Where’s the limit?

One of the biggest things that drives me up the wall are when people decide that one standard is not good enough for the world. Imagine if we had changing standards for basketball. Come on, moving the hoop with every individual that came along higher for the tall guys and lower for the shorter ones… it would make basketball boring.

I noticed the same thing with the different sects of some religions, they all profess to be ‘christians’ but in some cases they are not christians. What truly is the difference between the Christ of the Baptists and the Christ of the LDS (Mormons)? Nothing that I can tell, the firm walls of legalisms seem to create rifts between religions that really are not all that different. We are honestly getting as bad as the Judiasims I am learning about in my New Testiment class. Some are more reactionary, like the pahrasees that fear anything different. You could have the priestly Sadduces that were wealthy landowners that believed that temple were where the ‘real’ religion was, and cooperated with the Romans. Some like the Zealots believed that everyone was getting too far from Torah so they decided to stop going to temple because it was ‘corrupted.’ They ended up trying to kill each other off and succedding in destroying all of the Sadduces. What makes this so different from our quabbling sects of Christianity? If we are Christians should we not believe that our Christ that saved is the same ? If we do not, then I guess there were several grand teachers and prophets that showed up in the historical record at the same time and never mentioned the other’s existence. (and yes I am aware that the real difference is actually in the details about the godhead or the trinity, but it’s still an interestingly silly docterinal issue in my opinion.)

Piano Man

He sat beside the piano, as though it was the most natural place for him to be. I wasn’t going to talk to him, I had homework and plenty of other things to do, but something made me stop outside my dorm.  Mainly because the something happened to be the most beautiful music I had ever heard was coming from the instrument. The music danced on my consciousness and played with my preconceived notions about what I needed to do with my time.
I waited for his piece to be finished then complemented him on his performance. Fourteen years of practice wasn’t a waste for this blond master.
“Motzart right?” I asked, he laughed kindly.
“No, but it sounds like one right? “ He names a Russian composer that I’ve never heard of before, and still can’t pronounce.
“Do you know anything else?”
“Not without my music,” he smiled sheepishly, a piano key reflecting off his glasses.
The conversation flows away from the piano bench towards the center of the room. Another comes to play the piano. She plays pieces and he whispers their names to me.
“This one’s Beethoven,” He comments as she plays a familiar tune. She starts on another, smoother piano piece as he sighs “Ahh a Gershwin.” I marvel at his intellect. My mind so capable of differentiating cells and chemicals can hardly grasp the beauty of the piece, much less conspire to put a name a piece like that.
I watch his face, his eyes closed drinking in the music. I want to talk more, but feel like I’m intruding into his personal enjoyment.  I close my eyes too, but all I hear is pretty music. I open one eye and can see the chords dance in his blue eyes. If only I could understand the music like that.
He explains the chords, and how they progress. I don’t understand all of it but I grasp the basics. He tells me of different pieces and the beautiful preludes, he describes certain songs and his voice mimics the tune he is trying to explain.
One, then two hours past. The conversation never dies, never stills, never stops dancing like the Russian’s composition. Soon we have to go our separate ways, but something struck a chord within me, I had made a friend.