Advent has been on the mind early this year, primarily because of my participation in the Advent guide Our Savior Come, but also because this year's life events have been pointing us consistently towards the incarnation. This was written about a month ago in light of one of those life events, and it didn't quite get to the guide in time. So here it is, a few months early, reminding us that the incarnation is worth pondering all year long.
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To say the least, a cross-cultural transition comes with bumps in the road. Sure, there are the highs of discovering yet another immense and breathtaking park or garden. Or the moments when you remind yourself, for real this time, that “Oh yeah, I am living in Paris. I am LIVING in PARIS.” The moments when you are driving down the French autoroute and you all of a sudden realize it feels every bit as familiar as I-78 through the Lehigh Valley.
But there are lows too, and most of ours have come in missing our “old home” with family and friends. Having a three-year-old can be helpful, because he’s not refined enough to filter his thoughts and words. He can do nothing but spit out whatever comes to mind. And in so doing he becomes a sort of mouthpiece for us, putting our feelings into words and saying what we often feel is too blunt to express.
There are moments where we feel mad, lost, or confused in this little plan of God’s. When the three-year-old says, “Can’t like God!” we know enough of the story to ultimately disagree, but yet can often empathize with and echo the sentiment.
One of these breakdowns, for lack of a better word, happened one Sunday as we were already stressfully running late to get to church. It was significant enough and affecting all of us that the executive decision was made to have church as a family in the living room.
I took the kid’s storybook Bible and turned to the story of someone else moving from his old home. The story of a man leaving the glories of heaven and the perfect, loving fellowship of the trinity to become a helpless baby lying in a smelly cattle shed. The Christmas Story.
My friend Pastor Carl is usually pretty tactful and sensitive to the people in the congregation around him, not usually stepping on toes, but I love when he is bold enough to lament the common Sunday school Christmas celebration of giving baby Jesus a happy birthday cake. For this poor baby leaving that home for this one, there is nothing happy about this birthday. There is something much more serious about this event than just a cute and cuddly little infant being born. This isn’t really the stuff of icing and candles and streamers and party hats.
No, this is laying aside the rights of heaven and being stuck cold and lonely in the back streets of Bethlehem, to a live a life of obscurity ending in a seemingly premature death on a cross. In any other case we’d hear: “Don’t you have any idea who I am?! Or where I’ve come from?! Or what I’ve left behind?!”
So, I told my kid the story about this kid, leaving his old home that was infinitely better than Hellertown for a new home that was considerably worse than France, and doing it all for us, the people he loves.
And I wonder just how often Jesus missed that old home. Every day? Every moment? We don’t think of that too often, as though he was pleased and happy to hang out with all of us here on this broken planet, and sorry when time was cut short.
There are many moments I believe his missing home is evident, but one is the most poignant. So we turned the pages that morning in the living room to the garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus cries more and with more intensity than we have ever cried for our old home. I hear him saying, “I’m weary, and I really don’t want to do this, Dad. Get me out of here. Let this pass.” It sounds familiar, like a three year old wailing, “Can’t like this!”
But, to our benefit, he didn’t get his wish. Instead, when he gets it off his chest he can conclude, “Not my will…but yours.”
And this is the Christmas story. A grand act of obedience. An act of leaving an old home for a new one, crummy albeit temporary, for love, for justice, for ransom, for rescue, for us, the people he loves.
“Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”
We can thank God for the plan of sending his son and thank Jesus for his obedience at more cost than we can comprehend. And we must also realize there are real implications for us who say we are following him, including a willingness to leave behind old homes. At the very least, we no longer find our residence and citizenship on this earth, but as aliens and strangers we wander, looking forward to a city whose architect is the Lord. For people missing home and weary sojourners, be they three year olds or their parents, this is just one more way in which Jesus sympathizes with our weakness.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
American Toast
One year ago we were in middle-of-nowhere-North-Carolina to learn about what exactly it was we were getting ourselves into.
They recommended starting traditions to navigate transitions.
We settled on French Toast for Sunday night dinners. It stuck in NC but disappeared shortly thereafter.
We're starting it back up tonight, and it is smelling wonderful. Strawberries and cream will be served on top. Smells wonderful enough for the tradition to stick again.
But seeing as how we've lived in France for 9 months and have yet to see why we call this toast French, I'm feeling like we need to change the name.
French fries? They're everywhere, makes sense. But French toast? Je n'ai aucune idée.
They recommended starting traditions to navigate transitions.
We settled on French Toast for Sunday night dinners. It stuck in NC but disappeared shortly thereafter.
We're starting it back up tonight, and it is smelling wonderful. Strawberries and cream will be served on top. Smells wonderful enough for the tradition to stick again.
But seeing as how we've lived in France for 9 months and have yet to see why we call this toast French, I'm feeling like we need to change the name.
French fries? They're everywhere, makes sense. But French toast? Je n'ai aucune idée.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Found, left in the search bar of our Internet browser:
"My 3-month old doesn't sleep."
Yes, help us Google, please do something.
Yes, help us Google, please do something.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The (not as) New Guy, 5
Today at the grocery store I had the same relatively young cashier that I always do and today he finally got up the nerve to ask in slow and hesitated English: "Where are you from?"
I responded: "Etats-Unis. Vous voulez pratiquer votre Anglais?"
(United States. You want to practice your English?)
And in that quick response, I surprised the both of us in succeeding to do the seemingly impossible. Me, who is usually the tongue-tied one giving mute, blank stares, I left a Frenchman speechless.
He hesitated more, stuttered, seemed to be embarrassed and finally answered: "Eeuuuhh, pas toute de suite, non."
(Uhhh...Not right now, no.)
He recovered by bragging about going to England this weekend, where he will have plenty of time to practice. "C'est bien," I encouraged, "très bien."
I responded: "Etats-Unis. Vous voulez pratiquer votre Anglais?"
(United States. You want to practice your English?)
And in that quick response, I surprised the both of us in succeeding to do the seemingly impossible. Me, who is usually the tongue-tied one giving mute, blank stares, I left a Frenchman speechless.
He hesitated more, stuttered, seemed to be embarrassed and finally answered: "Eeuuuhh, pas toute de suite, non."
(Uhhh...Not right now, no.)
He recovered by bragging about going to England this weekend, where he will have plenty of time to practice. "C'est bien," I encouraged, "très bien."
Mix Tape: Puzzles, Teamwork
Plenty of thoughts swirling these days, some more tumultuous than others, so again I turn to music to get at least some of this expressive urgency off my chest.
It was February 2006, I ran away from my miserable job one night with my friend Nate to Atlantic City to see Sigur Ros play in a casino. Four women took the stage, but I thought for sure Sigur Ros was four men. With no announcement, they started quietly playing their odd array of instruments and toys. I don't want to use the word "chemistry" but I'm not sure how else to describe the way they worked together. Professional, like they knew what they were doing, and not a single one fighting for the spotlight, but graciously letting each one take their turn as they shifted from one instrument to the next. It was more like a gracious conversation, an even-handed dialogue, a dance of sorts. A decrescendo led to the final note and they left the stage, again with no announcement, and all of us were left wondering who they were and where they were from and where they went and why they had to leave so soon. To call them "mesmerizing" or "enchanting" would be fitting.
I fell in love that night with the musical saw and the desk bells, both of which I now own (thanks to my wife and Nate, respectively).
Some internet research after the fact confirmed they were known as Amiina, aka the girls who play the stringed instruments for Sigur Ros. From Iceland also, with only one hard-to-find EP to their name at that point in time, with shortly after a new album called Kurr.
I was excited to recently discover a new album, and smiled at the thought of it being called Puzzle. I can think of no better way to describe their music. Not because it's puzzling, but because of the magical way a puzzle unfolds when we agree to work together. So many of their songs begin with each one tinkering their way into a theme in their own corner. As pieces connect, those individual themes take shape. Look across the table and see how one theme relate to another, how they come together, how they fit. The song comes alive, and all in one moment, a burst of energy, each one connects and the full picture becomes visible as we race to end with excitement.
Personally, puzzles drive me crazy, but I've always found them easier and more fun when others are helping. And that, with the air these ladies have about them, seems to be exactly what Amiina is about. It's a lovely ode to community, teamwork, unity, inclusiveness, or whatever you want to call it. "You've got a bizarre instrument to play? Then join in. You can make this song even better. Just take some time to find your place and see where you fit. Come on in when the moment's clear."
And of course, that which seems to be the common theme in most of what I listen to is often here too. If I have to try and describe it, it's the tension between melancholy and joy, wistfulness and hope, a beautiful and precarious balance that seems to reflect this life we're living in.
As I type this, I realize this is all the stuff I want to start a church with.
To my ears, this song "Mambo" is the highlight of this new album. I love the little melody, a reworking of this previous boisterous song with a much different feel but equally as fun. Listen for the moment the puzzle comes together at 3:00.
Amiina, "Mambo" from Puzzle
It was February 2006, I ran away from my miserable job one night with my friend Nate to Atlantic City to see Sigur Ros play in a casino. Four women took the stage, but I thought for sure Sigur Ros was four men. With no announcement, they started quietly playing their odd array of instruments and toys. I don't want to use the word "chemistry" but I'm not sure how else to describe the way they worked together. Professional, like they knew what they were doing, and not a single one fighting for the spotlight, but graciously letting each one take their turn as they shifted from one instrument to the next. It was more like a gracious conversation, an even-handed dialogue, a dance of sorts. A decrescendo led to the final note and they left the stage, again with no announcement, and all of us were left wondering who they were and where they were from and where they went and why they had to leave so soon. To call them "mesmerizing" or "enchanting" would be fitting.
I fell in love that night with the musical saw and the desk bells, both of which I now own (thanks to my wife and Nate, respectively).
Some internet research after the fact confirmed they were known as Amiina, aka the girls who play the stringed instruments for Sigur Ros. From Iceland also, with only one hard-to-find EP to their name at that point in time, with shortly after a new album called Kurr.
I was excited to recently discover a new album, and smiled at the thought of it being called Puzzle. I can think of no better way to describe their music. Not because it's puzzling, but because of the magical way a puzzle unfolds when we agree to work together. So many of their songs begin with each one tinkering their way into a theme in their own corner. As pieces connect, those individual themes take shape. Look across the table and see how one theme relate to another, how they come together, how they fit. The song comes alive, and all in one moment, a burst of energy, each one connects and the full picture becomes visible as we race to end with excitement.
Personally, puzzles drive me crazy, but I've always found them easier and more fun when others are helping. And that, with the air these ladies have about them, seems to be exactly what Amiina is about. It's a lovely ode to community, teamwork, unity, inclusiveness, or whatever you want to call it. "You've got a bizarre instrument to play? Then join in. You can make this song even better. Just take some time to find your place and see where you fit. Come on in when the moment's clear."
And of course, that which seems to be the common theme in most of what I listen to is often here too. If I have to try and describe it, it's the tension between melancholy and joy, wistfulness and hope, a beautiful and precarious balance that seems to reflect this life we're living in.
As I type this, I realize this is all the stuff I want to start a church with.
To my ears, this song "Mambo" is the highlight of this new album. I love the little melody, a reworking of this previous boisterous song with a much different feel but equally as fun. Listen for the moment the puzzle comes together at 3:00.
Amiina, "Mambo" from Puzzle
Thursday, September 08, 2011
Do it Yourself, Do it Together
This is an interesting age of saturation and inundation. Absolutely everyone, it seems, is cutting a CD, writing a book, filming a movie. The options for creating and dispersing are endless, not to mention relatively easy and inexpensive. On one hand, this is exciting as it levels the playing field, democratizes the process, and allows just about anyone to offer their voice and perspective. On the other hand, it feels a bit hopeless and seems incredibly hard to get noticed or go anywhere. A guy like me asks, “Why bother?”
But something else interesting happens. The art gets more honest. It becomes art for art’s sake, in a sense. People go to the trouble to record, write, film, and distribute not so much to get noticed and hit it big, but simply because there is something else more sincere pushing them to do it. For some it’s a creative urge that isn’t satisfied until expressed. For others it’s a message or a more concrete purpose. The focus becomes personal or local, a humble offering for anyone interested, and thus a bit more communal as well. Indie bands quit wasting their time sending demos to big labels and choose instead to tour the country on their own playing in living rooms. It’s not about being rich and famous, but about sharing and connecting. It may not impact the universe or be talked about in art history courses years later, but it has great potential to be beautiful in its own right and influence the immediate community. I believe that’s no waste.
The arena of writing only expounds these complicated issues. In the age of texts and tweets, who wants to read a book anymore? And when Amazon posts so many thousands of new books each year, who can even choose a book anymore? Again--that's the place a guy like me gives up. But the same counterpoint applies: if someone is writing and publishing, they must have good reason to do so, even if the reason is just for the fun or the beauty of the thing.
I’ve got two friends with good reasons dabbling in the fascinating world of independent publishing, considerably different, but both of whom I am proud.
Kyle Page is carving out his niche in the Valley with his bookstore that seems to double more generally as an art center. His little press has seen several releases already, and of course I am partial to the handmade binding process. Nothing like feeling traces of tender loving elbow grease on the cover of your book.
Dan Schmidt is toying around with things I still don’t understand yet, newfangled gadgets like SmashWords and CreateSpace and FontSquirrel and whatnot. This has become a platform for his own work, and I love that he has this year opened the door to a humble little community of writers, most of whom have not yet been published anywhere except their own blogs. I'm referring to the advent guide I mentioned a few weeks back, which now has its own blog-in-progress, on which (as of today) I have a little post introducing myself.
The DIY ethic seems to be alive and well, stronger than ever. And yet it seems to be morphing these days into more of a do-it-together ethic. All the better.
But something else interesting happens. The art gets more honest. It becomes art for art’s sake, in a sense. People go to the trouble to record, write, film, and distribute not so much to get noticed and hit it big, but simply because there is something else more sincere pushing them to do it. For some it’s a creative urge that isn’t satisfied until expressed. For others it’s a message or a more concrete purpose. The focus becomes personal or local, a humble offering for anyone interested, and thus a bit more communal as well. Indie bands quit wasting their time sending demos to big labels and choose instead to tour the country on their own playing in living rooms. It’s not about being rich and famous, but about sharing and connecting. It may not impact the universe or be talked about in art history courses years later, but it has great potential to be beautiful in its own right and influence the immediate community. I believe that’s no waste.
The arena of writing only expounds these complicated issues. In the age of texts and tweets, who wants to read a book anymore? And when Amazon posts so many thousands of new books each year, who can even choose a book anymore? Again--that's the place a guy like me gives up. But the same counterpoint applies: if someone is writing and publishing, they must have good reason to do so, even if the reason is just for the fun or the beauty of the thing.
I’ve got two friends with good reasons dabbling in the fascinating world of independent publishing, considerably different, but both of whom I am proud.
Kyle Page is carving out his niche in the Valley with his bookstore that seems to double more generally as an art center. His little press has seen several releases already, and of course I am partial to the handmade binding process. Nothing like feeling traces of tender loving elbow grease on the cover of your book.
Dan Schmidt is toying around with things I still don’t understand yet, newfangled gadgets like SmashWords and CreateSpace and FontSquirrel and whatnot. This has become a platform for his own work, and I love that he has this year opened the door to a humble little community of writers, most of whom have not yet been published anywhere except their own blogs. I'm referring to the advent guide I mentioned a few weeks back, which now has its own blog-in-progress, on which (as of today) I have a little post introducing myself.
The DIY ethic seems to be alive and well, stronger than ever. And yet it seems to be morphing these days into more of a do-it-together ethic. All the better.
Monday, September 05, 2011
inquietude
God's been teaching me about my problem with anxiety.
The kid is at his first day of preschool, in another language, just barely potty-trained.
The kid is at his first day of preschool, in another language, just barely potty-trained.
Sunday, September 04, 2011
Thought #736
Blaise Pascal was a pretty interesting dude, French genius mathematician, inventor of the calculator for one, and a Christian, philosopher, theologian in his later years. On my to do list is to get to know him a bit better.
Also on my to do list is to read his work Pensées in French. If I understand correctly, it's a compilation of "thoughts," mostly written on scraps of paper, each one numbered. Sort of like a 17th century blog, I guess. Left unfinished for editors to piece together and make sense of.
Well, I'm still stuck reading a juvenile fiction book called Petit Nicolas meant for 10 year olds, so I'd say I'm a little ways off from this goal. I cheated today, getting a head start in English. Only read a few quick pages, but found this gem.
"By His grace, I await death in peace, in the hope of being eternally united to Him. Yet I live with joy, whether in the prosperity which it pleases Him to bestow upon me, or in the adversity which He sends for my good, and which he has taught me to bear by His example."
Also on my to do list is to read his work Pensées in French. If I understand correctly, it's a compilation of "thoughts," mostly written on scraps of paper, each one numbered. Sort of like a 17th century blog, I guess. Left unfinished for editors to piece together and make sense of.
Well, I'm still stuck reading a juvenile fiction book called Petit Nicolas meant for 10 year olds, so I'd say I'm a little ways off from this goal. I cheated today, getting a head start in English. Only read a few quick pages, but found this gem.
"By His grace, I await death in peace, in the hope of being eternally united to Him. Yet I live with joy, whether in the prosperity which it pleases Him to bestow upon me, or in the adversity which He sends for my good, and which he has taught me to bear by His example."
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Save the Queen
Just got back from England. Hearing and reading English was nice and all, but the few impressions of British culture I got were just a bit too stuffy for me. Too regal, maybe. Crowns and lions and British flags everywhere. Fun to pretend you're on the set of Harry Potter or Narnia, I will give them that. E did most of the driving since I'm too high strung, and in the one short trip I took I forgot which side of the road to be on only once when making a left-hand turn. Quick swerve and no harm done.
But I'm trying to say that I like France better. I felt more uncomfortable there than I do here, and that was surprising. And I guess it's a good thing.
But I'm trying to say that I like France better. I felt more uncomfortable there than I do here, and that was surprising. And I guess it's a good thing.
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