O Come O Come

It aint all there yet and it's a rough draft but it's what I have at 7:01 on Saturday night.  I love you and miss you and thank you for singing your song next to me, helping me listen to the song of God.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

Third Week in Advent 2012

St. Edwards King and Martyr  

In more ways than one we are waiting in darkness.  Isaiah prophesied Jesus’ birth by saying, “the people in darkness have seen a great light”.  Darkness is a reality and the biblical witness seems to be clear that it is a reality that we live within, it won’t disappear.  It never is fully uprooted or routed this side of eternity.  But the gospel speaks of another reality and offers us something which is more subtle and helpful:  “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it, master it, put it out (Jn 1).   This is the circumstance of our existence, this tension of light and darkness is the paradox of our life, the mystery of faith that we all live into.   (RR 12/12/12)

There is an aching and a longing that is expressed today in these Antiphon’s that echo in us a longing that is ancient and aged.   An expression that uncovers our hidden longings - longings that we learn to mute, suppress and manage as children early on,  longings that get socially formed to become more acceptable and less ‘needy‘.   But in these songs that we sing this morning, in the Antiphons and particularly in Malcolm’s poems (as I have lived with them this season) - the human stuff of desire, frustration, resolve, longing, fear, desperation and prayer are held together, within a harmony of our humanity.  I sat in this very sanctuary alone this week and maybe it was my imagination that I let roam, but I swear to you I could hear 800 years of people gathered in this site under this roof - protestant and catholic,  monks and tanners, intellectuals and alcoholics (some of them occupying the same category no doubt), workers and homeless, emigrants and royalty whispering, chantings, singing this central refrain, not only of this season, but of all humanity that comes out of the darkness:  O Come, O Come Emmanuel.  Come. 

This is a song for a people with their backs against the wall, who have run out of options who are powerless and position-less.  Who have used up their resources, who have had resources taken.  O come o come emmanuel.  It is the cry of the victim who longs for a restored innocence and a different future, it is the cry of the perpetrator who cannot unweave the heartache and misery of the past.   It is a cry that emerges from the streets of Syria, in front of the wailing wall and behind the wall in Gaza.  It can be heard in alleys and corners where addicts buy their vials before slipping into oblivion and in the boardrooms of multinationals strategizing how to balance their future - all of our futures- on the head of an ethical mirage called the ‘letter of the law’.  It is the cry of the spouse who cannot turn back time, the prisoner serving a sentence where all he has is time.  It is the cry of the  destitute, anxious and afraid who feel the powers of the State pressed against the soft neck of the oppressed. It is seen within faces of children on every continent who need food, who are conscripted for war, whose groans are “too deep for words”.  It is the unspeakable mourning that that comes from NewTown Connecticut.  It is a for a people with their backs against the wall.  O come o come Emmanuel.

And the cry to this one called “emmanuel” is a breath prayer to the one who “makes a womb of all this wounded world” who creates a “tiny hope within our hopelessness”( and sometimes that is all you need is a tiny bit of hope to tie a knot around your rope).  It is the cry of the withered and rootless who long for life to be rooted within.   And Emmanuel is the name we give the movement of God, when God is present where we least expect him but most need him most.  This cosmic movement that includes into the life of God every dark alley, every tenebrous night, every god-forsaken experience.  This light that the darkness cannot master.  This God who is love all the way down, down into the depth of humanities darkness, down into our frailty, our broken systems and institutions.  When we are reduced to a pool of tears and our fears like black birds circle overhead.  It is this God, who put on flesh and moved into the darkness. Emmanuel, God with us, God for us, God not abandoning us.  

And in this movement, it is the very voice of God who takes up this song and begins to sing it back to his creation, like the call and response in an african-american church.  We sing O come, O come Emmanuel and the life of God answers back to us,   O come o come. The life of God answers back:   Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy laden, all you who are vulnerable, who mourn the loss of all that the earth has snatched away, all you who are broken down, disheartened, humiliated and overwhelmed Come unto me and I will give you rest.   

Come, if there is anyone here this morning who cannot see the "Wisdom" of it all, someone who is unable to make sense of his situation, some Willy Loman who cries, "The trouble with Willy is that he does not know who he is," someone who understands many things a little but nothing enough to live on, someone for whom "the most High" is so high as to be out of reach.  Come.

Come you who feel trapped, captive to some slavish Egypt who is afraid  of the desolation that is ahead, the sea of obligation that threatens to overwhelm, who sees no one to lead you through the barren debacle of your circumstances. Desert everywhere.  Someone who wonders if they are delusional or stupid to keep facing the way of faith.  Come. 

Come, the Spirit of God might say, to the one  for whom this hectic life is a killing pace, someone who is left sighing, “I am just dead”, or “I feel like the devil, or I feel like hell”-- and for whom these are not mere figures of speech, but the very symptoms of Satan's tyranny, the depths of hell and the grave.  One for whom anxiety, desperation and compulsion feels like a dark and constant companion.  Come.

Come to those who feel outcast and for whom all the doors to home have seemed to close, someone who has lost the key to life, who feels on the outside looking in. Come. 

O Come those whose shadows compel them to practice their pleasure only under the cover of darkness - who themselves feel dark and desolate  through and through.  Those whose foundations have been shaken, or cannot find a firm footing because of a broken home or a failed opportunity or frail mental health, if there is someone who longs for something more solid than her own feet of clay, Come the spirit of God would say.  

This God who is love all the way down, has come near and in this place we can bring our inconsolable longings, these memories we cannot make sense of, redeem or use to push ourselves into a preferred future.  To this one born of blood, this fellow-sufferer who has descended to our depths.  Come.

Advent holds a deep paradox for us.  It holds the paradox of the One coming - not yet fully here - and yet with us from the beginning of time. And this call and response into the life of God and the life of God back to us is to produce something other than a depressed or ‘weak-kneed’ Christianity.  We are to take Luke seriously when he says “lift up your heads” “raise your heads” because Advent creates new men and women.  We who are exposed and defenseless, we who grieve into the fathomless depths are to look up, positions ourselves and our songs of lament towards the one who sings over, in through and with humanity. Could this be how reconciliation begins?   Does it begin in fathomless grief and longing, with our backs against the wall ? Do our actions to bring justice to the nations, to not shout or break a bruised reed, to not snuff out a smoldering wick, to not grow discouraged until we establish justice, to hold Gods hand and be God’s promise, to open eyes that are blind, to free captives from prison, to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness (Is. 42), do these actions constitute the raising of our heads, do they embody the very song we sing today.  

O Come O Come Emmanuel

This is the paradox of advent - this call and response, this tension that is held within our humanity made possible by His.  And the reality that we are Christ’s coming now, this advent and again and again and again and again beyond time’s end.  Amen.

Create a Clearing

Clearing
by Martha Postlewaite

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worth of rescue.

I know that this poem is a bit romantic when it comes to the way life unfolds, the decisions we make, the ones we are afraid to make, the ones made for us.  But I also realize that the meditation that I have been doing these past few years has been a part of creating this clearing.  I awoke today at about 4:30am with all the usual tapes playing in my head:  "you let people down, you are like Jacob - a birthright stealing s.o.b who runs from consequences, you can't stay sober" (four-freaking-thrity - who needs a rooster outside when there is this?!).  So I got up, came down stairs, made coffee and sat amid these voices.  In the not so distant past it was the presence of these voices that formed the center and circumference of my life.  I understood that regardless of the direction that I took that these voices would exist.  They free-float looking for and creating opportunity to add comment to my life.  In the silence it was Rowan Williams song I heard:  "what would it be like to know you are held in an unconditional regard, to allow the reality of God's gratuitous and relentless love be the reality of your life?" and "what would it be like today to hold others in that same gaze?" (Rowan hasn't used these words to my knowledge but this is the gist of what I think he might say).  I found myself led to this clearing today - it's not perfect, the voices are a part of the treelike, but so is peace, so is acceptance, so is beauty and for today that is enough.

I love you brother.

Nothing...

Hey Buddy,
I don't think I ever told you about my Dwight Yoakam spell a few years back. Shortly after Holly and I met, he had a couple albums that were great, part country and part rock and roll. She and I listened to them a lot. It was also an interesting time with my brothers, as all three of us older Reeves boys were listening to the same music at the same time, Dwight Yoakam CD's. Mike has always had a bit more "country" affinity than Scott or I, though we have all had short spells of identifying with it.

Anyway, I have fond memories of listening to Dwight as we (Mike and Amy, Holly and I) travelled down to North Carolina to visit Scott and Debbie. Holly and I were just navigating that part of the relationship when we became bold enough to use the "L" word. I remember the day on the trip when it first showed up in conversation with reference to our feelings for each other. That is code for "I remember the day I first told her I loved her."

So now, a bunch of years later, and Ol' Dwight decides to put out a new album. My feelings for Holly are certainly still there and even stronger. But somehow when Dwight sings about the "L" word now, I
see it as the same thing, but also part of something so much bigger. Nevertheless, I thought I would share it with you as a little reminder... just in case you need one today.






And in a slightly more "country" format, it is still... Nothing but Love



PS I miss you.

What you thought you came for....

I read this Elliot poem (actually I am working my way through it) and thought of you, our friendship and the enduring and deep connection that I feel to you amid the silence and miles. The line: and what you thought you came for/Is only a shell, a husk of meaning - seems to sing with depth.  I hope you are well this morning, that you awaken into a presence that sustains, disorients and keeps you open.  I love you brother,

 If you came this way,
Taking the route you would be likely to take
From the place you would be likely to come from,
If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges
White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.
It would be the same at the end of the journey,
If you came at night like a broken king,
If you came by day not knowing what you came for,
It would be the same, when you leave the rough road
And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade
And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfilment. There are other places
Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,
Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city—
But this is the nearest, in place and time,
Now and in England.
              If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment

Is England and nowhere. Never and always. 

More from John Mayer

Walt Grace's Submarine Test, January 1967 from Columbia Records on Vimeo.

UK Slideshow

Awesomeness from The Killers

You're allowed to do it

One of my assignments from my guitar teacher this past week was to listen to the new album, Born And Raised, by John Mayer. As you could guess, this is the kind of assignment I can take on with gusto. Wow, I have really enjoyed listening to it. The quote I texted you the other day is from a short, bluesy song titled Love Is a Verb (below).



I keep finding more and more to love about this album. I knew he had a reputation of being an incredible guitar player, but I am also amazed by his lyrics and how much of his insides seem to come through in these songs. Yesterday as I was driving back from lunch, the song that grabbed me was the second on the album, The Age of Worry. One of the comments under the You tube version below said, "This song gives me chills. It has the sing-along melody of an old church hymn, the musical quality of a dramatic soundtrack, lyrics that are uplifting and inspiring, and it's peppered with hint of Irish influence."



Alive in the age of worry
As I listened to it I thought of you, and me, and many of our discussions, and some of our challenges and struggles. I have wondered if we have reached a chronological age of "worry" or if we live in an age of worry when generations before did not. I don't think I buy this second option. I believe more likely, that our anxieties are discussed more openly today, with positive and negative consequences. Sometimes discussing them seems to make them better and other times it seems to have little effect or even make them worse. However, I can't imagine a human being who doesn't bump into their own fears on a regular basis. Hiding them from others doesn't hide them from ourselves.

Build your heart an army
To defend your innocence
while you do everything wrong


What I found as I listened to this song were different feelings than I expected, positive feelings, not negative.  It was interesting later, then, to see this clip of Mayer discussing his thoughts about the song. It was good to hear him describe wanting to have and give the emotions I experienced when I listened to this song. I certainly felt soothed by this song, and could identify with contracts we "sign" that end up creating anxiety in us. I like the part when he says, "this song is a series of permissions". Listening to this song somehow reminded me of the part of a church service after confession where there is a proclamation of forgiveness and a sending forth to freely live.

There's no time you must be home

So sleep where darkness falls

Dream your dreams but don't pretend
Make friends with who you are.

Regardless, my wish for you, in this month in the US and in this specific "age" of decision you find yourself in, is that you are free to live, even with the worry, if not in its absence. 

Close your eyes and clone yourself

Build your heart an army

To defend your innocence

While you do everything wrong

Don't be scared to walk alone

Don't be scared to like it

There's no time that you must be home

So sleep where darkness falls

Alive in the age of worry

Smile in the age of worry

Go wild in the age of worry

And say worry, why should I care?

No your fight is not within

Yours is with your timing

Dream your dreams but don't pretend

Make friends with what you are

Give your heart then change your mind

You're allowed to do it

Cause God knows it's been done to you

And somehow you got through it

Alive in the age of worry

Rage in the age of worry

Sing out in the age of worry

And say worry, why should I care?

Rage in the age of worry

Act your age in the age of worry

And say worry, get out of here!

We can hope can't we...

I found these on a blog by a a guy named Larry Lootsteen...

"I wanna believe"

"Of course, along with this freedom comes the knowledge that there will be days (every day, in some fashion) where I am confronted (for better or worse) by my humanity. And I am beginning to look at it long enough to see that even when it isn't pretty, it is beautiful."


Some days this is a tough ask.

That Wasn't Me

Hang on, just hang on for a minute
I've got something to say
I'm not asking you to move on or forget it
But these are better days
To be wrong all along and admit is not amazing grace
But to be loved like a song you remember
Even when you've changed

Tell me did I go on a tangent?
Did I lie through my teeth?
Did I cause you to stumble on your feet?
Did I bring shame on my family?
Did it show when I was weak?
Whatever you see, that wasn't me
That wasn't me, that wasn't me

When you're lost you will toss every lucky coin you'll ever trust
And you will hide from your god like he ever turns his back on us
And you'll fall all the way to the bottom and land on your own knife
But you'll learn who you are even if it doesn't take your life

Tell me did I go on a tangent?
Did I lie through my teeth?
Did I cause you to stumble on your feet?
Did I bring shame on my family?
Did it show when I was weak?
Whatever you see, that wasn't me
That wasn't me, that wasn't me

But I want you to know that you'll be never alone
I wanna believe do I make myself a blessing to everyone I meet
When you fall I will get you on your feet
Do I spend time with my family?
Did it show when I was weak?
When that's what you see, that will be me
That will be me, that will be me
That will be me

Heaven

Still trying to get a post together on the first chapter of The Predicament of Belief. In the meantime...


If I pictured myself living in England and walking the streets of Cambridge, there would be a really great soundtrack playing behind the events, through the days, and with the people sharing life with me. I don't know what soundtrack is carrying you through the days, but I am certain you have your own. If by chance you find a few hours or days that allow you to listen to something different, I have a suggestion.


There is a new CD by The Walkmen, entitled Heaven. It has been the soundtrack in my car and in my head this week as I drive around Lubbock, drop off kids, sit in the office, and go through these days. It will be part of the soundtrack of life this summer for me. This may not be England, and my walks (runs) may be in 30 mph winds and 98 degrees but this is the life I have and I'd just as soon have it be heaven as hell. This music may do nothing for you, but I thought I would share. Here is the video for the title track. It shows snapshots of the band through the years.




Something about the pictures in the booklet with the CD caught my attention. These guys are entering early middle age and appear to all have kids... somehow there music sounds like that to me. Here is a brief trailer, with the song Line by Line, they released for the album.



And finally, I found this quote from the band's web page regarding the album.

"All five members of the band have kids now and if the impact of parenthood is hard to pin down in a single lyric, there is definitely a new openness and emotional honesty to the songs. Most importantly, the old gang mentality has deepened, becoming something worthwhile and lasting. “I’m very proud of what we’ve done. We’ve stayed friends and those friendships have grown,” says Bauer. “We have survival experience and real love that children generate in your life.” Heaven is a definitive statement of purpose and commitment, from a band at the peak of its powers that is finally winning the recognition it deserves."




So with the life Holly and I have been living... kids, in-laws, parents, patients, each other... I was struck by a line in the quote above.


Heaven is a definitive statement of purpose and commitment... 


Are they describing an album or something a bit bigger?

Today (part two...Life is Beautiful)

The second song that resonates with what I have been feeling of late is a bit more direct. It is by a group called Vega4. Johnny McDaid was the lead vocalist and songwriter of the group, and he now happens to be part of a band called... Snow Patrol. No kiddin'.

I couldn't find a video that I really liked for it, so I made one. I put some pictures from life the past several months to it, starting with the day we said goodbye to you guys last August. These are a few snapshots of life since then. 

So anyway, the lyrics to Life is Beautiful are not as obtuse, not quite as difficult to grasp, as Holocene. They are somewhat more to the point, directly anyway, of what I was describing in the post earlier this morning. The melody is certainly more upbeat, more uplifting, less reflective. The interesting thing is both have a power to "lift" me. May you be lifted as you read, listen , and watch.

Here are the lyrics to Life is Beautiful:

Life is beautiful
We love until we die

When you run into my arms,
We steal a perfect moment.
Let the monsters see you smile,
Let them see you smiling.

Do I hold you too tightly?
When will the hurt kick in?

Life is beautiful, but it's complicated.
We barely make it.
We don't need to understand,
There are miracles, miracles.

Yeah, life is beautiful.
Our hearts, they beat and break.

When you run away from harm,
Will you run back into my arms,
Like you did when you were young?
Will you come back to me?

I will hold you tightly
When the hurting kicks in.

Life is beautiful, but it's complicated, 
we barely make it.
We don't need to understand,
There are miracles, miracles.

Stand where you are.
We let all these moments pass us by.

It's amazing where I'm standing,
There's a lot that we can give.
This is ours just for a moment.
There's a lot that we can give.

Today (part one...Holocene)

It is one of those days where my heart is full and there is a heaviness in my chest with the significance of this life. I am overwhelmed by how powerful the music is today, just as I am overwhelmed by my inability to control my own emotions on any given day- whether joy and appreciation (like today) or anger and frustration (yesterday), :-] . This life is nothing, if not beautiful and complicated. Somehow, when I convince myself I "understand" life, I make it less complicated, and at the same time, less beautiful.

I don't know how I made it so far in life convincing myself I had so much of it tucked away as if I understood it. I wonder if it was in large part because I felt like I was "supposed to". I am grateful for the process of unwinding all of this stuff I had so tightly wound. And though there are days were I get a little apprehensive at just how far this unwinding will go, the freedom that has accompanied it has been worth it. Of course, along with this freedom comes the knowledge that there will be days (every day, in some fashion) where I am confronted (for better or worse) by my humanity. And I am beginning to look at it long enough to see that even when it isn't pretty, it is beautiful.

Today, Justin is in Austin for the funeral of Laura's grandmother. She was 92.

I am doing his surgeries after mine today and seeing his patients after mine this afternoon. We still have house guests from the graduation weekend so the day is pretty full. Nevertheless, between cases this morning I came across this and it really got the wheels in my head and heart turning. It made me think and feel a lot of different things about my life and recent situations, even though much different than the author's.  I also thought much of your life and your situation, and share it hoping it will move your heart and soul in a positive direction.

One of the tough things for me about the time difference separating us is the difficulty in continuity of contact. Even if I finish this post and put it up today, I am not certain when you will read it. Likewise, even though I offer these words from my current situation to what I last heard from you, it may find you in a different place now. Certainly, as we discovered when we lived in the same town, the few hours from midnight to sunrise can sometimes bring an amazingly different perspective, and an entirely new emotional state. I hope today, you are in a celebration mode, appreciating your own life and that of your birthday girl.

Whatever emotional state you may be in, or for anybody else wandering by with their current emotional state... I offer a couple of songs that have found a home in me the past few days. The first video is Holocene, by Bon Iver.  I think his music carries an emotional weight to it, even before I spend time with the lyrics. Justin Vernon, of Bon Iver, said this of his song Holocene:

  "It's partly named after the (geological) era, but it's also the name of a bar in Portland where I had a dark night of the soul." He also stated that "the title is a metaphor for when you're not doing well. But it's also a song about redemption and realizing that you're worth something; that you're special and not special at the same time."

(Wikipedia)

Holocene

"Someway, baby, it's part of me, apart from me"
You're laying waste to Halloween
You fucked it friend, it's on it's head, it struck the street
You're in Milwaukee, off your feet

And at once I knew I was not magnificent
Strayed above the highway aisle
(Jagged vacance, thick with ice)
And I could see for miles, miles, miles

3rd and Lake it burnt away, the hallway
Was where we learned to celebrate
Automatic bought the years you'd talk for me
That night you played me 'Lip Parade'
Not the needle, nor the thread, the lost decree
Saying nothing, that's enough for me

And at once I knew I was not magnificent
Hulled far from the highway aisle (Jagged vacance, thick with ice)
And I could see for miles, miles, miles

Christmas night, it clutched the light, the hallow bright
Above my brother, I and tangled spines
We smoked the screen to make it what it was to be
Now to know it in my memory

And at once I knew I was not magnificent
High above the highway aisle (Jagged vacance, thick with ice)
But I could see for miles, miles, miles

 The second video will be posted later today I hope.
Love you.

What a Predicament.

Hey Buddy,

I have invited a few friends to read the Predicament of Belief, and told them I would notify them as I posted my thoughts on line to share with you. Some of them may be following or even contributing to this discussion in the comments section, so keep it clean and don't say to much about all of those skeletons in my closet (ha ha). I hope some of them (my friends, not the skeletons) are following and feel comfortable commenting anyway.

I think I heard some of Philip Clayton on the Homebrewed Christianity Podcast and thought this book sounded like something I would be interested in. The timing was very interesting as more recently I have come to find a new peace in the fact that I won't "figure things out" and don't need to in order to live a full and faith"ful" life. 

The disclaimer in this deal is that I have not finished the book. I read about half of it, and restarted it, something I seldom do, after you said you would be willing to read together. So I don't know what their conclusions are at this point. I have found their style, process, and apparent integrity to be refreshing to this point.

Basically here is what I kinda bring to this book. There are reasons, some I cannot articulate very well, that produce in me a belief, hope, trust in an ultimate reality in some ways most consistent with the God of Christianity. Yet there are also things I experience in the world that make me doubt the existence of the ultimate reality (as I have been taught it to be by my tradition and culture). In addition, my day to day experience of life both adds credence to the existence of this ultimate reality, at times almost undeniably, but also at times strongly contradicts many of the things I have internalized about the ultimate reality and the role of the ultimate reality in relation to it. 

I have a certain degree of ambivalence toward trying to find out about the ultimate reality by reading a book. This is kinda similar to reading about falling in love. Nevertheless, I share with the authors an almost irresistible drive to pursue knowing as much as I can (which may not be much) about this  (part of the) world that seems so real and yet so foreign to me.

I have at least come to believe that it is in no way bad or dangerous to open and honestly seek to find the truth as best we can understand it. Seek and you will find. The truth will set you free. (I just made those up).

Anyway... onward. A few handpicked highlights from the preface. By the way The Preface is one of the least engaging and most dense portions of the book. But, I can't quote chapter 2 straight out of the chute.

On page viii at the bottom of the page they state "the predicament of religious belief in today's world..."

"That Predicament, as we understand it, has two facets: on one side, the difficulty of formulating traditional claims about what is ultimately the case in ways that take full account of all the reasons for doubting those claims; on the other side, the need to do justice to the axiological and theoretical power of those accounts of ultimate reality that metaphysical reflection and religious traditions variously suggest."

In my words...

We are stuck between a world we know exists and can see and measure and examine, and a world we cannot deny exists because of the very things we see and know and measure. We follow a tradition as old as humanity attempting to engage, encounter, and describe ultimate reality. Mostly, we find it more difficult to say what ultimate reality is. Yet we cannot help but say what it is not, when confronted with descriptions not matching experience.  

They end the preface by offering this book as "guidance for those who wish to go where reason and experience may lead.We dedicate this effort to all, of every faith or no faith, who approach the ultimate reality in that spirit."

I will try to post on chapter one in the next few days.

Foy for Friday

I love Foy Vance.  Saw this today and thought of you, me, the hand that holds us - imperceptible at times.  Thanks for being the song. I love you.


When nightmares come, 
keep you awake, 
baby close your eyes, 
I'll take the weight, 
if I go to speak, 
I will refrain and be the song, 
just be the song. 

when inner scars, 
show on your face, 
and darkness hides, 
your sense of place, 
well I won't speak, 
I will refrain and be the song, 
just be the song. 

flow down all my mountains, 
darlin' fill my valleys, 
flow down all my mountains, 
darlin' fill my valleys, 
flow down all my mountains, 
darlin' fill my valleys, 

and when you run 
far from my eyes, 
then I will come, 
in dead of night, 
but I won't speak, 
till mornin' light, 
I'll be the song, 
just be the song. 

flow down all my mountains, 
darlin' fill my valleys, 
flow down all my mountains, 
darlin' fill my valleys, 
flow down all my mountains, 
darlin' fill my valleys

You Must Be Somewhere in London

You must be somewhere in London
You must be lovin' your life in the rain
You must be somewhere in London
Walking Abbey Lane



Much Love,
PDR

Eyes to see

Hey Bro
Yesterday was quite typical... moments of routine, moments of laughter, moments of fear, and work and love and food and disagreements and stress and...

After working, picking up kids, celebrating Clayton joining Davis on the Presidential Fitness list, a quick run on the treadmill, and driving back and forth across Lubbock for the guys practices, Holly and I met at Rosa's out on Milwaukee with them for dinner.

As Clayton and Davis road home with me from Rosa's, Davis asked to hear the CD with the drum line in it (Worship In Every Direction from Mars Hill). We listened to a few songs on the way home. As I pulled into the driveway, Holly and Eli were pulling in and I saw her stop at the trash can. I thought she was going to have Eli pull the can up for the first time (usually Clayton's and Davey's chore) and decided it might be worth catching on video. I think the music in the car ended up being a pretty good soundtrack.

Some of it is dark, especially when Davis tries to show his King Arthur and Knights of the Round Table book, but I think you can get the gist.

I thought I would let you see what I saw last evening.

Jesus (or The Black Keys) at Davey's Drum lesson

Hey Bro,
So many thoughts going through my heart the past few days... do I share about my view (or lack of view) of the two sides of Easter, or how awesome it was to watch The Masters and Bubba Watson, or one of the highlights of the weekend...watching We Bought a Zoo with the family? Too Much goes unsaid between us!


I guess to be predictable, I'll start with music related ideas. I think I mentioned recently that Davis has restarted drum lessons, and he is loving it. It is amazing to see him pick it up so quickly and enjoy it so much. One of the things that has been fun is to watch him learn a rhythm and then play it along to a song. His electronic drum kit allows you to plug in an iPod and play with it.  He thinks it totally awesome, and I have to admit it is pretty cool. He learns a new rhythm and old Dad says, "hey that sounds like..." and off we go looking for songs on iTunes. His first song was New Sensation by INXS, which I absolutely love.


But last week he learned a slightly different rhythm at a slightly slower speed. The second he started playing this rhythm in his drum teacher's garage, I heard these lyrics (and like usual, started to tear up a bit)...

Let me be your everlasting light
Your sun when there is none
I'm a shepherd for you
And I'll guide you through
Let me be your everlasting light

Let me be your everlasting light
I'll hold and never scold
In me you can confide 
When no one's by your side
Let me be your everlasting light

Oh baby, can't you see
It's shining just for you
Loneliness is over
Dog days are through
They're through

Let me be your everlasting light
Your train going away from pain
Love is the coal that makes this train roll
Let me be your everlasting light

Yeah, let me be your everlasting light
Let me be your everlasting light
Be your everlasting light


I thought of these words again as I read the lyrics and listened to Mike Scott yesterday. It may be risky theology to put the words of The Black Keys in red letters... but I can't do much better these days than to hear this song that way. And I realize, it isn't an easy ask. I am not even sure what it means. As a matter of fact, I haven't been willing or able to let him be my everlasting light... I don't like the darkness and try to make my own light when it is here. Does letting him be my light mean being willing to live with the darkness, and the uncertainty that comes with letting someone else be the light? But oh, how I welcome the words "love is the coal that makes this train roll." Can the dog days be through, really?


Fittingly, this song is the first track on their CD, Brothers. This is how it goes... (I like the studio version better, but couldn't find it viewable on mobile devices. This is a live version from MSG, complete with disco ball).

Easter Sermon

I figured I would post this for you to read.  I would love to get your feedback.  I was trying to bring together the two sides of the story of Easter and to see what it meant for folks who wake up two days past Easter back in the "stinking darkness" of the everyday.  I riffed at the end quite a bit and so this is more of the track I was on.

3 posts in less than 24 hours - dude.....

Easter Evening

St. Edwards King and Martyr

April 8, 2012

Easter is the height of all Christian celebrations.  It is the supreme festival for the church.  Our houses of worship are decorated we ring the bells with vigor, our songs are ones of triumph and gladness and we shout, preach sing and proclaim that Christ is risen.  It is a proclamation that has cosmic repercussions; it is not just about human kind it is about the entire world – the whole of the created order.  All that heals, unites and creates has overcome all that separates, all that injures, all that would destroy.  Death has been swallowed up by life.  

And as Harry Williams says, ‘It is a magnificently compelling vision – while it lasts’ – while we can hang on to it.  Some people can seemingly hang on to it all the time. Other people feel deeply moved while the hope of God’s power is being proclaimed.  But once they get back in their cars, once on the way home – well life recedes into what Robin Green calls “the stinking darkness of everyday life.” 

In the Southern Culture that I grew up in there was the blackness of Good Friday and then the Joy, the ruckus celebration that almost turned Easter into a Basketball half-time show – it felt like a pep rally where the passions were wound out and the production value was through the roof.  But sometimes the narrative can be so triupmphalistic, the jubilant celebration so loud that it leaves little room for actual people who were dealing with persistent problems in life.

We have the tendency to place the resurrection into the past 2000 years ago or into the future after physical death.  And when we do that, Christ can easily become a cult-idol – and the thing about idols is that they are powerless.  “Eyes, but they see not, mouths but they speak not.”   They are impotent, powerless and ineffective to transform.

You and I come here tonight in need of more than religious idols and relics.  We need more than – the title of the Tom Wait song that we heard at On the Edge this week called “chocolate Jesus” - something that is easy to unwrap, tastes sweet in the moment but cannot sustain, cannot reach into the depths of us.  We need more than the vacuous jubilance that turns Easter into a basketball celebration.

And the question that often emerges and persistently sits within us, the question that meets us as we wake tomorrow within the jaggedness of our own lives is “what on earth does this event mean for people like you and me?”   What does this event hold for we who struggle with anxiety, fear and depression, we who travel the inside road of grief, who live many days within the black veil of the limits of life.  Wanting to find places that expand, needing and desperately hungry for new life, but are unable to manufacture it on our own.   What does the resurrection hold for us ?

The hope for me is that the story that we read tonight seems much closer to actual life - it tells our story.  I was reminded on Good Friday that Jesus hung in total solidarity with the pain of the world and the far too many lives on this planet that have been "nasty, lonely, brutish, and short.”  It is the reality that God is not aloof watching human pain, nor apparently always stopping human pain, as much as God is found hanging with us alongside all human pain. Jesus forever tells us that God is found wherever the pain is, which leaves God on both sides of every war, in sympathy with both the pain of the perpetrator and the pain of the victim, with the excluded, the tortured, the abandoned, and the oppressed since the beginning of time.  Jesus was not, as Malcolm and Fraser continue to teach us, some kind of heavenly transaction, or "paying a price" to God, as much as a cosmic communion with all that humanity has ever loved and ever suffered. If he was paying any price, as Richard Rohr says, it was for the hard and resistant skin around our souls.

That is why when we turn back to the gospel on Easter evening we notice that it connects much better with people in pain than the Pep Rally Easter, the Basketball , Half-time show Easter.   When we turn back to the gospel it reveals itself as a story of human trauma. Each of those we encounter in these resurrections stories are traumatized in their own particular way.  Mary weeps uncontrollably in a graveyard the- love that had begun to restore her ripped violently away; Jesus’ friends are hidden away in a locked room devastated.  The bottom of their lives had dropped out.  And they are in a state of despair, grief and panic.  Judas has committed suicide; Peter in a run from the authorities has cursed his name and denied him, all of them fled as it all came down on them.  Joanna Calicut suggests that what is central this kind of pain is the threat it poses to the person’s core beliefs about the way the world is.  It shatters comfortable personal assumptions relating to love, security, meaning and self-worth.  It forces us into altered states where we see the world altered  - the world as dangerous, chaotic, set against us and that we lack the resources to cope with it.

And this is the place that we meet the disciples that we encounter Mary.  Each of them locked away in their own rooms of fear, lacking the resources to move past – traumatized, disoriented and paralyzed.  This is where we live our lives many times.

On Thursday Michele and I visited Coventry Cathedral.  Over the past 6 months the story of this community has taken up an important place within my own life. And as I stood among the ruins of that church I was deeply moved and in my own tears began to see that this structure in it’s hollowed rubble represents so much of our own personal history and the history of humankind.  We will all stand in the middle of dreams and hopes that fall apart, that are taken from us - like fire falling from enemies above and below which reduce our lives in so many ways.

And then John says the most inconceivable thing - that Jesus “Came and stood within their midst”.  That the resurrected Jesus stood among them, around them, next to them – in their midst. Still smelling like hell – because that is where he had been.  And from the place of utter human anguish and misery he spoke freedom to those at the farthest distance.  And God raised him up, put breath in his lungs.  And now he stands in their midst resurrected, alive.   With the power to do the same for them. This one who was himself who was traumatized is now a survivor, this one who was dead is now living and among them.  And the emerging wisdom Joanna Cullicut says brings this insight, “that if the trauma of Jesus has been transformed then there is no situation that is irredeemable.”  There is no situation that is irredeemable.  Your situation is not irredeemable– Paul was so taken with this so convinced of this that he said: neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers nor height nor depth nor any other created thing will be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.  The very presence of God as resurrection stands among us, finds us, comes to us in our alienation and isolation – he walks through walls to get to us and he stands among us alive – to give life.

 And Jesus is among them with his wounds.  The resurrection does not displace his wounds – He does not show up with baby fresh skin, as if it did not happen – as if it had all been a bad dream – as if the credits could roll and the story could end happily ever after.  No far from it.   No he stands among them with his wounds, showing them – they are now central to who he is, central to the way of life  - incorporating his painful reality within the promise and possibility of growth.  And so it is with us.  The resurrection does not take away the dark memories and painful experiences.  It does not act as a force field against the pain that is to come.  But the very presence of life is now among us, even amid our wounds, amid these rooms of fear. Life is here- Jesus is here.  And his very presence begins to tell us that things will be different, things can change, that our own failings and fear will not have the last word.

  Part of the way that the resurrection unfolds in this community is when we allow the painful, traumatic and unspeakable to assume a central place, when we incorporate it into the life of the community, when we are able to incorporate it into our life story and not to camouflage it or to burry it in the back yards of our life.  But to let it occupy the relationships that constitute this place.  And when we do this – when we share these experiences with each other, when we open our mouths and our lives – the very mystery of God Stands in our midst and begins to unravel the darkness of the dead-end. And it is here that we can find that a bomb out Cathedral with it’s shattered structure and scared edifice can in fact become a place of reconciliation, a place where anger is given to peace, where revenge is given to friendship, where despair is given to hope, where fear is given to joy.  And surely this will take time – surely it will take a lifetime – surly these things are bound up together - but the very life of God is in our midst – among us to led us.  

 And then the resurrected One speaks a word – and of the infinite number of words that could have been spoken – he speaks a word that begins to disrupt all of the striving, all of the fear, all of terror and trauma and depression.  It is a small word – but like bacteria it will begin to eat away at the darkness –showing His disciples another way.   He utters the word Peace – Shalom.  This is a word that does not mean the absence of conflict and pain, but the peace of God that emerges in the midst of trauma and pain, the shalom of God that grows amid life’s unalterable experiences.  It is a word that Jesus spoke when the storm raged on the Sea of Galilee and they were all but lost – he stood amid the hollowing, amid the furry and spoke peace.  Peace came to the Sea – to this symbol of the primordial chaos, the deep where the sea creatures dwell, the deep - where the chaos lives and builds its strength.  And he speaks peace  -  Peace, I leave with you, my peace I give unto you not as the worlds gives do I give, let not your heart be troubled nor be afraid.    This peace that God gives does not relieve us from the unevenness, the turmoil of out life - .  In fact this is where the resurrection meets us – in the everyday, in the routine, in the aftermath.  

And finally he says receive the Holy Spirit and he breaths on them.  This second Adam who receives the Spirit and breath of God in his own lungs now breaths on those gathered there.  Malcolm on Friday suggested that his was a new creation story.  This is the God who takes humanity in his arms breathing life into their very being, the very life that has come through death into their lives now.   Into those lives who have been isolated, into the lungs of those who live constricted.  Breath- the very breath of God.  God is now as close as the air that you breath.

May we gathered here find him unexplainably among us, Resurrected - and may his wounds heal our wounds and may you hear him say “peace” receive the Holy Spirit.  And may this very next breath begin to bring you into his resurrected life.