Paying Dues

Again, I'm appreciating the bit I was able to understand at church this morning. From Luke 20, important people trying to trap Jesus with trick questions, like "Should we pay our taxes?"

If he says yes, he's in trouble with the Jews. If he says no, he's in trouble with the Roman empire.

"But he perceived their craftiness, and said to them, 'Show me a denarius. Whose likeness and inscription does it have?' They said, 'Caesar’s.' He said to them, 'Then render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.' And they were not able in the presence of the people to catch him in what he said, but marveling at his answer they became silent."

He beats the trap, but his answer deserves pause. A quick read makes it seem like Caesar and God split things 50/50, each with their own fair share. "Some for you, some for me," and everyone goes home happy. But that's not the case at all.

No, not at all. Where you see Caesar's inscription and likeness, give it back to him. Where you see God's inscription and likeness, give it back to him.

If Caesar puts his face on a coin, then give him his coins. He can take all he wants. In the end, they are worthless.

But where do you see God's likeness? Look around you. Mountains and oceans, stars and skies, animals and humans. Color. Sound. Tastes. Smells. Order and Goodness and Truth and Beauty. From the infinite grandeur of the whirling planets down to the infinitesimal inner workings of the tiniest cell. Where you see God, give it back to him.

Give him all the praise and glory and honor he is due.

Give Caesar his silly coins. And then give God everything, everything, everything else. All of it.

And an answer like that, for people who have a hard time paying our measly taxes let alone giving ourselves as living sacrifices to our Creator, throws our trivial self-centered questions out the window and leaves us marveling in silence.

From him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever.

You know you're back from spending a week in the country when

you get really excited to empty another cardboard carton, only to realize you no longer have a fire on which to throw it.

Instruments I Regretfully Didn't Play

Music for Teachers was the college class that was a complete joke but I secretly loved. I loved the auto-harp unit perhaps most of all. It brought back warm memories of Wednesday morning chapel in elementary school when the principal would lead us in singing "This is My Father's World" while strumming her magical instrument. Such a lovely, full, string-y sound, slightly out of tune twang just enough to be charming, and all with the simple push of a button. I had high ambitions to sneak into that Music for Teachers classroom some Friday night and record some hymns with the auto-harps. Never happened. Still upset about it. (0:56)

Rewind a few years. The saxophones sat behind the two people that played the big, low clarinets. Always jealous. Still am. So wood-y with its low buzz. Clarinets are making a huge comeback lately, so much so that I'm collecting songs for a clarinet tribute post, making me think again I picked the wrong woodwind. (4:49)

Then there was the season when our orchestra director recruited seniors to learn how to play a stringed instrument. Always ready to learn a new instrument, I chose cello. He gave us a lesson once a week. I didn't practice because it was too hard to take the thing home. After several lessons and no practicing, we were informed that we would join the 3rd graders for their concert. Here we were, the big kids sitting next to the little kids, trying to play Hot Cross Buns or something equally as simple with them, and failing miserably. And I wish I were in the audience instead, sure to save myself the humiliation, but moreso because this scene had to be so hilarious to observe. I had a dream the other day about being able to sit down and play something fancy on the cello. It didn't come true. Such a relaxing and sophisticated instrument. (5:16)

These are the reasons, among others, I like this video.

My Brightest Diamond & yMusic | A Take Away Show | Part 01 from La Blogotheque

Wow...There's a book for sale on Amazon with my name on it.

I and several others are pleased to announce that Our Savior Come: An Advent Companion is now available for purchase on Amazon. Here for the paperback, and here for the e-book.

Of course, as this has been an independent operation, if your interest is piqued please pass on the news to your friends. If you read it, post a review to Amazon or whatever other social networks you prefer to frequent. Or, why not tell people about it in real life too? Like, perhaps, sharing it with your church or small group.

If you live in the Harrisburg area, or have been wanting to make a road trip to Harrisburg (it's the capital of Pennsylvania, you know), there will be a book release party at Midtown Scholar, which I've heard is quite an amazing place. November 6th, 4PM. I'll be there...in spirit.

I am happy to announce a sequel...

(Norwegians still don't like snails.)
Now with subtitles!

E2cargots from LtgMedia.

Rags to Riches

"Seigneur, je ne suis pas saint. Je suis misérable." Lord, I'm not holy. I'm wretched. So began the prayer of an elder before communion. He turned to us and said, "Brothers and sisters, if you wait until you're holy before eating this bread and drinking this wine, you'll never come."

The week prior in French class, we listened to a poem called "La Grasse Matinée" by Jacques Prevert. You could probably care less about a poem in a foreign language, but stick with me. It's a poem narrated by a starving man in the city, the kind of homeless beggar that everyone sees and no one sees. We feel and hear his stomach growling as though it was our own. We see him standing in front of a grocery store window full of every type of food imaginable, all within arm's reach and yet out of reach with endless barricades between. And all of it only makes the hunger worse. We stand with him outside a café and smell the coffee, the croissants, the beef dishes, the wine, all of which only smell stronger because of the hunger. We're driven to anger with him in the face of this injustice between the haves and have-nots, this stark juxtaposition, the same world and worlds apart, and all of a sudden,

a murder. An esteemed man killed, pockets cleaned out, 2 francs for a coffee, 70 cents for buttered crackers, and 25 cents for tip. A life exchanged for breakfast.

That afternoon, I happened to be leading a little Bible study in class on Psalm 113. And as I walked to school that afternoon to share, it hit me, a smile and a chill, as I saw both "La Grasse Matinée" and Psalm 113 in a new light.

The Psalm says,
"Il arrache à la poussière l'homme misérable,
il relève l'indigent et le tire de la boue
pour le faire asseoir parmi les notables,
les notables de son peuple."

He pulls from the dust the wretched man,
he takes the pauper and pulls him from the mud,
to make him sit among the noteworthy citizens of his society.

Psalm 113 uses the same stark juxtaposition Prevert does. Homeless beggars in the dust and mud compared to princes in their power and popularity. But the conclusions couldn't be any more different. Whereas in our broken world this irreconcilable division ends in murder, in God's kingdom, the vagabond is invited to the café table, seated next to the man who is esteemed in his neighborhood, and they drink their café-crème and eat their butter croissants together as equals.

Again there is a murder involved, in which the only truly estimable man willingly lays down his life for the have-nots, and this time once for all, providing for much more than one small breakfast for one hungry man. This time, a life exchanged for an eternal feast.

"Come, he who has no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price!"

And it's this image that came to mind again that Sunday morning during communion, when we misérables were invited to eat and drink at the table again, seated with a Prince.

Sufficiency 2

The writer of Hebrews is addressing a certain crowd. Believers in Jesus, but with a long religious background. And in the midst of persecution, tempted to give up and go back, the writer gives them one reason after another as to why Jesus is superior and why they should hold fast and press on. The reasons come to a peak in chapter 10.

Remember the old way of doing things?
The same sacrifices,
continually offered,
every year,
never ceasing,
a priest standing daily at his service,
offering repeatedly,
the same sacrifices.

As if that wasn't tiring enough?
It was just a shadow of better things to come,
it can never make you perfect,
impossible for these sacrifices to take away sins,
they can never take away sins.

As I read these descriptions, I feel the weight piling on, a cumbersome burden, and with it the hopelessness grows. An endless cycle, never finished, never enough.

I've never been a lamb-sacrificing-Jew, but I carried this burden in my high school years all the same. I felt the pressure to work, to maintain a high standard, in order to please God and earn his love. It was indeed tiring, hopeless, heavy, never enough, and ultimately my consistent failure became depressing.

But Christ came to fulfill this way of living and replace it with a new and better covenant. "We have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all...But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God...For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified."

A single sacrifice,
offered once,
lasting for all time,
making us perfect and holy.

As his death closes in, Christ declares that "It is finished." The work is done. And with that, he sits down at the right hand of the Father. Seated, because another sacrifice never needs to be made. This one removes sin completely and lasts eternally. There is nothing left for him to do, nothing left for us to do. "Where there is forgiveness, there is no longer any offering for sin." It's for that reason we can call this sacrifice truly sufficient.

And this is what makes Christianity different from every other religion in the world. Every other system prescribes certain behaviors and standards in order to please God or transcend to a certain existence. It leads to a life of fear, always asking and never sure: Am I good enough? Have I done enough? But when God has already met the standard through the single sacrifice of his Son, valuable for all time, justifying us and freeing us, there is a peace, hope, joy, rest that is found nowhere else.

When the word sufficient holds all of that meaning, I use it and feel a burdened lifted. A cosmic exhale, a sigh of relief. And when a word is that loaded, I want to make sure I find its appropriate counterpart in my new language.

I led the song 'Nothing But the Blood of Jesus' the other day, whose words I like considerably more in French than in English. 'Precious blood of the lamb, which gives me a new heart, there is no other, I want nothing more, nothing but the blood of Jesus.' As we sang the last line, I opened my eyes and saw a girl in the front row with a huge, beaming smile. For all I know she could have been laughing at my pronunciation, but it seemed to me that she was bursting with the joy that comes in realizing the sufficient sacrifice of Jesus Christ. She was a picture of exactly what I mean when I use the word suffisant. I think she understands.

Sufficiency 1

In our weekly Biblical French class, I tried translating the phrase "sufficient sacrifice." I was told it didn't really work, we don't say it in French. Without trying to be too contrary, I pushed back. Why not? Is it that we don't say it or can't say it? What's a better word? OK, we don't say it, but should we say it? I didn't really get any satisfying answers from several professors.

It's a tricky linguistic line to walk; wanting to express and be understood, trying to learn the rules, desiring to adapt and contextualize. At the end of the day, we can say anything, there's a certain amount of liberty. But as outsiders, we have absolutely no understanding of the expansive web of connotations and contexts and the general rules for playing inside it. That is to say, in wanting to be understood, there are limits and boundaries to that linguistic liberty, but as an outsider we don't know where they are or how they work. This turns into a significant exercise of trust in the people telling you what you should and shouldn't say, what you could say and can't say, especially because each individual has a different take on language and its use.

I continued with this word though, suffisant, because no one could give me a better synonym and few words are more important to me when it comes to the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. I was obsessed with the pursuit for a couple of days, and felt kind of silly for getting so hung up on a single tiny word, but that only served to confirm how important I felt the idea was.

I turned in my French Bible to Hebrews 9 and 10, as I can think of no better place for an explanation. It gave the description, but no single word. And so I turned it into a reflection to share with the school, explaining what I meant and why it was so important. Thankfully, a prof doing theological studies confirmed that we can use the word. That gave some relief to my worries that I was committing an obstinate, arrogant, American, Anglophone, beginner's mistake. . .

les couchers du soleil chez nous

sunsets from our home

Autumnal

After two weeks of weather warmer than most of what we had all summer, temperatures have changed suddenly as they often do this time of year, and fall seems to be officially here. With the clouds and the wind and the chill, today's the kind of day that makes you want to put on a sweater, curl up in a corner, and read a book while a record plays. I can't wait to do things like that again in 18 years. For now, I'm stuck with doing leaf rubbings, which, let's be honest, isn't really all that bad.
I think it was my lifelong friend Dan who once referred to my taste in music as autumnal. There are exceptions, of course, but I loved that he knew me and my music well enough to label it with such a precise adjective. I can't disagree.

What in the world does it mean though? Calmer than the party music of summer, more reflective. And just as autumn is a period of transition between seasons, maybe it's another way of saying what I've begun to conclude about my musical tastes recently: a tension between melancholy and joy, wistfulness and hope. A soundtrack for Already-Not-Yet.

If I'm forced to pick a quintessential piece of autumnal music, it probably has to be this one, which might be too obvious as it's written specifically to depict the start of autumn. It's the often overlooked band Early Day Miners, whose album Let Us Garlands Bring was a vinyl record that was often found on my turntable back when I had one in functioning order, one that was often played this time of year, but really all year round, as it's about as autumnal as an album can get, and I'm an autumnal kind of guy, apparently. Here's their song "Autumn Wake."

But then there's also The Album Leaf, "Streamside," one of my favorite songs ever, I think.

new pet

I am happy to report that the kid has named his fish, and I quote,

"Larry Polo Boy To The Rescue Fish."

And it has not yet grown old; I still laugh every single time he says, "Papa? I need to feed Larry Polo Boy To the Rescue Fish!"

How can I not?