Post 194--Meditation by Labyrinth

Like most other cities on North America's west coast, Vancouver is a chillingly secular city. Nevertheless, we live in its central West End and are quite surrounded by churches that range from outright liberal to  Evangelical that in turn range from the classical to the mushroom variety that meets behind various facades, though nothing like store fronts. They are peopled by highly educated  and relatively well-to-do young people.  One of the more liberal is St. Paul's Anglican just two blocks down the street from us, one that we pass on average twice a week.  

It's an unusual church. For one thing, its over-a-century-old building is designated a heritage building by the city. Its exterior consists of maroon-painted cedar shingles, not a facade still common in the city. It is well maintained with its gracious appearance and, unlike the recently razed  modern United Church just a couple of blocks away, it appears well attended and is under no threat of coming down. Typical of our liberal churches here, it plays an active part in our downtown culture. 

Example:  More than twenty years ago, before we arrived here, our West End was inundated by pimps and prostitutes that so dominated the streets and traffic that the residents complained enough for the city to install all kinds of traffic calmers and other obstacles such as one-way streets, unexpected diversions, dead ends and cul-de-sacs. The police moved in and hassled prostitutes as well as their clients that eventually they moved out of the area to go who knows where, probably the Down Town East Side, known as the country's poorest postal code just a couple of clicks away. Sanity returned and the people were happy.  

Twenty years later, the dominant spiritual and social attitude had changed. Forces within the community instilled a sense of guilt for driving away that trade. Its practitioners were now seen as victims of circumstances not of their choosing and they should have been protected, not driven out. They were no longer regarded as unwanted; the traditionally negative attitude towards prostitution had given way to acceptance. Well, no surprise. Secularism has little in the way of moral standards. 

Last year, 2016, St. Paul's, along with a segment of the local population and reps of the City Council, established a memorial statue right in front of the church, to remember the victims of that "shameful" cleansing of decades ago.  Now that prostitution era was romanticised and its practitioners practically awarded a sort of sainthood!  The atmosphere had done a complete topsy-turvy. Next time you are in the area, you really must come and take some pics, for this is really something to see. Right there in front of a church! I suspect it is the world's first and only memorial to prostitution, unless New York or San Francisco beat us to the honour!

Now years ago I wrote a blog about a hymn-singing prostitute in the south of Nigeria. I showed plenty of sympathy for her terrible situation that led her into that trade. I was fully aware that this was hardly by choice and that she had few other options. In other words, I did not condemn but understood and sympathized. I am as aware of the terrible dynamics as anyone. 

But understanding and sympathizing is one thing, but to elevate the "profession" to hero status or even sainthood is another.  From all the reading I've done on the subject, most practitioners have descended into its horrible depth because of earlier negative choices that inexorably led them into this pit. It was not their destination of choice, but they landed up against a brick wall that would not budge. They had burnt too many bridges behind them and felt they had nowhere else to turn. 

So, what of that memorial in front of St. Paul's?  I sympathize with prostitution's victims and therefore join the community in its sympathy. A case of sympathy on top of sympathy!  But now to turn its practitioners into saints and ignore all the warnings in the Bible against it or to pretend it has no serious social and physical consequences, enough to turn it into a vice, is another. I have no answer really, but this has gone too far. Sin turned into virtue!  The spiritual atmosphere in the community has changed that much--unbelievable. If the trade were to make a come-back in this area, I doubt that the police would have the balls to counter it or, for that matter, the public--until it once again turns into the terrible nuisance it had become. It might be bound to happen.  

Now, you would never expect this subject from the title above this post. I did not either. the main subject was intended to drive me to that subject. Instead, it became the main subject. So, I'll let that title stand but treat that subject in Post 195. That way you won't be turned off by what became today's unexpected main subject!

Post 107--Beards--The Whys and Wherefores

I had another topic in mind for this post, but then I chanced upon an article about beards in a Dutch digital newspaper. Why, the question was, do men sport beards?  Since I have had a beard for decades and have had to endure that question time and again, let me clear the air once and for all.  And although I have a long list of subjects literally screaming at me for attention, I’m going to self-indulge today and talk about myself. However, before I get to my own personal reasons, let’s see or hear the explanations of some “authorities.”

The subject is such an earth-shaking one that no one less than the BBC entered the fray. Here’s the reference:

http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20160418-the-real-reason-men-grow-beards

So, now you can get the real truth on the topic from the highest authority!  On this website you will meet British psychologist Tamsin Saxton who, according to Trouw, that Dutch paper, begins by nixing what is probably the greatest myth, namely that men expect women to be more attracted to bearded men than to the clean shaven type. It does not appear to be true. Instead, beards allegedly play more of a role in competition between males. Both men and women think of the bearded among us as the more dominant and aggressive. Also beards apparently elevate the status of their bearers. Instead of a charmer, we bearded ones consider ourselves more of a dominant fighter, something we allegedly relish

The article mentioned a number of other British researchers of beards. I don’t feel the need to mention them all, but one name strikes me as very humorous, if not hilarious. One who researched British beard fashions between 1842 and 1971 was called—no, I don’t think you guessed it—Nigel Barber! How appropriate is that!

I am utterly surprised that simple personal preference has not been accorded a role in all this discussion. Well, these experts should have called on me. I sport a beard because I happen to like the looks of a beard. Well, not just any beard. A cultured beard, one that is taken care of. The wild kind from your sideburns to your navel I abhor and think ugly, tasteless, whether combed or not. But I have wide tolerance for cultured and looked-after beards, especially when they’re black, which, unfortunately, mine is not. So, that is my main reason for having a beard: I just like the bearded look and dislike the totally clean shaven look.

Closely related to my liking a beard is my theory that God created us with hair both on top of our heads as well as our cheeks and chins to give us a chance to be creative with it. Not merely tolerate your hair and just comb it just to get it out of the way, but to use it as a personal expression of yourself; a statement, if you like. Let it bring out your individual self in a creative way. Be a hairy artist!

I have a healthy self-image, but I have never liked my hair, that is, my top hair, for it is straight and a dull blond. It does not allow me to do anything creative with it. So I had a perm for some years, but that apparently reduced my status among my peers as a “wild guy,” not respectable.  That’s when I discovered that status is important to me, in terms of respect more than pride. Then, when the price kept increasing, I decided to give it up, but I still kind of mourn its loss. As a result, my beard has become more precious to me. My hair just sits there on top, firmly restrained in its rebellious nature by tons of gel and  mouse.

I have three additional reasons for my beard, none of which seem to have surfaced in the research reports. The first is a genuinely pious reason. As a child I used to sit on my mother’s lap as she read from a children’s Bible full of pictures of bearded men—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and the rest of them all sported beards. As a child I decided that I would grow a beard when I grew up to look like these holy venerables and get used to the beard world that I would undoubtedly meet in the next life, in Heaven. So, partially to identify with these saints, to honour them; partially to get myself in psychological shape for the next life.

Secondly, I have an underchin. Underchins don’t look very nice. So, I hide mine behind a beard!  Very simple. No one would know about that situation if my dear wife would cease telling people about it! But as she relishes telling people about my underchin, all my friends are aware of it. All my pleas to her to stop that story are of no avail with her!  She just keeps embarrassing me with that story.  By the way, do you recognize any humour in my telling you this underchin story?  I myself originally came up with this story just to be funny, but her many repetitions have taken the fun out of it for me! But for the rest, I love her.

There is a third and last reason for my beard, particularly its shape: a handlebar and a pointed chintuft. It apparently gives me a distinguished look not only but also humorous.  Here the twain meet: status and humour. I have a wild sense of humour and love to make people smile—and that’s what my beard does to people on the street. So many people on the street have negative facial expressions or just none at all, just blank, but my constellation of facial hair brings out the smiles and I love that. 

Never thought I could write 1000 words just on the topic of beards!  Today, I did it!  And I’m not even finished. Could tell you a couple of humorous stories on the subject. Alas, a 1000+ is enough for one day. Hope you enjoyed reading it.  Have a beardy day!