Shooting at the Bowling Alley

I watched as the most skilled member of our expedition twisted his body like Bill Murray in Kingpin, minus the toupee flapping in the wind. A few lanes down, keeping up my movie reference, a few Amish kids enjoy cheap beer and opportunities for the guys in the group to prove their manhood to the bonnets by hurling 12 pound urethane orbs at a triangle of 10 squat, wood pins.

I chat with a friend about the local economy. And as casually as Bill Murray posts turkeys onto his score, I shoot off my mouth and land red hot lead in his heart.

Words, intended for good or evil, carry a force to be reckoned with. Frankly it doesn't matter whether or not we intended them this way or that. Stray bullets don't care about motives.

I'm not very good about using my words wisely. I walk into conversations like I'm in a scene out of the Matrix, guns blazing, room left in ashes. Then I come to and see the victims of friendly fire, at which point I call the ambulance in panic. I'd like to think that I'm better at this than I used to be, but when it comes to words, my mind always has a finger on the trigger, which results in more wounded friends than I'd like to admit.

A Shooting at the Bowling Alley

I watched as the most skilled member of our expedition twisted his body like Bill Murray in Kingpin, minus the toupee flapping in the wind. A few lanes down, keeping up my movie reference, a few Amish kids enjoy cheap beer and opportunities for the guys in the group to prove their manhood to the bonnets by hurling 12 pound urethane orbs at a triangle of 10 squat, wood pins.

I chat with a friend about the local economy. And as casually as Bill Murray posts turkeys onto his score, I shoot off my mouth and land red hot lead in his heart.

Words, intended for good or evil, carry a force to be reckoned with. Frankly it doesn't matter whether or not we intended them this way or that. Stray bullets don't care about motives.

I'm not very good about using my words wisely. I walk into conversations like I'm in a scene out of the Matrix, guns blazing, room left in ashes. Then I come to and see the victims of friendly fire, at which point I call the ambulance in panic. I'd like to think that I'm better at this than I used to be, but when it comes to words, my mind always has a finger on the trigger, which results in more wounded friends than I'd like to admit.

My Post Game Analysis

I watched the big game yesterday. I enjoy football. It reminds me of Sunday afternoons with my dad. I'm not as dedicated as I used to be, but if there's a game on, I enjoy reconnecting with those memories.

Of Course my memories also include dozens of advertising vignettes, that creatively tried to sell me cheap beer and domain names. Everything about Superbowl coverage is product placement. Every award, replay, player of the game, is sponsored by something. And of course we anticipate the commercials. In my experience, the beer commercials are usually the most creative. I still have vivid images of the Budweiser frogs of my youth. This year was a bit lackluster, mostly they tried to make it look like sophisticated people rather than rednecks drank Budweiser.

A not so funny series of commercials were by G&E. They had one where cancer survivors met the people who made cat scan machines. It was rather sentimental. There was a gentle crescendo of violins when they arrived at the factory and met the employees. Several of this year's Superbowl ads carried a seemingly heartfelt concern for the real issues in the world. Seemingly.

But this isn't really about football or commercials.

I heard something last year around this time that I forgot about until driving home after the game. This "something" didn't make headlines, or get an envied spot as a Superbowl commercial. It is something I'd honestly rather not think about, especially on a day that should be filled with laughter and good food. But if the past fifteen years of the Superbowl are any indicator, yesterday, Indianapolis was the best place in the country to pay money to have sex with a child.

The Superbowl is the largest event of the year for the sex slave trade. Two years ago in Miami it was estimated that while the Indianapolis Colts were being raped, so were 10,000 victims of the sex slave trade, most of those 18 and under.

If you watched the game, I hope you enjoyed it, but don't let Ferris Bueller commercials, the bulging breasts of several dozen women, the notion that G&E might care more about people than money, or even your severe love or hatred for a few dozen men you know very little about distract you from the realities of what this game meant to a possible 10,000 people this year.

I'm not sure what to do with this info right now, and I'm not sure what you can either, but I think we should be people willing to live within the tensions of joy and pain. I want to be awake, I want to make a difference, I think that starts by recognizing there is a problem.

If you'd like some info from the experts about what you can do, here are some experts.
www.traffick911.com

Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places

God knows I can't pay attention for very long. As a musician, I'm always looking for innovation, a new guitar tone, maybe a fancy new way to guide rhythm in a song. When I hear new music I become obsessed. I field dress it several times a day until I can pick out every layer while hanging upside down blindfolded. Then, in the distance, I hear the new Coldplay album tinkling in the breeze. And like a child who spots a shiny yellow dump truck accross the room, I set down the White Stripes and make like a zombie toward Mylo Xyloto.

God knows I can't pay attention for very long.

One of my favorite poets is Gerard Manly Hopkins. Hopkins believed that everything carried an essence within it, an essence that ultimately points back to Christ, which is where I got the title "Christ plays in ten thousand places." This has been my life. God seems to teach me things by having them pop up everywhere, sort of like a Made in China sticker seems on practically every toy from my childhood.

In the past few weeks that lesson has been about suffering in the world around me (which will be it's own post later on). The sources include a sermon at my church, an episode of NPR's This American Life, President Obama's speech at the national prayer breakfast, an email from some missionaries from our church, and then last night through my wife's reflections on a day where God was teaching her the exact same thing through some pretty difficult and random (If you believe in such a thing) circumstances. And I just lay there, half listening, half telling God, "Ok I get it, I get it."

God knows I can't pay attention very long, but instead of beating me over the head for not focusing, He gets creative.

As Kingfishers Catch Fire - Gerard Manly Hopkins

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;

As tumbled over rim in roundy wells

Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's

Bow string finds tongue to fling out broad its name;

Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:

Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;

Selves-goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,

Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

I say more: the just man justices;

Keeps grace: that keeps all his going graces;

Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is -

Christ - for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men's faces.