Inside Llewyn Davis

A man with a guitar in one hand and a cat in the other.

In one hand, pleasure, identity, livelihood, talent, escape, release, the ideals of life itself.

In the other hand, an unpredictable series of mistakes and mishaps and not always the best of responses to either one.

Taking care of one seems to mean letting go of the other, neither of which is really an option. The rest is an endless, complicated, seemingly impossible balancing act. 

It's the strongest image I've seen in a movie for a long time. And the performances were great, too.

Advent 30: On being humiliated

Would you vote for a president who ran his campaign on the promise of getting himself killed?

Would you let a homeless guy give you a bath?

Would you worship a baby?

The humility of Christ forces us to check our hearts, our motives, our interests, our own humility. Because accepting what this man has to offer--and especially the way in which he offers it--requires humility in its own right.

We talk about how the Jews were hoping for a savior-king that would establish an earthly kingdom and deliver them from Roman rule and make their own nation great again. Isn't that what most of us would like, too? It would certainly be easier, less intrusive. Find our guy, vote him in, get us the tax breaks so we can start living our best life now, where we can all finally go about our own business.

Instead we have a homeless guy trying to wash our feet. When was the last time you let a homeless guy wash your feet? (Because if anything, shouldn't you be washing his?)

Is that the savior you want? Is that the savior you're looking for?

Wait...do you even want a savior? 

In our first months in France I could have said I had only one French friend. He was a schizophrenic. It was uncomfortable. Here I am coming to save the day in France and the only person who's interested has schizophrenia. Not only that, he served us. Invited us to his house. Gave us food to eat. Shared his rhubarb with us. Played with our son. Taught us French. Prayed for us. Called just to check in. It was humiliating. I'd be OK with a friendship like this if I had the superior position, if I was the one serving him. But here, I had to accept the fact that he wanted to serve us. I had to accept the fact that we needed his service.

No, we don't want a savior. Because it's humiliating. It's intrusive.

I think this is part of what Peter is coming to grips with in the upper room, as Jesus makes the rounds with the wash basin. "Me too?" he asks worriedly. "You shall never wash my feet!" Exasperated, he sarcastically gives in, still protesting, "Fine, but go ahead and wash all of me, then!"

"If I do not wash you, you have no share with me," Jesus gently insists. In other words, let me serve you.

I recently talked with several people who agreed they like prayers of gratitude and prayers of intercession for others but not prayers that request things for themselves. The argument is mostly that others are worse off then we are, others need the prayers more than we do. Sounds noble, generous, selfless. We might even say it sounds humble. But at the core it's the proud refusal of a savior. We don't want help, can't admit we need help. We want to be the savior, not the ones who need saving.

We talk often about Christ's humility, that it's a model that determines our service. That's important: in humility, count others more significant in yourselves.

But service too often makes us the savior, which is exactly the more comfortable role we'd prefer to play. Ironically, serving others can give us a twisted sense of superiority rather than the humility we thought we were displaying.

When we talk about Christ's humility, it is first about letting ourselves be served by such an unexpected, humble source. It's about following this earthly-failure-of-a-king who plans to get himself killed. It's about letting a homeless man wash us. It's about telling a helpless dependent baby that he's exactly what you had been waiting for. Those are humiliating things to do for a capable, clean cut, upper middle-class American. And that's exactly the point.

For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.

New Nickname

The other kid, growing in mischief and sense of humor, has taken to calling me Peep Peep. No one's sure why, other than growing mischief and sense of humor.

Sometimes it's authentically sincere and endearing, as in,
"Good morning, Peep Peep." or "I love you, Peep Peep."

Sometimes it comes with a mocking too-big-for-one's-britches edge, like a random,
"Hey, Peep Peep!"
that sounds almost like Bart Simpson calling his father by his first name.

Sometimes it's a backhanded way of obeying, as in,
"Would you do this please?"
"Alright, Peep Peep."

And sometimes there's no question, he's making fun of me, as in,
"I smell a stinky diaper."
"Good job, Peep Peep."

Good thing I've always had a soft spot for the mischievous kids with a bizarre sense of humor.

Advent 29: True Christmas Melancholy

True Christmas melancholy does not come from working on the 25th, being far from family, lacking a lover, rain instead of snow, or not getting what was on your list.


Peace among those with whom He is pleased. Luke 2:14

Peace for whom? There is a somber note sounded in the angels' praise. Peace among men with whom he is pleased. Without faith it is impossible to please God. So Christmas does not bring peace to all. -John Piper, December 6

Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many, that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed. Luke 2:34-35
Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. Matthew 10:34


Who do you want to trust? Augustus? Herod? The civilized Western World with all of its progress? Or the source of this humble baby, born quietly in the alleys of Bethlehem?

There was no place for them. Luke 2:7
His own did not receive him. John 1:11
You refuse to come to me that you may have life. John 5:40

We prefer our earthly rulers, and our earthly way of ruling. And what a way.

Then Herod became furious, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem. Matthew 2:16


So we wait, we hope. We pray, we plead. And we groan.

For the creation was subjected to futility, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Romans 8:20-23


Lord come with fire,
Lord come with fire,
Everyone's wasting their time,
Storing up treasure in vain,
Trusting the pleasure it gives,
here on earth.

Advent 28: Our Christmas Stories, or, Case Studies in Redemption

Christmas is the Gospel story, the story of God's intervention, his rescue plan. And if Advent is a time of waiting, then it's a time of remembering what our own 'walking in darkness' was and what it felt like. If Christmas is the joy of a Savior's birth, Advent is remembering how desperately we needed that baby to be born.

That's why I read Psalm 107 as an Advent psalm. Four case studies in redemption. What we were, in dire straits, and the drastic, powerful, gracious means God employed to gather us and make us his own. Four hopeless problems, four miraculous solutions.

He brought us out of trouble and gathered us from the four corners of earth, so let us give thanks for his goodness and his steadfast, eternally enduring love!

In one corner of the earth, we wandered through the desert, with no home, no food, nothing to drink.
In another corner, we sat in darkness, close to death, afflicted prisoners, in the bondage of slavery because of our rebellion and hatred of God and his ways.
In the third corner, we were foolish and we reaped what we sowed, suffering consequences that we ourselves chose, denying whatever was good for us, and thus getting progressively, dangerously closer to death.
In the fourth corner, we went about our business, successful and productive, important and powerful, independent and not hurting anyone, but when we saw God's power in raging storms we quickly recognized the limits of our control, and we were absolutely terrified.

That is who we were. This is the desperate waiting, the expectant longing of Advent.

But God. When we cried out to him, He delivered us. Every time.

Those who were lost, he put us on the right path that led to a new home. Where our soul was hungry, he gave us good things until we were satisfied.
Those who were enslaved, he brought us out of darkness, burst chains, shattered doors, cut bars, and set us free.
Those who were foolish, by his Word, he healed us, delivered us from our destructive ways, changed our desires.
Those who were frightened by our finiteness, he calmed the storms, got our attention, and restored rest and peace.

And so we all respond in gratitude for the salvation and the hope that comes with Christmas. Which corner were you gathered from? What is your Christmas story? The response is the same each time:

"Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
    for his wondrous works to the children of man!"

Advent 27: The Whole Universe Waiting, Expecting, Rejoicing

"Mary sees clearly a most remarkable thing about God: He is about to change the course of all human history. The most important three decades in all of time are about to begin." -John Piper, December 2

"God is guiding foreigners to Christ to worship him, and he is doing it by exerting global--probably even universal--influence and power to get it done." -John Piper, December 8


It's this idea that the very universe, the cosmos, in all of its immensity, from the tiniest ant to the most distant galaxy, they all knew about this baby. While his own people did not receive him, his birth going unnoticed like just any other, every other member of the universe was waiting, expecting, and rejoicing.


The world was about the change forever. And it almost went by unnoticed...but the leaves, that night, rustled with a rumor. News rang out across the open fields. A song drifted over the hills. The wind whispered it softly in the sycamore trees, that waved their moonlit branches to the sky...The skies shouted it to the seas that thundered it to the waves that roared it to the great white whales that sang it to the starfish in the deep. And tiny sandpipers danced it on shining sands..."It's time, it's time!" The running rivers bounded over boulders and the otters clapped and played and sang to the ducklings that splashed and quacked to the salmon that leaped and leaped. And tiny field mice and insects and little creeping things and sparrows and robins and every single blade of grass squeaked and hummed and chirped and sang..."It's time, it's time!"
-Sally Lloyd-Jones, Song of the Stars


Car l’univers, oui l’univers cherchait l’enfant
Sans le savoir !
Les sangliers dans les fourrés suivaient leurs traces,
Les lièvres et les renards humaient leur piste,
Ils ont levé un épervier à tire d’aile
Et les fourmis se réveillaient d’un long sommeil.
Toutes les bêtes endormies sentaient l’approche
De ce qui s’en venait lentement en ce monde,
De ce juste avec un visage rajeuni
–car il était le père du premier Noël–
De cette femme frêle aux yeux cernés d’espoir,
Portant le sacrement des hommes sous sa robe
Conduisant doucement, tendrement, humblement
Son enfant vers son terme.
-Jean-Luc Gadreau, Noël aux Goélands


Excerpts from Psalm 104:
 He set the earth on its foundations,

    so that it should never be moved. 

The mountains rose, the valleys sank down
    to the place that you appointed for them. 

You make springs gush forth in the valleys;
    they flow between the hills;

they give drink to every beast of the field;
    the wild donkeys quench their thirst. 

Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell;
    they sing among the branches. 

From your lofty abode you water the mountains;
    the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.

He made the moon to mark the seasons;

    the sun knows its time for setting.

You make darkness, and it is night,
    when all the beasts of the forest creep about.

O Lord, how manifold are your works!
    In wisdom have you made them all;
    the earth is full of your creatures.

Here is the sea, great and wide,
    which teems with creatures innumerable,
    living things both small and great.

These all look to you,
    to give them their food in due season.

When you give it to them, they gather it up;
    when you open your hand, they are filled with good things.

When you hide your face, they are dismayed;
    when you take away their breath, they die
    and return to their dust.

When you send forth your Spirit, they are created,
    and you renew the face of the ground.

May the glory of the Lord endure forever;
    may the Lord rejoice in his works. 

Isaiah 1:3

The ox knows its owner,
    and the donkey its master's crib,
but Israel does not know,
    my people do not understand.

And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
-TS Eliot

Isaiah 55:12

For you shall go out in joy
    and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
    shall break forth into singing,
    and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. 

All these stories and songs and legends and folklores surrounding the animals at Jesus' birth, these aren't just cute and quaint and nostalgic tales for kids that sell well, they just very well might be the truth of the cosmos. 

See also: this song and this song. 

Drive

Our little old country town put together its first Film Noir Festival over the past few days. It was an admirable initiative, but from the turnout I saw, was not exactly a success. Part of the festival was a retrospective with highlights from the noir genre, which gave the opportunity to go with some new friends to see 2011's Drive -- a movie that's been on my to-see list for the past two years -- and in English no less.

Halfway through our after-film discussion, after referring simply to the main character as "Ryan Gosling" over and over again, we wondered why none of us could remember his name. We stopped, thought some more, but no. No name is given. He's our man, our guy, the kid, mommy's friend, the neighbor, and of course the driver. Fitting, because that's about all the information we get on him anyway. He drives. That's about it.

If this were Fast and Furious 8, that's the one-dimensional character we'd expect, but the real experiment and the real success of this film is how much we somehow care without knowing anything about him, not even his name.

Like most films in the genre, it's an ugly story of debts and payments, of kill or be killed. But the Driver is reluctant. He didn't really want in, and now he really wants out. And that's where the questions begin.

Doesn't his reluctance make him innocent? He's not so much committing violence as much as he is enduring it. If he's defending himself and more importantly a woman and her child, doesn't that make him noble? These are acts of protection, maybe even sacrifice. I think these are the things the typical viewer leaves saying or wanting to say, maybe even what we're supposed to say. We see him desperately trying to escape, fighting for love, and so we root for him, the underdog, the handsome hero, the valiant prince.

But come on, says the skeptical moralist, these are some pretty atrocious acts, far from innocent. How did he fall into this vicious circle in the first place? And couldn't there have been other options to get out sooner?

So the questions continue. We don't know much. Do we know enough about him to even actually say?

After all, who is this guy? What's his identity? What's his story?

More importantly, what's his nature?

He watches cartoons with a little boys and asks, "Is that a bad guy?" Of course it is, the kid says. "How do you know?" Because it's a shark. "There aren't any good sharks?"

He warns the last man standing through the fable of the scorpion and the frog. The scorpion convinces the hesitant frog to take him across the river, after all, the scorpion won't kill the frog or else they'd both die. But when he stings the frog halfway across and the stunned frog asks why: "I'm a scorpion. It's my nature."

Are there good sharks? Are there good scorpions? Are there good men?

And the credits roll with another great synth-pop refrain repeating: "A real human being, and a real hero." And therein lies the tension.

very few of you will care about this post...

...but i feel the need to publish it for the indie street cred.

Reflektor is basically the album that Karl Blau has been attempting to make for years, if only he would be willing to trade in his low-fi organic hippiedom for big-budget stadium-rock production. But let's get one thing straight: it's not because he couldn't. Because he could. Anyone can mix carribean rhythms with indie dance rock. But just try mixing dub with Tchiaikovsky. Point proven. The man's got soul, is a genius, but, well, just knows how to keep it real. Maybe too real, sure, but that's for another day.

advent plans

you've got about a week to get your advent plans together.

personally, i think i'm going to try piper this year.

you should probably listen to this new song mixed in with all your other christmas favorites. just listen to it a few more times than you will eddie money's 'everybody loves christmas.' in this house, that will be often.

the kindle version of the advent guide we put together a few years ago will be 99 cents starting tomorrow, 1.99 starting tuesday, back up to 'normal retail price' next saturday. so if you've been scared of being ripped off in past seasons, you know what to do.

my brain is a scary place to be, unlike eddie money's christmas hits i'd recommend limiting your exposure, but if you like taking risks or are unusually desperate this advent season, use the advent label here to see a long string of reflections, scripture, unusual music selections and other sources of inspiration that have accumulated through the years.

but first, happy thanksgiving.

papa, what's graffiti ?

the kid and i have been inspired by graffiti lately. it makes me a badly distracted driver, especially on the A86.

i do my best to make it clear that it's a bad thing, against the rules, unless you get permission.

but when you get permission, it can be a really, really good thing.

LeMoDuLeDeZeeR X Les Bains-Douches_Immersion 2013

but practice makes perfect, of course, and therein lies the problem. don't worry, i haven't shown him this yet.

tu nous entends ?

et ça y est, c'est le moment de laisser le foot à côté et réinscrire notre fils au cours de gymnastique.

skip to 1:40 if you're bored.

and it's also time to take my brother to grenoble.

harlem nocture

The metro doors closed and a man who had slipped in began playing the song on his sax. It took just a few seconds to recognize and all of a sudden I was no longer in the Paris metro, but on a high school auditorium stage, swinging hard in the background with our award-winning saxophonist wailing up front.

The version in the metro and the versions on YouTube tell me there are a lot of mediocre versions out there, but the one in my mind remains the best-ever-of-all-time-hands-down. We were all incredibly proud of Travis--who doubled as the sax player in our ska band--but we were just as proud to be a part, to play along. Because when we played, we were no longer on a high school auditorium stage, but on the nighttime streets of Harlem.

It's not a bad gig.

 

emo's not dead

I could watch this from someone else's shoes and see plenty that's weird, maybe even lame.  Pushing strange buttons, pretentious guitar plucking, auto-tune, that late 90s Hot Topic bracelet. Not to mention the jibberish lyrics.

But from my own shoes? There's something wonderfully youthful about this, energetic, angsty, interesting, passionate. The spirit of it! Takes me back to my emo days, and I'm surprisingly just fine with that. Especially the two-beat triplets. Especially. the two. beat. triplets.

Prodigious !

A favorite French director making his first English film set in America? How did I not know about this before 2 days ago??

reflections on eternity

"If you are really a product of a materialistic universe, how is it you don't feel at home there? Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did, would that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had not always been, or would not always be, purely aquatic creatures? Notice how we are perpetually surprised at Time. ('How time flies! Fancy John being grown-up & married! I can hardly believe it!') In heaven's name, why? Unless, indeed, there is something in us which is not temporal."
-CS Lewis

"In a golden summer when our love was young Davy and I had sat on a stone wall near Glenmerle and talked about unpressured time--time to sit on stone walls, time to see beauty, time to stare as long as sheep and cows. At my father's club, sitting before the fire, we had spoken of 'moments made eternity', meaning what are called timeless moments, moments precisely without the pressure of time--moments that might be called, indeed, timeful moments. Or time-free moments. And we had clearly understood that the pressure of time was our nearly inescapable awareness of an approaching terminus--the bell about to ring, the holidy about to end, the going down from Oxford forseen. We had dreamed of Grey Goose as a way to escape the pressure of time, though no one escapes entirely. Life itself is pressured by death, the final terminus. Socrates refused to delay his own death for a few more hours: perhaps he knew that those few hours under the pressure of time would be worth little...

...I saw with immense clarity that we had always been harried by time. All our dreams had come true: the schooner Grey Goose under the wind, the far islands of Hawaii in the dark-blue rolling Pacific, the spires of Oxford. But all the fulfillments were somehow, it seemed to me, incomplete, temporary, hurried. We wished to know, to savour, to sink in--into the heart of the experience--to possess it wholly. But there was never enough time; something still eluded us....We shall come back, we said, and find it. But there wasn't time enough to go back, way leading on to way. And if we had gone back, there wouldn't have been time enough then, either, for ahead there would be a terminus. Always...

...If, indeed, we all have a kind of appetite for eternity, we have allowed ourselves to be caught up in a society that frustrates our longing at every turn. Half our inventions are advertised to save time--the washing machine, the fast car, the jet flight--but for what? Never were people more harried by time: by watches, by buzzers, by time clocks, by precise schedules, by the beginning of the programme...

...And yet, time is our natural environment. We live in time as we live in the air we breathe. And we love the air--who has not taken deep breaths of pure, fresh country air, just for the pleasure of it? How strange that we cannot love time. It spoils our loveliest moments. Nothing quite comes up to expectations because of it. We alone: animals, so far as we can see, are unaware of time, untroubled. Time is their natural environment. Why do we sense that it is not ours?...

...It suggests that we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures. It suggests that we were created for eternity. Not only are we harried by time, we seem unable, despite a thousand generations, even to get used to it. We are always amazed by it--how fast it goes, how slowly it goes, how much of it is gone. Where, we cry, has the time gone? We aren't adapted to it, not at home in it. If that is so, it may appear as proof, or at least a powerful suggestion, that eternity exists and is our home...

...It appeared to me that I had longed for timelessness--eternity--all my days. Golden streets and compulsory harp lessons may lack appeal--but timelessness? And total persons? Heaven is, indeed, home."
-Sheldon Vanauken, excerpts from A Severe Mercy

-----

my teammate and i pretended like we knew what we were doing today and went to visit a locale with the owner of the rental agency and the owner of the property. there was a long string of good-natured and funny jokes at the expense of the two stupid young christians trying to start a church with said property. for example, it was suggested we sign a lease for the duration of eternity. frankly, the idea tempted me.

-----

when all we ever hear are the tired refrains of never having enough time, it's stunning, curious, and strangely refreshing to hear someone sing the simple words: "we have time."

and who better to deliver the words than the duo who's driving goal has often been to play their music as slowly as possible, as if they do indeed have all the time in the world? and if all this too is a reflection on eternity, could it be said that slow-core is inherently and particularly a christian genre?

deep beneath the surface of the earth
so many bodies waiting for the word
when every child and mother will return
forever
we'll have time

This is how grown up the kid is.

1. Riding bike with two wheels.
2. Starting to learn cursive in school.
3. On a soccer team.
4. Takes showers.
5. Took his first steps towards reading Green Eggs and Ham last night.
6. Played his first ukulele chord, also last night.
7. Lost his first tooth today.
8. Spent more than 15 minutes playing outside alone with the older neighbor boys who taught him how to ride a skateboard. (They commented that he was doing very well and learning very quickly and that Americans are very strong in skateboarding.)
9. Watched the news with me tonight.
10. At the dinner table, asked very seriously if he could start calling us "Mom" and "Dad" instead of Mama and Papa, because that's what grown up boys call their parents. We gave no definitive answer, stalled by saying we'd take his request into consideration.

happy

good way to end a long day.

i just watched it with the girl and she immediately began crying again when it was done. oh well, guess we'll have to watch it again.

The other kid, however, must be living on the wrong continent. He just pointed to poor Big Bird and said, "Look! There's an Angry Bird!!" No...no, not quite.

music in versailles

i really love all twenty minutes of this.

if you get bored quick, at least skip ahead to 6:20 for a really surprising look at Versailles.

Asaph's Psalm 77: Trusting Unseen Footprints

I thought I had wrung all I could out of this Psalm, but it keeps coming to mind. Especially those unseen footprints (v19).

A friend told me the story of another friend who needed a serious life-saving operation. If I've got the story right, it came in the order of an extensive blood transfusion, where they replaced his blood with new blood. Imagine: an operation where they quite literally suck the life out of you. This man described it to my friend, his state of consciousness while on the operating table. There were no bright lights or reassuring angels, no soothing harps, no sunset beach scenes, no calling voices. Nothing but darkness in the fullest sense of the word. It was a deep experience of fully trusting God, the man said, trusting Him when there was no external, visible, clearly valid reason for doing so. God took him on a path through great waters and His footprints were unseen. If that is not faith, what is? (And obviously, he lived to tell the story.)

Another friend recently shared the story of Daniel coming out of the lions' den. As I mentioned in my last post, I'm still struck by the fact that God didn't rescue Daniel before going into the lions' den, and even that he let him go for the entire night, but that's exactly the path described in Psalm 77. This friend highlighted just verse 23 of Daniel 6: "No kind of harm was found on him, because he had trusted in his God." Even as Daniel is threatened with his life, he trusts God. And the story has a happy ending.

And so here goes my train of thought: Quite a few Christians, being so eager to paint sunny pictures and sugar coat as if we're responsible for giving God good press, tend to see Daniel as the guy who dove into the den with a smile on his face, ready to give big hugs to those smiling teddy bears. After all, trust means confidence and confidence means a puffed up chest and head held high. Fearless, doubtless, strong and bold, convinced that he'd come back out unscathed because God always gives the victory to the ones who have enough trust. 

If you know me, you know full well I have a really hard time putting up with that train of thought and that picture of trust. But I'm also getting really tired of feeling like the Debbie Downer Pessimistic Realist all the time, so I began to doubt myself. Maybe that is what trusting God looks like, I said to myself. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Maybe I need more faith. Maybe I'm making too many provisions for my melancholic flesh. 

(Yes, I'm thinking all of this as my friend is still talking about Daniel.) In that moment it was as if God himself turned the pages for me, just a few stories ahead of the lions' den, and pointed to the verse. Daniels three friends are about to go into the furnace -- a strikingly similar scenario -- and they too trust God. 

"Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up."

But if not. Meaning, Even if he doesn't. We've got a feeling he will, but maybe he won't, and actually it really doesn't matter.

I've got to believe that all four of these men facing death, even as they trusted entirely in God, were unsettled, nervous, scared, and even wrestled with doubt. These were probably moments where God's footprints were unseen. They didn't know how it was going to end, whether or not they'd exit unsinged and uneaten. But not knowing doesn't mean not trusting, because that wasn't what mattered; the earthly outcome wasn't why they were trusting in God. Their trust simply meant that they would obey him no matter what the cost, knowing they could trust in his infinite goodness no matter the result.

When we minimize our trust in God to our own happy endings, we minimize our God.

And as Jesus descends into his own den of lions, he expresses his anguish to the friends around him: "My soul is very sorrowful even to death." He begs for God's path to take a detour around the deep waters, to be rescued before entering the fiery furnace: "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." Yet his trust in God surrenders to obedience: "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will." 

And then: "My God! Why have you forsaken me?!"

The tragedy that followed is the one and only time God forsakes, abandons, rejects, turns his back on one of his own. If ever there were a time where God's footprints are not seen, it is most definitely here. And yet Jesus keeps on trusting in obedience. He continues, seeking, calling out, "My God."

It was not the happy ending anyone wanted or expected, but it was indeed a happy ending that surpasses understanding, proving yet again that his goodness does not end and he is worth trusting, in the deepest sense of the word. 

Invention

The kid's been giving me good material lately.

He walked into the kitchen to greet us after his nap. He passed me and said quite nonchalantly, "Hey butthead."

I suppose any good father would get angry and give him a good scolding. I just giggled, a lot, trying to hide my amusement with little success, mostly because I am convinced he hasn't heard this anywhere and it is therefore an invention of his own creativity. And I also have a feeling it was meant quite innocently: if we combine "sweetie" and "pie" or "cutie" and "head" why not "butthead?"

And is it just the middle schooler left in me, or is there something really genuinely funny about the way "butthead" sounds?

Don't worry grandmothers, I told him it's not something we say. Between giggles.

Life goes on hard.

We were sing the Beatles' "Life Goes On" at the dinner table, ending with "lalalala life goes on..."

The kid finished the sentence. "Hard. Life goes on hard."

I asked him what he meant.

"Hard. Dangerous." He continued.

"Fires. Guns. Soldiers. Soldiers and guns."

We were already a little concerned at this point. He kept going, staring off into the distance. "Lions. Tigers."

Then with a straight face he yelled, "MEATBALLS FALLING FROM THE SKY!"

(starting to sound like a chip off the old block?)

life with three

yesterday at 9:30AM i said, "let's get out of the house as soon as possible." everyone was in agreement.
we pulled out of the driveway at 2:30PM.

--

the kid confessed that he discovered if he sticks his nose next to the girl's mouth, she latches on and sucks on it.

--

after a visit to the ER with a split chin, the other kid is only getting more confident in his recklessness, including trying to ride his 'bike' up the stairs. recently a friend observed his antics in the livingroom and said, 'i understand why you've been making trips to the hospital.'

the kid and i in paris

When he says he likes taking the train, 10% of it is the excitement of a train, the other 90% is taking advantage of the one occasion where I freely let him play Angry Birds. Because when it came to our arrival at Saint Lazare one hour and seven minutes later, he decided he wanted to walk to the first destination rather than take the Metro, because he was tired of trains.

Walk we did. And it's a dangerous thing walking hand in hand with a strong and distractable child, because just when think you're keeping a good pace, he stops cold without warning and yanks your arm out of its socket. First was to see a construction truck lifting a pallet to a top floor window. Second was walking past the toy store. He ducked in far enough to grab the latest Play Mobil catalog then followed along as I coaxed him back out. Third was walking past a pet store on a random side street in the 8eme.

It was a classy acquarium store: fish on the first floor, birds and rodents downstairs. The owner greeted us warmly as we were surely the first customers of the day. I explained we were just looking and he said "And it's good so far, no?" It was. I told him we were spending the day in Paris. "Just one day?!" Putting that puzzle piece together with the accent, he asked if it was a stop between flights, and I explained that no, we live in Normandy and the kid has been wanting to come in. "Well I'm honored that you'd consecrate part of your one day in Paris to my shop and me." At one acquarium all the giant goldfish came to greet us. When we put our fingers on the glass, they followed. "Your fish are very social," I told the man. "Yes, it's true, they are very kind like the shop owner."

When we arrived at Parc Monceau, chosen primarily because it's beautiful and not far from Saint Lazare, the kid informed me he didn't want to go to the playground right away. He preferred to sit on a park bench and browse his Play Mobil catalog. He did just this, like a 70-year-old man reading the newspaper. He also took advantage of the moment and finished his pain au chocolat from home. This is the life, people.

The day was a long string of negotiations, trying to teach a 5-year-old about the nature of time, train schedules, distances in a city, prioritizing and choosing between one thing or the other. Some decisions were easy: when he said "eat in a restaurant," he informed me in the train, he actually meant McDonalds. Happy Meal. Toy. I was a little disappointed to not find a croque-monsieur at a bistrot for him, but he said it firmly enough that I knew there was no negotiating, though he did accept settling for the inferior French version of McDo called Quick, with which a 30 minute wait in line was anything but, and though I was the one to suggest it for convenience's sake, going to Quick instead of McDo was almost as disappointing as going to McDo instead of a bistrot.

The second park we visited turned out to be a big disappointment. It was a park we visited a few years ago and everything was closed after we got stuck in a 3 hour traffic jam. I was really looking forward to a second chance at visiting what seem like wonderful places to play, but upon our arrival we saw they were once again practically all closed for maintenance. The kid handled it much better than I did, and sensing my disappointment he reassured me: "I'm sorry Papa. But we're fine, Papa! We'll find other things to do! It's OK!" That sort of role reversal kind of put me to shame, so I pulled myself together and we moved on to other things.

Like the submarine exhibit. I thought for sure it'd be free, and was a little frustrated to find the 3Euro admission fee. At least there were audio guides. When the man at the counter asked if we spoke French, the kid responded with no hesitation, "Oui!" But I asked the kid (in French) if he preferred English. "Oui!" That made the man ask, "You're bilingual? How lucky!" We went with our English audio guides and enjoyed the inside of the submarine, and the kid kept talking about it for the rest of the day, that old old submarine he called it, and even asked to go back one more time. Turned out it was the worth the six euros.

I asked him if he wanted to rent a paddle boat at the Paris Plage. No hesitation: "No." This completely surprised me. I asked again. "No, I want to do fun things like slides. Besides, we have a boat at home." Puzzled, I asked, "What boat?!" "You know, the toy boat in the bathtub." Ah, of course, no need to rent a paddle boat then. Scratch that off the list. Easy enough.

I suggested we go to the playground in the park next to the Louvre Pyramids. We've visited only once, but his trap-door memory searched the files of mental notes and catalog of elaborate maps and he asked, "You mean the one where you go up the ladder and crawl across the net and go over the bridge and under the roof and then down the slide?" "Yes, that's the one," astonished. "Yeah, let's do it!" We did. He loved it.

And he knew when he was ready to move on to the next priority. I was surprised, but on his own initiative he came to me and said, "Papa, I'm ready to go see the dinosaur."

Off we went. As he's learned most of his numbers at school last year, I tried to seize the opportunity to let him practice in the metro, telling him what we were looking for and letting him navigate. As I informed him of the next step on the train, he looked at me with big round eyes saying with much enthusiasm, "Don't worry, Papa," (yes, he really does interject "Papa" in every single sentence he says to me) "I have EAGLE EYES!" As we got off the metro and started our way, he was having trouble spotting the number. It's because we were standing almost directly under the sign and he's not as tall as your typical metro user. I gave him a hint to look up. He did and spotted it, knowing I had spotted it first, and said just as enthusiastically, "YOU have eagle eyes TOO, Papa!"

Once again I showed him a map and gave him the option: metro (save those poor feet!) or walk along the seine (get out and enjoy this beautiful day!). He chose to walk, for which I was glad despite my concern for his sore feet and our limited time. Getting down along the Seine and beginning the walk, he finally sighed in a daydream, "Papa, I really want to live in Paris someday."

Later, in another daydream, he said, "Papa, I wonder what happened to the old submarine captain. I think he either went to South America or died. But I think he went to South America."

We saw the dinosaur, a chrome T-Rex sculpture recently featured on Colossal.

With that we started our trek home, and he now started to ask to be carried. Not in the whiney insistence that tells you he actually could walk and is just being lazy, but more so in a begging no-really-I-can't-take-another-step-this-is-serious kind of way. Sure enough, as we waited for the next metro, standing on the platform before the automatic door, he decided to sit down on the ground, four feet away from the provided benches. As we made our way through stations, we got on several escalators, and each time he'd turn around and sit down on the metal stairs. For the last distance I carried him from the escalator to our final train. A surreally difficult experience, as in our first year navigating through public transportation was always done with him in my arms. It's no so easy anymore, which also thankfully means he can walk farther and faster. I put him down and instead of protesting he sighed a pathetic "Thank you" as though he were actually saying, "You've saved my life."

We got on our train back home with 7 minutes to spare, meaning negotiations and choices all worked out alright, we played Angry Birds until the battery died, and we slept well last night, and I think both of us were pretty pleased to have a day with one another.

off to paris

I've been promising the kid a date in paris for far too long now. It's finally happening tomorrow.

Before bed I asked him again what his requests were. Simple:

1. Take the train.
2. Go to lots of parks. With slides and swings.
3. Eat at a restaurant.
4. Sleep in a gîte.

As he settled into bed he added:

5. See the Eiffel Tower "sprinkle."
6. Maybe we could take a ride in a fancy bus?
7. Come home late at night, when it's dark out.

We'll see what we can do.

The Odor of Youth

We took the girl to church today.

Getting ready to leave outside, another girl about 8 or 9 years of age came and crouched down to admire her in her carseat. She was smitten, talking of how much she loved little babies, finishing by saying,

"...et puis ils ont toujours une certaine odeur; l'odeur de jeunesse."
"...ce qui te plaît ?" I asked.
"oui, beaucoup."

"They always have a certain odor...the odor of youth." It sounds much more eloquent in French, especially when such a sophisticated 8 year old is saying it. And though a more dynamic equivalent would be something more straight forward like "baby smell," I knew exactly what she was referring to and couldn't agree more.

Pilot Me

I'm not sure how I've gone this long without posting this chill-inducing video.

Asaph's Psalm 77: A Strange Path

Asaph's God is mysterious and powerful, but that doesn't mean he is impersonal or elusive. Asaph includes two bookends to frame a proper understanding of God's transcendence:

You with your arm redeemed your people (v 15)
and
You led your people like a flock (v 20)

Already to see this sort of gentle, patient, kind and loving immenence right next to such incomprehensible and powerful transcendence is baffling. Like Lewis said so truly of Aslan: he's not safe, but he's good. Yes, all the power of nature trembles before this fearsome God, but he is a Redeemer and he is a Shepherd.

But for me what causes the longest pause are the strange methods of this Redeeming Shepherd. Yes, he leads his people, but where does he lead them?

Your way was through the sea,
your path through the great waters;
yet your footprints were unseen. (v 19)

The words just used to inspire a certain level of fear--the waters were afraid, the deep trembled--are now used to show where God leads. Here I am confessing my fear of being lost at sea to you, and our Leader turns to say, "That's exactly where we're headed." He takes us directly through the sea, right through the great waters.

What might perhaps be scariest is that his footprints are unseen or unknown, as though we'll lose sense of his presence. When we're headed through the waters, there won't necessarily be any overwhelming evidence that he is with us. Much like the tone of this Psalm, we'll be left to wonder.

You know that Footprints in the Sand poem that means so much to so many people? The man sees one set of footprints and assumes God abandoned him, only to be told those are actually God's footprints and the man was being carried. Asaph's poem is a little less rosy, less likely to be found framed in the family room: God's footprints are nowhere to be found, and this walk is not on a sunset beach but straight into the crashing breakers.

Who was the first bold Israelite to cross the parted Red Sea and what was going through his mind? Imagine this fear-invoking body of water, split in two, two flowing walls towering precariously on either side. We always emphasize the dry land, and surely it was a clear and decisive miracle, but who's crazy enough to trust that the water won't come crashing down? Taking that step took some faith. This is neither safe nor sure. Why didn't God provide a boat? A bridge? A fast track around the sea?

Make no mistake: though the path is strange and his presence seems questionable, he is there and he is leading. It's just that there's no guarantee it will be a comfortable journey. Closer to the truth: it's guaranteed it will not be. Yet this still seems to come as a surprise. Our wishful thinking draws different conclusions and we tend to forget who it is we're following.

This is a God who doesn't just give his people a Promised Land, but leads them to it...through a desert...for 40 years.
A God who doesn't rush to rescue Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the furnace...but meets them in it.
A God who doesn't shut the doors of lions' dens, but shuts lions' mouths.
A God who leads his sheep even through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
A God who meets stubborn Jonah, of all places, in the belly of a fish.
A God who leads his own Son first into the desert and finally to a cross.

Why? He has plenty of unknown reasons, but one could be simply that in these our most desperate moments, our attention toward him is at last the most heightened. What has been numbed by two-car garages and white picket fences is awakened by water, desert, fire, and beast. These are then in fact the most ideal places to learn our Redeeming Shepherd.

His way is through the sea, His path through the great waters; yet His footprints are unseen.
He leads his people like a flock.

...Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior...

Low

Slowly realizing that after 10 years I'm ready to admit Low has always been one of my favorite bands. Strange that the only album I actually, physically, legally own is the one my wife just bought me for my birthday. That will have to change.

I am loving this version with it's super heavy, fuzzy, distorted guitar work.


While we're at it, if you don't prefer distortion, here's the opposite end of the spectrum...

elle est chez elle.

The Girl is Here

There's the kid, the other kid, and now the girl. Had I known from the start that three kids would be coming so quickly, I would have given them other more clever or at least more affectionate blogosphere names. I guess they've caught me by surprise. They've all caught me by surprise. Just trying to keep up.

Regardless, she's here!!!!

Née 1h15 -- Born 7:15PM EST
3.430 kg -- 7 lb 9 oz
50 cm -- 19.5 in

Elle est la plus belle au monde.
She's the most beautiful in the world.



No but seriously, three kids. Three. This is madness, is it not? Three and a half short years ago, sure, we had some desires, but no plans. A move to France was on the radar, but not a kid. Not two. Certainly not three.

It's one of many reasons the girl's name means Praise Consecrated to God.

lights

For the record, if I followed my impulse to share all I love on this art blog Colossal, I would not only inundate you but also basically just start up a copycat duplicate blog, like Colossal Jr. or something. I restrain myself as much as I can, but seriously, you should probably just bookmark that site and check on it as often as you might check this, because every day I'm saying to myself, "I've gotta tell someone about this..."

But this...this is an impulse to strong to ignore.

I've been starting a dream of a list of things to do when I'm retired. I think a chandelier tree is going on it. Note to self: add a swing.

Asaph's Psalm 77: Power, Mystery

Even if verses 11 through 15 talk about might and wonder and holiness, something feels personal. This is a God who is known, who has made himself known, and not just in a general way but to his people (v 14).  He has not only intervened but intervened on their behalf (v 15). And perhaps we could say that this is exactly where Asaph's frustration lies; it's this personal God who seems absent at the moment.

And so with another pause and a deep breath, he switches gears yet again. And all of a sudden this is a big and powerful God, mysterious and transcendent, a God to be revered.

When the waters saw you, O God,
    when the waters saw you, they were afraid;
    indeed, the deep trembled.
The clouds poured out water;
    the skies gave forth thunder;
    your arrows flashed on every side.
The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind;
    your lightnings lighted up the world;
    the earth trembled and shook.

It's not something I think about often, but one of my biggest fears is being stranded in the middle of an ocean. You know those crazy terrible movies where people are treading water holding on to the last floating plank after the ship sank, or stuck huddled in a flimsy raft after the plane went down? To be small and alone in the incomprehensible vastness of an ocean, and to be a poor swimmer on top of it, that's a nightmare.

Or think of how helpless we are in the wake of recent tornadoes or hurricanes or earthquakes. We humans manage ourselves pretty well in the day to day, but when it comes to the force of a lot of water or a lot of wind or the solid ground beneath us -- the surest thing we know -- all of a sudden starting to shake, we are utterly defenseless.

I guess I'm not so crazy for fearing the ocean. It is right to fear the power of nature. And it's in these terms that Asaph describes this God. The force of nature, the most uncontrollably powerful thing we know on this earth, is afraid of this God, trembling before him.

Asaph is reminding himself just who exactly he's dealing with. If this is the powerful, mysterious, awe-inspiring God we're complaining to, surely there are a few details that surpass us, a few things we aren't understanding.

This is God asking Job, "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?"

Another note for lament: Remember who you are and who you're dealing with. That shouldn't keep you from lamenting, but instead will keep you running to God and not away from him, trusting him rather than yourself.

Asaph's Psalm 77: The Right Way to Lament

And so Asaph remembers. Despite the trouble, the restlessness, the weariness, the depression, the torture, something in him drives him to remember, to retell, to recount.

I will remember the deeds of the Lord;
    yes, I will remember your wonders of old.
I will ponder all your work,
    and meditate on your mighty deeds.
Your way, O God, is holy.
    What god is great like our God?
You are the God who works wonders;
    you have made known your might among the peoples.
You with your arm redeemed your people,
    the children of Jacob and Joseph.
  
And here we pause again, do a double-take, scratch our heads and ask, Is this the same person? Is this the same psalm? Did the editor get a hold of this? Surely this is a misquote.

But don't get me wrong, we're relieved. Here's where we prooftext, where we read selectively. Here's where we conveniently pull a few verses from the Psalms for our Call to Worship, forgetting the context, forgetting the setting. Because yes, this is still Asaph, and yes, this is still the same Psalm, this is still a lament.

Remember, this is Asaph reflecting on what God used to do. This is Asaph wondering if God will keep working in the same manner, and if he will, just how long it will take. Yet he's seeking God, and in so doing is essentially saying, "Maybe God has changed, but God still exists, and he is still God." This is Asaph collecting clues, gathering evidence, rehearsing what he's sure of. And it's all he's got.

But what a wonderful way to lament! This is not a human way of complaining. These verses show us the disposition of the psalmist's heart, revealing that the questions and accusations in the first 10 verses are not a human heart waging war against God as is often the case, but seeking him in all desperation. A depressed human heart does not naturally affirm God's wonder, might, and holiness. That is often the last thing we'd dream of doing as we shake our fists at God. This is, then, Spirit-filled and Spirit-led lament.

Neither the tough, honest questions of doubt nor the blunt expressions of anger and depression are to be feared. The thing to fear is the disposition of the heart from which these overflow.

Does our lament drive us away from God, putting up barriers, seeking independence, fleeing, rebelling, resisting, hiding? 
Or does our lament drive us toward Him, persisting, wrestling, fighting, chasing, waiting, hoping?

In personal suffering, it's an empty-handed Job asking question after question of his Creator.
In national suffering, it's Habakkuk boldly complaining to God, then camping out until he gets an answer.
In doubts and second-guesses, it's John the Baptist asking, "Are you the One?" or Thomas asking, "Can I see your hands?" and believing after receiving the answer they needed.
In the daily grind, it's a simple man pleading, "I believe! Help me with my unbelief!"

Sometimes I wonder if we Christians have bipolar disorder, a bunch of manic-depressives, happy or sad, hot or cold, one or the other. And once again I'm wondering if the Christian experience isn't meant to, a bit like Asaph's Psalm 77, always embody both at the same time. Lament doesn't mean an absence of hope, and hope doesn't mean an avoidance of lament. We're to be sorrowful yet always rejoicing.

Asaph's Psalm 77: The Only Thing Left to Do

Verse 10 is the hinge of the Psalm, the opening to a new stanza and thus a turning point. But those still waiting for a quick answer to the hanging questions shouldn't feel too relieved right away, because this verse itself might not be the real hopeful shift we were hoping it was.

The ESV puts it this way: "Then I said, 'I will appeal to this, to the years of the right hand of the Most High.'"

But if you take the time to read the fine print, you'll find a footnote containing a very different version: "This is my grief: that the right hand of the Most High has changed."  

Now I'm no Hebrew scholar, and I haven't found any Hebrew scholars in my brief attempt of research that want to explain the controversy to me. (If you are a Hebrew scholar, speak up!) It appears as though the Hebrew isn't real clear, and from looking at the many different resulting translations, the jury is split. 

For example: 
The New King James, like the ESV: “This is my anguish; But I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.”
The New American Standard, like the footnote: "It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed."

Both siding with the second option, one French version says, "What causes my suffering is that the Most High doesn't act like he used to," and another says, "The right hand of the Most High is no longer the same."

It seems to me that choosing one translation over the other really shifts the tone of the psalm. I don't know which is right and true, but it seems to me we're generally more at ease with the first. We're more comfortable with a Psalmist who slams on the brakes with a BUT and goes on to think happy thoughts. We're much less comfortable with a Psalmist who accuses God of changing. 

A psalmist who accuses God of changing! These are indeed strong words! Are we allowed to even express such a thing? Are we allowed to be this gut-honest? Are we permitted to be so blunt, epecially in the middle of a worship song? Can such a thing even be a part of worship? 

I'll let you wrestle with those questions yourself. My hypothesis, though, is that your answers probably determine how you would translate verse 10.

So which translation is best? I personally can't say. But regardless, it's clear the psalmist is introducing a passage where he recounts how God has worked in the past. And so whether he is saying, "I will remember how God has acted in the past" or he's saying, "God isn't acting like he used to," he is still essentially saying the same thing: 

The only thing left to do is remember. 

In the present, God's not doing what he used to, in fact, God doesn't seem to be doing much at all. So if I can't rejoice about what he's doing right now, the only thing left to do is remember what he used to do. 

Because what he used to do was wonderful (v11) and mighty (v12) and holy and great (v13) and marvelous and powerful (v14) and redemptive (v15). 

Asaph can't say all those things for Today, and who knows about Tomorrow, but he can at least remember Yesterday. It's worth remembering. And so, for now, that's the only thing left to do.

Asaph's Psalm 77: Hanging Questions

There are plenty of questions we shy away from in church circles. Questions that are off limits, or at least questions that must be asked quietly, or at least questions that must be answered quickly.

In giving a title to Psalm 77, the ESV takes a quote from verse 2 and suggests "In the Day of Trouble I Seek the Lord." The French Semeur version chooses a more unsettling title: "Might God have Changed?" I think the average Christian these days prefers periods over question marks.

Yet I have to agree with the audacity of the French title: questioning God's changelessness seems to summarize well the psalm, and I'm struck by Asaph's bold, hanging questions.

Asaph starts by describing his condition. Restless weary nights, so much trouble he's speechless, no matter what he tries he cannot find comfort. It's not for lack of trying: he cries out to God, he seeks God, he stretches his hands out to God, he remembers God, he meditates, and even still, nothing. The thought of God makes him groan and instead of being calmed or rejuvenated in meditation, he faints. It sounds like what we might call a "tortured soul" or someone being "haunted" by the past.

Too often we don't accept that these things are compatible with the Christian experience. Too often we insist the problem is a spiritual one: we've lost focus and fellowship with God. But try telling that to Asaph.

And so, from this state, he asks questions, questions that typically must be asked quietly and answered quickly. Read them slowly. Let them sink in. Hear them.

"Will the Lord spurn forever,
    and never again be favorable?
Has his steadfast love forever ceased?
    Are his promises at an end for all time? 
Has God forgotten to be gracious?
    Has he in anger shut up his compassion?"

In other words, Is God who he says he is? Is God who we think he is? Might God have changed?

And instead of a quick answer, Asaph plans a pause in his song. A long, uncomfortable, silent pause.

These are not questions to be taken lightly. A quick and confident answer might not necessarily mean you are in fact taking them lightly, but it sure can seem that way to the person who's asking. If you refuse to observe that pause, you are refusing to identify with the person who is not only asking the questions but living them. And so, let's allow the space to let these questions hang, at least for a moment, to truly ask them, to take them seriously, to acknowledge the dark corners of the human experience that are not incompatible but rather a real and necessary part of the Christian experience.

Like Job's friends who sat with him a full week without saying a thing, for our brothers and sisters who are weary and troubled and tortured and haunted, let's sit with these questions.

Selah.