Thoughts on Hellbound? (the documentary)

Hellbound?: 

I finally got a chance to watch this 2012 film.  Wow!  Not an easy movie to watch.  Some parts (Westboro Baptist Church, in particular) just almost impossible to sit through.  I hated that so many of the strict evangelicals they interviewed insisted on framing "the way the world works" so narrowly that there was no way to even begin to argue.  They start off with "well, since this is true, then THIS has to be the case..."  but their initial "since this is true" is so far from how I view things that there is no common point to even begin a dialog!

I did end up thinking a lot better of Brian McLaren, though.  He's really come a long way in his thinking since his earlier evangelicalism, and he just keeps getting better.  There was a lot of real depth to his perspective, I'm impressed.  I also liked the Frankie Shaffer interviews.  That man has been through hell already, and is now creating a bit of heaven, I believe.  What a powerful witness.

But, my biggest problem is with the presupposition that the film only partially questions; that something special happens when we die, and that the concept of an eternal individual personhood even makes sense.  The film essentially presupposes that its only atheists who don't believe in continuint conscious life after death, and if you do believe in some kind of God than you must also believe that an individual, specific, conscious identity survives after death in some kind of heaven or hell, for eternity (which is a concept that doesn't even make sense if you believe that God is the creator of the universe, since time is a property of the universe--not an independent reality).  As for me, I don't even need to contemplate death to wonder if there is someone unique and absolutely defined who is called "Ann," someone who could objectively exist for more than just the present moment.  I am not the same person I was as a child, or young woman.  I don't expect to be the same person tomorrow as I am today.  And, when I really look inside myself, I don't find "Ann." I find bits and pieces of my mom, my grandmother, of Jan, of my friends, my enemies, all the people who have been important to me in my life, and even some whom I never really thought of as important.  "I" am a jumble of past and present influences, thoughts, experiences, actions, feelings, ...  I keep changing.  What kind of separate "me" would I expect to continue after death?  How would that work?

I think maybe a lot of our western problem with the concepts of life, death, and something beyond is too much individualism.  We see ourselves as intrinsically separate from everything and everyone else.  Eastern philosophy is more in tune with everything being a part of everything else.  My present, shadow, imagined existence will pass away even before I die -- tomorrow I will be something different than I am today.  But, the core of life that is in me (the "real self" of Hindu thought, for example) is unchanging and is shared by all life, perhaps by all existence.  I do believe that THAT self is not bound by time, and that it surpasses the universe itself, and that I am a part of it as everything else is also.  And, I believe that the words or thoughts we use to express that concept, ("God" in our language): wonder, gratitude, compassion, creativity -- are expressed best, lived out best, in "love God and love your neighbor."  As Hillel said, "everything else is commentary."  I think that "heaven" is the world as it could be if we all were true to our shared true self and lived this reality.  Hell is what we create when we allow our illusions to lead us to behave differently from what that "real self" is telling us to be.  I do think these concepts refer both to "now" and to "eternity" (or maybe that our choices have lasting, permanent effect would be a better way to say it). I think we are given a finite amount of time to live out our purpose in life, and the compassion and gratefulness we experience and share become part of what lives on in the world in others who continue as part of us, as I continue as part of all those who influenced my life.  And, hell is lost opportunities, the negative influences I've left because of my selfishness, the harm that I have done or allowed to happen because of my lack of care -- and those things live on too from generation to generation.  The film depicts universalism as being a philosophy that says you can do either good or ill in this world, but after death God eventually saves everybody.  I see universalism more as a belief that the essence of life, of being, in all that exists originates in the one source--which can be neither created or destroyed, and which never changes. However far we run afoul of it, we are created in God's image, God is inside us, and nothing can change that.

I have been thinking a lot lately about how differently most of us look at the possibility of our own death vs. the death of those we love.  We, most of us, fear losing those we love much more than we fear death itself.  I am wondering if how we look at our own life isn't telling us something about the real nature of life.  When I think about dying there is a brief sadness about plans I might have, things I wanted to accomplish or experience, maybe wrongs that I would have liked to right.  But, basically, it's not a huge deal.  I am not really capable of thinking that the "essence" inside me can die -- it maybe returns to the cosmos, or is reborn, or returns to God.  Whatever.  It is simply that I am incapable of feeling that what I truly value about life, the "real me," is temporal--can die.  Maybe other people don't feel that way, but it just doesn't seem to me that there is any possibility of losing what I really value.  I guess that is the part I think is God, the spirit of God in me.  [God told Abraham that his name is "I am."  The source and essence of being.]  I believe it is the same spirit of God in everyone. But I guess in being one layer more separated from that spirit in another person, I am less intuitively convinced that I cannot lose the essence of someone I love. Part of me fears and dreads that the separation might be permanent.  Over time, I have come to feel that I have not lost anyone from whom I've been separated by death, but it's a much greater struggle to get to that point, hence a much greater grief and dislocation when we are separated by death. 

So, a lot of musings that may or may not  have much to do with the film or the discussion of heaven and hell, but I'm inclined to bring it all down to what Paul wrote in Corinthians; "love never fails."  Everything else fails. Doctrine easily becomes ideology, and ideologies keep us from being open to the truth.  My friend Ori Soltes wrote in his last book: "We believe what we believe and the proof of the correctness of our beliefs is simply that we believe as we believe." I'm not saying that it's not all worth our questions and hard thought, but ultimately only love never fails!

Why do we pray?

A friend asked this recently in a discussion group we both belong to:

 A similar question was posed to the four "Abrahamic Program for Young Adults" coordinators this year at Chautauqua; "How to you deal with the reality of evil and still believe that God is almighty?" I thought they (all mid-20's!) had some great insights towards their question, and also yours.

A couple of them talked about recognizing the difference between tragedy/disaster and evil. Evil is a human concept, the intentional betrayal of the transcendental bit of God (our true self in Hindu terms, the Holy Spirit in Christian terms, etc., etc.) that exists in every human being, or perhaps in every living thing, or even in every created thing -- pick your philosophy. Thus, the essential role of the believer is in to engage in "fixing the world" -- trying to return, self and others, individually and collectively, to a proper relationship with their essential nature, the part of G_d that is within us all. I think then, in this view, prayer could be considered the ego-self engaging with the true-self (Allah, G_d, Holy Spirit) and attempting to willingly submit the ego to what this inner spirit is saying.

But natural disaster is a disaster only in human terms. For the planet as a whole, earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes, etc., are not disasters. In fact, they are essential for renewing the Earth. And cosmologically, even stars that collide, planets that burn out; we could potentially be wiped out as a planet at any moment. And yet that, as much human pain as it may bring, is not evil, although we often assume that it is so. In truth, is there really anything in our understanding of God and creation that requires that humans are central in the grand scheme of things?

In neither case, against evil or in the wake of disaster, are our temporal selves ever "safe" or protected, and I can't imagine why or how the Almighty we say we believe in could or would intervene. Evil must have its consequences, if we are ever to choose to listen to the spirit rather than to our own ego. And, G_d pronounced the Universe majestic and "good" and reflecting Her glory, even though it does not in any way appear to revolve around humans and our needs.

As long as we are primarily concerned about our temporal selves and physical/emotional wants and needs, we will never be in control or safe. Psychologists say most of us need to block out how "iffy" life actually is just to function effectively, and I think some people do use prayer to this end. As you say, to feel in control. But, I don't personally believe that this the purpose or intent for prayer that the great religions put forward.

If there is (and I believe there is) something before "in the beginning" and after "the end," something that is light and life, the full reality of love, that exists beyond our definitions and our understanding of existence -- that is not only transcendent, forever beyond and ultimately unknowable, but that also is our innermost self and essence and intimately knowable, then I think prayer is meant to be about trying to know, to merge with, to become that which in truth we already are. And which is the only constant in this ever-changing and unpredictable world.

In Christian scriptures, Jesus says that we must love God with all our heart, mind, strength and soul, and, interestingly, that a second command is "like" the first, to love others as we love ourselves. Not "as important" but "like." As in, you can't love God if you don't love others, because the two are sides of the same coin. I think of it as the active/passive aspects of the same concept. Prayer/worship/meditation/study are the passive components and service to others/compassion for others are the active components of loving God, just as God is the only true reality, both transcendent/beyond and intimate/inside.

So, as I see it, this is not much to hold onto if you are looking for security or comfort. Life is still scary and unpredictable and full of evil and disasters, and we are in many ways truly powerless. In another way of looking at things, though, the exercise of trying to know that which we call G_d is everything and exceedingly more than everything.

Saying Goodbye to Things

The past year or so has been one of saying goodbye to a lot of things, both aspirational and physical.  I've been reading a lot, especially in Buddhist thought, about attachment being the cause of all suffering, and in a lot of ways the idea has taken hold in my mind and actions.  Not that my actual life situation has changed all that much lately, but still I have been saying goodbye.  Even the thought of writing for an audience has gone by the way.  Now that I am down to no page checks on my blog for the last several months, this is more of an occasional diary than a blog.  If you happen to run across it, that is fine but I don't expect it.  I may or may not continue to contribute -- I'll just see how I feel.

I think it all started with saying goodbye to Butte last fall.  She was "the third orange" of "the three oranges."  I've been using that handle ever since I, with my red hair, adopted the two ginger kittens in 1996.  I have even owned "threeoranges.net" for 7 years, although I have yet to do anything with the domain name.  I still have time, right?  My car, blog, facebook account, and numerous other parts of my life are all labeled in some way with the three oranges moniker, but the three oranges no longer exist.  Butte died, her brother Hairy is on his last legs with a kidney disease, and even I was in danger of losing myself this past year.  Funny how so much continues to exist when our actual lives are so transitory.  Butte's favorite place on the sofa pillow is still a place where both Hairy and I go to sit with the memory of her presence, but is it time to say goodbye to the idea of the three oranges?

In the case of me, the head orange, it was a routine surgery that turned life upside down and threatened its very existence.  Fat particles from inside my bone marrow got into my blood stream and were returned to the heart, where they were sent out with force into my lungs, brain, and various other parts.  Plunging oxygen levels in my blood caused great concern and kept me in ICU for a couple days, then aphasia from the stroke cause by the particles in my brain kept me from communicating clearly for a few days more, and with lingering confusing and difficulties accessing my internal lexicon for some time after.  Fat particles that made their way to my retinas left me with blurry vision for a few months and a small amount of permanent damage.  I'm told 15-20% of people who have fatty embolism syndrome die within a few hours or days, the rest of us fully recover.  I'm said to be one of the lucky ones, but I wonder whether I have "recovered."  I certainly feel different these days, more aware of how strong and fragile we are at the same time, less tied to the idea of myself as intact and completely integral.  Part of me fell apart, maybe even fell off.  But, that's ok.  I'm saying goodbye to the old me, but am awaiting the me that is yet to come.

Saying goodbye to my Hairy is another matter.  I've been blessed with months, maybe even a year or so, to say goodbye, since his kidney disease has not progressed for a few months and he is otherwise healthy and happy.  So, I spend every night with him pressed up against me and I think "for a few more nights, my little lover."  I want to fully enjoy our time together, and not grieve his loss until is has happened -- I want to learn to live in the moment and appreciate each moment, even thought I (think I) know what is ahead.  What's hard is when I can't always be there for him, with him.  There are still my "people family" who, in the grand scheme of things, do take precedence over a cat, however loved.  So, sometimes I have to be away, or out of the house.  I felt torn when I had to spend several weeks away this summer and leave him with a cat sitter, even though she was very good with him.  I first spent a week away with family, then was home only a week, then was away 4 days for the annual family reunion, then 2 weeks home, and then away for 17 days with my in-laws, going with them on a train trip to Minnesota to visit one of their daughters and her husband.  I knew my being there made the trip possible, as they were both 79 and probably beyond doing the trip solo.  Yet, still, I hated being away from my Hairy and my house -- I was starting to feel "not me" this summer, DOING so much but not being.  

And speaking of doing rather than being, another thing I've been saying goodbye to is who I expected to be in retirement.  I had great plans for a post-retirement career or three or four.  I couldn't imagine not working, not having some professional identity.  So, I taught college classes and started a consulting career, and started a free-lance writing business on the side.  And, I wanted to be a blogger, and volunteer, and get involved with community groups.  And, I wanted to travel, and visit friends, and...   And, I got so busy doing that I wasn't becoming anymore.  I missed the feeling of becoming the person I want to be, but that person is someone who knows things, and more importantly understands things, and who has thought deeply about things -- internalized them.  But, where is the time when you have such an AGENDA.  Could I actually let myself just stop and be?  I have learned that I can live well on much less than I thought I could.  I don't really need the extra money like I thought I would, particularly when I look at how little so many have to live on.  I don't want to be someone who gets bored in retirement and just sits in front of the TV, but is that really me?  If I cut back a little on all the activity, could I possibly find myself in books and study?  Can I say goodbye to the perception of myself and others of an active and involved retiree -- give it up to try to become the person that I want to be?

So, there I was with no more plans until Christmas, just me, my own little summer home, my cats (now with Jan's Ami cat, while she was off to Japan for several weeks), and looking forward to a slower fall and a chance to explore my new confidence in expanding my inner world.  I was sure I NEEDED some time to myself, to reach back into the solitude and replenish my resources.  But, then the phone rang -- just the morning after I drove home from my in-laws house, after our trip trip together.  My father-in-law was dead. How could that be?  I left him at breakfast just yesterday morning, he was in a great mood, joking and enjoying conversation and so glad for a great trip but to be back home.  He got up this morning and "just died," as my mother-in-law put it.  New plans, grief, questions -- did I miss something?  Calling Jan -- turning back from Japan after the first leg of her flight, cancelling all the arrangements, funeral, who will stay with the mother-in-law this fall?  Other people again need me more than my little hometown retreat and my cat companions.  Saying goodbye to Jan's father and helping her to say goodbye, but also saying goodbye to the father-in-law I've known since I was only 18, my parent as well for 2/3rds of my life!  Saying goodbye to "they way things have always been."  Saying goodbye to the third parent I've lost, and too much anticipation of the time I may have to say goodbye to the last of them.   Goodbye to my sister in NY and my plans to spend the holidays with her, my brother, and their families.  Hello to my new home with my mother-in-law for a month after the funeral, then goodbye again to go spend 2 weeks with Jan,  Then, today, goodbye to Jan as she goes to spend the month of Dec with her mother. 

Now sitting in Jan's house, our house though it doesn't feel like mine anymore.  My life, though it doesn't feel like mine anymore.  So many things this year, I didn't realize I was so attached to.  When I strip all that away, what is left?  Am I about to find out?

Not Dead, Really.

If anyone still comes by to see if I've posted recently, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not dead.  I do still plan to get back to posting someday.  But, I almost was dead -- I had surgery in February 2012 and a stroke resulting from the surgery.  I could very easily not have come back from that and I am still coming to terms with running headlong into my mortality.  I know I have to write about it sometime, and many other things beside, but haven't really wanted to process the experience yet.  Check back occasionally -- I promise to start again here sometime soon.

AnnBarbie

All Souls in Purgatory

Today is All Souls Day, and in Roman Catholic circles particularly, it's the day when we pray for the souls of the dead who are in Purgatory. I am not Roman but I am Episcopalian, and we do celebrate All Souls. However, I'm just about positive I don't believe in Purgatory as a place where souls go after death when they don't go straight to Heaven or Hell. In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't believe in Heaven or Hell (those places with the capital "H") as realms where souls go after death. I'm agnostic about what happens after death. I believe that the eventual fate of all that we are is in the hands of God -- but I don't really know what that means. It's more of a commitment, or an acquiescence to a shared mystery, than a statement of any intellectual understanding. I don't know if anything at all "happens" after death, but I also don't think that's a very important question in the grand scheme of things.

I am of the many who believe that the main point of any discussions of heaven and hell in the Bible and in our Christian faith is about what we make of life now, while we are living it. Heaven is what we create when we live a life that does follow love for God and love for each other as the first and primary calling. And hell is alienation from God; what we experience when we lose sight of that great commandment. So then, what is purgatory; does it have a place in my thinking? Maybe. Perhaps purgatory is when we honestly don't know what do do, when we struggle with knowing right from wrong, when we know that we are seeing "through a glass darkly" but don't know how to turn on the lights. I don't believe that faith is a simple or easy undertaking, I believe that God is often hidden, that we have to diligently seek God even when he is silent. And at least for me it's hard work to find some sense in life and some sense of the transcendent. So maybe purgatory is more of our natural state in this life than either heaven or hell.

One thing over which I am currently in a state like purgatory is whether to associate myself with the Diocese of Albany, in which I live for the greater part of the year. As long as I have maintained another home in Southern Virginia with my wife of 28 years, I have maintained my membership in our local Episcopal church in Hampton, VA. But the truth is that I live about half, if not more than half, of the year in Malone, NY. While I am here I attend St. Mark's Malone and have become quite active in the parish, and to some degree active in the Diocese -- but I am still reluctant to move my letter. Participation is one thing, but I can't get over the hurdle of membership. Can I commit to full parish membership in a Diocese where I disagree so strongly on so many points? My new parish definitely needs my support, but it's not like my previous parish doesn't also need it. Right now I split my pledge, but the greater portion goes in Virginia where my membership commitment exists. Is that right, when I spend more time in Malone? But what message does it send when a mainstream Diocese looses a member and a Diocese like Albany gains one? Can I stomach signing my name to such an action? We are working through the "Marks of Discipleship" adult education series in our parish, the one that has been distributed by the Bishop throughout the Diocese of Albany. I find some of the theology represented in it to be completely unpalatable and frankly un-Anglican. What influence should this have on my decision? I don't think there are easy answers to my question, nor do I think there is a "right" or "wrong" answer, except as perhaps I hope to eventually gain a sense of what's right for me--right here, right now. Or perhaps I will never know for sure. But, since today is All Souls...

Please pray for me and for all souls in purgatory--may God shine a bit of that light that is perpetual on us.

I've Been Bad...

... probably about many things! But, although less titillating that perhaps you were hoping, my meaning is that I've been really bad about keeping up with my blog. I wanted originally to challenge myself to write once a week, to see how serious I am about trying to be a writer. But apparently I am not that serious; or else I'm too easily distracted; or I'm just plain too busy. However, sometimes a subject comes along that is so important to me that I feel compelled to try to write. And, today it is the idea of...

Unity in Diversity. It is a concept that means a very great deal to me as an Episcopalian, as a Christian, and, most importantly, as a person. The concept has become something I think of as one of those essential aspects of a life well lived, a life necessarily lived in community with others.

A friend asked me today to ask if I'd been offended a few days before when her husband and I disagreed about the merits of the Harry Potter series (I'm a big fan; he less so). Actually, far from being offended, I'd really enjoyed our animated exchange of ideas. I love to find out what people like and why. And as a scientist I'm trained to be skeptical, to play "devil's advocate," to always look for the alternative point of view. I ordinarily much prefer discussing things with people who have different viewpoints, rather than just with people who see things the same way I do. EXCEPT, of course, for those opinions I hold very dear, like we all do, and can't see HOW someone could disagree. But then I know (from hard experience), that disagreeing can be even more important. Some of those conversations -- the ones where we share what we believe or feel and why, and why it means so much to us, and what paths have brought us to the various viewpoints -- are the most valuable I have ever had. Not to convince another to my viewpoint, or to be argued out of it, but just to understand how we come to be so diverse and to learn to value the other's experience. To me, that is essential in becoming fully human--in "growing up." Somehow or other, we all have to learn that we don't have a lock on truth, that our perspective is not the only one, that what "works" for me may not "work" for someone else.

I went today to a meeting of the the Albany Via Media in our diocese. One of the questions we asked ourselves was, "What message would you like to send to the Bishop?" My answer didn't fit easily into 2 or 3 sentences, but it is fundamentally about this point. I, like so many other Episcopalians, came to this branch of the faith from another. My former church insisted on a litmus test; "You have to hold THESE opinions, or you CAN'T be a Christian." I chose Anglicanism because we are a community based upon a common worship and a mutual commitment to a community of believers, NOT one that insists on doctrinal conformity in all matters, especially relatively minor ones not "essential to salvation." Hooker believed that authority should be based on piety and reason, not conveyed by automatic investiture. Or, as my friend Louie Crew says, "The Episcopal Church is where you don't have to check your brain at the door." We can think for ourselves, question, and disagree -- what holds us together is the communion table. It is this meal that we share that cements our membership in one another, not some robotic conformity.

One of the advantages(?) of being a close friend of Louie Crew (for those who know who he is, or have had the experience), is ending up, almost by default, active in church polity (and often politics) on the national level. He is so passionate about this branch of the faith and so devoted to the Anglican Communion in all its diverse glory that you just have to get involved, and I did extensively for more than a decade. I especially loved General Convention; attending once as a volunteer for Integrity, once as part of the Consultation, and once as an Alternate Deputy for my Diocese. One year (1997? 2000?), I was assigned to monitor the activities of one of the committees who were looking into the subject of human sexuality and society. I went faithfully every day, and ended up habitually sitting just across the aisle from Martyn Minns (who was one of the prominent Episcopalians to leave the church in 2007 and join the Church of Nigeria). I remember at first the expected discomfort at being so close to someone there to argue against my inclusion in the church (I was also there to testify to my experience as the same-sex partner of a transsexual woman, and the discrimination--as well as threats--we had both experienced in society as well as within the Church). But, as the days went on, I not only calmed down about his proximity but I remember noticing the little things each day, like whether he looked tired or happy or sad, and the habits and ways of speaking that made him a real person to me rather than just an icon of the "conservative side." By the end of the week, I felt a genuine affection for him and, even though we presented starkly different viewpoints to the Committee, I truly wanted to be and remain part of the same Church with him. I found I couldn't know him, even at this relatively superficial level, and not feel connected. We both loved the same Church, the same Lord. It really hurt--actually I cried--when I read that he had left the Episcopal Church. I felt like he was a family member who had chosen to disown us. I wanted him, that person with the face I had learned to read so well, to be there around that communion table that is so central to me. We disagree about just about everything, but I still think we need each other. I guess he does not.

I feel like, in this Diocese of Albany, we are almost at the door marked "Exit" in the traditional Big House of Anglicanism. There are only two "approved seminaries" where our priest and deacons can be trained, there are doctrinal conformity opinions that must be held before a candidate can be accepted into an ordination process or a priest can be called to a parish, the teachings that come from the Bishop reflect opinions that are presented as "true" while other commonly held opinions within the diversity of mainstream Episcopalian theology are presented as "wrong." Most disturbingly to me, those of us who hold differing opinions are treated as though we don't exist. The Bishop pretends to speak for "overwhelming majority of the people and clergy of the Diocese" without listening to us or ever asking our opinion. Yet, meetings such as today's prove that there are many even in some of the "traditionally conservative" parishes who do not hold these narrow views of Anglicanism.

I don't know of any successful way of living together except to learn to agree to disagree. Right now in the Church the controversy seems to be largely about sexual orientation and gender. Some say "love the sinner but hate the sin," but I can not accept that what some call sin is what I believe is one of the God given qualities that makes me the unique individual I am; not a choice or action or lifestyle, but a unique individual created in the image of God (however you interpret that). But, this is only one issue. If we all eventually learn to agree on this (as we have over time on issues like slavery, for example), we will still disagree about other things. I do not believe any two people in the world could agree on everything that they hold dear, certainly not an entire diocese in this geographically diverse, economically diverse, culturally diverse, and every-other-which-way diverse North Country. But, I want to be able to live together anyway. I want to hear people who agree with me and I want to hear people who disagree with me, and everything in between. I want all voices to be welcome, and--at least within what is held to be acceptable Episcopalian thought on the National Church level--I want leeway for diverse perspectives to be represented, taught, and respected as legitimate in this Diocese. I want to be a Big House Church, I want to walk the Via Media with the WHOLE communion.

Wisdom Wherever You Find It...

So, my embarrassing little secret of the month is that I am a true "Gleek" (which is a fan of the show Glee, if anyone has been hiding under a rock for the past 2 years or so). Glee is super big with teens and young adults, but actually ranks high with the entire 13-49 year old crowd. OK, I'm 52 and a bit out of the demographic, but I like it anyway!

Admittedly, I'm a closet Diva and I like nothing better than to sit at the piano all afternoon singing show tunes, so it's probably not surprising that I'd enjoy singing along to the show's amazingly well produced tunes and watching the dance routines. (How do they do so many week after week? One article I read said that they work 20 hour days when filming, and I believe it.) But, it's actually not the music that impresses me so much. It's really excellent drama, and excellent comedy. I like how, with it's over-the-top comedic format, the characters do and say the things that we all think but would never actually say or do. For me, it brings up those tricky little not-so-nice parts of me that I'd rather not admit to, and forces me to examine them. It also makes me realize that I don't think enough about all that might be motivating what someone else says or does. The show doesn't let you fall into the trap of thinking that you have any character all figured out, and it maybe even makes you reexamine the possibility of ever figuring another person out completely.

I especially like that the show treats both kids and adults sensitively and (within it's admittedly over-the-top format) realistically; with heart. It's all about kids around 15-18 looking for guidance and mentoring from a couple of 25-30 year old "semi-adults" who are still struggling to grow up themselves. I like that sometimes the students are the wise ones and it's the teachers, or the parents, who need the lesson. Yes, sometimes there's a "lesson" or some moralizing that is pretty obvious -- sometimes real life lessons are like that as well, I think. But, I like that the producers and writers have enough respect for the audience to leave things real-life messy and ambiguous in as many respects. Sometimes no one is particularly likeable and everyone's motives are questionable, and sometimes even the most despicable have a heart, or do something really courageous. I think the show displays a lot of wisdom.

And that gets me to my point today. When I tell people in my general age group that I like Glee, I have gotten a surprising number of people who react with the idea that if it's a show that's popular with today's children and young adults, it's can't possibly be thought-provoking, wise, or worthwhile. And I wonder why we are so conditioned to look for wisdom only in certain venues and predictable guises. Yes, there is certainly something to be said for age and experience... But in terms of experience, the youth of today are so bombarded with it. We do recognize how they have to grow up so fast, how they face so many more stresses and tough choices and expectations than we did at their age. We look for stress and disillusionment and burn-out in them from it all. But we forget to look for the flip side; wisdom, compassion, resilience. That's there too, in spades I think, but we might miss it if we expect it to come dressed up in our own filters and biases. Each generation has a different relationship to music, to language, to sexuality, etc. than the last. The newest generation basically has no choice but to understand and be able to navigate the world view of their elders and parents, since that defines the world they were born into. Although young people have forever been about the business of questioning and often rejecting what their elders hold dear, they really don't have the option of ignoring it. But sometimes the older generations don't give the youth the respect of acknowledging and trying to understand that they have their own world view. If we did, we might find out that they have more on the ball than we thought, and much of worth to say to us.