The Search for Dorner & Our Search for Meaning

"A name is more than just a noun, verb, or adjective. It’s your life, your legacy, your journey, sacrifices, and everything you’ve worked hard for every day of your life as and adolescent, young adult and adult. Don’t let anybody tarnish it when you know you’ve live up to your own set of ethics and personal ethos...I am an American by choice, I am a son, I am a brother, I am a military service member, I am a man who has lost complete faith in the system, when the system betrayed, slandered, and libeled me...when the truth comes out, the killing stops." 

What we find in Christopher Dorner is the tragic attempt to furiously protect that which gives one meaning and identity. What we find in Dorner is the terror of full bred idolatry.

All of us seek meaning. Philosopher's, scientists, and Theologians have been bred out of this timeless venture to define who we are, why we are here, and what we are to do with the time we have been given. Many people will attempt to define themselves by their family or their ethnicity, others by an education or a degree, and still more by their career. Dorner seems to fit into the latter category. In his manifest he claims that he died long ago when he was wrongfully terminated from his position as an LAPD officer and his name was tarnished. What has proceeded from the "death" is a violent and mortal scramble for retribution and restoration of the thing which gave him meaning; his hame, his identity.

I don't sit here condemning Dorner. I do believe that his actions are immoral and irrrational, but that said, I am forced to ask myself the question, what would I kill for? My family? My faith? My God? As a Christian, is there anything that I should be willing to kill for?

I don't think so... but that doesn't mean that I wouldn't... there's the rub.

In the wake of such an idea I remember passages in scripture where Christ and Paul ask us to begin to give up our attachment to meaning and identity.

Jesus tells me that in order to follow him I must hate my family. Many pastors will say that he merely means that you must love the Lord so much that your feelings for your family will look like hate in comparison... but after things like Dorner I am forced to confront the reality that maybe, just maybe he means that I cannot love them more than anyone. that maybe I shouldn't be willing to even kill for them.
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Paul tells us that in Christ there is no slave or free, no Jew or Greek, etc... I think that this ought to be extended it our modern culture. Peter Rollins outlines this best when he calls Christians to rethink this passage so that it might read, (and here I paraphrase somewhat), "There is no christian/nonchristian, no gay/straight, no conservative/democratic... we are all one in Christ." See, in Christ there is not a new identity, but identity is all at once abolished. So I shouldn't be willing to kill for politics, religion or any belief for that matter.

As Christians, we are not exempt from this idolatry of meaning. In fact, I would say we are just as enslaved to it, if not more. Why? because we think we have found the end-all in "meaning." We have total certainty that we have found the truth and that is what unites us...Our shared beliefs...but is this correct?

I don't think so. When we talk about God as if we have total certainty of who he is, when we define him within our orthodoxy and condemn those outside of these beliefs as heretics, we are not worshiping God, but an intellectual idol that represents him. We treat our beliefs as if they are God, and we get all stirred up and love-lost when they are challenged or contradicted. It is the same as a man who builds a statue of what he supposes God looks like in order to worship God better, and then over time the man finds himself worshiping the statue as a perfect representation of God forgetting that there is an inconceivably greater God behind it.

These intellectual idols act as a security blanket for us, helping us to avoid the truth that God is greater than anything we can possible conceive, for if we can conceive him, then he is not what He claims to be.

What stands opposite of these idols is Love. When we try to define God, we objectify him. Like any object, we say where he begins and ends, his parameters, his function, etc... Objects can be defined, and that's it... Lust is bred out of such a process when it is applied to a human. We see them for their parameters and their use, and our definitions of them end there.

When we love God, we subjectify Him. We treat our relationship with Him as a mysterious, never ending pioneering of his persona. When you love someone, you don't want to use them or define them, but spend time with them, give yourself to them, and seek out the mysterious ever shifting universe of their personality.

This is not to say that we cannot have beliefs about God. That would be impossible. But we can realize that these beliefs are mere imitations of what is true and we are all "intentional heretics" as we seek to define the undefinable God. In this process our beings will cry out in fear and love for our creator and for his creation.

When we allow ourselves to submit to the incomprehensible and inexpressible (I use limited words even now) nature and persona of YHWH (the unpronounceable name of God), you open yourself up to transformation that goes beyond holding on to a meaningful set of beliefs. This transformation becomes you and it cannot be threatened for your life cannot be separated from you in Christ. There is no belief to threaten, no relationship to threaten (for your unity with God is eternal). You will have  nothing worth killing for, for you will have nothing to protect having already given your life to Christ.

It Takes More Faith to be an Athiest???

 A few months back i attended a church service and the pastor delivered a sermon in the form of an apologetic argument for the existence of God. The sermons was great, and I have nothing against Christian apologetic's, but something was said in the midst of it that I find is all too often affiliated with the genre of Christian apologetic's and it has to do, I believe, with an aversion to confronting the uncertainty and doubt that accompanies our faith. The Saying, I am sure many of you have heard it before as it floats nonchalantly in and out of the whirlwind of overused and misunderstood Christian jargon, goes something like this, "I don't have enough faith to be an Atheist," or "It takes more faith to be an atheist."

At first glance this statement seems like a positive one for a Christian believer. Not only does it make for a great introduction to a sermon on the science of and/or argument for God, but it also provides a little boost of confidence in our belief while offering a nice jab to the ribs of the modern atheist, who, by this statements assumption, would view faith as a negative thing, correlated with ignorance or lack of intelligence. The problem is, as Christians, we don't believe that about faith; or a least we are not supposed to.

When we drop statements like this regularly we are missing the mark in two ways. First, we are doing a disservice to the Christian faith outwardly, and second, we are placing ourselves within a false sense of security that avoids the beautiful and fearful depths of our faith.

Since we are on the subject of Christian-isms, we might as well look at how this statement doesn't fit in with the majority of the verses we love to quote and the sayings we adhere to. By this statement we insinuate that too much faith is a bad thing, but how often do we hear the echoes of 1 Corinthians 13:13 floating around our conversations at church, "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." Or Romans 1:17, ""The righteous will live by faith." And probably most importantly, and indeed the very core to our belief in salvation is Ephesians 2:8, "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God."

It doesn't end there, but I think the point is being made clear here. When we affiliate faith with ignorance or lack of evidence we create a negative aura about the word, and not only that, we fail to cling to the significance of faith and it's place in our lives over things like intelligence or evidence. In doing this we reveal that we, Christians, of all people, have become afraid of faith.

Some might be calling me a nit picker right now, and all I have to say to that is: I agree. But shouldn't we be nit picking at the language we choose to use publicly? Should we also not be looking at the insinuations of all that we say? Indeed we don't want to be found as ignorant...the irony of the entire matter is that by disclaiming and discrediting faith through this statement in order to be seen as more rational than an atheist, we give light to our true ignorance about our own faith...and to make things more ironic, it is in the attempt (apologetics) to base our beliefs in argument and reason, thus making it consciously rational and agreeable, that we fail to reasonably and rationally understand the deeper portions of our faith.

We must not be sucked up into the common trap of attempting to frame our Christian faith within the boundaries of reason. Faith, although not an enemy to reason, takes us where reason cannot. Faith is of a higher intellectual, emotional, and spiritual order than reason will ever be. Faith, indeed, requires the very death of certainty; and certainty generally ends outside of the boundaries of our own reason.

I love apologetic's as a method for searching out the mystery and the greatness of God. But, I think the best apologist is the one who is left with more and more questions and less and less answers. Wouldn't that be the greatest argument for God? That he is so far beyond our grasp that we just can't seem to figure Him out? Instead, I think too many utilize Christian apologetics as a security blanket that eludes terrifying but beautiful faith. Particularly in academia I find people put their faith in apologetics which leads to framed and comfortable certainty rather than putting their faith in God, which leads to uncomfortable, romantic uncertainty...uncertainty that requires deep faith founded in deep love.

Instead of making this blog even longer, (it was only intended to be a few paragraphs) I will end with a quote from Peter Rollins that briefly sums up this wonderful and terrible thing called faith, He writes

"However it is at this point that we need to be careful, for faith does not describe an intellectual disagreement with the wisdom tradition (which would put it on the same level, i.e. as a philosophical position). Faith describes a lived protest against it. In other words faith is a mode of life in which we encounter the world as infused with depth and meaning. It is an attitude towards the world that births within us a profound concern and care (as Heidegger wrote)."

Faith is found when we allow ourselves to be swept up into the mystery of God. To no longer be confined within the simplified or watered down version of Christianity that merely involves prescribing to set of beliefs, and become lost within the vast and raging Sea of who God is with all of the violence of it's waves and terror of it's storms. T1he kind of Sea, that, should an Atheist find himself lost in, would lead him to cry, "O God, Save me!"

I have way to much fear, life, and love...way too much faith to be an atheist.

Redemptive Hate??? hmmm...

What are Christians doing to progress the gospel of love in the world?

A film was recently produced by Christians called "The Innocence of Muslims" in which Muslims are portrayed in a vulgar and hateful manner. It is protest against the Islamic people and the Muslim faith.

Hmm... So how many Muslim people do you think will fall in love with Jesus because of this film? I mean, it was produced to show the TRUTH? No? that their faith was no the right one?

What are we doing? Do Christians even read their bibles anymore? Do we even know what the gospel preaches?

Question marks riddle this blog, because I am left baffled. How are we so blind, when the gospel offers such simple clarity and light?

Put your theology and exegesis aside. Read your bible, submit to the authority of scripture and you will find that it is really quite simple...Simple, but not easy.

It is easy to produce a film...it is easy to produce hate.

But Love, Love is hard...and we are called to nothing less.

Dr. Martin Luther King said, "The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists will we be? Extremists for Hate or for Love?

I grow weary as I begin to realize that many people who call themselves Christians, are no longer the oppressed...We are the oppressors. We sing of freedom and redemption, but we offer condemnation.

"We live in an age in which people, when they hear the word Christian, are much more likely to think of people who hate gays than people who love outcasts" - Shane Claiborne.

In our nation, who are the outcasts, and are we really loving them? Do we value the lives of the people in Iraq as much as we value the lives of the people in our nation? In our families?

This is what Jesus means when he says we must hate our families to be his disciples. Our kinship changes when we become heirs. We should be just as pained at the afflictions of our family in Iraq as we are by the people who share our biology.

Our main concern seems no longer to be loving the dirty, but purifying the world of them. Sounds a lot like the Pharisees to me. It is high time we placed ourselves among the poor and the rejected... It is high time we got stoned and crucified for our love. It is high time we had the opportunity to cry out to our Lord, "Hold not their sins against them." We need to believe in redemption and seek to deliver it.

Everyday real Christians  globally are persecuted for the name of Christ, meanwhile we are protesting at abortion clinics and producing hate films. This scares the hell out of me for in this image linger the words of our Lord, "depart from me, I never knew you."

All hope is not lost if only we believe. "No one is beyond redemption. We are free to imagine a revolution that sets both the oppressed and the oppressors free." - Claiborne

Hate is our only enemy.

The Winds of Leave

The winds of leave are calling me,
                    to walk away from here,
To enter in, a blowing leaf,
                    to enter in with fear,
And fear is not a frightful word,
                   when we give it to the wind,
For the wind it speaks a perfect word,
                     to bring us home again.

So haste the day to heed the call,
                      for it comes from deep within
And swirls its voice around us all,
                     as a shrill, unyielding wind.
Remember last, the storms that passed,
                     as you step into the flow,
For soon the bell tolls for us all,
                     when there is no choice to go.

And so then fear becomes our cloak,
                     and the wind becomes our guide,
And tarry not from fear's great yolk,
                     nor from the howling cry.
The storm it treads just overhead,
                     shedding darkness like a wall,
Still, shut your eyes, seek not the light,
                     but hear the winds great call.

Although the dark will leave its mark,
                    stay tuned to hallowed sound,
and hold to fear, for in the dark,
                    in fear, can trust be found. 

Untitled Poem about Guidance.

Your spirit is a road for my pen,
Each jet of ink is placed by you
Along the pallid lines of this
Soft white page
Like pavement upon your creation.



And like the pavement upon the deeply rooted soil,
I lay waste it's greater purpose
I lay waste the beauty
I lay waste the total perfection,
And in doing so,
Become perfected.

For just as you guide this humble pen,
Your hand clasped atop mine
Guiding each fallible line,
So you guide my sollied life,
Yours clasped tight to mine,
Eclipsing my mind
With thoughts of the divine.

With each error of my pen,
You trace An you correct,
Each feeble attempt,
To create greater purpose
To create greater beauty,
To become totally perfect,
And in doing so,
I am perfected.

The Tree Song

"The Holy Spirit has been called, 'the Lord, the giver of life,' and drawing their power from that source, saints are essentially life-givers. To be with them is to become more alive"
- Fredrick Buechner

If what Buechner has to say about saints is true, then I am a blessed man, for the past few days have brought me face to face with a real life saint. Her name is Adrianna. She is a life giver.

For those who don't know her, she is a 15 year old girl. She is full of joy, she is beautiful, and she has a sense of humor to boot. She is also terminally ill, and only has what looks like, less than a day left here on earth. This tragedy is joy in her eyes, for nothing would bring her greater peace then to escape her ill stricken body and go live in the arms of her Heavenly Father forever. It still hurts to see her go. It is one of the strangest and most holy circumstances I have ever witnessed in my life.

Although I have only gotten to know her personally over the past few days, I feel like I have known her for several years. Partly, because 2 years ago she took the spotlight at our church for her display of resilient faith in God and desire for Him throughout her illness. Since then, she has gone through two years of extreme treatments and medication, and through it all, even in the times of doubt, I have been told that her greatest desire has remained to draw close to God. Watching her journey from the outside has inspired me, but it wasn't until I came into her presence, that she changed me.

Last Sunday I was asked by my sister to go and visit Adriana in the hospital and sing a few songs for her.

After much deliberation Adrianna, her family, and the doctors finally came to an agreement. They were going to give Adriana her wish; they were going to let her go home and live with her family; they were going to take her off her medication; they were going to let her die.

This would be one of the last "Sunday worship services" she was ever going to experience here on this earth.

I felt so small. I felt so weak. I felt so unworthy. I felt so humbled. I didn't even know her very well. I had only talked to her once over face time. Who am I to be there with her at all?

The Lord gave me rest. By his grace I put aside my own worries and guilt for a day, and dwelt fully on what I would be doing that evening. I was so humbled, and I still am. The situation was not a big deal for many who had been around her for some time, but to me, it was time-shattering. How was I going to sing songs to a dying girl and her mother? Suddenly every song seemed so meek and pitiful.

I didn't have much peace until I got into the presence of that beautiful saint. She was asleep when we got there. She had a long day. There were 12 people in the room, 10 more than the doctors normally allow, but they looked the other way. We talked for a while. Everything was uncomfortably lighthearted, little did I realize that it was all a charade. Behind the sarcastic, joking faces lied a depth of pain I have yet to comprehend. For when I finally agreed to start singing, Adrianna's mother, Scarlett, broke down in tears. As she wept I sang. My face was numb as I sang to the mother of a dying child, "There is no place I would rather be, then here in your love." How could I. It was so hard to feel like the bearer of pain.

But then I opened my eyes, and there, under her oxygen mask, Adrianna was awake, and she was singing.

I had to shut them again to avert the tears. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. After Scarlett realized she was awake, she calmed and we helped Adrianna into a chair so she could better enjoy the music she desperately adored.

We took requests from Adrianna. Lead me to the Cross. We sang, it was breathtaking. Adriana had a hard time remembering the titles of most songs, but her next request she pressed with deep enthusiasm. "The Tree Song!!" I knew what she meant right away. "Oh how he loves." I smiled and we sang.

As the night went on we sang several songs, but it was during that song that it hit me. Adriana knows His love. She truly knows it. She is so sick. She has suffered so much. She is so young, and she understands more about God's Love than I ever have. And what hit me even harder was the fact that soon, she was going to experience the fullness of that love, and she knew it...and she craved it. I could see it in the way she sang to Him. He is the love of her life.

She knows what it means to be a Tree, crumbling under the downpour of God's hurricane-like love. But what Adrianna has taught me, is although we are merely Trees, we have the ability to breath life, we just have to choose how we deal with the storms.

Adrianna knows pain, and in that, she knows God's love like a hurricane. Those who suffer most, need Him most, and so their storms of pain, become hurricane's of love. Adrianna is a tree, and the Hurricane of Grace she has been hit by has given her the ability to spread her branches wide, and her roots deep; and just as trees breath life into the air, so Adrianna breaths life into the spirit.

I saw it happen before my eyes. 

She has already saved so many lives, or Christ has, through her faithfulness. Adriana's family did not know Christ before she fell ill. When she got sick, she asked to go to church. Her heart for Him has shaken the pillars of their families foundation and reformed them onto the love of Christ. They are all his heirs now. They are all partaking in His love daily. They are what we call "believers" now. Which really means, they are all now truly alive, and they will be forever.

What I saw, was a little more fresh.

On Sunday night, Adrianna's uncle was there to visit her and support his sister through her pain. He seemed like a great guy with a great heart. To my knowledge, he was not a follower of Christ. On Sunday night as we sang, he remained more or less, silent. He didn't seem repelled by the worship, but he didn't seem to connect much.

Last night, (Tuesday night) I was asked by Adrianna's mother to come over to their home and sing with her again. I am truly blessed. I went at the drop of a hat. We started with The Tree Song, then sang a few more. It was another highly emotional experience. Adrianna worshiped with fervor. She swayed, she clapped, she even found the strength to shake a raise her hands to God. It was heart-breakingly beautiful. but something even deeper happened. I was singing the song, "Second Chance" by Hillsong, and I looked over at Adriana's uncle, and he was crying. Moreover, he appeared to be praying. Now, again, I don't know him very well, so I don't know where his heart is at in all this, but in that moment, it felt like a miracle. After that he moved over by Adrianna and rubbed her leg and sang every song the rest of the night. He praised God in his fear and in his pain. Something that some who have been following for years still don't know how to do.

Adrianna's faith made this possible, for all of us.

I said that I felt like I have known her for years. That is because she has breathed life into me. I can barely think about her without feeling that deep warmth of tears begin to well up in my eyes. She has changed something in me, she has offered me a new perspective on life, on people who suffer. She reminded me that these stories of sickness are about actual people. She reminded me what it means to love God and to trust Him. She gave me new hope. She gave me new life. She is a saint. 

THE TREE SONG

The Station (Revised from 2010)

There He sat, once again staring languidly out of the foggy boxcar window. Outside, trees of orange and yellow rapidly rushed past, as if fleeing some formidable danger or evil. His throat clenched bringing the bulge of his adam's apple high into pillar of his neck. He held it there, closing his eyes and subduing the urge to cry out. His jaw clenched, creating tense bulges on either side of his face. This brought a hard intensity to his already weathered appearance. As his face relaxed, he brought his eyes skyward, sinking a little in his luxurious orange-plastic seat, and let out a long afflicted sigh. His attention was then brought to his throne, who designed these seats? Who would ever have thought this looked good… or felt comfortable...There...his eyes clenched like a vice...it happened again... He sighed heavily; once again he had let his mind wander from the issue at hand onto a subject of such trivial and meaningless value.


As the train came to a common, screeching halt, he slowly raised himself from his pallid throne and edged his way through the crowded car, toward the blinking red, "EXIT," sign. He accidentally bumped the shoulder of a small, yet seemingly Napoleonic Indian Man. The man was clad in a fresh, but cheap pinstripe shirt, accented with a gold chain and the smell of cheap tequila. The stranger took his attention from the cell phone he was talking on and shot his "bumping perpetrator," a harsh look of aggressive superiority, and held it until his offender had completely exited the car, and his sight.


The train devoured its new load of people, and trailed off in a new direction. He looked down at the cracked cement outside the train station, then to his work appointed black faux leather shoes, then averting his gaze, he looked off to the left, the opposite direction from which he came. There was a field there, and in it grew tall, green grass, and large awkwardly overgrown bushes filled with vibrant blooming flowers. He let out another long breath of air from his bulging cheeks and headed to the nearest bench in sight.


He had been here before; about ten to twelve times if his memory served him right, but he never made the connecting train, he always ended up back where he came from. It was like there was some wall, too high for him to scale, keeping him from that ticket booth; the wall bricked with fear and sealed with ambivalence. He saw, in this new direction, a new life… just out of reach. Something held him back, a melting pot of pride and distrust. The thought of the unknown scared the hell out of him, is ignorance really bliss, or are we all damned to a life of wondering what could be? So there he sat once again, unsure, torn, without advice. This was all up to him, it was HIS LIFE, and he refused to ask anyone for help, especially, his father. 


Part of him knew, ultimately, he would once again board the returning train, "home,” but he remained there, on his bench of indecisiveness, clinging to the hope that he had the guts to get the hell out this time.


He realized that he was still wearing his tattered old pack, so he took it off, and went to set it on the vacant half of the bench he was perched on, and that is when he saw him. A man, sitting about ten inches from him, reading a newspaper, completely comfortable as if he had been sitting there for hours and found the perfect niche of comfort. How had he not noticed the man before? Has he been sitting here the whole time? In his baffled state, he didn't realize that his glance had grown to a full-fledged stare that was all too conspicuous. 


The stranger turned and looked at him, "Can I help you?" he asked, his demeanor was warm, and surprisingly un-annoyed.


"What?" he replied,


"Can I help you, Jon?" The stranger asked again, more directly.


Jon was, at first, startled that the man had called him by name, but quickly realized that he was still wearing his name-tag from work.


"OH, uh, no...Sorry, I d-didn't mean to stare, you just startled me that's all. I didn't hear you sit down, I'm just in my own little world I guess," replied Jon with a false chuckle. 


"It's quite alright," said the stranger, reassuringly, "I tend to have that sort of effect on people." He had a nice countenance about him; Jon liked it.


Jon smiled back, a half smile; still a bit startled at this mans instant presence. He looked away and tried to again focus on the task at hand. He tried, but he couldn't compose his thoughts, something about this stranger had all of his attention. 


As the stranger returned to his paper, Jon shot quick glances in his direction, sizing him up, trying to read him. Jon always thought he had this sixth sense for figuring situations and people out just by looking at them, but this guy, he created some kind of blockade within his mind. Before he knew it Jon was blatantly staring at the stranger again, his eyes idiotically wide. The stranger had a face that was hard, but at the same time, comforting, like your father looks to you when you are a boy. He wasn't necessarily an attractive man, he was somewhat average, but something about him kept your gaze a moment longer then you might give to most people.


The stranger smiled and without looking up he asked Jon, "So, where are you headed?" This took Jon by surprise, seeing as he was still staring at the man, almost in a trance. John tried to reply, but stammered over his words, "I, oh, um, well you see..." He stopped, stretched out his eyelids real wide, and then relaxing them replied, "I am not really sure where I am heading. I guess you can say I am on an escape mission, er… that I'm fighting my way out of my current prison…or, life..." John looked to the wall on the opposite side of the station; his face was dumb and perplexed. He was astounded that he was able to reply with such assuredness, that he was able to voice the complexity of the truth, and that, moreover, he had told the truth to begin with. Normally when he was faced with questions that had personal or complex answers he just lied, putting on the same facade that so many others do, after all, Jon wasn't anyone special, and he was aware of this; Why should he waste anyone else's time and energy with his issues, just to have someone disregard him or to add to their Sunday gossip. Lord knows he didn't want to deal with any false sympathy anyways.


"Intriguing,” replied the stranger, without looking up from his paper. "Seems you have a story behind those wide eyes, Jon, I like stories," he ruffled his eyes as if in contemplative thought, sat down his paper and turned to look at Jon, "Talk to me...."


"Well, uh, I don't want to trouble you with..."


"Nonsense," exclaimed the stranger jovially, cutting Jon off, "We have time to kill, my train doesn't leave for a few hours, and you don't even know where you are going as of now, so… talk to me."


"Well, no offense man," Jon said, looking away, "But I don't really know you."


"You haven't tried to know me Jon," said the stranger in a stern, yet strangely friendly tone of voice, "All you have done is look at me, but you haven't really tried to know me, and let's face it, what is the harm in simply talking? Either we sit here in silence, or we talk, either way, I'm still here and you are in the same amount of danger of me hurting you…which is none."


Jon digested the thought, and looked up at the stranger who was smiling again. "I guess you're right," Jon said, straightening out his back, and sitting up. He wondered why the aversion to conversation came so naturally to people, why is there such distrust among us?  I mean, I guess there are bad people out there, but chatting never killed anyone, the key was to just not follow the guy with the free candy, right?


"So, Jon, Talk to me."


"Well, Like I said, I don't really know where I am going, but I get this feeling that there is something more, somewhere better than where I am. I don't know where the feeling comes from, but I can't ignore it anymore, it's too strong." Jon, trailed off from the sentence, feeling a tingling in the back of his throat.


"So, what is stopping you from seeking out this…better place?" the stranger asked. 


"Well, a number of things, I guess," Jon said, then reached into his pocket and took out a photo, he unfolded it and handed it to the man, "Here is one."


"Oh, I see," said the stranger as he surveyed the photo, "She is a very pretty girl, do you love her?"


Jon closed his mouth and straightened out his neck. This man, this stranger had just forced him to confront an issue he all to often diverted… and who was he to ask it? He barely knew him. Although this shocked him, what truly surprised Jon, is that he felt completely comfortable answering; as if the stranger were some old friend he had known and confided in for years. 


"Well, what is love? I mean, she is a very nice girl, one worth marrying I guess, and like you said, she is very pretty, and so...I should…want… to stay with her, but...well, ya, I guess I love her." Jon's heart sank a little in his chest, knowing he was playing tricks on himself again.


The stranger listened with unwavering absorption, as if it were his own son who was opening up to him


Jon continued, on his own this time, after a long pause of introspection, "and well, it's not just her... I mean, I have a job, arguably a good job…and I mean, my life is set up there...right?


The stranger nodded without breaking his concentration, and said, " Well Jon, it seems you have everything you need, so the question is not what you are leaving, but why it is that you feel you must leave."


Jon shook his head and looked away, a tear swelling in his right eye, he constrained it and answered, "That is where the problem really begins, I... I don't know."


The stranger again respectfully nodded, "Well then let me ask you this Jon, what gives your life value?"


"Well, from what is value contrived? I guess all the things I just told you, I live with a beautiful girl, I have a good job, where I make good money, and I have a lot of friends, and... god I must sound so disjointed... I am blessed, right?"


The stranger just looked at him, without nodding.


Jon felt his stomach begin to turn, recognizing that familiar urge to put on the same, all too natural facade, or to just end the conversation. Overwhelmed he was even tempted to just get up and run like hell, when, suddenly, "It's okay Jon, I know it's hard, but please stay, don't run, we are almost there.." John opened his eyes, and his jaw slightly dropped. Did he mention leaving? Did he even hear that voice, or was it in his mind?


Then he looked up at his new friend, who was still there, just waiting to listen, his face ruffled with pain. Why does this guy care so much? His stomach untwisted, ending the war it was waging against itself. 


"Jon," the stranger spoke, his voice softer and more gentle than any he had ever heard, "In my experience, value is not measured by what you have, or by who you are in comparison to anyone else on this earth."


Jon swallowed, hard.


"So Jon, let me ask you again, do you love her?"


Silence, Jon's lips quivered, his eyes shot around without focus. He closed his mouth and his eyes, breathed slowly but heavily through his nostrils and croaked out a small pathetic, "no."


"Then what is it you lack? What are you seeking?"


Jon searched desperately for an answer, his mouth agape. His eyes began to well with tears of desperate frustration; there was no escaping it this time, and nothing could mask what this man had drawn out of him. His face grew red and he began to speak, "I feel so alone," he muttered through what seemed to be a clenched throat, "I feel like a crazy person… like the guy who breaks down and kills himself, all his friends are amazed, 'I have no idea why he did it, he had everything a man needs, he seemed fine.' I don’t wanna die…it’s just…”


Jon thrust his face into his calloused hands and began to sob, "I don't know where to go. I just know I am not supposed to be where I am."


The stranger put his hand on Jon's back, and for some odd reason, it instantly came together. Jon understood what he needed, what his life was lacking, this man had brought him something that he had never truly known, he recognized the feeling, he had felt it before, but never so genuine.


He stopped crying, but the tears remained.


The stranger stood up, and reaching into his coat pocket, pulled out a train ticket, and extended his hand, offering it to Jon.


"Run Jon, I promise this ticket will bring you what you so desperately desire.” Jon looked away, “Oh Jon, you have so much potential, remember what has happened today, do not let these feelings escape you, if you hold on to what you have learned, you can escape your past. There will be suffering, be sure of that, but if you simply take this ticket, you will have leaped over the fiercest hurdle you will ever face."


Jon reached out towards the ticket, which the stranger still held, unflinching. Jon's hand slightly withdrew, but then grasped it. That is when he noticed the hands, and he felt a peace unlike any other he had ever felt.


Jon wiped the fluid from his eyes and stood. He turned and to his surprise his new friend was gone. Jon sat and stared intently at the ticket for the next few hours.


Night fell, and Jon sat there, still, until the train arrived. He stood, and began towards the train, then …hesitation. Something stopped him, a whisper, almost audible. "You don't stand a chance, you will end up right where you started anyways, so don't waste your time. But then Jon remembered the hands. A small, almost painful smile befell his face; he clenched the ticket firmly in his hand, and boarded the train.