The kid only ever wants to read two stories in his Bible: the death of Christ and the resurrection of Christ. I am awfully reluctant to overspiritualize something like this, and so, I believe the reasons include the following:
The crown of thorns. It was February or March when he strayed from the playground into some flower beds and ended up tripping. His face landed on a rose bush and the thorns left several fairly deep scratches on his cheek that started bleeding right away. It hurt. We cleaned him up at home, which stung in its own right, and finished with a few band aids. We read the story by chance the next night, and when the crown was mentioned he immediately interrupted: "Thorns? Thorns? Hurt my cheek! Ouch!" as he pointed to the illustration.
Boo Boos. Relatedly, there's a picture of Jesus with a few "boo boos," and each time without fail it's, "Lotsa boo boos! Put a band aid on it! Needa band aid!"
The soldiers. He calls them "shoulders." What boy doesn't like them? Especially when they're the ones that get to roll the rock. Which brings us to the next point.
The big rock being rolled. The kid loves rocks. And this is a big one. And it gets rolled twice. And maybe it's the words "rock and roll" that help too, because he has "rock and roll" pajamas that he loves. The other day we went to hear a guy at the library playing some blues music in English. The kid was soaking it up, probably because it's the first he's heard English in public for quite some time. He was listening to the lyrics really intently and repeating any familiar word he could detect. When he heard the guy sing, "like a rolling stone" he got really excited and exclaimed, "Rolling stone?!? Like Jesus?!? Rolling the big stone away?!?"
Mary running and jumping. Each day we ask him, "What did you do at school today?" Like a nonchalant teenager who gives a trite answer just to blow off his parents, each day he has the same response, "Ummm...running...and jumping." The kid loves to run and jump, apparently. And apparently so did Mary after she found out Jesus had risen from the dead.
Lately he's been into asking if various people "like" things, like his own little survey or something. When he got a new toy piano, he went on, "I like pianos. You like pianos? Mama likes pianos? Uncle Wes likes pianos?" So tonight, when I tried explaining that Jesus carried his cross and died because loves us, he continued the train of thought, "Jesus loves you? Jesus loves Mama? Jesus loves Banjo?"
Then finally, his ears perked at a different part of the story, where it says Jesus cries out to his "Papa." He interrupted: "His papa? Nate his papa? Nate? Like you, papa?"
Well, that's enough to put a lump in your throat and realize just how big your responsibility is in so many different ways. Thanks, kid.
My staggering response was something like this: "No, no. His papa is God. Your papa is Nate. But God can be our papa too, and he's a much better one than I am."
Maybe the story fascinates simply because it naturally evokes so many questions. If we talk about this guy all the time, why is he dying? If he was such a good person, why is he killed? And who is his Papa?
On one hand, a two year old who has cut his face on a thorn bush and rolled stones can understand it. On the other hand, it leaves an impression that, well, something bigger is going on here. I guess it reminds me of something Roger Ebert said about a movie I liked: "A good story for children should suggest a hidden dimension, and that dimension of course is the lifetime still ahead of them."
If there are things here "into which angels long to look," surely it will capture the attention of a childlike spirit too.
Monday, May 30, 2011
War Scene
I've been trying to wrap my head around that imminent day, that impending moment that will arrive like a thief in the night in late June. I'm not predicting the rapture, I'm referring to the labor.
I asked a friend about it recently. He told me quite simply that it would be like a war zone.
I realized then for the first time that I have never once heard a man talk about what exactly went down behind those hospital doors. It's a mystery, almost as if it's never happened. Repressed, denied, ignored. They might be the toughest patriarch you can imagine, but all dads are unnervingly silent about that event, indeed resembling something like a shell-shocked soldier returning from war, unable to talk about his experience, wrestling the rest of his life with post-traumatic stress syndrome.
It's an uncanny metaphor.
I asked a friend about it recently. He told me quite simply that it would be like a war zone.
I realized then for the first time that I have never once heard a man talk about what exactly went down behind those hospital doors. It's a mystery, almost as if it's never happened. Repressed, denied, ignored. They might be the toughest patriarch you can imagine, but all dads are unnervingly silent about that event, indeed resembling something like a shell-shocked soldier returning from war, unable to talk about his experience, wrestling the rest of his life with post-traumatic stress syndrome.
It's an uncanny metaphor.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
déjà vu
First, a French lesson: déjà vu means "already seen."
Not even a year and a half ago, I was unexpectedly building a crib in my house. My father-in-law helped.
A week ago, I was building a crib again, in some ways expected, other ways not quite. This time, an-almost-three-year-old helped.
I try not to think about my life too much. It's a little insane. Not that I have any complaints, not at all. A guy like me just has a tendency to hyperventilate with things like this, that's all.
Not even a year and a half ago, I was unexpectedly building a crib in my house. My father-in-law helped.
A week ago, I was building a crib again, in some ways expected, other ways not quite. This time, an-almost-three-year-old helped.
I try not to think about my life too much. It's a little insane. Not that I have any complaints, not at all. A guy like me just has a tendency to hyperventilate with things like this, that's all.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
touché
Wesley made a perfect, loving spoof on some of the videos I've been making, reminding me that--as long as these two are living there, anyway--Hellertown has just as much charm as Paris.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Oh, Lake
I still love you. Stay weird.
Haven't found a record store yet to buy your new album, but I hope to someday soon.
When will you tour Europe? See you soon?
xoxo.
Haven't found a record store yet to buy your new album, but I hope to someday soon.
When will you tour Europe? See you soon?
xoxo.
LAKE "Within/Without" from Howdy Friend on Vimeo.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
These Movie Theaters are Strict
E and I went to our first movie together the other night. We saw Woody Allen's latest, Midnight in Paris, which was a good bit of fun. There's plenty I could say about the whole night, but I will leave you with just this short anecdote.
The man who took our tickets, if I understood his French correctly, gave E a strict order before entering:
"No giving birth in the theater!"
The man who took our tickets, if I understood his French correctly, gave E a strict order before entering:
"No giving birth in the theater!"
How To Buy A Car in France
1. Do the research. Narrow your choices.
2. Contact the person with the car and set up a rendez-vous.
3. Let your wife test-drive, carefully because the owner is in the car with you, and try to act like it's all no sweat even though you've never driven in this country, you haven't driven period in 4 months, and you haven't driven stick in several years.
4. Call two days later and tell the person you want the car. Have them agree to hold it for you.
5. Wait several days for money to be deposited into your US bank account.
6. Wait another week for the money to transfer to your French bank account.
7. Go to the bank to ask for a bank check. Have them tell you to go to another branch.
8. Wait three days for the bank to be open again, go to the new branch and ask for a bank check. Have them tell you to go back to your original branch.
9. Have your director call the bank since you don't know how to yell in French yet.
10. Pray before going to the bank for the third time...I'll learn this lesson eventually, but it always seems to help when the system here keeps slamming doors in your face. When you arrive, have the manager greet you at the door since he got a call from headquarters about you. He'll order the bank check right away and explain everything you need to know about car insurance.
11. Spend the day trying to make sense of car insurance in a second language, comparing, searching for the best option.
12. Go back to the second bank on the next day to pick up the bank check.
13. Fix the rendezvous with the owner for when she is free, four days later. Give her the phone number to your bank so she can make sure you're not trying to give her a bad check.
14. Invite the couple selling the car into your home to sign the papers.
15. Hope your car doesn't get vandalized or stolen during the night and call the insurance company the next day.
16. Three weeks later, you can drive the car, carefully, because you still technically don't know how to drive in this country, but it's still not technically completely yours until you go and get your very own title in your name, which is a whole beautiful process of its own, involving even more forms and even more photocopies...
Now that you've gotten a taste of this ordeal, I'll spare you the details on that part of the process and call it quits here (unless it turns out to be awful or embarrassing).
The good news is: we can drive to the grocery store now, and when Erica goes into labor, she won't have to walk to the hospital.
2. Contact the person with the car and set up a rendez-vous.
3. Let your wife test-drive, carefully because the owner is in the car with you, and try to act like it's all no sweat even though you've never driven in this country, you haven't driven period in 4 months, and you haven't driven stick in several years.
4. Call two days later and tell the person you want the car. Have them agree to hold it for you.
5. Wait several days for money to be deposited into your US bank account.
6. Wait another week for the money to transfer to your French bank account.
7. Go to the bank to ask for a bank check. Have them tell you to go to another branch.
8. Wait three days for the bank to be open again, go to the new branch and ask for a bank check. Have them tell you to go back to your original branch.
9. Have your director call the bank since you don't know how to yell in French yet.
10. Pray before going to the bank for the third time...I'll learn this lesson eventually, but it always seems to help when the system here keeps slamming doors in your face. When you arrive, have the manager greet you at the door since he got a call from headquarters about you. He'll order the bank check right away and explain everything you need to know about car insurance.
11. Spend the day trying to make sense of car insurance in a second language, comparing, searching for the best option.
12. Go back to the second bank on the next day to pick up the bank check.
13. Fix the rendezvous with the owner for when she is free, four days later. Give her the phone number to your bank so she can make sure you're not trying to give her a bad check.
14. Invite the couple selling the car into your home to sign the papers.
15. Hope your car doesn't get vandalized or stolen during the night and call the insurance company the next day.
16. Three weeks later, you can drive the car, carefully, because you still technically don't know how to drive in this country, but it's still not technically completely yours until you go and get your very own title in your name, which is a whole beautiful process of its own, involving even more forms and even more photocopies...
Now that you've gotten a taste of this ordeal, I'll spare you the details on that part of the process and call it quits here (unless it turns out to be awful or embarrassing).
The good news is: we can drive to the grocery store now, and when Erica goes into labor, she won't have to walk to the hospital.
On Ending the World
We haven't heard much about Harold Camping over here, haven't seen any billboards for ourselves. We've deduced what we know from Facebook status updates (such a source of news!) and a few articles on BBC.
A funny thing, this predicting the end of the world. The followers believe and hope he's right, trying to ignore that nagging suspicion. The scoffers mock and hope he's wrong, trying to ignore that tiny question: "But what if..?" The day after, the believers feel bewildered, confused, perhaps foolish, and the rest shake their heads with laughter and feel that much more invincible.
But it doesn't seem like too many people were actually asking, "But what if?" Christians are quick, and rightly so, to point out that Jesus taught absolutely no one--including angels and Jesus himself!--knows when he will return. But I wonder if giving that correction is actually a way to just avoid worry or reflection and keep on living as we always have.
In our reaction to a man like Camping, I get the sense we don't expect Jesus to return any time soon and maybe we don't even want him to return, at least not yet. Perhaps what I'm trying to say is this: in blowing off Camping, we need to make sure we are not blowing off the second coming of Christ.
Jesus taught a lot more than "No one knows when." In the same teaching, he urges his followers to keep watch, be alert, stay awake, and prepare oneself with expectation. Our easy mockery doesn't make us sound like a people who are ready and waiting.
Those trite Hallmark quotes aren't too far off from what Jesus said: "Live every day like it's your last." And yet few of us succeed in doing so. Living with an expectancy in Christ's return causes some re-prioritizing, a difference in living. It's easier to hedge our bets.
I'm tempted to say God didn't come back on the 21st just to prove Camping wrong. But part of me wishes he would have come back just to prove the rest of us wrong. Maybe he'll come back today to prove all of us wrong. The truth is, if no one knows, then Camping can't know for sure he's coming on the 21st. But the rest of us can't know for sure he's NOT coming on the 21st.
Am I coming to Camping's defense? Not at all, really. If he studies the Bible as much as he says he does, he should know better. But perhaps we could all in some way learn from his sense of expectancy and anticipation.
And perhaps most of all, it's all a sign that our eschatology is weak and uninspiring. With there being so much we can't know, I wonder if we've resigned to not knowing or believing anything at all.
(On a different note, it would have been a lot of fun to see Sufjan Stevens in Netherlands last night, listening to "Seven Swans" and other apocalyptic songs on the night the world's supposed to end.)
A funny thing, this predicting the end of the world. The followers believe and hope he's right, trying to ignore that nagging suspicion. The scoffers mock and hope he's wrong, trying to ignore that tiny question: "But what if..?" The day after, the believers feel bewildered, confused, perhaps foolish, and the rest shake their heads with laughter and feel that much more invincible.
But it doesn't seem like too many people were actually asking, "But what if?" Christians are quick, and rightly so, to point out that Jesus taught absolutely no one--including angels and Jesus himself!--knows when he will return. But I wonder if giving that correction is actually a way to just avoid worry or reflection and keep on living as we always have.
In our reaction to a man like Camping, I get the sense we don't expect Jesus to return any time soon and maybe we don't even want him to return, at least not yet. Perhaps what I'm trying to say is this: in blowing off Camping, we need to make sure we are not blowing off the second coming of Christ.
Jesus taught a lot more than "No one knows when." In the same teaching, he urges his followers to keep watch, be alert, stay awake, and prepare oneself with expectation. Our easy mockery doesn't make us sound like a people who are ready and waiting.
Those trite Hallmark quotes aren't too far off from what Jesus said: "Live every day like it's your last." And yet few of us succeed in doing so. Living with an expectancy in Christ's return causes some re-prioritizing, a difference in living. It's easier to hedge our bets.
I'm tempted to say God didn't come back on the 21st just to prove Camping wrong. But part of me wishes he would have come back just to prove the rest of us wrong. Maybe he'll come back today to prove all of us wrong. The truth is, if no one knows, then Camping can't know for sure he's coming on the 21st. But the rest of us can't know for sure he's NOT coming on the 21st.
Am I coming to Camping's defense? Not at all, really. If he studies the Bible as much as he says he does, he should know better. But perhaps we could all in some way learn from his sense of expectancy and anticipation.
And perhaps most of all, it's all a sign that our eschatology is weak and uninspiring. With there being so much we can't know, I wonder if we've resigned to not knowing or believing anything at all.
(On a different note, it would have been a lot of fun to see Sufjan Stevens in Netherlands last night, listening to "Seven Swans" and other apocalyptic songs on the night the world's supposed to end.)
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Je m'appelle Sufjan
I am not unaware of the fact that adding the phrase "in Paris" to nearly any action makes it automatically sound a bit more glamorous, more exciting, more interesting. I haven't decided yet if it's a reality or if it's all in our heads.But take for instance the phrase: "I went to see Sufjan Stevens last night...in Paris."
It was really not much different from seeing him in Asheville, except that I rode the subway to get there and some of the English jokes went over the heads of those in the audience.
There were updated costumes, including the most breathtaking massive swan wings for the opener. The set list was mostly similar, but included the welcome addition of "I Want to Be Well" which was entirely as intense as you might imagine.
He joked about Waldorf Schools and ironing leaves between wax paper and not learning to read until 10th grade and I think I was the only person laughing.There were some interesting cultural nuances to observe...the way these Frenchmen chuckled at certain songs and in certain moments where I'm not sure Americans would, or the way they sang along in a foreign tongue like they understood the depth of what was being communicated.
Something about this album/show/extravaganza seems so perfectly and progressively creative. It made me think about how each new work Sufjan presents makes his past work look a bit trivial, even juvenile, or at least normal. Not that the albums lose their worth, not at all. But such entirely complete reinvention each time evokes a surprise for a moment, but then quickly feels entirely natural, and causes you to wonder what made the previous album so important and new and fresh at its time.
Of course, in this turn, it's over the top. In his own words, it's "too much, too much, too much." And that's intentional, all part of the design. To see him go from the stripped-down-play-every-instrument-myself Seven Swans to this complete chaos is just confounding. But it all leaves one wondering: what's next? Where does he go from here?
I have no doubt he'll find something just as creative, just as progessive. God bless him.
I love the intriguing tension in this current work of art: exploring that fine line between believing in/speaking about the supernatural and just plain being/sounding crazy. And while it is all presented in a manner of schizophrenic madness that is supposed to be somewhat humorous, it has oddly enough only served to affirm my belief in the return of Christ and make me eager for that day, as scary as it just might turn out to be.
And of course, every time I'm in the middle of thousands of people cheering as loudly as they can for this humble man, I can't help but chuckle to myself about helping to bring him to the student union at Taylor. I painted a banner for the Dining Commons that said "SUFJAN IS COMING" just to pique people's curiosity. I helped Jared copy and distribute reviews from Rolling Stone so that people would know he was a legitimate artist. He played his banjo by himself for a small group of people. His solo version of Seven Swans was somehow just as powerful as the one last night. It all was beautiful.
That's not me trying to earn scene points. (Although I do get a few, don't I?) That's me wondering just how in the world it must feel to be in his shoes, and being quite glad that he's getting the attention he deserves. There are not many artists like him out there today.
Bravo.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Oh So Quiet
I walked through my town tonight at 1:45 AM.
I didn't see a single car, a single bus, a single motorcycle.
It was the first time I heard the wind blowing through the trees here.
I scraped my foot across the ground and it echoed back and forth between buildings.
Not a single apartment light was on.
I imagined all the people we see during the day sleeping in their beds, snoring collectively.
We've got a lot in common when we're sleeping. Finally, we can agree on something. United. Much the same.
We're all a bit more feeble laying on our beds.
I didn't see a single car, a single bus, a single motorcycle.
It was the first time I heard the wind blowing through the trees here.
I scraped my foot across the ground and it echoed back and forth between buildings.
Not a single apartment light was on.
I imagined all the people we see during the day sleeping in their beds, snoring collectively.
We've got a lot in common when we're sleeping. Finally, we can agree on something. United. Much the same.
We're all a bit more feeble laying on our beds.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
An Open Letter to the Engineers of France
Dear Engineers of France,
You have done some pretty amazing things for your country. With some regularity, I marvel at your systems of transportation and architecture, for example. But with all due respect, please allow me to raise one concern. I have spent the better part of a day trying to fix my French toilet. I'm sure the flushing mechanism seemed like a good idea on paper, but in my humble opinion, it was poorly executed. Foolish, even.
I will admit that I have seen some worse flushing mechanisms in the United States. But I whole-heartedly affirm that I have indeed seen some that were much better.
I believe it would be wise to devote some attention to these matters. Preferably within the next few days. You are welcome to come to my apartment for a case study and beta-testing.
Sincerely yours.
You have done some pretty amazing things for your country. With some regularity, I marvel at your systems of transportation and architecture, for example. But with all due respect, please allow me to raise one concern. I have spent the better part of a day trying to fix my French toilet. I'm sure the flushing mechanism seemed like a good idea on paper, but in my humble opinion, it was poorly executed. Foolish, even.
I will admit that I have seen some worse flushing mechanisms in the United States. But I whole-heartedly affirm that I have indeed seen some that were much better.
I believe it would be wise to devote some attention to these matters. Preferably within the next few days. You are welcome to come to my apartment for a case study and beta-testing.
Sincerely yours.
Make Us Thankful For This
This promise has continued to captivate my attention: "There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions..."
This sounds like a comfort--lucky me!--a no-brainer. Leave one and get a hundredfold more. In the business world, that's a good profit, a wise investment.
But then we reach that tiny interjection that makes everyone do a double-take. "What was that? Did I hear you correctly?" Yes, with persecutions too. Not so much a no-brainer after all, and not for the weak of heart. There is determination here, a commitment, a perseverance. It's not a free ride.
(Why would we think that carrying a cross daily would be?)
I have to admit, there are days when I am quite tempted to say, "You know what? You can keep your hundred-fold family, God. The persecution doesn't seem worth it, and I was content with my original family anyway."
In my more sane and stable moments, though, while I can't deny those feelings, I must admit they're a bit short-sighted. Persecution is no fun, but it's not without its benefits, either. This is where several other authors join the conversation with a loud *AHEM*.
James: "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."
Peter: "In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."
Paul: "More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame..."
It's still tempting to say, "No, thank you," but here the offer becomes a little harder to refuse. The hundred-fold family doesn't come just with persecution, but then also with steadfastness, perfection, completion, rejoicing, a genuine faith, praise glory and honor to Jesus Christ, endurance, character, and hope. That sounds like a nice package, more of a blessing than you might have thought originally.
Still easier said then done. In the midst of real life, I find it hard to take comfort from James, Peter, and Paul. They knew from experience what they were talking about, but the way they present it here makes it all sound so heady or theoretical. Yeah, we can hear that trials produce those things--but it's still unpleasant. People like me with a low pain threshold are tempted to avoid it all together no matter what the promised benefits are, just like we do with exercise.
But again, on sane and stable days, I can admit the foolishness of avoidance. Because God, from the beginning of the fall of man, has never once wasted a trial. It might even be true to say it's his preferred method of working.
Enter Psalm 90, another passage occupying my thoughts lately. Most of it discusses the frailty of man in comparison to God's greatness, probably not the first place to turn for a pick me up: "You return man to dust...we are brought to an end by your anger...we bring our years to an end like a sigh..."
But it's followed by this simple prayer:
"Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
and for as many years as we have seen evil."
Here are the Israelites, stuck wandering in the desert for forty years, wondering what in the world their God was up to, wondering if he could in fact be trusted, if he was in fact good, and maybe most of all just trying to get through each day with some sort of smile, some sort of laughter or enjoyment, looking for silver linings and bright sides. All they can do is pray: "Satisfy us so that we can rejoice. Make us thankful for these years in the desert." We want to be happy but we don't feel like we have any reason to be. Help us.
God was not wasting those years in the desert. In fact, the people of Israel are eventually told exactly what he was up to:
"...And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart...And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna...that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD..."
Like us reading James and Peter and Paul, the Israelites know intellectually that God must be up to something, but that doesn't make it pleasant. Rejoicing in trials is not a natural response. It's tempting to resent, to falter, to give up and run the other way. And so the humble prayer: "Make us thankful for this."
And we know someone else who passed through a difficult time in the desert. Before his ministry begins, the Spirit leads Jesus into the desert for forty days, without food and water. I have a feeling he was reflecting on the Israelites similar experience, meditating on this same passage of scripture, and so he quotes it when being tempted: "Man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord..." as though he is saying "I'm being taught the same thing they were." It was this time in the desert that turns the theoretical into experiential, perhaps in some way giving him what was needed to face the even more serious trials and persecution coming three short years later.
This is the longest random spider-web of thoughts I've produced here in quite some time. I don't know if you'll be able to connect the dots with me or not. But I suppose what it all means is this: the theoretical is becoming experiential for me too.
This sounds like a comfort--lucky me!--a no-brainer. Leave one and get a hundredfold more. In the business world, that's a good profit, a wise investment.
But then we reach that tiny interjection that makes everyone do a double-take. "What was that? Did I hear you correctly?" Yes, with persecutions too. Not so much a no-brainer after all, and not for the weak of heart. There is determination here, a commitment, a perseverance. It's not a free ride.
(Why would we think that carrying a cross daily would be?)
I have to admit, there are days when I am quite tempted to say, "You know what? You can keep your hundred-fold family, God. The persecution doesn't seem worth it, and I was content with my original family anyway."
In my more sane and stable moments, though, while I can't deny those feelings, I must admit they're a bit short-sighted. Persecution is no fun, but it's not without its benefits, either. This is where several other authors join the conversation with a loud *AHEM*.
James: "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."
Peter: "In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."
Paul: "More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame..."
It's still tempting to say, "No, thank you," but here the offer becomes a little harder to refuse. The hundred-fold family doesn't come just with persecution, but then also with steadfastness, perfection, completion, rejoicing, a genuine faith, praise glory and honor to Jesus Christ, endurance, character, and hope. That sounds like a nice package, more of a blessing than you might have thought originally.
Still easier said then done. In the midst of real life, I find it hard to take comfort from James, Peter, and Paul. They knew from experience what they were talking about, but the way they present it here makes it all sound so heady or theoretical. Yeah, we can hear that trials produce those things--but it's still unpleasant. People like me with a low pain threshold are tempted to avoid it all together no matter what the promised benefits are, just like we do with exercise.
But again, on sane and stable days, I can admit the foolishness of avoidance. Because God, from the beginning of the fall of man, has never once wasted a trial. It might even be true to say it's his preferred method of working.
Enter Psalm 90, another passage occupying my thoughts lately. Most of it discusses the frailty of man in comparison to God's greatness, probably not the first place to turn for a pick me up: "You return man to dust...we are brought to an end by your anger...we bring our years to an end like a sigh..."
But it's followed by this simple prayer:
"Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
and for as many years as we have seen evil."
Here are the Israelites, stuck wandering in the desert for forty years, wondering what in the world their God was up to, wondering if he could in fact be trusted, if he was in fact good, and maybe most of all just trying to get through each day with some sort of smile, some sort of laughter or enjoyment, looking for silver linings and bright sides. All they can do is pray: "Satisfy us so that we can rejoice. Make us thankful for these years in the desert." We want to be happy but we don't feel like we have any reason to be. Help us.
God was not wasting those years in the desert. In fact, the people of Israel are eventually told exactly what he was up to:
"...And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart...And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna...that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD..."
Like us reading James and Peter and Paul, the Israelites know intellectually that God must be up to something, but that doesn't make it pleasant. Rejoicing in trials is not a natural response. It's tempting to resent, to falter, to give up and run the other way. And so the humble prayer: "Make us thankful for this."
And we know someone else who passed through a difficult time in the desert. Before his ministry begins, the Spirit leads Jesus into the desert for forty days, without food and water. I have a feeling he was reflecting on the Israelites similar experience, meditating on this same passage of scripture, and so he quotes it when being tempted: "Man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord..." as though he is saying "I'm being taught the same thing they were." It was this time in the desert that turns the theoretical into experiential, perhaps in some way giving him what was needed to face the even more serious trials and persecution coming three short years later.
This is the longest random spider-web of thoughts I've produced here in quite some time. I don't know if you'll be able to connect the dots with me or not. But I suppose what it all means is this: the theoretical is becoming experiential for me too.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Friday, May 06, 2011
Keeping Up With the Jean-Cleudes
Our balcony garden:
Their balcony garden:
[click to enlarge and do it justice]
Their balcony garden:
[click to enlarge and do it justice]Wednesday, May 04, 2011
And There Was Much Rejoicing In the Land
We heard the toilet lid hit porcelain and looked at each other with big panicked eyes. Erica went running but before she could arrive we heard the sound of little boy urine hitting the water. Music to our ears. And there he was, standing tall, taking care of business all by himself like he had been doing it all along.
...not long ago I would have scoffed at parents giving ridiculous potty updates via various social media outlets. I now understand their uncontainable jubilation.
...not long ago I would have scoffed at parents giving ridiculous potty updates via various social media outlets. I now understand their uncontainable jubilation.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
My Biopic
I occasionally like to play a little game that involves asking people which actors would star in the biopic on their lives.
I guess the next question is who would direct it.
My answer without hesitation is Wes Anderson. While I really don't think this little montage quite does him justice, it gives at least gives a good introduction and explains my reasoning.
And if the biopic never pans out, would someone please at least take note that I want Sparkplug Minuet played live at my funeral by an orchestra that includes as many friends as possible. It doesn't matter if that falls before or after the hymnsing, which should be led by the same orchestra.
I guess the next question is who would direct it.
My answer without hesitation is Wes Anderson. While I really don't think this little montage quite does him justice, it gives at least gives a good introduction and explains my reasoning.
And if the biopic never pans out, would someone please at least take note that I want Sparkplug Minuet played live at my funeral by an orchestra that includes as many friends as possible. It doesn't matter if that falls before or after the hymnsing, which should be led by the same orchestra.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Death
Like so many others out there, I find myself wanting to write something about today's big news. Our Venezuelan classmate told the news to our class this morning, the Frenchman was a little stunned, the Norwegian said he didn't believe it, some Americans smiled, and we went on with class.
We came home to read the news for ourselves, then started making judgement calls on responses we were seeing via Facebook status updates.
But "writing something" is obviously easier said than done. Any comments about a Christian response to the death of Bin Laden instantly lead to much bigger, tougher conversations on the intersection of government and foreign policy and God and Jesus and scripture and justice and mercy and retribution and peacemaking and reap-what-you-sow and turn-the-other-cheek, not to mention how emotionally charged the subject can get in light of the thousands of real people who have died senseless deaths all related in some way to this one most-wanted man.
Obviously, there are way too many disclaimers in this conversation for a guy like me to get anywhere close.
I cannot celebrate, because it's just one more death on top of deaths. I cannot rejoice in him getting what he deserves, because I've gotten away without getting what I deserve. There is no gloating, no bragging in death.
And yet I cannot be sorry, because in some sense it is in fact justice, a reap-what-you-sow sort of principle carried out by a government that is--like all authority, we're told--"instituted by God for our good." While I can't believe it's a cause for an all-out celebration, I think a strong case can be made that God is somehow made known in the midst of this.
And here I go, doing exactly what I said I couldn't and didn't want to do.
I guess the word I find most fitting is "somber," or maybe "sober," I'm not sure which.
And I'm still impressed with the fact that we're to "do justice" but "love kindness" and because that's such a tricky balance, in the midst of both we're to "walk humbly."
Meanwhile, we're left still waiting, still longing, for something a bit more complete and perfect in this already/not-yet kingdom of ours. Our hope has never been in the death of Bin Laden, because, contrary to what some people apparently believe, it does very, very little to actually heal what ails our world.
I felt myself resonating with this fellow named Justin McRoberts, thinking he succinctly put into words the general feeling I carried with me most of the day:
"...And yet, the christian narrative is one in which we await and long for the complete restoration/reconciliation of all things to God. Any other 'solution' to brokenness is second best and a form of brokenness itself.
We came home to read the news for ourselves, then started making judgement calls on responses we were seeing via Facebook status updates.
But "writing something" is obviously easier said than done. Any comments about a Christian response to the death of Bin Laden instantly lead to much bigger, tougher conversations on the intersection of government and foreign policy and God and Jesus and scripture and justice and mercy and retribution and peacemaking and reap-what-you-sow and turn-the-other-cheek, not to mention how emotionally charged the subject can get in light of the thousands of real people who have died senseless deaths all related in some way to this one most-wanted man.
Obviously, there are way too many disclaimers in this conversation for a guy like me to get anywhere close.
I cannot celebrate, because it's just one more death on top of deaths. I cannot rejoice in him getting what he deserves, because I've gotten away without getting what I deserve. There is no gloating, no bragging in death.
And yet I cannot be sorry, because in some sense it is in fact justice, a reap-what-you-sow sort of principle carried out by a government that is--like all authority, we're told--"instituted by God for our good." While I can't believe it's a cause for an all-out celebration, I think a strong case can be made that God is somehow made known in the midst of this.
And here I go, doing exactly what I said I couldn't and didn't want to do.
I guess the word I find most fitting is "somber," or maybe "sober," I'm not sure which.
And I'm still impressed with the fact that we're to "do justice" but "love kindness" and because that's such a tricky balance, in the midst of both we're to "walk humbly."
Meanwhile, we're left still waiting, still longing, for something a bit more complete and perfect in this already/not-yet kingdom of ours. Our hope has never been in the death of Bin Laden, because, contrary to what some people apparently believe, it does very, very little to actually heal what ails our world.
I felt myself resonating with this fellow named Justin McRoberts, thinking he succinctly put into words the general feeling I carried with me most of the day:
"...And yet, the christian narrative is one in which we await and long for the complete restoration/reconciliation of all things to God. Any other 'solution' to brokenness is second best and a form of brokenness itself.
Bin Laden’s death is one more death in a long chain of violence that began long before his birth and will continue long after his death. I hardly expect anyone in my social setting to sincerely lament his passing. I do not. But celebrating his death (or any death, really) is revealing of a profound misunderstanding of the nature of war, the nature of evil, the nature of violence, the nature of death and, I believe, the heart of God.
Nothing has been won. It is only another loss that can, for now, help some of us to feel better about the losses closer to us. But that’s not a victory. It’s a compromise.
Death ought always be greeted with a sense of sobriety. Because, though it may feel good...death does not heal. Death does not solve. Death does not fix. Every death is a reminder of brokenness. As a Christian, I must hope for and celebrate something better than this."
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