really no way we can cover up who we are. Pure anonymity is an abstract idea and for some a goal to strive toward, just as pure objectivity might be for a journalist. But that doesn’t make it a possibility. Everything I make public about my avatar – its groups, its friends, its clothes, its hangouts – is information about me. At one level this is totally obvious, and yet there are many who choose environments such as SecondLife so that they can forget about “real life” for a while – you know, go off and fly around somewhere. The wise pastor will see the avatar and remember the reality and complexity and humanity that’s driving it.
Fourth, virtual environments call for the highest degree of self-knowledge and congruence. One fancying him- or herself a minister of the Gospel of Christ is bound by the fundamentals of that gospel narrative, which is why knowing the fundamentals is so important. If, for example, the good Lord would not have us participate in activities that test the limits of our marriage vows in the tangible world, then how could a virtual environment create conditions where it would be possible to suspend or break those same vows? It couldn’t, not even if the rules or norms of that virtual environment allow or even encourage such behaviors, because the gold standard is found in a narrative that’s already been set down.
Fifth, and finally, the overlap of the actual and the virtual demands that we see evangelism not as the simple, one-way imparting of our knowledge about the divine life and energy, but rather as capitalizing on the opportunity to partake in mutual transformation in the name of God, that the causes of God may move forward. This is true wherever you go, be it computer-mediated or physically real. Real relationships and our ability to exercise compassion and love within them are the essence of the work.
I would love to read your thoughts.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Seven Questions: The Sacraments and SecondLife
I've been giving some thought lately to the sacraments and SL. It was all kicked off by a comment I read somewhere else, by someone else, to the effect of, "If anyone ends up trying to administer sacraments in SL, it'll probably be the Episcopalians who do it first." Which I took as both a badge of honor and a hex sign all at the same time!
Specifically:
1. What would be the efficacy of a sacrament administered through SL? Beyond that, what would be the benefit? (I'm using "efficacy" in the sense of how theologians use it, and "benefit" in the sense of how everyone else uses that term.)
2. What are the pastoral implications?
3. Do virtual environments change our way of thinking about the doctrine of "real presence"?
4. What if anything does this mean for Anglicans in particular - a way of being Christian that encompasses such a wide diversity of opinion about sacramentality?
5. Are there some sacraments that should never attempt to be realized in a virtual environment?
6. What's the difference between, say, genuflecting through a SL gesture and doing it in real life? What role does embodiment play?
7. What's the difference between, say, being told of your absolution through an electronic exchange versus being in the presence of another actual person who pronounces it using means that are immediately perceptible and filled with a million nonverbal cues?
Anyone else interested in this topic?
Specifically:
1. What would be the efficacy of a sacrament administered through SL? Beyond that, what would be the benefit? (I'm using "efficacy" in the sense of how theologians use it, and "benefit" in the sense of how everyone else uses that term.)
2. What are the pastoral implications?
3. Do virtual environments change our way of thinking about the doctrine of "real presence"?
4. What if anything does this mean for Anglicans in particular - a way of being Christian that encompasses such a wide diversity of opinion about sacramentality?
5. Are there some sacraments that should never attempt to be realized in a virtual environment?
6. What's the difference between, say, genuflecting through a SL gesture and doing it in real life? What role does embodiment play?
7. What's the difference between, say, being told of your absolution through an electronic exchange versus being in the presence of another actual person who pronounces it using means that are immediately perceptible and filled with a million nonverbal cues?
Anyone else interested in this topic?
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Every Minute Is Your Life
In Walk the Line, the recent biographical film concerning the stormy relationship between Johnny and June Carter Cash, the character of Johnny (Joaquin Phoenix) is busily trying to sell a music producer on his talent. It is still quite early in an as-yet undefined career.
Cash’s iconic, oily warble and strut have not yet shown up in his vocals, and his lyrics are those of an automaton – someone cautiously trying to find a way to score big on old gospel standards without risking anything artistically in the process. His backup men may as well be playing wet noodles.
So he auditions and, at first, miserably falters. Then the owner of the record company gives him some advice we all could benefit from hearing. He tells Cash to imagine that he has just been struck by a truck and now lies dying with only a few minutes remaining in which to sing one last song. What, then, would he sing?
Cash hesitates, and for a moment his eyes catch fire. Then he lets fly with an original tune: “I hear a train a-comin’ / it’s rolling ’round the bend / and I ain’t seen the sunshine / since I don’t know when / I’m stuck in Folsom Prison…”
You may argue, and rightly, about whether Cash’s life provides us with the gold moral standard of behavior. Yet there is something about this one scene that consistently gets to the heart of the matter of how he lived. It wasn’t only “Folsom Prison” knocking around in his head that he needed to get out in his fantasy about laying on the side of the road near death. Rather, he must surely have taken the record executive’s advice and decided to live out the rest of his days as though every minute were his last – as though the words of any song he happened to be singing would be the final thing to ever cross his lips.
Make a similar decision for yourself, and instantly your life has more meaning – or, possibly for the first time ever, has any meaning at all.
Many religions, faith systems, and philosophies are pushing us to make such a decision. Buddhism ingrains it through meditation and the practice of mindfulness. Judaism does it by promoting an intense realization of the world’s suffering. Hinduism imparts it in the notions of healthy detachment and lucidity. The Muslim tradition brings it to consciousness through consistent discipline.
In my own tradition of Christianity it remains a constant theme of Scripture and is well encapsulated in the words of Jesus preserved in the Gospel According to Luke: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” There is, for Christians, a beautiful paradox expressed by two common phrases: “Live every day as if it were your last,” (death) and “Today is the first day of the rest of your life” (resurrection). Neither one cancels the other out; rather, the one makes the other a stronger truth.
The secret to happiness in life is twofold. First – and let’s hope this doesn’t sound too morbid – admit the fact that death is not only a possibility but a fact; that we’re all in some state of a terminal condition. Second, let’s also live now, in this moment, which is the only place where reality ever happens.
Have a good week.
The Rev. Torey Lightcap is Priest-In-Charge of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Glenwood Springs.
Cash’s iconic, oily warble and strut have not yet shown up in his vocals, and his lyrics are those of an automaton – someone cautiously trying to find a way to score big on old gospel standards without risking anything artistically in the process. His backup men may as well be playing wet noodles.
So he auditions and, at first, miserably falters. Then the owner of the record company gives him some advice we all could benefit from hearing. He tells Cash to imagine that he has just been struck by a truck and now lies dying with only a few minutes remaining in which to sing one last song. What, then, would he sing?
Cash hesitates, and for a moment his eyes catch fire. Then he lets fly with an original tune: “I hear a train a-comin’ / it’s rolling ’round the bend / and I ain’t seen the sunshine / since I don’t know when / I’m stuck in Folsom Prison…”
You may argue, and rightly, about whether Cash’s life provides us with the gold moral standard of behavior. Yet there is something about this one scene that consistently gets to the heart of the matter of how he lived. It wasn’t only “Folsom Prison” knocking around in his head that he needed to get out in his fantasy about laying on the side of the road near death. Rather, he must surely have taken the record executive’s advice and decided to live out the rest of his days as though every minute were his last – as though the words of any song he happened to be singing would be the final thing to ever cross his lips.
Make a similar decision for yourself, and instantly your life has more meaning – or, possibly for the first time ever, has any meaning at all.
Many religions, faith systems, and philosophies are pushing us to make such a decision. Buddhism ingrains it through meditation and the practice of mindfulness. Judaism does it by promoting an intense realization of the world’s suffering. Hinduism imparts it in the notions of healthy detachment and lucidity. The Muslim tradition brings it to consciousness through consistent discipline.
In my own tradition of Christianity it remains a constant theme of Scripture and is well encapsulated in the words of Jesus preserved in the Gospel According to Luke: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” There is, for Christians, a beautiful paradox expressed by two common phrases: “Live every day as if it were your last,” (death) and “Today is the first day of the rest of your life” (resurrection). Neither one cancels the other out; rather, the one makes the other a stronger truth.
The secret to happiness in life is twofold. First – and let’s hope this doesn’t sound too morbid – admit the fact that death is not only a possibility but a fact; that we’re all in some state of a terminal condition. Second, let’s also live now, in this moment, which is the only place where reality ever happens.
Have a good week.
The Rev. Torey Lightcap is Priest-In-Charge of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Glenwood Springs.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
...And What Do You Do?
Suppose there’s a CPA who’s darned good at what he does, but maybe what he really wants to be is a scratch golfer. Or you have a lawyer – a hard-driving litigator by day who harbors a secret passion for karaoke by night. Or a taxidermist studying natural health and healing methodologies in his spare time.
They’re all over the place: politicians who just want to cook, meter readers who just want to kayak, seamstresses who just want to learn Italian. Their day jobs and their real passions could be so seemingly disconnected that they might never confess their true hearts’ desires and avocations to their professional colleagues.
I absolutely love the work I do. Still, out of the wealth of all my passions I know could do more. I could be an Episcopal priest / B&B owner-operator / film script reviewer / Gen-X theology writer / pie taster / fez collector. (If only there were money to be made in fezzes.)
Is it naturally disconcerting, this business of a “day job,” the thing you do for money? Is every time we go to work another chance to sell out just a little bit more? Of course not!
Yet somewhere there’s a tiny voice crying out, a splinter in our minds – “I could do this all day if only it paid, and I’d never get tired of it.”
Truth is, it does pay. It pays many rich dividends as it brings you life and energy, and it’s nothing at all to be ashamed of.
Here’s a stretch for you. Imitate the old pyramid-scheme marketers by making a sign that says “Ask me about (blank),” where the blank is the shorthand name for your deepest passion. Adorn it with photos of you taking part in your favorite activity, or with inspirational quotes from that field. Then take that sign to your place of work and post it prominently.
As people come in and out of your work space, they will ask. Although it might be embarrassing at first, you will eventually find yourself swelling with insight and happiness as you lay out the whys and wherefores of woodcarving, candle-making, or 18th-Century English literature.
Now here’s the big lift: your reputation will change. Instead of being known as the Copier Guy, Close-Talker, or Mr. Bad Breath, you will become known as Karaoke Man, Surf Dude, Master of the Scrapbook, Señorita Stamp. There will still be a new stereotype for you to overcome, but you at least will have exposed the old stereotype as boring on your way to telling people more about who you really are.
This is wholly in keeping with the life of faith, where we are asked to bring our entire selves, unashamedly, into everything we do. What a liberating possibility.
Have a good week.
The Rev. Torey Lightcap is Priest-In-Charge of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Glenwood Springs.
They’re all over the place: politicians who just want to cook, meter readers who just want to kayak, seamstresses who just want to learn Italian. Their day jobs and their real passions could be so seemingly disconnected that they might never confess their true hearts’ desires and avocations to their professional colleagues.
I absolutely love the work I do. Still, out of the wealth of all my passions I know could do more. I could be an Episcopal priest / B&B owner-operator / film script reviewer / Gen-X theology writer / pie taster / fez collector. (If only there were money to be made in fezzes.)
Is it naturally disconcerting, this business of a “day job,” the thing you do for money? Is every time we go to work another chance to sell out just a little bit more? Of course not!
Yet somewhere there’s a tiny voice crying out, a splinter in our minds – “I could do this all day if only it paid, and I’d never get tired of it.”
Truth is, it does pay. It pays many rich dividends as it brings you life and energy, and it’s nothing at all to be ashamed of.
Here’s a stretch for you. Imitate the old pyramid-scheme marketers by making a sign that says “Ask me about (blank),” where the blank is the shorthand name for your deepest passion. Adorn it with photos of you taking part in your favorite activity, or with inspirational quotes from that field. Then take that sign to your place of work and post it prominently.
As people come in and out of your work space, they will ask. Although it might be embarrassing at first, you will eventually find yourself swelling with insight and happiness as you lay out the whys and wherefores of woodcarving, candle-making, or 18th-Century English literature.
Now here’s the big lift: your reputation will change. Instead of being known as the Copier Guy, Close-Talker, or Mr. Bad Breath, you will become known as Karaoke Man, Surf Dude, Master of the Scrapbook, Señorita Stamp. There will still be a new stereotype for you to overcome, but you at least will have exposed the old stereotype as boring on your way to telling people more about who you really are.
This is wholly in keeping with the life of faith, where we are asked to bring our entire selves, unashamedly, into everything we do. What a liberating possibility.
Have a good week.
The Rev. Torey Lightcap is Priest-In-Charge of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Glenwood Springs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
