Lasers and Teddy Bears

On a cold Friday afternoon I found myself in the waiting room of a LASIK center with several other individuals sitting in our chairs, sharing the 1000-yard stare and waiting for our name to be called. For the 34th time in a row, the office’s promotional video looped back to the beginning and began playing all over again on the sole television around us. The customer testimonials raved about the center’s eye surgeon. First up was a typically attractive brunette, followed by a hispanic woman. Rounding out the rainbow of testimonials were an overly tan Caucasian man, an Asian girl, and a black guy who looked a tad cross-eyed (a bit concerning). All of them were praising the surgeon and how great the staff was and how amazing their post-op results were. The video’s intended effect to allay any fears about the procedure was beginning to reverse its effects. I began to imagine that we had already begun the LASIK procedure, the untold secret 1st stage of the operation: the brainwash effect.

I got up from my chair and walked over to the window overlooking down to the streets several levels below. Leaning against the glass, I combed the darkening night for anything of interest. That’s when I heard a chuckle behind me and could overhear someone telling the receptionist, “They must be going crazy, with that video on an infinite loop all day.”

“Want to watch some TV?”

The last remark sounded like it was directed to me. I looked behind me to see the man in charge of the LASIK office’s finances giving me a smirk. I gave a nod and replied, “Sure.”

I was led into the second waiting room towards the mid-section of the LASIK office, invisibly slapping myself and wondered why I hadn’t thought of this sooner. Well, in all fairness, I thought, I had no clue my wait time would amount to nearly three hours. Subjecting patients to this waiting game can’t be too good for their nerves.

Seconds later, with the remote control to the television in my hand, I was surfing through the channels, ecstatic I had been freed from the shackles of brainwashing. A couple of the other patients who had also been waiting settled into various seats in the second room around me. As the unofficially designated TV channel-setter, I decided SportsCenter may not have been of much interest to all our gathered viewers (there were 5 of us including myself) and so I settled on There’s Something About Mary. ‘Lo and behold, I had just flipped to the channel when the funniest scene of the movie flashed on the telly and Ben Stiller’s character was frantically searching the bathroom just after he had “cleaned the pipes” /  ”choked the chicken” / “spanked the monkey” before the big date. The guy sitting to my left and I unsuccessfully stifled our laughs as Mary reached for the “hair gel” dangling off his earlobe. In retrospect, I’ve concluded that watching this particular movie scene has to be one of the most effective ways to break any level of tension amongst a group.

Before I knew it, my name was being called and my turn was up. I left the remote control in plain view in the middle of my seat, telepathically sending everyone in the room behind me a message: “First one to grab it gets to change the channel!!”

sniff

After a steady run along the East River in the brisk autumn morning weather or after wrapping up a couple games of pick-up basketball, I occasionally get a runny nose. It’s not like I have snot dripping from my face or a booger threatening to leap onto my shirt collar. But the exercise and cooler air definitely loosens my congestion and so I occasionally start sniffing after outdoor physical activity. This is typically followed by popping into a hot shower, running my nose through a Kleenex after I’m dried off and ahh… clear and easy breathing again.

Running low on hydration after the last time I played basketball, I jogged on over to the closest grocery store to stock up on Vitamin Waters and Powerade. Figuring it was a convenient time to pick up various other groceries I made my way methodically through the aisles, until I found myself eyeing the meats in the refrigerated section at the rear of the store. Meanwhile, I’m sniff sniffing away since I just ran several blocks.

As I’m walking away I hear a woman’s voice grumble under her breath, “Better not be sniffing around me again.”

For an instant I flashback to 7th grade Geometry Honors class and vividly recall the day my math teacher gives me the evil eye during an exam after I had sniffed a few times. She proceeded to loudly walk up to my desk, drop a box of tissues in front of my face and told me to blow. I was sitting in the front row. I was not fond of this lady, but my feelings were nothing compared to the wrath this lady clearly harbored against my runny nose. I think she would have socked me in the nose if she legally could, the way her eyeballs bulged out of her sockets when I simply began sniffing again minutes after using the tissues she offered.

The lady by the meat section in the grocery store continued her grumbling as I took a few steps away. My eyebrows furrowed and I did a 180 and walked back to where I was standing.

“Do you have a problem? With my sniffing?” My tone is loud. Blunt.

The lady’s eyes widen and her head slowly looks in my direction.

“Yeah. Yeah I have a problem with you sniffing right next to me!”

We exchange a couple more remarks, don’t exactly remember what was said, but I remember walking away amazed that my geometry teacher was not the only person of this world whom could be driven mad by a few sniffles.

Being the small supermarket that it is, I again crossed paths with her a few minutes later. A corner aisle away, I heard her yapping away about my sniff to someone (whom I later found out to be her teenage daughter). That’s when I started to make out some the words.

“…that’s a racist sniff. That’s a racist sniff if I’ve ever heard one…”
“…how’s he gonna do that right in front of me? stupid…”

I may have neglected to mention that this woman was black.

So the gears finally clicked in my head and I understood what the issue was. But I was still irked at the way she was still going off about it, acting like a raging bitch. I rounded the corner and incredulously asked her if she seriously believed I was being racist by sniffing at her presence. Back and forth we went until I made it pretty clear I didn’t even know she was standing next to me and obviously oblivious to her race at the time. Her daughter started pleading to her mom to stop, in a roll-the-eyes exasperated kind of way. Perhaps this was one of many outbursts she’s had to deal with, or maybe she knew it was highly doubtful I was trying to insult her mom.

“OK. There. You explained the situation. I take it back. Let it go,” the lady finally snapped.
Hmm, I can live with that, I thought and walked away.

Up until that point I had absolutely no idea a sniff could be interpreted even remotely as a racist act. It intrigued me to no end as I later left the grocery store. Is a sniff a modified version of a scowl, or a snort? A displeased grunt? Or do sniffs set off some form of body odor insecurity?

And then there’s the stereotype that Koreans and African-Americans don’t get along. Maybe she wouldn’t have reacted the same way if I was a ginger? Whatever the case may be, I don’t intend on sniffing any less than I do now, but if any dark-skinned individuals give me a look after I do, now I’ll at least know why.

You Were The Chosen One

Obi Wan Kenobi put it best. Screaming at Anakin Skywalker, “You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would destroy the Sith, not join them!!!”

Lebron James had the potential to be one of the all-time greats. Magic. Russell. Bird. Kobe. Jordan. It was conceivable that one day, after Lebron had hung his jersey up once and for all, that the world wouldn’t hesitate to include him amongst these few, these basketball elite. After all, Jordan hadn’t won a single championship at age 25, the same age Lebron decided to commit the worst publicity stunt in the history of sports. There was still a very real chance that once the Cavaliers plugged in a few missing pieces, this team could come off two consecutive seasons of posting the NBA’s best record and have gone off for serious title runs. But the chances of this happening for Cleveland anytime soon is no greater than the probability that Lebron isn’t booed in the Quickens Arena later this year.

It was estimated that 10 million viewers would tune in to The Decision on ESPN. I wouldn’t be surprised if the effects of this disaster reached the ears and eyes of over triple that amount, with the Twitter and Facebook world immediately regurgitating from the shock, and the blogging and media world reverberating from the news. In one fell swoop, Lebron transformed into the most hated figure in the NBA, and no longer was deemed categorized under the most revered, ultimate basketball player in the league today.

We all knew that Lebron was setting himself up for a lose-lose situation. To have the nerve to announce his decision would be televised in a one-hour promotional event pretty much concludes the 25-year-old man-or-kid theory. Only a kid with a ragtag entourage of childhood buddies and ill-advised members would think that they could twist this first-of-its-kind sports television moment into a charity case and everyone would nod their heads in understanding. In announcing his decision, Lebron would be instantly alienating four major cities of the market for raising their hopes and keeping entire management teams completely in the dark. He altered the free-agent summer market of 2010 in no way any other star could, and only a handful of people in the world could be happy about that (Joe Johnson and Rudy Gay, to name a few).

You see, we all knew that this wasn’t going to be pretty. For many of us though, we weren’t picturing the aftermath. Personally, I was envisioning the sheer joy and excitement at the possibility that he was going to say, “This fall, I’ll be bringing my talents to the mecca of basketball… and play for the New York Knicks.” And watching the limited crowd in that Boys & Girls club erupt with passion and applause. It made sense… that’s how it was going to happen… in my eyes. Despite all of the leaked news from sources unnamed, with the words Miami being thrown out all day and through the mouths of the ESPN analysts just prior to the show, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that he would pull such a cop-out move. I really thought he was going to say Cleveland, Chicago, or New York. I really did.

So why all the backlash? The burning of the jersey? The Letter from Dan Gilbert? The sheer rage being expressed by fans of the league all over the world as evident in Simmon’s latest column? Are we overreacting?

No. It was the culmination of it all. Let’s look at the facts:

“Pierced for Our Transgressions”

Here are some of the take-aways I retained from Rev. Dr. Timothy Keller’s sermon today.

Isaiah 52:13 – 53:12

This scripture consists of five points.

1) Understanding the mixture. That Christ was many things, one of which was succumbing to such extremes of human punishment and torture that left his physical state in a disfigured, almost alien-like condition. Emphasis on the extremity of the word “appalled”. He withstood this cruelty by choice, and the degree to which the pain and hatred would be inflicted was certainly foreshadowed in this Old Testament book.

2) Accepting the ordinary. Often, we want God to change us in a dramatic fashion. We want instantaneous results. We expect to undergo an overnight conversion, instant gratification, or hear a voice from above. Rather, just as there was nothing distinctly beautiful or majestic about Christ’s form on Earth, we should not come to expect such rapid healing. “He grew up before him like a tender shoot, and like a root out of dry ground. He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.”

3) Comprehending the magnitude of His love. As you know, death is a certainty among all of us. All life on Earth comes to an end. Christ, however, actively chose this path as it was God’s decision for Him to be “crushed for our iniquities“. This decision was made out of deep love.

4) This passage, apparently, highlights the meaning of the crucifixion better than any other chapter in the bible. And it is certainly an act of great injustice. “He was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth.” All real love is substitutionary sacrifice. Parents would understand this best, as they choose between personal freedom and the wellbeing and future of their children. Yet, by letting their freedom go they come to gain a greater freedom in return.

5) Though the keyword of this fifth point escapes me (it may have very well been included in one of my earlier bullets), there is one interesting comparison that was conveyed, reaching back to the classic tale of the beauty and the beast. The beautiful woman, in this tale, comes to love the beast and kisses him, thus transforming the hideous beast into the handsome prince/king that he was. Well, Christ does this one better. Jesus chooses to become a beast… to turn us into beautiful people. He is beaten to a pulp and crucified like a mangled beast, saving us through his grace and love. Our sins were forgiven in this most beautiful act, and “the arm of the Lord been revealed.” I thought that was an interesting twist perspective on an old fairy tale.

“you and me, we’re f**king done, professionally”.

Recently re-watched The Prestige. Man, what an awesome movie! This role suits Bale far more than any of his recently forgettable outings (Public Enemies, Terminator Salvation). Every characters’ performance in this film pretty much nailed it on the head, except for Scarlett Johansson’s role.

Currently reading An Ocean of Air by Gabrielle Walker.

There No More

Some undisclosed time back I had lunch with someone (let’s call him Bill) from the church I’m currently attending. After covering a  few topics of conversation well into the meal, I brought up a former member of the church (let’s name him Ted) whom I had run into on the streets of Manhattan last week. Ted and I pulled a quick stop’n'chat where I was taken aback when he told me he was no longer attending and had “moved on to other things”. When I heard this coming from the man who had previously co-led the bible study group of which I had frequented from time to time, I took a second to digest this news and wondered why this had not dawned on me sooner. His absence during service had gone unnoticed in my eyes, not only because I am probably last in order for the perfect attendance award, but the few times I would throw out the usual “See you this Sunday?” Ted always appeared to carry a valid reason to miss service, “I’m going to be in Philly” or “visiting my parents”. There are a handful of newcomers that come and go throughout the seasons, but hearing this from an attendee who was leading church outings and bible study groups just a few months prior? Just who exactly was going to be my backup now for casual conversation during service downtime?

So my mind begins to wander at just how a well-oiled, burgeoning Christian church community should ideally respond to such a departure. I’ve seen the grand exit, where the head pastor addresses the entire congregation following the conclusion of his sermon, asking us to congratulate so-and-so who will be leaving us and providing thanks for their services. A humorous anecdote or inside joke is thrown in for good measure. Prayer neatly wraps up the clean departure.

Of course if this happened for every person to step foot inside the halls of the Lord’s house then announcement time would be reduced to a continuous stream of awkward farewells and who am I praying for? do I know that person well enough to hug them goodbye? inner monologues. The pastor of this church continually paints a picture of it as ”a plant” whose seeds have just been planted and begun to blossom in what he never fails to remind us as “the greatest city in the world”. So I guess it’s expected for a number of heads to come and go during its infant stages. I suppose the impact of Ted’s departure was minimal, perhaps swept under the rug as the spiritual sanctity of the congregation lives on. A few heads who may have been close to Ted could very well have had a heart-to-heart or led unsuccessful attempts in asking him to reconsider. Or maybe a few people shrugged, wished him well and turned their back. This seemed apparent coming from Bill’s perspective over lunch.

“The guy had issues,” Bill says. “He would always find something wrong. His heart just wasn’t in the right place.” Or did he say “his head wasn’t in the right place”? I can’t remember.

Could’ve fooled me. I actually enjoyed my SG time.

I brought Ted’s name up with another regular. Same disinterested response. I wasn’t sure why this struck a chord with me, especially involving a community I wasn’t necessarily a part of nor had heavily invested much time in. The peak of my interaction with Ted barely breached the acquaintance boundary. I suppose my naivety had gotten the best of me, raising the church on a perpetual pedestal where all is good, all the time. I realize that the reason congregations so often give off the camaraderie and joy of an 80′s family sitcom in my eyes is because I’m always positioning myself on the outside looking in. Not judging a book by its cover was a lesson meant to be hammered into me in grade school; I need to apply this when I look around and see a swarm of heads bobbing harmoniously and hands-a-clappin’ and hearts being lifted to the music, er, worship of God.

The idealist in me thinks that a place led by leaders in Christ’s teachings who don’t bat an eye when they kick off phrases as “God spoke to me the other day…”, and joined by members who on some personal level recognize that life is not about us, would be destined to thrive and retain and grow. And not falter under politics and drama and split as so many Korean churches are known to do. After all, we’re not talking about “fraternity brothers” or “teammates”. We’re talking about “brothers-and-sisters-in-Christ”. That shouldn’t be a term you throw around lightly.

Then the realist in me asks if I can’t bring myself to unquestionably follow what I hear on Sunday and adhere myself wholly to the principles of the Christian mission, how can I expect that of anyone else?