I: Welcome back everyone. We’re here with Jesus in our studio for our continued discussion on topics of the day. He’s agreed to speak candidly with us on a variety of subjects. So, without any other introduction, let’s begin shall well?
J: Sounds good to me. Lovely to be back.
I: Lots of things have changed since back in the day.
J: Yeah, why back in my day, we didn’t have all this stuff that you have today.
I: Do you think the nature of sin has changed much? I mean, are we tripping over the same stuff that we tripped over before.
J: Well, sin hasn't changed at all, not one bit. In reality sin is just a missed opportunity. I'll leave it there for now, because I think we have sin scheduled for a later show, right?
I: Yeah, that's next I believe. Really looking forward to it.
J: But no, sin has not changed just the stuff you trip over. You could say the vocabulary is different, but not much else.
I: Okay, then one of our viewers
wrote in with the following question: "Dear Jesus, I think you are the
bomb. Yo. I am a high school student and I play football. I have
been pressured to use steroids. I told them I wouldn’t do that stuff,
but I’m not very big, and everyone else is doing it. What should I
do?" Travis from Ft. Worth, TX.
J: Oh, man, dude, that
sucks. I really feel for you. I know how Texans love their
football. Well, you know my advice is to not do the ‘roids. That’s an
easy one. But how do you justify it? "Why?" is the bigger and more
important question. Let me pull out the tactic of one of the guys with
whom I had/have the most fun, Socrates, and begin with another
question. Why do you play football? And since Travis isn’t here, I’ll
direct the question to our studio audience. Why do you play football,
baseball, or any game?
I: Okay, you there sir, in the back. Stand up and say your name and where you’re from.
Guy: I’m Steve from Orange County. In the words of Vince Lombardi, you play to win. That’s it.
J: Steve, you are right, Vince did say that and you know I always hate to disagree or directly contradict any of my children, but in this case, there’s no way around it. Vince was wrong, and so are you. Sure, winning is fun. When you compete in a sport, winning feels better than losing, sure. I know that. But my question, was, why do you play football? Err, sorry, emphasis should be on the word "play." Why do you engage in the activity of football.
Steve: Hmm, I’m not sure I understand the question.
J: Not many people do, Steve, not many people do. Let me do my best to communicate what the point of all this is, what the point of all games, competitions, jobs, roles, anything and everything that you could possibly do in your life.
Let me re-ask the question. What is the point of playing baseball? The correct answer is the simplest. "To be the best baseball player I can be." What is the point of playing football? "To be the best possible football player I can be."
So, what does that entail. Does that entail taking steroids? Are steroids prescribed by the commissioner of baseball (well, he sorta did, but I’m not gonna go there). They are not part and parcel to the sport of baseball, not part of the public persona, not an acceptable part of being a baseball player. If you take steroids, you must hide it. You can’t owe your home runs to HGH, or whatever. You can’t say, my league leading sacks were a result of the extra pure steroids that I got from my pharmaceutical company. Thank you Jesus, and thank you Pfizer, for making me this year’s home run king. You don’t wear their logos on your uniforms proudly detailing all your drug enhancements. Now, would you all agree that that’s not acceptable?
So, what do we have
then? Baseball and football players who are hiding who they are, lying
to be better at a sport that they have no interest in truly playing,
that they have no true interest in being. They want to be winners or
rich or superstars, not baseball or football players. Let’s be clear
about that.
It is as stupid a question to ask: What is the
point of the game of baseball? and answer "winning" as it is to ask:
What is the point of life? and answer it with "dying." Dying is not
the point of life, but it will come to you. Winning or losing is not
the point of baseball. But they will come to you. Forget about
death. Forget about winning or losing. They are all limiting,
irrelevant conclusions to that thing which you do and do with gusto.
What is the point of life? What is the point of being born?
The point, my friends… wait for it, wait for it - is to be fully alive. To be what you were meant to be, and be it, fully and completely and wholly. If you are gifted with the talent and determination to play baseball, be it. Play baseball, be that player that practices his heart out, that runs out the infield grounders every time, to be at second base before that outfield fly is caught, to hustle, and play every out whether it’s the beginning or the end of the game, whether you’re behind or not. The purpose of being a baseball player is to play. If you lose your way and believe that winning, or earning, or spending, or getting, or beating, or any other -ing that isn’t being is the point, then my friend, you’ve lost your way, and you will not find fulfillment in anything you do. It saddens me, for sure, when I see Rafael Palmero losing a few steps and resort to steroids. It saddens me when he forgets he’s a ballplayer whom I loved to watch. I’m there at every game, by the way. I love baseball which is why I’m answering Travis’ question with baseball instead of football. Sorry, I’m a baseball fan, and if you have any doubt about it, I have only two things to say. Red Sox. White Sox. My own little brand of humor.
Anyway, I love to see and feel the joy of you
doing what you do. I came to see ballplayers playing ball, and it
saddens me when I only find winners or losers or Yankees…*chuckle* I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I love the Yankees too,
but they need some ballplayers for sure.
You’re all winners to me when you’re doing what you were meant to do.
So
steroid use? Yeah, sure there’s nothing inherently wrong with steroids
or that stuff, but I have to ask you: Why don’t you love the game of
baseball? If you think that you have to cheat on a test to get ahead
in school, or because everyone else is doing it, I ask: Why don’t you
love learning? If you think that you have to fudge the numbers on your
sales report to impress the boss and get a raise, I ask: Why don’t you
love your job? If you steal or cheat or lie or any of the multitude of
small things you can do to get a leg up on your competition, I ask
you: Why don’t you love your life? What have you got against being
fully alive?
It’s okay, really, my only true wish for everyone is for them to be truly, madly, stunningly, deeply, passionately, and crazy in love with what they do. Don’t do something for the result you might get out of it. Don’t do something because you want to win. Do that thing because, and only because, you love doing it.
The outcome will take care of itself.
Peace out, my brothers and sisters.
"Oh, I’m sorry Doggies. I forgot to feed you earlier. Well, let’s get you some foodies," I bantered to our two beautiful mutts, Jessie and Billy. I always talk to them, and I swear they understand. I measured their servings and stepped out to the patio, the two of them dancing around me excited and impatient. I spied their bowl, but it still had food in it from yesterday. Hmm, what’s up with that, I thought? Moving, undulating in the darkness of night, I spied something amiss, something sinister.
ANTS, big biting ones, were swarming over the food and around the bowls. I reached in to see if I could it pick up to move it away or something. Ouch ouch ouch, I got bit all over, stupid, argh, ouch, damn you, ants! That’s gonna leave a mark. I am continually fascinated with ants and how they collaborate, find, and devour, but this time they had gone too far.
Now, being
who I am, I hate to waste perfectly good doggie food, but how to
separate it from the ants without being eaten alive. Jessie,
impatient, circled her bowl looking for an opening. The poor dear must
have been so hungry. Will you ever forgive me? She decided to risk it
and before I could shoo her away, she tried to take a bite and recoiled
instantly. Ooo, you bit my dog, you bit my dog. For that YOU SHALL
DIE! I practiced my action hero voice. "One man, two dogs, a swarm of
ants — this time it’s personal. COMING SUMMER 2006"
Bring in the nukes.
I ran inside, grabbed a plastic seal-able container and quickly transferred the ant/food contents to it. As I was fumbling around in the kitchen, Jessie and Billy were barking in their typical communicative fashion. "Are you done yet?"
"No," I answered. "Just a second, I’m almost done. Hold your horses." They’d wait 15 seconds patiently. This is considered a great feat in the culture of the dogs, an eternity for their kind, an honor bestowed only upon the bearer of food.
"Arf, arf arf. Now?"
"Just a second."
15 seconds of silence.
"Arf arf arf? Now?"
"Almost there, just a sec." I opened the door to the microwave, placed the angry angry swarming ants inside, and pressed start. One and half minutes later I was met with the smell of fresh ant surprise, a mini lobster dish for my doggies, in fact a gourmet meal, not a dish served cold as proper revenge dictates, but a dish served hot, flavored with the succulent bodies of our former adversaries.
The microwave beeped completion, and Ms Jessie and Mr. Billy could no longer contain their gentile behavior. All bets were off.
"Here I come," I said, as an explosion of frantic leaping and spinning ensued. "Now you enjoy that. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll not let those ants get you again. You just feast on their carcasses. Buen provecho."
I picked Olaia up from school today, and this song came up in the rotation.
"You don’t need eyes to see, you need vision," she parroted from the back seat. "That’s right, Daddy, right? You need vision to see, right?"
"Yeah, but the song is making a play on the word ‘vision,’ Olaia. You see vision is like perspectiva
in Spanish, I guess. I don’t know. Hmm, it’s like an outlook, a way
of looking beyond what is there and seeing… er." I was struggling to
define the word vision, trying to use vocabulary appropriate to a 7
year old. It was tougher than I thought. "Okay, vision, is like this.
I have a vision of a world full of peace, where people are happy, where
no one hurts, and where everyone finds love. It’s like a dream, but
it’s not just a dream. It’s something you make with hard work, effort,
and persistence. Yet, it’s also like a dream, in the sense that it’s
an ideal, something great, something beautiful. I don’t know. Does
that make any sense?"
And then without any effort whatsoever, this little sage said, "Oh, so, vision is imagining things to become true."
"Exactly, little girl. I couldn’t have said it any better."
And I really couldn’t have.
Well, not that I’m happy or anything, but I was figuring that since
the hurricane was going to rape and pillage the Yucatan Peninsula, I’d
hear the stories of the folks that live there. I thought I’d get to
hear of their plight. I was wrong… again.
I forgot about the "American" angle - *smacks head* tourists in Cancun. Can we at least just hear about their waiters, maids, and hotel staff? hmmm? Is it too much to ask? Did one of them trip over a beer can or something? ANYTHING?!
Evacuated again? Hmm, let me have a look. Oh, will you look at that. What a storm. It’s bearing down on - hmm, what’s that tiny insignificant spot of land? - oh and that other one. I thought the Florida Keys were small. That looks too damn big to be the Keys. Did CNN, MSNBC, and FOXNEWS get it wrong. Perhaps I should write them that THE FUCKING YUCATAN PENINSULA AND CUBA ARE RIGHT SMACK IN THE PATH OF HURRICANE WILMA, THE BIGGEST DAMN HURRICANE TO COME ALONG SINCE, WELL, EVER!
You know what, I finally have a crystal clear vision of why the world hates us. I mean I always kinda knew, but it’s never been quite so apparent.