Takes and Takes and Takes

Others might read The Giving Tree a different way. It's not so much about Giving as it is about Taking. And it's true, it's not really all that happy of a story, as the bulk of it is actually a tale of abuse. It's a dark picture of using another's kindness for pleasing one's own insatiable selfishness. That boy will take as much as he can as long as he can with little sign of gratitude or even satisfaction. I guess an alternate title could easily be The Taking Boy.

A parent snuggles up to read a good book with their child, and they're faced with a tale like this, a stark mirror showing the sickness of our own human condition. We squirm uncomfortably in our seats, stick to the first half of the book when things were still perfect or race to the resolution, hoping little guy won't notice. It's just a little too honest for us, a little too true.

But the grace of the giving is not nearly as precious if we ignore the tragedy of the taking.

And it all sounds a lot like the story of the Bible. Sure, there's a lot of giving--miraculous provision and compassionate care. But there's also a lot of taking--grumbling, discontentment, and incessant demands for more.

There are two sides to the same coin here, and so it is with Jesus' words. The other half of the sermon I listened to last night included Christ's words that immediately precede the welcome, gracious invitation to rest. They are a stark warning against taking and taking and taking, against the abuse of generous grace, against using the gift of every day we have on this earth for going our own way and attempting to find happiness in our own selfish pursuits, then shaking our fist at God when we're still not happy.

"Then he began to denounce the cities where most of his mighty works had been done, because they did not repent. 'Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the mighty works done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes. But I tell you, it will be more bearable on the day of judgment for Tyre and Sidon than for you. And you, Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? You will be brought down to Hades. For if the mighty works done in you had been done in Sodom, it would have remained until this day. But I tell you that it will be more tolerable on the day of judgment for the land of Sodom than for you."

He had healed the sick, cast out demons, even raised the dead, and they still said, "That's not enough. We're not convinced. We need more."

He graciously gives and patiently waits. That's reason to accept his invitation, not to continue abusing his generosity.

Gives and Gives and Gives

The kid walked out to the living room, grin on his face, book under his arm. "Papaaa," he called, as though he were trying to tempt me into something. "Look...The Giving Tree!"

No need to tempt me. We promptly sat down and read it.

The simple tale of a tree that gives and gives and gives to a distracted boy, and is finally pleased when the old man gives up the futile search for happiness elsewhere and decides to sit down and rest on the stump that is left.

Quit your searching, your trying, your labor and your toil, none of it will give you happiness like resting with the one who generously, patiently, relentlessly gives.

After tucking the boy in, I hunkered down in the kitchen to wash some dishes. It's a long affair these days because the vintage dishwasher that came with the apartment appears to be broken and I have not yet tried to figure out how to find a repairman of vintage dishwashers in France. And so while washing dishes, I had plenty of time to listen to a sermon by a friend.

He read these words to me:

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

You probably know by now I tend to complicate things. I get bogged down in details and mechanics and whys and hows and ifs and ands and buts. But as I washed those dishes, I heard the Gospel, the core of Christianity, as one simple message. The Creator King who generously and graciously gives us day after beautiful day to use how we wish opens his arms and extends a simple, personal invitation: 

"Come, rest, learn." 

As Bonhoeffer said to me the other day, "He wants to be gracious to you."  

No begging your way in, He's ready when you are. 

No long list of demands or requirements. No clean-up acts or fancy well-rehearsed apologies. No measuring up or buckling down. Just come. Get into this yoke with Him; it's far easier than the one you're pulling yourself. Get rid of that burden you're carrying; His is much lighter. Just come. Get some rest. 

"Ok, but what do I need to do?" you'll ask. 

Quit trying to complicate things. Get over yourself. Just come, rest, and learn.

Soundtrack of an Awakening

The gospel message is liberation through truth. You can hide nothing from God. The mask you wear before men will do you no good before Him. He wants to see you as you are, He wants to be gracious to you. You do not have to go on lying to yourself and your brothers, as if you were without sin; you can dare to be a sinner...In Christ the love of God came to the sinner. Through him men could be sinners and only so could they be helped. All sham was ended in the presence of Christ...It was in this truth that his Church was to live.
-Bonhoeffer, Life Together

In recent days I've been being reminded of my awakening to God's grace in college. The days where all of a sudden, it seemed, I was hearing the truth for the very first time: that all sham was ended, that God wanted me as the sinner that I was, and that he wanted to be gracious to me. It was liberation indeed.

Last week I put in Unwed Sailor's Marionette and the Music Box, and I couldn't believe the vivid, poignant feelings it evoked, like I could remember the first time I listened to it in 2003. Was it just good music? Was it the fact that it was often playing while I fell asleep? Was it the 3-hour road trip we took to see them play in a small art gallery in Louisville where they played some beautiful renditions of these songs?

Finally, as the music box played the melody of Amazing Grace on track 14, I remembered this album is a story of being lost and found. This was the soundtrack of my awakening, playing an important role in affirming a profound truth in ways doctrinal statements could not at the time.

A Bright Evening

I meant to tell you how wonderful the My Brightest Diamond concert was the morning after. I think the main reason I didn't is that I wasn't quite sure I could do it justice.

Such an arresting voice, an mesmerizing presence. No flashy laser light shows or exquisite backdrops or complicated projections needed. Just a woman, her pitch-perfect vocal repertoire, her collection of instruments, her precise drummer, and oh yeah, the chamber-ensemble put together especially for this night didn't hurt either. Other-worldly and down-to-earth all at once.

Dancing between genres, part vaudeville, part 90s grunge, part opera, part African, part hip-hop, part ragtime, part blues, part rock, part swing, part pop, part quirk. A performer like they were meant to be, the kind that don't really exist any more these days (except for Andrew Bird, as I've already explained more than once).

I'm forgetting the dash of Chinese puppetry thrown into the mix.

Suffice it to say, all this after buying tickets somewhat on a whim simply because of liking the new CD and hearing she's pretty good live, we were pleasantly surprised. Also extremely grateful for the friend that stepped up to the plate to babysit for us two hours before we needed to leave.

Before she came on stage that night, a videographer came towards us and politely said, "Pardon, Excusez-moi," than proceeded to set up his video camera directly in front of us, completely blocking the view we had anticipated. We grumbled and he explained it was the best spot and apologized again. I was tempted to go and stand directly in front of his camera, but my combative French is not quite up to speed yet. Well, I was pretty glad when this resulting video was posted: you have us in part to thank, you know. And it makes up for the fact that I can't do this show justice here, because now you can take an hour some evening and go to the show with us. Some of the best songs are missing, but I think you'll get a pretty good idea all the same.

E left the show saying this was one of her favorite singers, who embodies all things she loves, and this was one of her top three favorite concerts. I guess maybe that kind of makes up for the fact that two out of three of our childless Paris dates have been me taking her to concerts....right?

Nothing a Little M&Ms and Dancing Can't Fix

April 14th is Shorb Family Day. A day to celebrate. Last year, we celebrated with American food and a zoo.

This year, we drove an hour and half to the town that will soon be our new home and presented our future project to some visitors. It was kind of like going to work. Exhausting in fact, because the new addition in the family decided he didn't want to sleep when we went to the restaurant, and not only that, he wanted to scream and wail nearly the entire time. Meanwhile, his brother nearly fell asleep in his chair in the hour of waiting before his pizza and fries came out.

Sure, it wasn't the celebration we typically look for. But there was something really special about the kid pointing out every yellow field and tractor he saw on the way there, the way he ran around the giant 12th century church like he owned the place, the way he filled his pockets with rocks at the chateau, the way he raced the rest of the group everywhere we went, the way he felt at ease and at home with our teammates, and the way he agreed it would be a pretty great to live in a town with a castle.

E asked him what kind of cake he wanted for Family Day. No cake, he said. Just bon-bons. M&Ms, he said. With peanuts. Consider it done, little guy. We snacked on them at various points throughout the day.

When we got home after another hour and a half in the car, he immediately changed into comfy pants with just his belly on top. That led to giving belly bumps to me and his brother. And that, naturally, led to an all out dance party. So the four of us pumped up the jams and danced. And danced. And eventually three of us grew tired and the kid kept going, striking poses, inventing new moves. He showed us what he called lion moves and superhero moves and silly jump moves. And we all giggled together in a sort of exhausted delirium that confirmed the fact that we're glad to be a family.

And that felt like all the celebration we needed.

You really probably just need to watch this.

Mix Tape: Difficult Choice

I keep coming back to two places on Andrew Bird's latest.
And I'm excited to find that both songs from the concert we recently attended are online, from pretty much the exact place we were standing.

My favorite song from the album has to be Hole in the Ocean Floor.
album:

live in Paris, how he chose to open the show:


But if I have to choose a song for a mix tape to give you, it would be "Orpheo Looks Back." That simple descending rhythmic riff sticks in my head all, day, long and keeps my head incessantly bopping back and forth. The weird interlude appearing for the first time at 1:10 is kind of distracting and takes away from the song, in my opinion, kinda neat but doesn't quite fit. But the rest is just so sweetly catchy that I can easily overlook it.

album:

live in Paris:

Don't look back, it'll drive you mad, and if it drives you mad, it'll probably pass.

And watch the best example of his pizzicato violin looping skills here.

10 out of 2,000

This is my 2,000th post on this blog. I don't know whether to be proud or embarrassed. (OK, one thing's for sure, I'm embarrassed of the first two years.)

I will avoid the sentimental navel-gazing that would lead to theorizing about what this blog started as, has become, is, is for. In words my brother-in-law likes to use, it is what it is.

I will also refrain from the narcissism (and laborious task) of scouring archives to meticulously find, read, judge, and rank my favorite or proudest posts.

We'll save those projects for the big 10 year anniversary this fall.

Instead, for now, in an interesting little experiment, I offer the first 10 posts that came to mind, the easiest for me to remember for one reason or another.

Mar 2004: shoelaces
July 2005: july 5th
Oct 2006: wasted potential
Dec 2006: needing love
Jan 2007: saddest day of the year
Apr 2007: houseguest
Oct 2008: great faith in unexpected places
May 2009: tucking in 30 boys at once
Jan 2010: snowflake
Apr 2010: goodbyes and protests

Palm Sunday

A strange observance, this Palm Sunday.

If on Ash Wednesday we observe our own finiteness, on Palm Sunday we go on to observe our own fickleness.

On this day, we throw our cloaks to him. A week later, we strip his cloak off him.
On this day, branches of palm trees in adoration. A week later, branches of thorny brambles in mockery.

"Hosanna!" we cry. "Lord, save us!"
But the quick turn of events allows us to read between the lines, exposing our real motives: Save us! Not in your way and wisdom, but in our own! Save us today, now, on this earth! Give us what we want, what we think we need! A temporary salvation is all we ask! Happiness! Comfort! Our best lives now!

Like impatient and shortsighted children, we want the trivialities here and now, ignorant of the bigger picture.

And all of a sudden, we realize he's not what we thought he was. He's not what we're looking for at all. We despise him, reject him, we esteem him not.

Showing us that when we were esteeming him on Palm Sunday, we were actually esteeming ourselves, esteeming the King we had created in our own image.

"Again I saw angels.
Their wings were held high over my burden,
the weary man if light sitting on my back,
staring at the shadow of a cross.
We were covered in darkness.
People tossed palm branches before us.
'Go,' the angels said. 'Go.'
They were not like the other angels.
Their wings drooped, though they tried
to hold them high. 'Go,' the angels said,
'into the darkness.'
'Go,' the angels said,
'through the darkness into the light.'
And we did go."

-"The Donkey" Madeleine L'Engle