THE BEAUTIFUL GAME: Why I Became a Warriors Fan

WR.Blog.KlayThompson GSWGolden State Warriors Orchestrating Victory                                     Ezra Shaw/Getty AFP. Yahoo

I’ve fallen in love with the Golden State Warriors.

I’m a homer. I root for my home teams from Washington, DC; the Bullets turn Wizards (big props), and the Redskins turn a blind eye to racist symbols (huge boo). Sorry Caps and Nats, I’m simply not passionate about your sports. But in this era when loyalty follows celebrity and people become fans of teams on a global level, like the Bulls circa the Jordan era, I’ve become a Warriors fan.

I realized it last night, Game 2 of the series with the Portland Trail Blazers. It’s simple; when you see these guys play, basketball becomes a beautiful game.

A game or spectacle is beautiful to me when it’s orchestrated so skillfully that the onlooker needs no knowledge of the rules, no explanation of what is unfolding to understand the intricacies of the game and be swept away on a tidal wave of joy and excitement at feeling its beauty in their heart. To understand the objective of basketball, the concept of teamwork, the discipline of strategy, the beauty of honed talent turned into skill, and the magical joy of achievement, one only has to watch the Warriors play.

This spectacle is the ultimate balm to the human spirit. It goes beyond sport and that is why in this moment this team is on the cusp of becoming a YUUUUUUGE deal.

With no apologies to my Christian siblings it’s like watching the life of Christ. You don’t need an explanation, you don’t have to hear the words he spoke, you simply have to look at the way he lived to get his message. His life and his message are one and the same. He lived by the rule he preached. He loved God’s creation unconditionally in everything he did and with everyone he encountered. Take away the words and the message; to love your God, and your neighbor like yourself, is just as clear.

The amazing thing about the Warriors right now is that they are doing it without Curry. And what about that genius artist is there not to love? As great as his play throughout the season, it’s his joy on the bench, the childlike enthusiasm and love with which he supports his teammates that has blasted him into the pantheon of my personal sports heroes.

Portland Trail Blazers v Golden State Warriors - Game OneStephen Curry                                                                                               Ezra Shaw/Getty AFP Yahoo

I thought I loved watching him play. I do. I do I do I do. And I can’t wait for him to get back out there. But by God, it’s been a straight up bromance for me watching him live and die on the sidelines, the consummate teammate to his brothers on the court.

I can’t wait for the next game these guys play and I haven’t felt like this about a basketball team since Michael Jordan. And here’s the deal that must truly warm Adam Silver’s heart, I want them to win a second Championship so badly, but I’m gonna love them even if they don’t.

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Down and Out: Time to Know Yourself

Eric Clapton croons a familiar lament, that ‘nobody knows you when you’re down and out’. But I’ve recently realized that the more meaningful concern is, to get to know myself better when life knocks me off my feet.

I’ve been down and out before, and I’m down and out again, and as much as I know better the hardest issue for me is finding the way to love myself again.

Life’s a complicated business. The moment I think I’ve figured it out the god’s conspire to test my conclusions. Now my life’s been good, even great by comparison to others, but it’s been filled with challenges that threatened emotional and physical death. I overcame one such period of the dark night of the soul by discovering power in the simple act of trying to learn ‘something’ and growing from the experience.

I’ve been through even greater physical crises since so it was surprising that my recent health emergency, though serious, has been as emotionally devastating as it is. I had it together after all. I understood the meaning of life better than I’d done in the past. I lived from the seat of my consciousness, the serene throne of my soul, not the cacophonous clutter of my conscious mind. Although not perfect, but better than before, my living and my spirit were harmoniously aligned and I felt prepared to withstand the winds of hostile fortune.

But with one stroke I was unseated from my complacency awaking from surgery annoyed at being denied the peace of eternal sleep. It’s been a hellish month since of physical and emotional pain. I hate my mutilated belly and fear the shame that lies between me and a full recovery some day. I’ve even cut myself off from the world so I won’t have to relive the nightmarish experience in retelling the story.

Yet I’m healing, getting better, agonizingly slow, but my todays are generally improvements over my yesterdays.

I’m learning and relearning lessons, the most profound of which is that nothing teaches like being down and out.

Another is that every experience, good and bad, has the potential to provide insight into who I am and whom I should be.

When I see the lives affected by my illness, those dependent on me and those who’ve stepped up to help me, I’ve had to reevaluate the importance of my relationships with others versus my relationship with myself. My efforts at self improvement, however noble and sincere, were out of balance with the importance of my relationships with others.

Love your neighbor as yourself.   The complement to the greatest commandment to love your God.

Better to spend time practicing it, however poorly, than analyzing it, however adroitly.

One more lesson from being down and out, if I don’t learn why I’m there, life’s going to knock me over again, likely harder the next time. Looking back I see that clearly now.

So I’ll try not to despair if no one knows me when I’m down and out. It’s not about them, it’s about me. Hard as it is, it’s life’s gift. I’ll take the time to figure out what the universe is trying to teach me. It might be the greatest gift I’ll ever receive.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Had a great adventure a few days ago. My first ever ride in a private jet. It was a Challenger twin engine demon that zoomed from West Palm Beach to Baltimore in under 2 hours, and it began with me pretending I was some movie star or curmudgeon billionaire Iacting as if I did this every day. Eventually my true self took over and I spent most of the journey perched at the cockpit door talking with the pilots and surveying the world below from the vantage point of an eleven year old boy filled with wide eyed wonder. In a word it was awesome.

But now a few hours later back on the ground I wonder about what it really meant. I didn’t have to wait too long to understand what it meant to me. Even while I was flying high I was thanking God and realizing how again and again he’d worked miracles in my life.

I’ve been struck down by serious illness before and now I’m struck down again. I’ve wanted to die before, wanted the pain and suffering to be over and I’ve wanted them again this time. I’ve felt lonely, I’ve felt ashamed, I’ve been convinced that my life has been a waste and a complete failure before and I’ve been convinced of it again.

Each time God has flat out saved me; rescued me and brought me back from the dead, crowded my life with angels to care and tend to me and given me a private jet ride, taking me high above the clouds to look down at the beauty of the world and show me the possibilities of what it and me can become if I would only trust him enough to take up my cross and step out in faith and follow him.

If I would put my fears aside, or better yet act on my faith inspite of them; fears of being gay, of being black, of being a fatherless, immigrant child, fears of not belonging, of not sounding right enough, of not being bright enough, of not having enough money for me to live and care for my mother and myself.

Focus on the kingdom he says, work on loving my neighor as I love myself, and leave the rest to him.

Each time I’ve tried. Never as much or as well as I think I should, but I have. This time I’m going to take another stab at it, as much as it seems easier to give in or maybe to give up. I’m going to step out on faith and simply trust when my fears would dim my courage. It’s an adventure after all into the unknown, but more and more I see that despite the pain of the lesson, the result is one awesome jet ride into the brilliant beauty of the universe of God’s kingdom of love.

Shout Out from My Colostomy Bag

One moment you’re fine, the next pain, and then you’re in surgery. Life throws you curves and you swing. I came out of surgery with a pain as deep as the near foot long incision running through my abdomen and a shame as vile as the colostomy bag clinging to the side of my belly.

No point in talking about what’s fair. It’s unfair for civilians to be running from barrel bombs in Syria, for little boys and girls to be dying on high seas trying to escape to places that don’t want them so they can have a chance to live in peace in this world that God gave to everyone. It’s unfair for millions of young girls to be victims of human trafficking, for people to be going to bed hungry in the 21st century, and the list of things truly unfair goes on and on.

So it’s not unfair for this to be happening to me, but it’s damn hard to bear nonetheless. I want to close my eyes and never wake up, to fall into a deep sleep and float away into the imagined peace of nothingness.

But I’m not going anywhere. I open my eyes and there’s the love of family, there’s the caring of friends who are family, there are the comforting words of strangers, even a woman, Bag Lady Mama, https://www.facebook.com/bagladymama/?ref=nf,  blogging about the joy of pregnancy with pictures of her colostomy bag to boot. I come home to the peace of utter chaos in the beauty of a house pulled apart to adjust to my present infirmity.

I‘m in so much pain I don’t want to go on, but I can’t go out either. The love of God is all around. It lifts me up into my seat of consciousness and I look down from the place of the observer and understand. Adversity is not about the body but the soul, and when the soul opens to give and receive love it flourishes with life even in the presence of physical pain.

So you take a swing at the curve, and discover that with love you can always get a hit.

The Spirit of a New Election Year

One of the blessings to the cyclical rhythm of life is the opportunity to start over again. It is present in the seasons of nature, and in the offer of forgiveness and redemption in our religious heritage. And the beginning of a new year is an opportune time to reflect on where we are individually and corporately on the path to becoming better than we have been.

Better for present purpose is being further along the path to creating a just society. Our ability to achieve this is directly related to our ability to feel connected to the other; to see ourselves in the other and recognize either through faith in the divine or our own reason that safeguarding the other’s welfare is the best safeguard of our own welfare.

One whose needs are satisfied is far less likely to threaten our own needs.

In a recent documentary on Paul Simon’s making of the Graceland album with the South African group, Black Mombaza, Simon defied an international boycott of apartheid South Africa and traveled there to record the album. He was blithely unaware of the situation on the ground in South Africa and when he was advised that the black liberationists were opposed to his efforts, ignored their opposition on the grounds that their attitude infringed on his artistic freedom. The South African black musicians who collaborated with him were vilified. Even today 27 years later, many of the liberationists remain deeply disappointed with them.

Ironically, the acclaim of the album raised the profile of the genius of South African musical talent, and did more to galvanize worldwide attention and opposition to apartheid than almost anything else at the time.

The spirit of the anti-apartheid sanctions was to benefit the oppressed people of South Africa. The breaking of the letter of the sanctions turned out to be more in keeping with their spirit than abiding by them.

This illustrates how often we forget that the spirit of the law is more important than the letter, and that we must be careful as we make choices in our personal and corporate lives that we remain true to the spirit rather than to rigid adherence to the letter of the law.

This precedent exists in Christ’s teachings. On one occasion he picked corn and fed his disciples on the Sabbath and was accused by the authorities of breaking the law against working on God’s holy day. In response he observed that the Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath. The spirit of the law was intended for the benefit of the people’s welfare.

In this election year many of our political debates suffer the same failing. Issues from war and peace, to immigration, income inequality, racism, and gun violence all risk suffering  this flawed analysis as the populist cheerleaders forget the original spirit of our democratic experiment, to form a more perfect union with justice for all.  

This is the spirit to which we as a nation must be dedicated. The beginning of this New Year is a perfect time to push the reset button on trying to live it.

My Christmas Promise

I blog because I love to write. I enjoy the artistry of words, the creative process of writing prose to the heartbeat of a poet.

One of my core beliefs is that the value of a life is measured by the contribution we make to community. This has given me a passion to contribute to my community, and mine is the world, I’m a child of all of it.

I’ve allowed insecurity and fear to prevent me contributing my talent to write. It may not be very good, but it’s the pursuit that gives me the greatest joy. I can write all night and welcome daylight refreshed.

I don’t have anything new to say.

This is the story I’ve told myself to come to rest with the neglect of my talent. But my rest is troubled by two of my other core beliefs. I believe there is a God, and I believe she gave me the joy of this talent for her own purpose which is always, and only, love.

I’ve learned from history that the pen has more power to do good than the sword has ability to do evil. I do not know the big picture. Perhaps what I have to say will be of no importance to anyone but me. But even so, I will still gain the satisfaction from acting on my trust in the supreme force of creation. It may well empower me to fulfill some other purpose of hers.

I may not see the big picture but I trust the artist’s ability to complete painting her portrait of love.

My promise this Christmas is from this moment to use the words she’s given me to strike the pose she wants for the work she’s creating.

CONNECTED TO FAITH BY DOUBT

‘When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” Matt 28:17

The older I’ve become, the more complex the response to the question of what is it that connects me to my faith. From the crucible of my recent past, however, the simplest answer is doubt.

The only absolute belief I hold today is in the supremely creative and redemptive power of love, and I will always be a disciple of Jesus, the messenger of love. Any act of love stirs in me my sense of connection to the divine; because for me by definition, all love emanates from the divine.

Because of my culturalization my faith was rooted originally in an acceptance of certainty about doctrine, from the existence of God to the details of the Bible. But the circumstances of my life did not square with this and I began a youthful search for absolute truth that evolved with ‘maturity’ to a quest for spiritual principles with which to live consistently.

Scholarship exposed the divergence between religion and spirituality.  I discovered that religion, however sincere, is the product of humanbeings. Every culture creates God in its own image, and expresses its understanding in their image rather than God’s image being expressed in them.

For someone who once believed there was an absolute truth this was a difficult passage to navigate. I lost faith in my religion. This was extremely troubling because I had to chart my own course through uncertainty, and I was distraught from my doubts.Among other things reading Mother Teresa’s own painful words of doubt helped me.

Where is my faith? Even deep down … there is nothing but emptiness and darkness … If there be God—please forgive me.” Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light. New York: Doubleday

I realized doubt and weakness were consistent with our mortal existence, and turned to the certainty of my personal experience for places where I felt a tangible connection to the divine. Not surprisingly, those were in places where I shared in unconditional love. So, now embracing my doubts I try to orient all my life around unconditional love.