Advent 37: Promises kept

Watching over my kids' shoulders, I can't believe how many cartoons have an episode where the characters are bailing out Santa to save Christmas. I don't know if it started with Rudolph or somewhere even before that, but it's a tired plot line.

Despite what they might have you believe, Christmas always comes. As sure as the rising sun, December 25th arrives year in and year out. Despite the wait, it finally arrives, always. You can count on it.

That's in part because, despite the wait, the Messiah finally arrived. As sure as I AM, the expected one came. It was a promise kept. You could count on it.

Which means, as sure as Christmas, he will come again. Just as promised. There will be a wait, but he'll arrive. Count on it.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Advent 36: John, the wilderness, the shadow of death, and a sunrise

John seems to get overshadowed at Christmastime. We rush to Luke chapter 2 and miss the first birth that is miraculous and noteworthy in its own right. We read all sorts of fascinating details, and the end result is that Zechariah and Elizabeth's neighbors are struck with the fear of God, all of Judea is talking, and everyone is wondering what will become of this kid. 

Zechariah gives a response: 

"'...And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High...
...the sunrise shall visit us from on high
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.'

And the child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day of his public appearance to Israel." (Luke 1:76, 78-80)

We'll see later that John is completely confident in his role, and that's because he knows precisely what his role is. It helps to remember that he knew his role because his father knew it from the moment he was born, and announced it with the help of the Holy Spirit. 

Maybe time in the wilderness helped too. Why is it that God seems to send all those he wants to use to the wilderness? The list is frighteningly long. What is it about the wilderness? What is learned there? And why do we resist it so fiercely? Questions to come back to.

John is the Best Man of the bridegroom, and he knows it. He's thus filled with joy to watch the wedding unfold (John 3:29) rather than being mixed up, jealously and selfishly wondering why he can't be the center of attention, why he can't get the bride. He knows it's not his day. And so, he willingly and humbly lets go of his disciples, pointing them to Christ, the one who is infinitely greater and more important.

Zechariah knew about this from day one as well. His prophecy, curiously enough, is just as much about Christ as it is about his own miraculous baby boy. It's as if John would be nothing if it weren't for Jesus. 

Jesus would be a sunrise from on high. He would be a light, finally showing us the way. 

That light is for those of us sitting in the shadow of death. We've been trapped in the shadow of death for a long time. Remember that Good Shepherd we always talk about who leads us through the valley of the shadow of death? Someone brought to my attention not long ago that the shadow of death isn't just bedside vigils, hospice care, and funeral ceremonies, where that psalm is typically read. But rather, all of life is the shadow of death. The fear of inescapable death holds mankind in slavery (Hebrews 2:15). The shadow is always there, always looming.

Yet, in the midst of the shadow of death, the sunrise guides us toward peace. Just as is the theme of Psalm 23, there is hope to be had, and comfort to be found, and joy to be experienced. 

Joy, comfort, hope, and peace in the midst of the shadow of death? How can this be?

Sounds like a lesson to be learned in the wilderness.

Advent 35: More Unconventional Advent Songs

Add these songs to the list of unconventional advent songs.

Because one day we'll all sing like this:
And play our guitars and drums like this:


...in one majestic and glorious crescendo.

And until then we wait with expectation, our souls longing to join in the chorus they were made to sing.

Advent 34: Deliverance

As much as the church needs theologians, preachers, and teachers, we need storytellers. Peope that stretch our imaginations, pull us out of our tunnel vision, and show us the age-old story afresh, from an angle we've never seen it before. Its facets dazzle in new ways, as if we were hearing it for the first time.

That's what happened last night at our Christmas worship service. Our storyteller imagined the band of shepherds and all that happened to them.

Like how old were they when they heard those angels announcing the good news? And how long did they have to wait to see who this baby grew up to be? And where were they then, after all those years? And on the day He was killed, did they still remember the events of that strange night 30-some years prior? The way she painted the scene and their interactions put us right there with them.

But what exactly will this baby deliver us from? they asked themselves.
The Romans? Oppression? Sickness? Sadness?

The older, wiser one in the group answered:
Non, il va nous délivrer de nous-mêmes. 

He'll deliver us from ourselves.

Babble

The girl's franco-american babble comes out sounding like something that resembles more so norwegian than anything else. The things she does with her tongue are strange and impressive.

But when it comes to her favorite word, she has decided on the language to use. It is not "no" but quite clearly and emphatically "non non."

Advent 33: Lighter Loads

This Flower
dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
true man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
and lightens every load.

This has always been a favorite Christmas melody. It somehow embodies a weary waiting and a mysterious hope, like a flower slowly growing, undoing the impossible, then brightening rooms, dispelling darkness, lifting spirits, lightening loads.

Advent 32: Silencing Rebel Hearts

....God responds to this deep desire to be known and understood by the one in authority. But it is only one more profound expression of the wideness of his grace.

Because our metaphor of the pauper-befriending prince and the undercover boss only goes so far. History serves to show us that royalty and executives are in fact quite often imperfect, unjust, driven by greed, and prone to exploiting others. They need experiences like the ones mentioned in order to learn, to uncover blind spots, to see that of which they've been ignorant.

This of course is not the case when it comes to the incarnation. God did not send Jesus in order to know us or understand us. The Creator knows his creation, and intimately so. He knows us better than we know ourselves. Though he was a man, the knowledge and understanding of Jesus was no exception: "Jesus knew all people and needed no one to bear witness about man, for he himself knew what was in man." John 2:25

So then let's be honest: though we can't deny the existence of power-hungry authority and the discontentment of such is often merited, there is often something else driving our complaints of those out-of-touch higher-ups. Is it not our spirit of rebellion?

Those complaints around the water-cooler, the cigarette-break gossip, is it not what naturally comes out of our sick and rebel hearts? Insisting the authority does not understand us is easier than submission. Because the last thing a rebel heart wants to do is submit. We will kick, scream, and dig in our heals before voluntarily following the one in charge.

The man who says God is a distant and impersonal force who doesn't know us--or if he does he is cruel and indifferent and couldn't care less about our struggles down here on earth--is a man who doesn't understand our God and ultimately doesn't want to. His rebel heart refuses to know God, because the more you know God, the more you will be accountable to submit to Him.

This is only all the more true when we acknowledge that God cannot be accused of ignorance, greed, exploitation or oppression like so many examples of earthly authority.

"The light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed." John 3:19-20

Jesus did not come, then, to get to know us in some personal paradigm-shifting enlightenment. He did not come to learn his lesson. He came rather to silence our rebel hearts. He came so that we, who in a spirit of insubordination shook our fists at the sky saying "You don't know us!" would finally be silenced, dropping our hands in surrender, recognizing his the depths of his goodness, compassion, and kindness.

He stoops down to appease our deepest desires founded in rebellion. Where an earthly king would attempt to squelch, silence, and suppress such opposition, Jesus descends in dialogue, gently insisting, "I'm not who you think I am."

He comes not to know us, but to make God known, and in the way we rebels need most.

"No one has ever seen God; Jesus has made him known." John 1:18

And that he caters to rebels is just one more astounding facet of his marvelous grace.

Advent 31: Princes and paupers, Undercover bosses

In Mark Twain's the Prince and the Pauper published in 1882, a prince and a street rat succeed in changing places. The stories that follow are at times funny and others fascinating, but I think the story readers want to hear about most is the prince who learns for the first time about life on the streets. Stereotypes take on new dimensions when we befriend the actual human beings behind them. He sees injustice and discrimination and vows to fix it when he becomes King. The experience changes him.

If 19th century literature isn't your thing (I can't really say it's mine), perhaps reality TV is more up your alley. Twain's story isn't all that different from the series Undercover Boss (now in its sixth season). Again, what we seem to enjoy most is watching the CEO go empty trash cans through the daily grind right next to the average joe. He deserves a dose of reality, after all. Our hope and pleasure, and it is exactly what's pushed in the advertising, is that he'll learn something and change work conditions for the better upon returning to the office.

It reveals a deeply held desire of ours: we want to be known and understood by the guy in authority. This is exactly what drives the success of both Twain's book and the reality series. I'm convinced we're so passionate about it that it becomes almost an issue of justice. If things aren't going well for us, it's because the Big Boss just doesn't get it; he's out of touch, doesn't know or appreciate all the work we do, and all he cares about is the bottom line and his own paycheck. We want the authority to be one of us. If he's not, something's not right, something's not fair.

The examples are many. The presidential candidate visits the factories and grasps at straws to explain his blue collar heritage, or visits the troops and reminds them that he, or maybe it was his uncle, was a war veteran. The school hiring a principal will likely look first among its teachers in the job search. When workers are nervous about the changes coming with the new boss, he reassures them that he won't make any decisions right away, but will take the time to learn and get to know the environment first. And if he doesn't, you can be sure we'll complain about it. We're convinced that in order to be a good leader, you need to know us, you need to know the context.

The desire runs deep. It will fuel our praise or our anger.

And I find it amazing that God responds to it in coming to earth himself. He's not the CEO far removed in his high-rise office of luxury, nor the ignorant royalty spoiled with an easy life of extravagance. Jesus is the prince living among paupers, the undercover boss. He put aside all that was rightfully his and became one of us. We are known and understood, because the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.....

The Hands of God

In the recent art exhibit I helped to organize in our town, I saw the hands of God.

The hand of an angel quickly and firmly grabbing Abraham's wrist, just barely preventing what could have been a tragedy. I saw the hand of God saying, "No, I am not that kind of god. In love, I will provide another way."

The shining hands reaching out from a cloud of blinding light, delivering the law, establishing a covenant, reaching down to man, revealing more of himself. Though we cannot bear to see his face, he stretches out his hands to say, "This is who I am."

Again, blinding light, this time radiating from a baby, humble, gentle, yet in whom the fullness of God dwells. The light shining in darkness, the Word made flesh. The one for whom the world is waiting reaches out toward his mother with a tiny and weak newborn hand.

A father welcomes his lost son with two peculiar hands: one larger, placed firmly on the shoulder, the other softer, pulling in his back. The hands of God, firm and tender, just and loving, full of truth and grace, welcome sinners and exhort them to sin no more. "Consider the kindness and severity of God." Romans 11:22

The reigning Christ stretches out his hands at the last judgment. They form the arms of the scale of justice: his rule is impartial, good, true, and right. Though the hands are just, they are not clenched in fists, but open, welcoming, and marked with scars. His justice will be administered according his steadfast love and the righteousness he bestows upon his children, acquired by the nails with which he was pierced. In the hands of God are a loving justice and a just love.

Mix Tape: More Than Meets the Eye

There was a time when music meant something. When it came from somewhere deep down inside. Where we sang it with everything we had, because for the duration of that song it was in fact all we had.

In our emo phase, for example, that's what it was all about. Duh, it was emotional. That's how it was meant to be. Melodramatic? Sure, to some onlookers maybe, but never to the guy singing his heart out, be it the frontman on stage or the fanboy in the crowd.

This is how music is meant to be, after all. I'm convinced it's the purpose music serves. No, I'm not talking about emo, thrashing around on stage, screams, forcing tears, black hair dye and black nail polish. I mean that music is for encompassing and expressing a full range of emotions that can't quite be articulated otherwise. And a good song does exactly that not just through instrumentation or performance, but primarily through a melody, through a chord progression, through rhythm and syncopation. Through its bare bones. Like a good folk song at its core, dress it up however you like and it will almost always produce the same results. A tug on the heart, a nudge in the soul.

In enters Scottish electro-pop act CHVRCHES. Now, I know that surely there is more to electronic music than meets the eye. And while I admire the craft, I never quite get the live show: a couple of nerds standing behind the glow of their laptops, pressing play on things they've copied and pasted, and pretending they're doing something more. Surely it's more than that, but I don't yet entirely get it. Now imagine taking that underwhelming set up and putting it in a 9 to 5 office setting, next to the cubicles and under the fluorescent lights. What could be more boring? Yet for some reason, I find this Tiny Desk Concert to be one of the most powerful I've seen. And it's because the songs -- the melodies, the chords, the rhythm -- are just that good. In the end it's not really at all about synths and beats and loops and bloops. It's about whatever's lying deep within that produces these pieces of music meant to be felt. We don't expect such a small, sweet, and vulnerable voice to produce as much as it does. More than meets the eye, indeed.


The Bones of What You Believe is an album that's been finding its way into our home slowly and surely. Like I've mentioned, even the kids like it. There's a lot of great stand out tracks, but for the mix tape, I choose "Recover."

Shaking what your mama and papa gave ya.

I've got good news for the world.

My kids like to cut a rug. But we're really pleased to tell you that the girl is already the best dancer of the three. We didn't think it was possible to feel rhythm more than the first two do. She's proved us wrong. And at only 16 months, this is promising.

I'm also proud to announce she apparently really really likes the group CHVRCHES, whom I've been meaning to write about for a while now...

Mix Tape: Being made for one another

Every once in a while a group comes along and it's clear they were made for another. Whatever their respective backgrounds, they were meant to find one another, make music together.

That's the case with Lucius. It's most observable, of course, in their two frontwomen who might as well be sisters, or twins, or siamese twins even, joined at the vocal chords or something, because their voices function as one in an unbelievable and enchanting way. But just as admirable is the way the men join seamlessly in the singing, subtly and discretely, always adding and never detracting, or the way all five of them pulse with the same rhythm, the way each one of them brings something to the table and it all just somehow fits.

They were made for one another, and that's just the way their debut disc Wildewoman listens. There are moments, bursting with enthusiasm in having found their musical soul mates, that are overzealous to their detriment. They will only improve as they learn to edit and refine their craft, as at times there is simply too much going on to the point it's hard to digest or tell one song from another. They're excited, and you can't blame them.

But there are indeed other times where they reveal what that future could hold, where they prove that less is more. Because when you're meant to be together, you can be content to let moments pass in silence. You are comfortable, confident, secure, not needing to be heard, letting the other speak up or just simply enjoying the moment. That rhythm that pulses between you, it keeps churning even when no one's explicitly keeping time. These are the moments that shine most among their songs, the moments that prove most clearly they're made for one another.

That space between notes is most evident in Lucius's strongest song, "Go Home." Here's a live version for you.

That's the song that goes on the mix tape, but all this was just as evident in the song they chose for their encore last night in Paris: "Two of us on the run"

Haircuts

The kid's teacher pulled me aside and told me he had cut his hair in the middle of class. She found little piles of hair on his desk and asked him if that was in fact the case and why he did it. "Parce que ça me gêne," he responded matter of factly. "Because it annoys me." Reasonable enough.

And like most of the things he does, it was not an impulsive act, but rather careful and thought through. He took a few nice straight snips right in the middle of the hair that often hung in his eyes. When it was brushed over, you could hardly notice it.

Instead of being angry, his mother and I were almost proud, even on the verge of being affirming. After all, what should we expect when he's been asking for a cut and he's grown up watching his mother cut her own hair?

And so when it came time to finish the job and finally cut off the impressive locks he's grown over the past year, his mother handed him the hair trimmer and let him do the honors on the sides, teaching him along the way. He opted not to cut the top with scissors, and left that for her to finish.

He's six. If he keeps this up, he'll be able to put himself through college like his mother did, giving 5 dollar haircuts to friends. Why wait? It could start in middle school.

Flashbacks

Spending two hours in the car every day this week to go see my wife in the hospital has given me plenty of time to listen to music, and I've been digging in the archives. I listened to this today and sang just about every word.

I remember very clearly the first time I heard The Dingees. I put the headphones on in the Christian bookstore and from the opening seconds I was hooked.

I got this disc on my 16th birthday at the surprise party in the backyard. I put it on immediately.

The photo of the guys wearing their black zip-up hoodies inspired me to go out and buy one for myself; the one I bought became a staple and stayed with me for more than 10 years.

I gave their music to Fraser, trying to convince him that "Christian" music didn't suck and that they were just as good if not better than Rancid. He agreed they were good; I'm not sure he was ready to accept that they were better than Rancid.

I used to play their music on the sound system before youth group on Wednesday nights, and we'd dance. (OK, skank might be a more accurate term, but I was trying to avoid it.)

I think I only saw them play once; we drove someplace far away to watch them play with Ghoti Hook.

And I still really, really like their music. Most of the punk and ska from my teenage years has been retired to a large CD booklet holder, being preserved mostly for nostalgia's sake. But after all these years the Dingees have stayed on the shelf.

They never belonged in the parallel-universe of a niche market they found themselves in, but I'm glad they showed up there because I never would have run into them otherwise.

Hasta Mañana

Je suis entré dans une église. C'était la première fois. Wow. Impressionant.

We went to see this little indie film in town last night, to see the directors and an actor talk about it afterwards. One of the two directors just turned 18, and if I understand correctly he's become the youngest film director in the history of French cinema...but maybe I didn't understand correctly.

It was not a film that blew me away, but it was a really enjoyable community experience. The audience was, for some reason, nombreux and really enthusiastic. And as the credits rolled I learned these young bucks appear to be Christians. I loved witnessing their idealism, their big dreams and the pursuit of them, and a promising start to a much longer career. A cynical world, me included, often scorns such naiveté, but if we let go of our own vicious insecurities that too often keep us from trying, something about it becomes quite contagious. And it's all a lot easier, as the film's story and directing team show, if you've got a good friend who is advocating for you every step of the way.

What if each of us had a friend like that? What if each of us could be a friend like that?

Backyard Soccer à la française

Yesterday was our first superFrench day-long party-gathering.

The dads organized a parent vs. kid soccer game.

The game began and the men were typically nonchalant in their approach, as if they didn't care and weren't excited, just humoring their children. They kept this attitude but went on and deftly dodged little ones, barely running yet weaving through, scoring goals, all while effortlessly ensuring they didn't spill a drop from their plastic cups of wine. An impressive display of understated finesse.

As the American, I was in it to win it. I was the only one not clutching a beverage, the only one to clumsily bulldoze the five-year-old birthday-boy within the first 5 seconds of the game, sending him off hysterically crying, the only one sprinting, the only one yelling, the only one tripping over the improperly inflated ball, the only one missing the goal with each wild kick. An impressive display of...an overstated lack of finesse.

I've still got a lot to learn.

On Needing Critics - from Life Itself

For too long in the Christian community, "love" and "unity" mean a fear of conflict, a fear of disagreement, a fear of criticism, a fear of plain speak and direct talk. "Humility" means not saying what you think, and not standing up too firmly for what you believe in. Those who do speak up, then, supposedly have intentions to wound and to divide, and are quickly written off as arrogant.

Part of the problem is not the spiritual side of things, but a wanting educational system where everyone is right. We've never learned how to develop and support and defend our stances and opinions, and as a result most of us really are tossed to and fro  by the waves and carried about by every wind. Christian or not, it's a lack of critical thinking skills and civil discourse skills. Too often, though not always, the only ones left to speak up then truly are arrogant, brash, flippant, belittling.

Watching Life Itself, Roger Ebert inspired me. Too often we see critics as the pretentious intellectual snobs that too easily approve certain things (that are often unpopular) and disapprove of others (that are often popular). They seem to do it to please themselves and their pretentious friends, and there is no real connection with the average consumer. They do it out of narcissism; they love their opinions more than the art and take pleasure in cutting others down. But Ebert seemed different; he seemed to have a real concern for the average person, a real concern for the art, a real concern for the director, and a real concern to make things better. He wasn't a critic to criticize, it seemed he was ultimately a critic to exhort and admonish.

He seemed to detest Siskel, and the feeling was mutual. The way they argued with one another and judged films was not only frank, it was rare in our day where everyone's right, everything's amazing, and no one knows why. But they always backed up what they said, they challenged one another, they hung in there, they stuck together, and ultimately they were both better for it. What they did together was stronger than what they could do apart, and the consistent mutual challenge steadily improved their craft. There were plenty of moments they hated one another, but it seems as though ultimately, they learned to treasure one another.

Ebert did the same with film directors. Though not a director himself, it was almost as if he mentored them. He cheered for them and encouraged them and made them better. He took heat for befriending directors: how would he maintain an objective voice? The reality was just the opposite: he criticized even his friends when it was deserved, and men like Scorcese talked about how valuable that was. They listened, but only because he knew what he he was talking about and because he was a friend.

What if we in the church could experience the same thing? What if we could talk straight and not be afraid of it? What if we pushed one another toward excellence? What if we challenged each other to be the best we could be? What if we hung in there with one another, determined to make it work, hashed it out, kept talking, kept explaining, kept defending and supporting? If it were housed in love and commitment and in gospel-centered unity, and if it were received with listening ears and truly humble spirits, just maybe it would actually make us better.

I'm afraid we too easily shun the critics. But if they've got intentions like Ebert's, I'd say we just might need them. 

I've never been a big follower of Ebert, but I've read plenty of people thanking and praising him. I'm ready to join.

On Making Friends

We wandered around an island in Budapest yesterday and eventually reached the playground. The kid was off and running as usual and I watched him from a distance as he quickly made a friend.

I don't know the words that were exchanged or what language they were in. A few days earlier in a similar situation, he was smitten with a girl who spoke Hungarian, English, and French, just as she was smitten with the perfect person to practice on. But I watched him from afar with this boy, enough to keep tabs. They ran from one spot to another, taking turns making suggestions, one following the other, enjoying one another's company. They were at ease. It seemed like they were such a good match that it looked as if they had been friends for years.

He is a social animal in ways I cannot understand. As an often terribly inhibited introvert, his unabashed ability to make friends puzzles me and exhausts me. It's almost as if he's teaching me something, a skill I do not know.

It was a moment that lasted no more than fifteen minutes, but I watched as long as I could with great pleasure and fascination. He made a friend in Budapest. What a privilege. I hoped he would remember it forever.

His name means companion. I think it suits.

leave a light on

Moving On from ainslie henderson on Vimeo.

welcome "home"

The boys and I went for a walk. I exchanged a hi-how-are-you-fine-thanks-and-you-good conversation with a neighbor. The kid asked, "Is he a friend? Why were you talking to him that way?"

My mom told my sister-in-law she liked her purse. It was mine.

My two-year-old took a bite of a string-cheese stick, put it back down on the counter, and asked me if he was allowed to spit it out in the trash. He did, then asked me for goat cheese instead.

friends doing cool things

There's a lot that's crummy about growing old and being adults, but one great thing is watching friends pursuing dreams and succeeding. The list of those friends doing amazing things is pretty long, but one is the CEO of Flannelgraph Records. He's doing some cool stuff and having a lot of fun in the process it seems, and as has always been his way, it puts a smile on a lot of people's faces. I was about to say he wasn't changing the world, but now I realize he just might actually be...
Best of Boiler Room Classics Commercial from Flannelgraph Records on Vimeo.

Mix Tape: Love caging, fickle and failing

I told Travis very little music has inspired me lately. He gave me a disc of his 40 or so favorite songs from 2013. I listened on the drive back from Indiana. This was the next to last song and it grabbed me more than any of the others. I know admittedly absolutely nothing about Phosphorescent or his music, and I am late, and it's okay, because it seems this song is all that needs to be known.

It's dressed up a bit differently, in what's almost early 90's easy-listening synth pop, or not far from Springsteen's "Streets of Philadelphia." But it's a folk song at its core in every way, with its repetitive churning built on a simple soul-plucking chord progression, its strong melody offered by a wavering worse for wear voice.

"Love never fails," Paul boldly asserts. Taken at his word he sounds like a hopeless romantic with his heart on his sleeve. Like he believes in destiny and soul mates and walks on the beach and growing old together. It's a phrase fit for a wedding day, but we roll our eyes through the daily grind that follows.

He's got his work cut out for him, because the majority of the canon of modern pop music says just the opposite. Love always fails, it never lasts. In the words of this song, it is fading, fickle, a disfiguring, caging killer. Love is a prison. Love is a murderer. Love takes, hurts, breaks, destroys.

Is he exaggerating? Typical depressed folk artist? I'm afraid not. This is the human experience, whether it's sung by Phosphorescent or Miley Cyrus. Oddly enough the lyrics from last year's hit song don't sound much different: clawing, chaining, warring, wrecking and breaking.

If our artists speak for us, we've not much optimism left for love. It's take what you can get when you can get it, enjoy it while it lasts, but overall we're self-protecting cynics, afraid to commit, knowing we'll only one day be disappointed, eventually chewed up and spit out.

Paul and his unfailing love are left to walk the beach alone, taking pauses to write Hallmark cards and happy endings, none of which we actually believe. He's at best an innocent dreamer, at worst a pitiful lunatic.

Or maybe the problem is our notion of love.
Maybe the definition is wrong.
Maybe the object is misguided.
Maybe the source is insufficient.

Maybe all the disappointment is our problem, not love's. Maybe what we call love is hardly love at all, and all its painful failure only serves to point us towards what we're really so desperately looking for. Maybe there exists a love that never fails after all.

Phosphorescent, "Song for Zula" from Muchacho

Just a little something to pass the time.

At the dinner table the kid was talking about how he doesn't really like long car rides anymore. It's a shame, I said, because he used to be our road warrior, always up for a drive, no matter how long the route.

Thinking about the amount of time we'll be spending in the car this summer, I began to troubleshoot. I started to pitch the idea to him,

Me: "You know, you're probably old enough now that we could get you a...."
Him, cutting me off excitedly: "A MOTORCYCLE?!?"

At that point I busted up laughing, knowing that nothing could be further from the idea I was about to pitch. Like the lame, out-of-touch dad that I already am, I continued,

Me: "Well, no, sorry to disappoint you, but I was thinking we could get you an activity book to keep in the car that you could work on each time we go for a drive."

He swallowed his smirk, rolled his eyes slightly, looked at his mother, and the two of them burst out laughing at me in ridicule.

Mom: "WHAT?!? An ACTIVITY BOOK?!? Are you kidding me?! You can keep your activity book, I'm going with the kid on the motorcycle!"
Kid: "Yeah, and we're gonna fly past you so fast, papa! VROOOOOOM!!!!!!"
Mom: "You and your activity book, we're gonna leave you in the dust!"
Kid: "YEAH! VVRROOOOOOOOOM!!!!!"

Sadly, I'm starting to remind myself of this guy more all the time.

Her

Maybe that would have filled this tiny little black hole in my heart, but probably not.

Despite its weird premise, I expected to love this movie. To be honest, I didn't.

It probably had something to do with being just too downright tired to watch. But besides that, it made me uncomfortable. It felt just as narcissistic as the generation that could make the premise plausible. It felt overly condoning, as if it weren't showing the reality, as if it went too far, hook, line, sinker. A shift came, but for me it came too late. I was already weirded out and turned off.

With further reflection, like any good, demanding, challenging film, I've come to see that that might have been exactly the point. That despite all the pathetic and disgusting substitutes our world comes up with to put a band-aid on our isolation, even the ones that end up being really alluring, we're made for flesh and blood connection. It might even be pointing to the one who did indeed come as flesh and blood.

I'm gonna have to watch it again.

(The Extravagant Voyage of) The Young and Prodigious TS Spivet

How could humans create so many right angles when their behavior is so convoluted and illogical ?

Due to limited brain space, my movie reviews are being reduced to the one quote I retain from the movie. I'm just glad I have the brain space to watch the movies, because I had been going through quite the dry spell there.

I will add a few sentences on this one. It's a half-decent film with a mostly interesting heart-tugging look at the way grief affects families. But what's ashame is that it was lacking Jeunetness, the bursting-with-life absurdity and love for the little things that we see elsewhere from this director. Sure, there was some absurdity, but it was all muted and sleepy. I blame about 80% of it on the hokey back porch of the ranch soundtrack, 10% on entrusting all the film's narration to a child, and the remaining percentage to other factors. In the end, we're left feeling just about as numb as the characters in the film, but I doubt that was the intent. They have a much more legitimate reason to feel that way than we do. And it's too bad.

Why pray?

I read Calvin in French for the first time this week. Here's what he says in English:

But if God knows what things we have need of, before we ask him, where lies the advantage of prayer? If he is ready, of his own free will, to assist us, what purpose does it serve to employ our prayers, which interrupt the spontaneous course of his providence? The very design of prayer furnishes an easy answer. Believers do not pray, with the view of information God about things unknown to him, or of exciting him to do his duty, or of urging him as though he were reluctant. On the contrary, they pray, in order that they may arouse themselves to seek him, that they may exercise their faith in meditation on his promises, that they may relieve themselves from their anxieties by pouring them into his bosom; in a word, that they may declare that from Him alone they hope and expect, both for themselves and for others, all good things. God himself, on the other hand, has purposed freely, and without being asked, to bestow blessings upon us; but he promises that he will grant them to our prayers. We must, therefore, maintain both of these truths, that He freely anticipates our wishes, and yet that we obtain by prayer what we ask.
Jean Calvin, commentary on Matthew 6:8

This is what I'm listening to today.

I'm not really a free-jazz enthusiast, but somewhere along the way I got introduced to Joshua Stamper's work and I'm always interested in what he's doing. This was released today.

The Grand Budapest Hotel

You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization in this barbaric slaughterhouse we know as humanity.

Needing Help

What wine-stained carpet can blot itself clean?
What contaminated water can purify itself of disease?
What broken bones can set themselves to dancing?
What lips sewn shut can tear their own sutures to rejoin the song?
What diseased heart can transplant itself?

David knows the gravity of the problem. This is not do better and try harder. This is a desperate cry for salvation, a salvation that can only come from outside himself.

have mercy on me
blot out my transgression
wash me thoroughly
cleanse me
purge me clean
wash me white
let me hear joy and gladness
let my broken bones rejoice
blot out all of my iniquities
give me a clean heart
renew a right spirit in me
cast me not away
restore the joy of your salvation
uphold me
deliver me from my guilt
open my lips

Psalm 51

Hiding

Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,
    whose sin is covered.
Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity,
    and in whose spirit there is no deceit.

For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away
    through my groaning all day long.

For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
    my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. 

I acknowledged my sin to you,
    and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
    and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. 

You are a hiding place for me;
    you preserve me from trouble;
    you surround me with shouts of deliverance. 

Psalm 32

As much as sin is woven into the fabric of our nature, so is hiding.

Man and Woman ate a fruit and all of a sudden felt this strange feeling inside of them, an inescapable impulse to run and hide. The One who made them and placed them in the garden comes looking and calling, and they're huddled in fear and shame behind a tree he had planted.

We hide. It's doesn't always look as pathetic as hiding behind a tree. Sometimes it's sophisticated. Sometimes it looks plain good. We avoid, we cover up, we dodge, we manipulate, we twist, we keep distance, we rationalize, we make excuses, we accentuate the positive, we busy ourselves. Whatever it is, we're hiding.

And all the while the weight pushes in, the pressure builds. Is it getting hot in here? Because we're exhausted from the heat. In place of rightful confession comes only uncontainable groans. Like the storm that just kept raging with Jonah in the boat, things only get worse and worse.

And there's only one way out.

As the psalmist says, I acknowledge my sin, I quit covering it up, I confess, and he forgives.

That's where a most wonderful thing happens. A weight is lifted, a relationships is restored, and the one we were hiding from all along becomes himself the safest place in which to hide. The one we ran from becomes the one we run to. When we run to him for hiding, he preserves and he delivers.

You are a hiding place for me.

Philomena

I knew very little of this film other than knowing it was showing in English, seeing good ratings, and watching the trailer. That was a good way to go into it; the less you know the better.

"Do you believe in God, Martin?" 
Not your typical ice-breaker, but not a bad place to start, no?
"I've always thought that was a difficult question to give a simple answer to. Do you?"
"Yes."

But I was quickly bracing myself for an agenda-pushing film where the Christians are the bad guys and the "progressive liberals" -- for lack of a better word and to avoid some possible spoiling -- are the good guys. This was thankfully escaped thanks to the genuine and heartfelt contrast between Philomena and Martin where, in the end, neither one is completely right or wrong, and the answer is found in the tension-filled both. They learn from one another, need one another.

What we see is that, if you've got an anger that is justified and righteous, there's no way to escape hate except to forgive, and there's no way to forgive without a simple faith in a God that forgives. Forgiveness, of course, sounds easy and feels free; those who really know it know that it is anything but.

And as for adoption. I as much as anyone am thankful for the attention adoption seems to be getting in Christian circles; we seem to be hearing more stories, seeing more videos, reading more articles, witnessing more families, and this is good. I am inclined to believe nothing else strikes more true to the very heart of the Gospel than adoption. But as Philomena's story serves to show us, in our rightful eagerness to adopt, and in the temptation to make our story Facebook-worthy, let us also be sober-minded. Let us be eager to unconditionally accept and love a child, but not too eager to be the admirable heroes saving a child from supposed squalor and neglect. Because first of all, that might not exactly be the case. And second of all, regardless of circumstances, where there is a biological mother left behind on the other side, most often she will continue to think of this child day after day, perhaps even secretly for fifty years. Her thoughts for him and the act of daily letting him go are a profound expression of love in their own right.

"What was his handshake like?"

Searching for Sugar Man

If it were a tale about anyone else in the music business, like say the Beatles showing up in America, it would be a tale of idolatry and egocentrism and making it big and success as the world defines it. But because it's a tale of Rodriguez, it's different. He's a modest man who doesn't necessarily want to make it big, he just wants to change the world. Even that's easier said than done, because when he 'fails' in music he tries his hand in politics, and that goes nowhere just as quickly.

So when shows up in South Africa, this isn't typical music industry hype, this is a man who helped shape a generation. It's as though they don't want to worship him, they want to thank him. They appreciate him, and he's learning for the first time that he did somehow change the world. It's a story that, read on paper, is already pretty incredible, but to try and put yourself in all the strange mix of emotions at that first concert is absolutely astounding. It can't be put to words.

For them, a revolutionary leader is resurrected. For him, a hope is resurrected.

"To go from being the outcast to being who he really was, because it was as though it was him, and that was who he was."

But it's also a testimony to not only the power of art but the necessity of it, the mindset and outlook that comes with it for every corner of life.

"He approached the work from a different place than most people do, he took it very very seriously, sort of like a sacrament, he was going to do this dirty dirty work for 8 or 10 hours but he was dressed in a tuxedo. He had this kind of magical quality that all genuine poets and artists have to elevate things, to get above the mundane and the mediocrity that's everywhere. Even when his musical hopes were dashed, the spirit remained...he knew that there was something more..."

"So we're working class people, blue collar, hard labor...but just because people are poor doesn't mean their dreams aren't big and their soul isn't rich. My dad gave us a lot of exposure to the arts; he would let us go into the libraries and the museums and the science centers, and that was our day care, touring the halls of the museum -- Diego Rivera, Picasso, Delacroix -- and we began to learn of life outside of the city, in books and paintings and music." 

 

The Cat's Agenda

Dinner conversation turned towards the events of tomorrow.

"You're gonna eat at the cafeteria tomorrow" we told the kid.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I'm in a meeting all day and Mama has a doctor's appointment."
"And my brother?" he asked.
"He's going to school too."
"And our friend?" he asked, referring to the friend who's been staying with us.
"She'll be helping, mama."
The other kid, eagerly wanting to be a part of the conversation, continued the interrogation, "And Banjo?" wondering about the cat.

We all turned to look at him in his permanent position, sleeping on his favorite chair.

"You want to know what Banjo's going to be doing tomorrow?" I confirmed.
"Sitting there," the two year old intelligently concluded on his own.

It's not a bad gig.

Mix Tape: News Year's Eve

According to my ongoing mix tape, it's been nearly a full year since a song has truly captivated me. For the record, that's primarily what this mix tape thing is supposed to be: songs that go on repeat.

I made a New Year's Eve playlist for our party with the help of my brothers-in-law. It was a pretty nice collection of songs, commendable for being such a last-minute affair, but I would have been OK if we had just put Arcade Fire's "Afterlife" on repeat the whole night.

I'm close to saying it's the only song that captivated me all year, so it makes sense to listen to it at the year's end. And it makes for a great year-end party song; like Coldplay on that closing night in 2011, it's the song that's become the dance-the-year-away hit.

But more than that, it feels like New Year's Eve.

Another year gone. Was it a good one, one you want to celebrate? Or a bad one, one you want to forget? Most likely it was a mix of both. Most likely it left you wanting more. Because isn't life just that? A strange mix of celebrations and regrets that leave you hoping for more?

It makes you wonder why we celebrate a new year anyway. Is it to celebrate all that happened or to celebrate that it's all finally over? Aren't we just yearning for another fresh start? But the fact that we do it all over again 365 years later, doesn't that show us we're really longing for a much bigger Fresh Start?

After all the bad advice
Had nothing at all to do with life

In the end, isn't life just a lot of screaming, shouting, and working it all out? Can't year after year of the human existence be summed up in shouting, "I gotta know!"?  Because what's the point? And what's next? And will it all be worth it?

What we will be has not yet been made known.

Like most songs that captivate me, there's a melancholic regret and a tired hope mixed up in every aspect of this song. That sounds like New Year's Eve, and that sounds like life, because both are waiting for the Fresh Start. Might as well dance.

This is Arcade Fire's "Afterlife" from Reflektor

post rock's not dead

it's been strange, i received two post rock cds for christmas, both of which i wanted, but it made it feel like the christmas of my dreams in 2003, ten whole years ago.

i don't like post rock as much as i used to, but i do still like it.

this song is one reason why. and i'm not sure i can think of a more appropriate soundtrack to this post, for which it is presumably titled, or also for the end of another year and all the strange feelings that come with it.