Before presents, the family gathered around the coffee table still in PJs with cranberry scones, coffee, and Charlie Brown. Even Banjo--the Christmas Cat adopted into the Shorb family a year ago--joined in.
I loved Peanuts as a kid, and now that I'm older, I continue to marvel at the thoughtful work of Charles Schulz.
I did have quite a few more advent reflections in mind, but life has been seriously interrupted. More on that another time, and until then, here's a quick one courtesy of mewithoutYou, a nice little sweet rock song that is one of the most poetic advent reflections I've ever encountered.
the horse's hay beneath his head our Lord was born to a manger bed that all whose wells run dry could drink of his supply
to keep him warm the sheep drew near, so grateful for his coming here: "You come with news of grace, come to take my place!"
the donkey whispered in his ear: "Child, in thirty-some-odd years, you'll ride someone who looks like me (untriumphantly)."
while the cardinals warbled a joyful song: "He'll make right what man made wrong, bringing low the hills, that the valley might be filled!"
then "Child," asked the birds, "well aren't they lovely words we sing?" the tiny Baby lay there without saying anything.
at a distance stood a mangy goat with crooked teeth and a matted coat, weary eyes and worn, chipped and twisted horns
thinking: "Maybe I'll make friends someday with the cows in the pens and the rambouillet, but for now I'll keep away -- I got nothin' smart to say."
but there's a sign on the barn in the Cabbagetown: "When the rain picks up and the sun goes down, Sinner, Come Inside! With No Money, Come and Buy! No clever talk nor gift to bring requires our lowly, lovely king, come, all emptyhanded, you don't need anything!"
the night was cool and clear as glass with a sneaking snake in the garden grass, Deep cried out to Deep, the disciples fast asleep.
The snake perked up when he heard you ask: "if You're willing that this cup might pass I could find my way back home, maybe start a family all my own... but does not the Father guide the Son? not my will but Yours be done! what else here to do? what else me but You?"
and the snake who'd held the world, a stick, a carrot and a string was crushed beneath the foot of Your not wanting anything.
1. The other day, when assigning reading in The Phantom Tollbooth for homework, several students objected by saying, "We HATE reading this book!" We finished the book together today, and in what was supposed to be a moment of sobering and contemplative closure, students couldn't end it fast enough with obnoxious sighs of relief as if to say, "FINALLY!" Then, several of them asked immediately if they could turn the book in, as if they couldn't wait to get it out of their sight. (Of course, the ironic thing is that the whole point of the book is the transformation of a boy who starts out this way--quite hostile towards reading and learning of any sort.)
2. I put on Sufjan's Christmas music as we worked on a small project. They giggled and scoffed as soon as he came on. They called him "The Creepy Guy," I guess because that's how they felt about his whispery voice and all the oboes. Then they called him "a copycat" because he was only playing Christmas carols that he didn't write. Oooooooo, these kids know how to get on my bad side quick.
I've already mentioned how much I've enjoyed reading The Phantom Tollbooth together with my class. This is the first time I've taught reading, so it's the first time I've read this book, and I'm pretty sure it's safe to say I'm loving it way more than they are.
It's a book that loves the pursuit of learning and enjoys words. Most of its charm comes from puns and a good play on words, taking idioms literally rather than their intended meaning.
When Milo is transported to this strange world, he quickly discovers the backstory that creates the major conflict of the book. A king sends out his two sons to expand his kingdom, but they grow to hate each other and become enemies. The two princesses, Rhyme and Reason, are the arbitrators that make sense of every argument; they are fair, reasonable, and just, and in this they bring order and peace and rightness.
When the brothers can no longer compromise, they banish Rhyme and Reason to the Castle in the Air (the last thing they ever agreed upon), and since then, there is endless conflict in the land.
I knew there was some significant allegory in all of this, whether intentional or not. But it wasn't until we sang the second verse of "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" in chapel that it really hit me.
O come, Thou Wisdom from on high, And order all things far and nigh; To us the path of knowledge show, And cause us in her ways to go.
We need a little bit of Rhyme and Reason in our own world today. We need to be shown what is right and true, what is fair and just. We need someone to settle our arguments, end our conflicts. We need peace and order. We need a more complete Wisdom. We're waiting.
After chapel, we came back to the classroom and were discussing a few things we had just read in one of the chapters. One boy drew our attention to this particular passage:
"Milo tried very hard to understand all the things he'd been told, and all the things he'd seen, and, as he spoke, one curious thing still bothered him. 'Why is it,' he said quietly, 'that quite often even the things which are correct just don't seem to be right?'
A look of deep melancholy crossed the Mathemagician's face and his eyes grew moist with sadness. Everything was silent, and it was several minutes before he was able to reply at all.
'How very true,' he sobbed, supporting himself on the staff. 'It has been that way since Rhyme and Reason were banished.'"
The first time I read this, I sped on without giving it further thought, so I was quite thankful this boy brought it up. Because Milo is on to something quite significant here. In this life, most things that are true and right run contrary to the ways of the world. They are counter intuitive, upside-down, hidden from view. They take some seeking out, and they won't seem right to everyone else until Rhyme and Reason are finally with us.
But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. 1 Corinthians 1:27-29
In the miracle of the incarnation, we received a foretaste, a glimpse of that Rhyme and Reason we had been waiting for. In Him we receive a wisdom that helps us and guides us as we seek out the hidden truth. And now, we wait for its full fruition, its complete revelation, its final release from the Castle in the Air, as we wrestle with this tension of the Already/Not Yet Kingdom.
So, on Monday night, we went down to Philly and Did, Made, Said, Thought. It was a pretty great show in the sanctuary of the First Unitarian Church. I wasn't really disappointed. Do Make Say Think has been making music for 13 years, and it shows. Their technical excellence and intricate fusion of genres makes them stand out in a crowd of trend-passed post-rock bands. They were pretty impressive in every way.
But their bass player stole the show, and not really with his bass playing. No, he opened the evening with a half hour of what he called "a science experiment" that most of us could have listened to for the rest of the night. His name is Charles Spearin, and he decided to record interviews with all of his Toronto neighbors. Among them: a Jamaican woman, a Trinidadian man, a 6-year-old who doesn't seem too fond of school, a woman who's been deaf from birth, his 3-year-old daughter crying, and several others.
Once interviewed, he listened to the recordings for natural melodies and rhythms in their inflection and speech patterns. Then, he put it to music, creating songs out of their spoken words.
It was unlike anything I had ever heard. It was a total surprise. The musicians were spot on in their mimicry; the resulting compositions were at times whimsical, at times sobering, but completely fascinating, captivating, and inspiring.
He calls it The Happiness Project, and its feature spokeswoman is Mrs. Morris, the Jamaican who confidently declares in her accent, "Happiness is love...You've got to love people." (She's played by the tenor saxophone.)
The happiest moment is probably when the 6-year-old stutter is turned into one funky and infectious jazz rhythm.
The most affecting moment is when the woman describing her cochlear implant, giving her the ability to hear for the first time, says, "All of a sudden I found my body moving inside," and the slow drums kick in on their 7/4 rhythm as the keyboard follows along and the rest of the instruments join and build in bliss, as if you too really were hearing--with your whole body--for the first time.
And of course, I love that these neighbors now get the chance to travel the world in a sense, city by city, sharing their stories and wisdom with everyone they encounter.
I sat there soaking it in, confident that I had never witnessed such a life-affirming project with its interests centered so wholly on others. Where most artistry can quickly become an idol of self-indulgence, this first put the spotlight on the ordinary people all around us, then seemed to be an object of praise, bringing to light the song God has put in the heart of each human being.
Yes, I sat and gave praise. I have no reason to believe Charles Spearin is a follower of Christ, but does that mean he cannot bring glory to God? In my mind, God was glorified, perhaps not explicitly, but his image was displayed both in the most outrageous creative ideas he gives to his artists and in the way they take those ideas and use them to love others and spread some happiness. His fingerprints are left everywhere.
Hear some music over here. But track down the song "Vanessa" if you can.
It was lunch time. I was sitting with the teachers, we were joking, telling funny stories, watching kids and laughing.
A boy approached the table with some caution and a big grin. He said to me, "Mr. Shorb, it's so good to see you happy! You don't laugh very much, and it's just really good to see you having such a good time over here!"
Of course, this got me laughing even more. "Well thank you. It's a heartwarming sight, huh? You're heart is warmed?"
"Definitely. I'm really happy for you."
What a sweetheart. Not sure what it says about me, but it was nice for him to notice. Good empathy!
On the way to recess, I did my little jump-and-a-kick-of-the-heels move back and forth all the way down the path, yelling "I'm happy!" over and over. The class thought this was the most amazing thing they had ever seen. They started laughing uncontrollably and screaming and running towards the playground in a fit of glee.
Those reviews and articles I linked to had me thinking an awful lot. Then it dawned on me as I drove to work, that I was worrying about a question no one was asking.
Some movie reviewers had me convinced that parents are really worried about what movies their kids see, dragging me into a debate on what's appropriate for children and what's not. While that might be somewhat more of the case in Christian circles, it finally dawned on me that very few parents are losing sleep over the matter. (Maybe the debate was just wishful thinking?)
Year after year, I'm continually surprised which movies my 10 and 11 year old students are seeing. Of course, all the girls are seeing the Twilight movies, and in the recent past all the boys have said The Dark Knight is their favorite. Then there were the two boys last year who were giggling about what they saw in Tropic Thunder.
I did a quick poll of my classroom after this realization. Of the 16 kids present, 10 went to the movies. Three saw New Moon, three saw Blind Side, three saw Old Dogs, and one saw Fantastic Mr. Fox. Not all that informative, but I'll let you draw your own conclusions.
If parents are worried about Where the Wild Things Are or Fantastic Mr. Fox, I would venture to say it's not because of frightening or inappropriate content (because what could be more frightening than the Joker in Dark Knight?!), it's probably because the movies are outside of their typical box, and they're left trying to make sense of it all.
Yes, both movies are probably targeted moreso towards adults, and that's probably what sparked this entire debate anyway, but then we're forgetting that so are most of the allegories and metaphors and rich themes within quality children's literature (like The Phantom Tollbooth, which I'm going to praise here very soon). That's what plumbs the depths of a young person's imagination and keeps them ready to learn, reaching for more.
The real issue here is not over-protective parents (although that's an interesting and pertinent conversation for another time). The issue is our discomfort with the blurry line between what's for kids and what's for adults. It's not as clear as we want it to be, and we haven't gotten used to the fact that something can very easily be for BOTH at the SAME TIME, even without resorting to slapstick comedy or sexual innuendos.
Cue CS Lewis: "To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up."
And this will be the last word I have to say on the topic. Promise.
He heard the words drag out. He felt them pull out of his mouth like freight cars, jangling, backing up on each other, grating to a halt, sliding, clinching back, jarring, and then suddenly stopping as roughly as they had begun. It was over. --Flannery O'Connor, "The Barber"
Before presents, the family gathered around the coffee table still in PJs with cranberry scones, coffee, and Charlie Brown. Even Banjo--the Christmas Cat adopted into the Shorb family a year ago--joined in.
