The Movable Cross

The sermon was solid, but my attention was caught by the cross behind the pulpit.

Resin?  About 5 feet tall?  With a base set on wheels for handy transport.

I have always wondered if Jesus had been hung in a noose or electrocuted would we have made the noose or the chair an easy talisman around our necks?

We cannot afford to think that the cross is a light and movable thing.

Jesus’ cross was massive, heavy, and blood-soaked because I am a sinner.  I have to run the horror straight back to me or I run the risk of not taking it personally.

If I don’t take it personally I don’t mourn.

If I don’t take it personally I lose my hunger for justice and my debt to grace.

We all search for love stories.  And many of us find them in the cheap trinkets of small gods and egoism–no love there at all.

But for a man to give his life for his friend?  

And to be that friend….

Bikini Contest Letter #2

I love wakeboarding.  I do it everyday–I wakeboard too much.

Most days I am proud to be a wakeboarder.  Last Saturday I was not.  Last Saturday I saw a side of wakeboard culture that did not showcase the full potential of the beautiful young women in the contest.

Women who wakeboard.  

These beautiful young women were given no forum for their skills in a tough action sport, but they were encouraged to define themselves according to the barest number of centimeters used to cover their rear ends.

Or not.

All the women who made it past the first round were wearing a style of bikini which deliberately exposes the buttocks.

And after that I could not watch.

I would like to direct the rest of this letter to any action sport sponsors who marginalized women athletes:

Because I am deep in the sport, this hurts me.  I know you.  I own products you sell.  I don’t want to associate your brand with the exploitation of women.

Wakeboarding is still a young sport.  We still have time to change this. 

Women can add so much to this sport–on the water, throwing spins, hitting rails, in the kind of clothes it actually takes to be brave.

I beg you to consider putting your sponsorship clout into women in wakeboarding, not women in sexually compromising positions.

update:

This post had a first stronger iteration which I modified after the owners of the wake park told me that I would have to apologize to one of them in order to allow my family to enter Points Chase National Competition.

I apologized.  They competed. 

More bad stuff happened….and I no longer can say that I wakeboard almost every day with enthusiasm.

I am no longer able to separate the degradation and shame of what happened at the bikini contest with the lovely process of riding a sliver of wood and fiberglass at 19 miles an hour.

It takes hundreds, maybe thousands of people to look the other way (or in this case stare voraciously) as human beings are exposed and humiliated.

I am not proud of any of it

I am not proud of “us”

The wakeboarders who let it happen.

The unconditional lullaby

i will stay with you forever

No matter what you

say or do

I will see you as a baby

Despite your sin and stink or view

I will never bring up “maybe”

When you ask me if I do

Love you here forever

When you have squandered like a fool

All the treasure I have never

Ceased to give to you

No act of yours can sever

The strength of love renewed

Dearest heart, eternal child

My one and always you.

Pretend you go

pretend you had a lost daughter

Who in your mind will always be

A beautiful baby girl

Now pretend that in order to survive

You start to see your beautiful lost baby

In everyone

Then “everyone” starts to do things they really should not do

Go places they should not go

Smash through rules…

designed for their safety

So you, poor sot, try to warn them away…

From the crap they should not get into

But they don’t really wanna listen

Because who the heck are you anyway?

(Half-crazed stranger with some lost kid)

Yet you still 

love them

You know because you lost a child.

So you go find them

In the crack houses

Strip joints

And IRS offices where they work

…and screw up royally

Because you know

That is what love does

Abstract-I get it

So let me try once more–

Years ago I rode on a bus in a country men travelled to in order to have “legal” sex with minors.

A white man got on the bus with a girl from this other country.

A girl, not a woman.

We.  The people on the bus.  Watched them travel together.  Knowing (ball-parking, at least)…their destination.

Their terrible destination.

If she is alive somewhere I would hold her

Tell her her “job” was not her fault 

Tell her I love you

(No matter what)

–I love you

Now please darling, 

Come home.

Flowers in her hair

nostalgia is no good 

When the pretty back flip you 

Executed clean off the kicker

Is called a tantrum

And the suit this party

Requires

Will not cover

The girl who was twelve yesterday

Six a minute ago

Now at least 18

Still not old enough for legal margaritas

Which was always just another name for daisies

Can you see

The pretty, young girls

All in a row?

Tutus and princess tiaras/

Flowers in her hair

Kafka and me…at the Bikini Contest

first, he corrects the misnomer–

“Body image contest!”

Still, sly words written on the human body

Numbers, he corrects again

Pointing to the charcoal digits written

on their extremities

So close to the branding iron or…

The shadow of all his gone siblings

Fall ash across our faces

his once-alive sisters would have had 

A string of dark

Numbers tattooed on young skin

Which is how he got here in the first place–

I remind him of my own

Memories from The Penal Colony

How do you

“Be just”

Without piercing 

The heart of every man?

I ask. Brush his beautiful dark

Hair back

How young you look, darling

He flinches as we almost touch

Ghosts at the bikini contest