Disappointed With God

I have decided that in an attempt to observe Christmas in a correct and reverent manner this year (as I am far removed from my usual range of distractions), I will only post on issues relating to the Advent season until the end of the month. I don't really want to talk about Christmas, with all the jingle in bells, decking of halls and ho's in triplicate. I really want to talk about the historical period of Advent, and its effect on both the broad global culture and the narrow lens through which I see it, commonly known as the Church.

However, on a completely hypocritical note, allow me to introduce...

My Ginger bread 집 한국. my 김gerbread 하우스.

I've just realized that the above comments will only be entertaining to people who speak exactly as much Korean as I do. If they speak less, they won't be able to read what I wrote, and if they speak more, they will probably think (perhaps know) that I'm an idiot.

Oh well, that's probably still a much wider audience than most of the other things I've written.

Though my "I'm-so-sad-that-I'm-still-single-even-though-I'm-really-nice-and-smart-and-might-be-attractive-since-there-aren't-any-pictures-of-my-face-on-this-site" posts are quite popular with the "20-something-and-I-live-with-my-mom" crowd.

Don't worry ladies. I've got plenty more where that came from.

Today, I want to talk about disappointment. There have been a lot of things in my life that have been disappointing.

My film "career."

The end result of the nearly 10 years I have been playing the guitar.

the six week "relationship" I had at the age of 24, as the result of the first time I ever asked a girl out (You see ladies? Your pity is always welcome here).

My New Years resolution to "always do my laundry on time."

Let's not forget the many many disappointments that come with the Christmas season. I'm not talking about presents I wanted but never got when I was 5. It's this whole Christmas season thing, whatever it's become. Every year, you're promised magic, and togetherness, and miracles even. At the end, All I see is more stress, empty pockets, and a world that's just about broken even. No one is any better off, save a few people who own toy stores.

I myself have never owned a toy store. Hence disappointment.

I have always longed to live in a simpler time. Before the industrial age, or before the digital age. Hell, I'll even take before Youtube. I'll bet my work week would have been a lot more productive.

I hope no one from my work is reading this...

Anyway, of all the times I wished I could have lived in, at Christmas time I always think of the Middle East, right smack in the middle of that whole BC - AD mess. What would it have been like?

I probably wouldn't like it.

I never realized before how disappointing the Christmas story really was. It seems like the grandeur and spectacle I see in canvases, greeting cards, and the occasional cathedral window is a tragic misinterpretation of the details.

Think about it.

I can just see the Jewish priests putting together their letters to Santa...

Send me a messiah this year. I've been very good. Make him big and strong so that he can set us free. Make his birth known throughout the world, so that the most important people can rush to serve him. Equip him with the ability to establish a kingdom here on Earth. And make sure he doesn't hang out with hookers and IRS agents.

Sincerely,

J. Pharasee

This is what they were waiting for since, I don't know... forever? How would they even recognize him?

Here comes Jesus. Born in a poor family. Born to a teenage mother, out of wedlock, who CLAIMED that the spirit of God impregnated her (couldn't God have come up with something more believable than that?) which I'm sure was a popular excuse at the time. There wasn't much of a birth announcement, save to some dirty shepherds (who, let's face it, could have been drunk), and a couple of Asian stargazers who weren't even Jewish. Not exactly the most reliable sources. The only person who really made a big deal of it was that Herod guy, who ordered the slaughter of every child under the age of 2. The first Christmas present, before all the Gold Frankincense and myrrh (which is an embalming fluid, btw) was an empty cradle. Sounds like an episode of Maury Pouvich meets the Holocaust.

I can't help but think that He could have chosen another way to do it. He could have done whatever he wanted.

Jesus grew up to achieve no major political office. In fact, he never even became a priest. He just went from town to town, hanging out with the wrong sorts of people, talking disrespectfully to the other sorts of people until finally... they just killed him. Even with the high mortality rate of the times, 33 is a pretty young age to go. I imagine that the Jews left his burial site just in time to begin drafting this year's letter to Santa. They had thought of some new things that they wanted their messiah to be.

I guess they didn't recognize Him, did they?

Can't blame them.

I have some trouble spotting Him from time to time.

Of course, as most of you know, I am neglecting to mention the part that gets everyone excited. The fact that something fantastic really did happen that night. The fact that God came to the Earth in the form of a man, and was such a picture of meekness and strength under control that he could do so without being known to the very people who had been looking so hard for him. In fact that the very nature of his descent into human form shows what the dirty, the unfortunate, and the unreliable had suspected all along, that he had come for them. Of course, you might say that I am neglecting that.

Perhaps, but it is still a kind of disappointing story. It's a perfect story, but a disappointing one.

I have come to the astounding realization that we are able to be disappointed with something that is perfect. The divine could come to Earth, and we would turn up our nose at Him if we were looking for something else.

Can you really blame the Pharasees? If I told you that God was alive here on this Earth, could you tell me where to find him?

I confess that I can not.

I must be looking for something else. Something that He is not.

It's a thing that gives me hope, actually. The fact that I am disappointed with perfection, because I can't see what it really is. Perhaps we will see miracles, and healing, and love like we've never had before. The kind that goes with you. That wraps you up like a warm winter coat, and kisses the tip of the tongue like a winter carol about a time more fantastic than this one, because He really did come, and it really was perfect.

I want Him to teach me how to not be disappointed.