This post originally appeared in The Good Men Project.
You’ve probably never listened to—or heard of—Paul Mauriat and his Dynamic Orchestra. And, really, this is okay. Musically, you’re not missing anything. But, let’s be realistic: we are always missing something.
This whole “who am I/where do I belong” exercise has been fine for the last decade. I can wax theoretical with my peers, and at the end of the day, I know that it is only my own unresolved struggles that sleep in my head. But, my wife is due to give birth at some point this month, and suddenly theories about where I am spiritually no longer cut it.
We’re in a time where a lot of community and dialogue is happening online. The possibilities are endless. You can be talking to someone in Peoria and Beirut, and all be talking about the same thing. This is supposed to be awesome, but it hasn’t treated us as well as it could.
As a result of reading all the posts in our topic of the month, the thing that’s been on my mind a lot is being more proactive about reconciliation strategies between people of faith and the LGBTQ community. What prompts this idea is a beautifully written article posted by my good friend, and State of […]
So, what about those who oppose this togetherness? And even less extreme, what about those who don’t necessarily oppose this work, but are comfortable enough ignoring the challenge of reaching outside oneself, not just to shape, but be shaped? Who am I to go home to my context and roll people off their easy chairs?
You’re sitting at your computer trawling your daily litany of internet-check-in and networking sites, be them a flutter of tweets or tumblr-fulls of diggs and books of faces. There’s a link from someone who you suspect doesn’t share your opinion on something, be it the existence of g/God or the thickness and regionality of pizza. You know it could change the pace of your day, but you click anyway, only to find a disagreeable slice of vitriol that seems, despite its electronic anonymity, to attack the fiber of your being. Then, it happens.
This post originally appeared at the Good Men Project Magazine
In 1987, just a few weeks before he died of cancer, my father recorded his final thoughts onto an audiotape. Among his slow, breathy reflections, he made sure to leave messages for his three kids. His charge to me? “A lot of the weight of the man of the house will be on your shoulders.” I was 4.
Bryan Parys, M.F.A., is working on a memoir of faith and mortality called, "Wake, Sleeper." His work revolves around the idea that art is an attempt to recover what is lost. http://wakesleeper.wordpress.com/