Ramble

This is the first thing I'm cross posting on both journals. I wrote this with a secular mind but I think it's the kind of idea I wouldn't have followed when I was a wholly secular person. If you want to tie it in to Christianity I think it relates to parts of the Nicene Creed. I have not loved my neighbors as myself. Heck, I probably haven't loved myself as myself. I think this post is a reflection of how the word of God can become habits. This wasn't written with a particular eye towards religious teaching, but the religion is in there.

I just watched “Lars and the Real Girl.” I can’t take it. I don’t have the strength. Watching sad movies, or any movie involving death by anything other than car chase or explosion has become too much for me. I can’t get used to the idea of death. I understand it on an intellectual level of course but I can’t get used to in my life. There are people in our lives who we will never see again for a variety of reasons but for me that makes death even more incomprehensible. I can’t explain why but even now the idea that I can never see my parents again doesn’t really register. Maybe it’s because I lived so far away for so long that I only miss them every few months or so. But when it comes it comes so strong that I feel like I should be able to pick my phone and call and I can’t. I can never call them again.

I’m too young for this. I’m too young to have lost them both so close together. I look at my son and I have so many questions. I wonder if I was like that when I was his age and I have no to tell me. I have no one to tell me who I was. Instead I find myself in the opposite position of having to describe them to him. I have to keep them alive for him. Instead of them keeping the little boy Berto alive in their memories and doling him out in little pieces to me and my little branch of the tree, that little boy who was me only exists in me now. And since my mother’s death tore apart the already tenuous bonds between me and her side of the family she really only exists in me now as well. Here I am burdened with the task of teaching my son who she was and who I was. The truly crippling thing is that I can see her with him as if I’m actually remembering them together. I can see her holding him, fussing over him, telling me how I was just like that or not like that at all. I remember it even though it’s not real.

So I fear death. Not my own death but death of people around me. I think my mother was used to death. Her brother died shortly before I was born. She’d had friends die and grandparents die. In a way it seemed like the lifestyles of the 1970s and 80s took a lot of people away from her. It makes me wonder at what age or after how many occurrences do we get used to death. I’m not used to it. I avoid loving the people around me much as I want to because I don’t know what I would do if they were taken from me. I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle the death of someone to whom I’ve given my whole heart. So I build little walls. I know, it’s a hackneyed metaphor but it’s what I’ve got. I build little walls by not looking at people unless I have to. I build little walls by being endlessly sarcastic. I build little walls, not high enough or strong enough to isolate me but just enough so that I can bear to lose people if they go.

I pile worry upon worry. I worry that I don’t love my son enough. I worry that I’ll distance myself from him as he grows older in order to protect myself when I inevitably end up being a bad parent and he ends up hating me. I worry that this worry is exactly what will lead to me being a bad parent and him hating me. I worry that even though I’m aware of all this I’ll be unable to prevent it because I am so afraid of loving anyone to the extent that losing them would destroy me.

I’ve built a life on not letting anything destroy me. I know I don’t have real problems. Not in the sense that people who truly have nothing and have no prospects of ever having anything have problems. And I didn’t have a hard childhood like my mother did. And she didn’t have a hard childhood like my grandmother did. And I was better off growing up than my father who came form that group of people who had very little with very little chance of ever getting more. The one thing I had to deal with was notion that the people you love can leave you at any time. My father left me for years and even though I understand why I was never able to forgive him while he was alive. During my somewhat tumultuous adolescence my mother often threatened to cut me out of her life. It seemed like the members of my mother’s family were always ready to write each other off over whatever perceived slight or inequity. As much as they were proud to be associated with each other they never allowed themselves to grow truly close. They never wanted to depend on one another. For most of my childhood I understood that at any moment you could end up completely alone. Up until my mom died I wanted so desperately for her side of the family to show some real unity, for them to stop backbiting and really support each other. After mom died I got a version of that as they all united against me. I still don’t know why and I know that I lashed out against them with a terrific fury in large part because I was so hurt that they would all turn on me like they did. As a result my walls with everyone else grew a little higher and a little thicker.

My friend Ben used to say he didn’t need any of us. We were a tight knit group from the time we were 14 all the way through adulthood. We fought and made up just like a family but in contrast to my real family no one ever walked out or even threatened to. Rarely was anyone ever threatened with expulsion from our little tribe and on the couple occasions when it did happen the idea of it was enough to bring the offender in line. Squabbles could last for months but in the end they were always squashed. Ben used to say he didn’t need any of us. He would say we could all die or decide we hated him and it wouldn’t make any difference to him. I couldn’t understand that. I needed those guys and I wanted to need them. Ben never had to find out whether he was right or not because he hung himself in my stairwell. Instead we all had to find out how much we needed him.

His philosophy stuck with me. Losing Ben drove home the point that anyone can leave you at any time for any reason. So you isolate yourself so people can’t hurt you and in doing so you create a world where people can’t help you either. Maybe not needing us was the final piece that allowed Ben to take is own life. I don’t think I could ever commit suicide because I know how horribly it would impact all the people who care about me. There’s a lot of them. Still, I can’t stop myself from trying to reach a state where anyone of them could disappear and I could go on.

When my first wife left me I had to be able to go on. She hadn’t died she’d left. I grieved the loss but instead of the loss of her life it the loss of our life. The life I had imagined was gone. The kids I thought we would have would never exist. The vacations wouldn’t happen. There wouldn’t be any of it and I had to learn to cope and move on. Looking back I know that my little walls were partly to blame. They were also what allowed me to go on. The same issues with trust and love have threatened my new marriage from time to time. Strength can hurt. Too much strength can cripple you. Look, I know I’m not unveiling any great new truths here. Other people have been saying this for centuries. I do think that until we hear it from the right source t doesn’t sink in. My mother’s strength kept a lot of people at arms length including me. Her strength probably led to her cancer going undiagnosed for over a year. In trying to emulate her strength I appeared dispassionate to her family and they in turn treated me as though her death shouldn’t affect me. I spent so much time making sure nothing could affect me from the outside I rotted from within. I was never destroyed, but I never grew either.

Trying to be too strong leads to carrying burdens alone. We are not alone. None of us are alone. Having a partner means having someone to share your burdens. Not because you’re weak but because they want to help. Accepting help strengthens both of you. The measure of a man isn’t how much you can bear on your own. It’s how much you can do as a part of your community. I’m finally learning that. I’ve been lucky to find another influence.

I didn’t get to know my father’s side of the family until I was an adult. They lived on the east coast so I didn’t see them much until I moved to Washington DC. Even then it wasn’t until my cousin made a real effort to reach out to me over and over again that I really opened myself up to them. My cousin’s efforts to get to know me are endemic of that side of the family. They fuss and squabble just like my mother’s side but the difference is they do it out in the open. They yell at each other, they criticize, they admonish. Then they make up and move on. I remember my aunt telling me that there were times when she told my father to not call, to not visit, to not be around. But she always told him she loved him and never failed to help him out when he needed it. Even when she knew she could never give him money she still gave him clothes and books and mementos. My father’s side of the family embraces the idea that you can have passionate disagreements with family but you can never turn your back on them. This is a stark contrast to the Japanese side who can cast you out without ever telling you why. As an adult I’ve come to identify much more closely with my Puerto Rican side of the family because they give me the one thing I’ve always craved, unconditional love coupled with unconditional honesty. You always know where you stand with them and wherever you stand you always know that they love you.

That’s what I want people to get from me. I want them to know that even when I’m upset I love them. Before that can happen I need to learn to allow myself to love people beyond my ability to recover. I need to be able to give myself to people without fear. My wife deserves more of me than I’ve been able to give her because I’m afraid of hurting too much if she leaves. My son deserves more than I’ve been able to give him because I’m afraid he’ll suffer some accident and die. My friends and family deserve all that I’ve with held from them because I’ve doubted the permanence of our relationships. I need to give myself permission to love people the way I believe many of them love me.

Member of the Club

On Sunday, November 1st, 2009 I was confirmed as a member of the Episcopal Church. Leading up to that moment and since I have been asked what confirmation means to me. For some people belief is enough. For other people confirmation is just another thing that happens in their life. I came to the church as an adult with precious little religious background. I came to the church because my wife brought me there. I stayed because I found solace.

I played rugby for sixteen years. During that time I probably paid two-thousand dollars in club dues. In return I got to play a game I love year round. I got free food and drinks a couple times per week. I got a trip to London to play a tournament. I got a trip to New York two years later. All of that pales in comparison to the true gift I got from rugby, solace.

I’ve always been temperamental. Rugby gave me a way to channel my frustration in an acceptable way. In 2004 when I was going through a divorce and trying to avoid flunking out of grad-school rugby saved me. For twelve hours per week I could escape all the pressures of my life and just run. The physical exhaustion and the camaraderie of the team were provided the release I needed to get through that year. Without rugby I may have deferred my enrollment and moved home to California. If that had happened wouldn’t have met my wife, I wouldn’t have my house, I wouldn’t have my son. Luckily I did have rugby so here we all are. Once my playing days were over I wasn’t ready to give up on the game that had given me so much over the years so I became a referee in order to give something back to the game.

2007 was another tough year. I had left my job in DC to move back home where I was starting my career over again. My mother had died, and my family was fighting over her teeny tiny estate. It was the lowest point of my life. I needed answers and the usual sources weren’t cutting it. I had been going to church with my wife and during one three-week stretch I was given all the answers I needed. I had been struggling with the ability to forgive all the people in my life that were causing me pain. I had been struggling with my relationship with fiancée. I had been struggling with the idea that I was worthy of being forgiven for my mistakes. Then in those three weeks I learned that I was worthy of forgiveness. Not just from God but from everyone in my life. I learned that I’m not a bad guy. I also learned that the people who have hurt me also deserve my forgiveness. With that knowledge my quality of life improved drastically.

Since becoming more involved in the church I’ve been fortunate to be part of a community that looks after each other. I don’t know how my wife and I would have survived the first four weeks after our son was born if not for our parish organizing people to bring us meals. It was such a tremendous help. I also look forward to raising my children in our parish community.

So what does confirmation mean to me? Aside from affirming my commitment to God it means becoming a full member of the parish community. It may sound strange to people who know me but I’ve been shy about being a part of the church. Confirmation has helped me feel like less of an interloper and more of a member. I feel like now I’ll have the courage to step up and volunteer for things, join a ministry, talk to people more. I can’t wait for the next parish birth so I can return the favor of a meal or two. Confirmation is a milestone on my journey to becoming a Christian. Just like becoming a referee I hope that by becoming a full member of the church I can begin to give back to an institution that has given me so much.

Forgiving Mike Vick

I never thought I'd be writing about Michael Vick here. The Mike Vick issue is one I've debated and written about in other forums but I didn't think it would apply to this particular part of my world. Now I find that my religious sensibility is informing my opinion on Vick.

For the last few months I have taken heat from both sides of the Vick debate based on my steadfast ambivalence regarding his comeback. My feeling has been that the market would determine if Vick got another chance to play in the NFL. I've never believed that Vick "deserved" another chance to play. If no one wanted to give him a job that would be fine with me as well. He certainly does not have a right to earn his living as an athlete, but if someone was willing to give him a job then I can't begrudge him his opportunity. I also believe that NFL commissioner Roger Goodell is well within his rights as an employer to suspend Vick for the first six weeks of the season. Just because Vick has paid his debt to society does not mean he has paid his debt to the league, the fans, or the sponsors.

Because I don't disagree with the suspension people on the staunchly pro-Vick side of the issue have accused me of being biased in favor of "the man." Now the pendulum is swinging. As I've said I'm fine with the suspension I've also said I'm fine with Vick returning to the league which is now getting me in trouble with the anti-Vick side.

Now that Vick has signed with a team I find my feelings about him shifting. I still believe that Goodell is within his rights to suspend Vick. I cannot jump in with the crowd expressing disappointment with the Eagles for signing him. I don't believe Vick should be banned for life. What he did was horrifying. He willfully and knowingly funded a criminal conspiracy for a number of years. He was then tried, convicted, and served his sentence. This does not mean anyone has to forget what he did. I would never tell anyone they have to like Michael Vick, or support Michael Vick, or root for Michael Vick. I do believe that we can forgive Michael Vick.

For me forgiveness is one of the most central of Christ's teachings. With that in mind it is appropriate that Vick is going to the Eagles who's coach, Andy Reid, knows a little something about forgiveness. In the last two years Reid's sons have been arrested multiple times on gun and drug related charges. I imagine that the experience of reconciling his love for his sons with the serious nature of their transgressions has shown Reid that anyone can stray. In the wake of his sons' arrests Reid took a leave of absence to tend to his family. Now he is taking another wayward soul. Coaching Michael Vick will not be easy. Not because Vick is a bad person but because of everything that comes with him. The scrutiny, the media, the protests will be tough but Reid may the one coach most ready and able to handle it.

Now, in many ways, the debate is over. Whether or not vick should get another chance at an NFl career is academic. He's back. All that's left for us is to decide how we will respond. As a Christian I feel compassion and hope for Michael Vick. I am willing to extend to Vick the assumption that he is genuinely remorseful and appreciative of his opportunity. After all, the purported goal of our justice system is rehabilitation and reintegration with society. Now that Vick has served his time and is being mentored by Tony Dungy I am willing to believe that he has been rehabilitated.

I am a dog owner, and a Christian, and I am rooting for Michael Vick. I'm not rooting for Mike Vick the football player, but for Michael Vick the man. I hope he gets his life together (he's embroiled in bankruptcy) and I think that the structure and guidance of football can help him if he chooses to allow it. If our ultimate goal as a society is revenge then we are just as troubled as Vick. Instead we should do what we can to bring him back to the light. Jesus has shown us the way to do this now it is up to us to carry it out.

Who Do You Believe In?

I don't know if as new a christian as I am can really have a crisis of faith. I mean if you're already coming into the thing from a life of not really believing can any doubts really constitute a crisis? I think I'm having more of a "dang we're out of milk" type minor issue of faith. OK, what the heck am I talking about? I'm talking about belief. I'm talking about who or what we believe in.

I have to admit I don't know if I really believe in Jesus Christ. I know, this should immediately discount me as a Christian. It's like being a vegetarian who eats poultry and fish. The thing is I believe in the teachings of Jesus Christ, just maybe not all the other stuff. Is that enough? Does that make me Christiesuqe rather than Christian? The thing is I know who I do believe in whole heartedly. I believe in Rector Robbin. Honestly my main touchstone of faith isn't God, or Jesus, or Mary, or even "The Church," it's Rector Robbin. I believe just about everything she says. I'm ready to follow her guidance in just about anything. I feel like I don't find solace as much in Christ as I find solace in the the sermons of Rector Robbin.

So my fellow Christians, is this a problem? Am I an idolator? I hope not. I hope that as a new Christian my faith in my teacher is enough for now. I hope that I can "fake it 'til I make it" in a manner of speaking. I hope it is enough to follow what Robbin teaches me about faith even if for now my faith is mainly in her. It helps that the Episcopal church is not driven by doctrine.

I have been attending inquirers classes and this past class focused on doctrine. Turns out there isn't much of it for us Anglicans. The main theme of the class was that our faith hinges primarily on one thing, are you trying to live as Christ lived or not? If you are trying the details don't really matter. This was an incredibly refreshing bit of information. It helped me understand why I never have an answer for people who ask me "What does your church believe in?" Well, the short answer is we believe in the bible and we don't try to extrapolate too much beyond that. This why we don't have any fire and brimstone in our services. I've been going to Episcopal churches off and on for four years now and I can't recall a single mention of sin, hell, or Satan. I remember a lot about forgiveness, humbleness, and love.

I've also realized that when people ask me about my new found faith they are usually asking about doctrine. They want to know if my position on whatever hot button issue they're latched onto this week has changed as a result of my relationship with the church. I think people are disappointed when I don't have an answer for them. Well, I do have an answer but it's usually something like, "I don't really know what the church thinks, but here's what I think..." Now I know why I don't have an answer for what the church thinks. Because we have far less doctrine than other sects the church seems to think we're capable of deciding for ourselves. It's liberating knowing that the church trusts me.

I'll try to provide an example and I know Robbin will forgive me for butchering her teachings. The example she used in class was the issue of abortion. The bottom line is that the church is against abortion. The line just above that is that the church is for choice. This idea resonated with a conversation me and my wife had early on when we were dating, we both agreed that we for choice, and that our choice if she became pregnant would be to keep the child no matter how our relationship turned out.

So I think I've got my answer. I don't have to believe in Christ the way some people do as long as I follow his teachings. I can receive those teachings from Rector Robbin and use her as my spiritual guide. I don't have to believe in transubstantiation in order to take communion and be accepted as a member of the church. I am free in my faith to take things as they come and accept them over time. I'm loving being a Christian.

My First Lent (Or: What I learned While Not Drinking)

So this year was the first time I really observed Lent. I had felt for a few months that my drinking habits (alcohol) were getting a little out of control. Not out of control like getting smashed, causing a ruckus and blacking out out of control. Not out of control like missing work or showing up too hung over to function out of control. Rather it was an outside my comfort zone as a family man sort of out of control. On top of that my wife was beginning to question why I felt it was OK to spend $15.00/week on beer but I thought going to a movie once a month was too expensive.

There were also physical concerns. I had a tendency to lose track of time at night and end up going to bed late. I was waking up parched in the mornings, rushing to the sink for water as soon as my feet hit the floor.

So what's an emerging Christian to do? Well in my case Lent came along at exactly the right time. Here was a chance to observe an important aspect of my faith as well as resolve my personal issues. Yay! Christianity provides the answer again!

I'd never observed Lent before so I did what a always do when I'm gearing up to try something new, I researched it online ad found out I didn't know what I thought I knew. I knew Lent ran for forty days between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday and a quick calculation indicated that Lent would be over before the Oakland A's Opening Day game which validated my decision to give up hooch for Lent. A quick look at the calendar indicated that Easter was on April 12th, forty-five days after Ash Wednesday.

"Hey honey, Easter is forty-five days after Ash Wednesday. What gives?"

"No, it's forty days."

"I'm looking it up."

I had a brief moment of eleation when I read that, according to Wikipedia (the most reliable source of information in the Universe having replaced the now obsolete Encyclopedia Galactica) Lent runs 45 calendar days because the Lenten commitment is not observed on Sundays. Hooray! I can get my drink on once/week.

"Honey, you don't have be all Lenty on Sundays!"

"What? I've never heard of that. That's not how I do it."

"Oh."

Of course she was right. It wasn't going to help me to find loopholes in what was supposed to be a time of sacrifice and introspection. This would mean no beers at the game. Sadness. But never mind that, I was committed.

The details of the next forty days or so aren't terribly interesting. There were times when I really wanted a beer. Or a whiskey. I'm writing this before Opening Day but I think the lessons I've learned will be just as true on Friday as they have been through out this process. What's important is what I've learned about my drinking habits. The funny thing is that not a lot changed.

I've learned that I really like the taste of alcoholic beverages but I only sort of like the feeling of being under the influence. I've found that I enjoy all the same activities sober as I did when I was drinking. This includes obvious times like relaxing at home watching TV or playing video games as well as times more closely associated with drinking like rugby socials with large groups of strangers or bar-b-queing with friends. In these situations where I would customarily have a beer I found that I still had fun, but I missed the taste of that cold brew. It's a wierd idea to think that I'm addicted to the flavors of alcohol more than to the inebriation. I wish there was a non-alcoholic whiskey I could sip on and get those same rich malty smokey flavors without the stigma of drinking straight brown liquors.

I've also remembered when I like to drink. I'd gotten to the point recently where I thought I needed a beer after work to take the edge off the day and relax. It's not true. Sitting on the couch and watching the MLB network is just as relaxing with a Clausthauler as it is with a Pilsner Urquel. Having a drink is more fun and more rewarding when there are other people around. I'll confess, I did cheat. I cheated on a promise to God. I rationalized it as an experiment, as part of the learning process not only about Lent and drinking but also an experiment in terms of what these rites mean to me. What happened is I went on a grown man play date with an old and dear friend and I took a day off Lent. I did it to test the theory, "Is this where I like to drink?" The answer is yes. I don't think I'll do as much drinking at home once Easter rolls around, the ROI simply isn't there. But I like drinking with friends. That's where you get the bang for your buck.

The final thing I learned is that the physical and financial things I was worried about aren't linked to my drinking habits. I still wake up with a powerful thirst every morning. I still zone out in the duderoom and lose track of time. I still ignore housework for days at a time. I haven't noticed any change in my bank account.

The bottom line is that I'm not in as bad a situation as I'd feared. I'm basically the same guy now as I am when I'm drinking. The other take away is that Christanity has given me another gift. Having an established period for reflection and sacrifice is a huge benefit. Without my faith I don't think I would have had the motivation to take on this kind task. I would have made excuses and rationalizations for putting it off even though it was something I had wanted to try for some time before my religious awakening. Even with my one slip God helped me find the strength to carry this out. Thanks Jesus.

So there's a few things rattling around in my head today but I'm on a plane so my research abilities are severely limited. With that in mind I'll take a break from railing against injustice and address the issue of how I got to be here. I mean "here" as in this space online, not "here" like in the universe.

I think that, though I am not unique, I am an unlikely Christian. Though I do have Catholic roots with the Puerto Rican side of my family and was baptized in the Catholic church as a baby I grew up in Berkeley with my non-religious Japanese American mother. Mom didn't have much use for organized religion choosing instead to follow a sort of hybrid Buhddism/Santeria form of spirituality. She always said she believed in something but she was content to leave it somewhat undefined. If my mother had cared anything for baseball she may have become a sort of Annie Savoi. This influence, coupled with growing up in Berkeley and basically not ever remembering knowing anyone who's family espoused any specific religious belief, I was also content to create my spirituality as I went along.

And so for a long time, like Annie Savoi, I believed in baseball. I believed in the spiritual freedom that comes from kick-flipping the four stair at the post office. I believed in grunge rock and true love and that you could have both. I did not believe in Jesus Christ. At least not as a savior. I believed in Jesus as a historical figure. I believed he was someone who gave a great many people a great amount of hope. I believed that he believed he was dying for our sins and so he may as well have been. After all if I say I'm taking a job I don't like because I want good things for my family and my family believes it then the sacrifice is good. Right? I basically figured this was how I would live my life forever.

So what changed? Throughout my life there were little things. Conversations with family members, debating the merits of the church with friends and classmates, that sort of thing. The turning point began when I got to graduate school. My first semester I was paired up working as a research assistant with another first year student in my department. She's a spritely Christian girl from Alabama and aside from our general friendliness, decision to enter the same profession, and willingness to work a low paying research job we had nothing in common. We also had a lot of time to talk. During that year she showed me that someone could be a practicing Christian and still be normal. One quote of hers has stuck with me, “I’m all about God and very little about religion.” This coming from a church going gal was a revelation.

Over the next few years I met quite a few people who would continue to show me that practicing Christians could be fun people. Most of all they showed me that people who have faith aren’t all out to convert you or look down on you if you don’t share their beliefs. If anything it’s just the opposite. People who are truly secure in their faith don’t feel a need to change others. Instead they are willing to engage in actual dialogue when people approach them. Meeting dedicated but non-dogmatic Christians helped me begin to re-frame my views on organized religion.

That's the story for today. Next time: Berto's final steps towards becoming an affirmed Christian, or "Meeting My Wife."