Monday, June 06, 2005
Stumbling Into Someone Else's Nightmare
I was embarrassed in front of one million listeners by a man in the holy doldrums. I walked into it as a blind, rookie author. I had no idea you could stumble into another man’s nightmare. Blackness surrounds you. Just a voice out there.
I could not see his face. I only heard his voice booming deep, roaring into the noon hour of a metropolitan city with the wattage to reach one million listeners.
It was a high-spirited AM radio Christian talk show. He never told me what he was trying to prove. They never talk to you.
The publicist books the interview. Then you call, and they say, “Okay, you are up after the break.” Then this person is gone. Now the commercial break is in your ear. You are listening.
The silver-throated announcer is telling about some type of weight loss gimmick. Then you hear your name. Then they greet you. You have no clue what questions they are going to ask.
They have your bio and other stuff about your book. It is there in front of you. You have prepared. You have typed up an exhaustive list of possible questions and their answers just in case the announcer asks. You are ready.
Then he drives a question into the interview that has nothing to do with your book. That’s okay. You’ve been trained. Just turn the conversation back to the book.
Use what your publicist called “bridging.” Just say, “Good question, and what I’ve always thought is . . .” You did this. Way to go! Control is back in your corner.
Then he does it again. He rams the same type question into the interview. You lose control. You give him what he wants. He wants to drill your butt. Hang you like meat and use you as a punching bag through the lunch hour. You allow him to do it.
You are mad at yourself. But he has you in deep. You must answer the question. You try. You are nervous—thinking about all of those houses, cars, and workplaces that are listening.
He wants to know why God allows pain and suffering. You are not C.S. Lewis. Yes, you listened in seminary the day the professor covered this material. You even say, “I learned in seminary that God allows freewill.” You say this hoping it will shut him up. You placed the authority somewhere else besides your book. This can be good, hopefully.
But he shoots it down. He says, “Sure, God gives freewill. But there has to be more. Does God allow suffering?” So again, you try to be the perfect guest, even though you know he’s taking you down the wrong road.
You assume he’s right by doing so. You give him the answer you think he is looking for. Then he says, “Now give me something concrete for my listeners.” And you are trying. Really, you are.
You feel your mouth getting dry. Your tongue is thick. You stutter every other word. You are trying hard to be the perfect guest. But you realize this guy doesn’t want a perfect guest. He wants a scapegoat, someone to nail because he cannot nail God and get away with it.
So you are a good subject. You wrote a book about God. And he keeps hammering until the thirty minutes have gone by, and he says your name as if you were a sorry opponent in the lunch hour war.
Then he says the name of your book. Now he is gone. The line goes dead. That’s it. Nothing else from him. You hang up. You are blistered. Your butt is chapped.
He made a fool out of you. Why did he hammer you about God and the problem of pain? You write on your sheet—“Add something about God and the problem of pain.”
In Annie Dillard’s book, For the Time Being, she says a Rabbi taught an interesting solution to the problem of pain and evil being in the world.
The Rabbi said that God punishes good people in this short life, for their few sins, and rewards them eternally in the world to come. Similarly, God rewards evildoers in this short life for their few good deeds, and punishes them eternally in the world to come.
This is hard to swallow. I don’t know if Mr. Radio Personality would have even received such a great answer. It’s plausible. Maybe he would have. I don’t know.
But I learned something about Mr. Radio Personality. I discovered it after the interview. He had a wound. Maybe even bitterness. Yes, probably bitterness, and much confusion.
Because Mr. Radio Personality had suffered the loss of a child, and the reason he wanted to know if God allowed suffering is because he could not reconcile it in his mind. Would a loving God take a child? This may have been his struggle. I don’t know.
I wish I would have known beforehand. Maybe I would have responded differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so concerned about how I sounded and more sensitive to his pain.
This is all we can hope for from others—sensitivity to our pain. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” The keys of the kingdom lie here. But I cannot always pick them up. I’m too worried about my door, my keyhole, my destiny.
Now I understand something about Mr. Radio Personality that wish I didn’t. I’m having a hard time with it. Even now, I feel guilty. I look guilty. Seem guilty. I have two beautiful daughters.
I can’t imagine. I do not want to be Mr. Radio Personality. But guilt drives me anyway. Bad memories stalk everyone’s future. We walk around with secret feelings of unworthiness.
www.stofel.com
------------------------------------------
Something New. Robert is writing a novel on a blog. To visit the blog, click the link: http://ablogofregrets.blogspot.com/
I could not see his face. I only heard his voice booming deep, roaring into the noon hour of a metropolitan city with the wattage to reach one million listeners.
It was a high-spirited AM radio Christian talk show. He never told me what he was trying to prove. They never talk to you.
The publicist books the interview. Then you call, and they say, “Okay, you are up after the break.” Then this person is gone. Now the commercial break is in your ear. You are listening.
The silver-throated announcer is telling about some type of weight loss gimmick. Then you hear your name. Then they greet you. You have no clue what questions they are going to ask.
They have your bio and other stuff about your book. It is there in front of you. You have prepared. You have typed up an exhaustive list of possible questions and their answers just in case the announcer asks. You are ready.
Then he drives a question into the interview that has nothing to do with your book. That’s okay. You’ve been trained. Just turn the conversation back to the book.
Use what your publicist called “bridging.” Just say, “Good question, and what I’ve always thought is . . .” You did this. Way to go! Control is back in your corner.
Then he does it again. He rams the same type question into the interview. You lose control. You give him what he wants. He wants to drill your butt. Hang you like meat and use you as a punching bag through the lunch hour. You allow him to do it.
You are mad at yourself. But he has you in deep. You must answer the question. You try. You are nervous—thinking about all of those houses, cars, and workplaces that are listening.
He wants to know why God allows pain and suffering. You are not C.S. Lewis. Yes, you listened in seminary the day the professor covered this material. You even say, “I learned in seminary that God allows freewill.” You say this hoping it will shut him up. You placed the authority somewhere else besides your book. This can be good, hopefully.
But he shoots it down. He says, “Sure, God gives freewill. But there has to be more. Does God allow suffering?” So again, you try to be the perfect guest, even though you know he’s taking you down the wrong road.
You assume he’s right by doing so. You give him the answer you think he is looking for. Then he says, “Now give me something concrete for my listeners.” And you are trying. Really, you are.
You feel your mouth getting dry. Your tongue is thick. You stutter every other word. You are trying hard to be the perfect guest. But you realize this guy doesn’t want a perfect guest. He wants a scapegoat, someone to nail because he cannot nail God and get away with it.
So you are a good subject. You wrote a book about God. And he keeps hammering until the thirty minutes have gone by, and he says your name as if you were a sorry opponent in the lunch hour war.
Then he says the name of your book. Now he is gone. The line goes dead. That’s it. Nothing else from him. You hang up. You are blistered. Your butt is chapped.
He made a fool out of you. Why did he hammer you about God and the problem of pain? You write on your sheet—“Add something about God and the problem of pain.”
In Annie Dillard’s book, For the Time Being, she says a Rabbi taught an interesting solution to the problem of pain and evil being in the world.
The Rabbi said that God punishes good people in this short life, for their few sins, and rewards them eternally in the world to come. Similarly, God rewards evildoers in this short life for their few good deeds, and punishes them eternally in the world to come.
This is hard to swallow. I don’t know if Mr. Radio Personality would have even received such a great answer. It’s plausible. Maybe he would have. I don’t know.
But I learned something about Mr. Radio Personality. I discovered it after the interview. He had a wound. Maybe even bitterness. Yes, probably bitterness, and much confusion.
Because Mr. Radio Personality had suffered the loss of a child, and the reason he wanted to know if God allowed suffering is because he could not reconcile it in his mind. Would a loving God take a child? This may have been his struggle. I don’t know.
I wish I would have known beforehand. Maybe I would have responded differently. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so concerned about how I sounded and more sensitive to his pain.
This is all we can hope for from others—sensitivity to our pain. “Love your neighbor as yourself.” The keys of the kingdom lie here. But I cannot always pick them up. I’m too worried about my door, my keyhole, my destiny.
Now I understand something about Mr. Radio Personality that wish I didn’t. I’m having a hard time with it. Even now, I feel guilty. I look guilty. Seem guilty. I have two beautiful daughters.
I can’t imagine. I do not want to be Mr. Radio Personality. But guilt drives me anyway. Bad memories stalk everyone’s future. We walk around with secret feelings of unworthiness.
www.stofel.com
------------------------------------------
Something New. Robert is writing a novel on a blog. To visit the blog, click the link: http://ablogofregrets.blogspot.com/
© 2007 by Robert Stofel