Thursday, April 29, 2010

Life in the South



Richmond, Virginia was the capital of the South during the short life of the Confederacy. I was there last weekend for an XS-related event and a good friend of a good friend offered to take me on a personal tour.

The history of the Civil War, or War of Northern Aggression (as it is called by many south of the Mason-Dixon line), is something that I love to read about and am far from expert on. Both sides seemed at fault, from Lincoln’s suspension of the Constitution, effectively making himself a king, and usurping states’ rights, to the South’s enduring commitment to human slavery. It created myths and legends that endure. Visiting the historical sites of the Confederate Whitehouse and Capitol made me think about how different this country could have ended up if things had ended differently.

One of the greatest assets of the South was the general who executed Lee’s vision—Gen. Thomas J. Jackson, Stonewall Jackson. Stonewall was an undefeated general who followed the Napoleonic tactics better than most, keeping his opponents off-balance, attacking in concentration and quickly moving to further locations to attack again. He was a man who simplified strategy so that his troops could deliver great results in difficult situations. His troops regularly defeated Union armies with double, triple and quadruple the number of soldiers. He was also deeply religious.

Stonewall Jackson was a Calvinist. He believed in the sovereignty of God, the idea that if he was successful it was because God willed it and the only way to participate in success was by sticking close to God’s will. Jackson never believed his success was because of himself but always attributed it to God. He was also incredibly calm—his nickname came from his willingness to stand firm despite the odds against him, holding a hill at an early Virginia battle when others would have ran, a move (or lack thereof) that allowed the Confederates to win the battle around his hinge-point. Stonewall was killed by his own troops in a confusing volley as he returned from reconnaissance run to the Union lines, his wounds required his arm to be amputated and he later died from complications (pneumonia).

Christians on both sides of the Civil War believed with great ferocity that God supported their side and their cause. It may be that they were both right to a greater or lesser degree. To me, the great lesson of Stonewall Jackson is that whether we end up in causes that win or lose wars, what is important to both man and God is not the end result but the way in which we chose to execute the details along the way—life is a journey, not a destination.



stonewalls in tall grass
still stand despite causes lost
stone remains as stone

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Genevieve the Meek


Sissi has been on a Mary Karr binge since she read The Liar's Club, which has translated into me also getting in on the action. Karr's poetry is wonderful--her collection SINNERS WELCOME includes one about what being meek means:

WHO THE MEEK ARE NOT

Not the bristle-bearded Igors bent
under burlap sacks, not peasants knee-deep
in the rice paddy muck,
nor the serfs whose quarter-moon sickles
make the wheat fall in waves
they don't get to eat. My friend the Franciscan
nun says we misread
that word "meek" in the Bible verse that blesses them.
To understand the meek
(she says) picture a great stallion at full gallop
in a meadow, who--
at his master's voice--sizes up to a stunned
but instant halt.
So with the strain of holding that great power
in check, the muscles
along the arched neck keep eddying,
and only the velvet ears
prick forward, awaiting the next order.


A typical morning when I'm home is to take the kids to school, hit Jean Paul's (the French coffee Nazi) for his version of a "cafe" (don't ask for a special order) and then take Genevieve, our 9-year-old lab to the beach for our morning constitutional.

Labrador Retrievers are amazing animals. They've been bred or designed for the purpose of retrieving, particularly in the water--two layers of skin, webbed feet, and an innate ability to go find the object of desire and bring it back to their owner.

Our female lab has a ferocious bark, but she's a huge lover--she'd lick a burglar before she'd bite, I'm pretty sure. We affectionately call her our "killer attack dog" because she isn't when it comes to kids or other people. Once an Hispanic friend came to visit and didn't know our dog, she ran to the door with her deep, loud barking. He poked his head in the door and I said, "G! Kill the Mexican!!!" Miguel took off running. . .I think I broke a rib laughing. He did too, eventually.

Back to Mary Karr's poem about the meek, I really felt something dramatic when Sarah read it to me. It changed my idea about what Christ meant at his Sermon on the Mount, at least when it came to "Blessed are the Meek" and the whole Monty Python, Life of Brian sketch:

MAN #2: You hear that? Blessed are the Greek.

GREGORY: The Greek?

MAN #2: Mmm. Well, apparently, he's going to inherit the earth.

GREGORY: Did anyone catch his name?

MRS. BIG NOSE: You're not going to thump anybody.

MR. BIG NOSE: I'll thump him if he calls me 'Big Nose' again.

MR. CHEEKY: Oh, shut up, Big Nose.

MR. BIG NOSE: Ah! All right. I warned you. I really will slug you so hard--

MRS. BIG NOSE: Oh, it's the meek! Blessed are the meek! Oh, that's nice, isn't it? I'm glad they're getting something, 'cause they have a hell of a time.

Seriously though, the idea that the meek aren't the weak among us but the strong and capable that submit themselves to their master's authority, the idea moved from "oh that's nice, isn't it? I'm glad they're getting something, 'cause they have a hell of a time" to a much more powerful concept of the powerful putting themselves in the will of the Father, in his service. It's like George Washington learning to control his temper, to discipline himself to focus his powers for a cause rather than random outbursts.

Last night we read the poem after dinner and out loud to our boys. Willem was listening and we discussed the idea. We talked about how it was like the difference between a super hero who just gets their powers and hasn't managed to control them yet, and the veteran superhero that has all the powers under his/her control in the service of the good.

So back to Genevieve, seeing her retrieve today with her veteran abilities and trained nature, also reminded me of Mary Karr's stallion, hearing it's master's voice and responding with restraint, with power and with grace.


into green water
dog meets stick tumbled by waves
one motive, for him

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Burn One Down


From Ben Harper:

Let us burn one, from end to end.
And pass is over to me my friend.
Burn it long, but burn it slow,
to light me up before I go.

If you don't like my fire, then don't come around.
Cause I'm gonna burn one down.
Yes I'm gonna burn one down

My choice is what i chose to do;
and if I'm causin no harm,
it shouldn't bother you.
Your choice is who you chose to be;
and if your causin to harm, then your alright with me.

If you don't like my fire, then don't come around, cause I'm gonna burn one down.
Yes i'm gonna burn one, down.

Herb the gift, from the Earth,
and what's from the earth is of the greatest worth.
So before u knock it, try it first.
and you'll see it's a blessing and it's not a curse.
If you don't like my fire, then don't come around,
cause i'm gonna burn one down.
Yes i'm gonna burn one.

oh yeah


From a good friend on FaceBook about Moses:

Rabbi Lawrence Kushner speaks to this obedience of the spirit in his chapter Paying Attention regarding Moses and the burning bush.

"People usually explain that God used the burning bush to attract Moses's attention. But suppose you were God and could do anything--split the Red Sea, make the sun stand still, set up a pillar of fire...Perhaps the burning bush wasn't a miracle but a test. God wanted to find out if Moses could see mystery in something as ordinary as a bush on fire. In order to see it as a miracle, Moses had to watch the flames long enough to realize that the branches were not being consumed and that something awesome was happening.

Once God saw that Moses could pay attention, God spoke to him."


From the current Pope, Benedict XVI, about Jesus:

The Book of Deuteronomy contains a promise that is completely different from the messianic hope expressed in other books of the Old Testament, yet it is decisive importance for understanding the figure of Jesus. The object of this promise is not a king of Israel and king of the world--a new David, in other words--but a new Moses. . ."And there was has not risen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face" (Deut 34:10). . ."No one has ever seen God; it is the only Son, who is nearest to the Father's heart, who as made him known" (Jn 1:18). It is in Jesus that the promise of the new prophet is fulfilled. What was true of Moses only in fragmentary form has now been fully realized in the person of Jesus: He lives before the face of God, not just as a friend, but as a Son; he lives in the most intimate unity with the Father. (Jesus of Nazareth. Joseph Ratzinger, Pope Benedict XVI.)


if i am burns one
am i face to face with him
focus, watch the bush

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Home Alone



This weekend, Sissi went to Calvin's Faith and Writing conference--I love it that she makes time to develop her talents and spend time with friends and relatives on her own. I also love a 'lads weekend' from time-to-time.

This weekend was simple: I had a board meeting, soccer practice, kids running around to various social occasions Friday, sleep, soccer games, surfing, brat and beer fest with lads, Kick Ass film viewing and then big breakfast, tennis lessons/play and Sissi back. Need a rest from the weekend, but I dearly miss my wife when we're apart.


sissi where are u?
my soul has a hole in it
even if briefly

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Mr. Mark Day


April 11, 2008 is the day that my best friend was killed in Iraq training the Iraqi special forces and "advising" them on an early morning raid to pick up high profile targets in Sadr City. Below is the Eulogy that I wrote for him and read, never once without balling my eyes out--"what a pussy" Mark would say with a wink and a nod.



Mark and I met in college in the late 80s, we were members of an elite club –passionate surfers going to college in Chicago at Wheaton. Later we became roommates, went on surf trips and various adventures together, both married women named “Sarah,” both moved to Laguna after marriage, and both are raising our families on Brooks Street.

My wife and I moved to Laguna, when we were looking for a new home in Southern California, because Mark said he’d kill me if I moved to Newport. Joe pushed it by moving to the DMZ, Corona Del Mar. Mark & Sarah helped us find a relatively inexpensive rental that would work for our family when we moved down. He also made me go to his church, an Evangelical Free Church, which was a flavor of Christianity that I would not have chosen, but am so happy we did. He helped me and my Sarah find a home on Brooks, across the street from them later. Sarah & Mark introduced my wife and me to the Day family and Growers First (http://www.growersfirst.org ), an organization that we now support as much as possible. Sarah Metherell and I service on the Growers First board together. Mark and Sarah plugged me and my family right into the community in a very deep way. Much of who I am today is a very direct result of my friendship with Mark.

Mark was an anomaly. He was extremely unique. It’s very hard to encapsulate someone who lived his life in such a large and meaningful way into a summary or a nutshell or even words. To steal from Derrida, Mark was the nutshell – pieces of his life don’t really tell the whole story very well. It was the whole thing that was so amazing. But we don’t have time for that this morning, and I don’t think that I could deliver that story on my own.

At a men’s group met for breakfast last week, we all shared what we knew and remembered about Mark. We used a format to keep us all from rambling too much that used the Inklings at Oxford, CS Lewis, Tolkien, TS Eliot, and their friendship and work together sharpening each other’s writing as an example. At one point, a member of the group died and Lewis said something to the effect that, “While he’d miss Charles personally, what he’d miss the most was how Charles made him a better person.” Brad’s question was how did Mark impact us to help make us better people? I think it’s a good question for a gathering like this one today.

Honesty, loyalty, humility and love would seem to be qualities that best characterize Mark to me. He wasn’t loud and he hated being in the spotlight. He probably wouldn’t like all of us sitting here talking about him and he really wouldn’t like the big memorial service that’s going to happen this week, but he’s just going to have to get over it.

My favorite story about Mark’s dislike of the spotlight is also reflective of his love of mission work. He and his wife, Sarah, who both were passionate devotees to developing missions in this church and making it the focal point it is today, had just gotten back from a trip to Mexico with Growers First, a group that helps rural poor farmers around the world. Jay Grant, saw them sitting in church, knew they had been on a recent mission, and asked Mark and Sarah to stand and talk a little about their trip. They both got up, I think Sarah did most of the talking, and after church Mark went up to Jay and said, “Don’t ever, ever do that to me again!” Now Jay knew that Mark had been a Navy SEAL and was very effective at his work and didn’t know Mark very well, and from what I understand, Jay was a little careful around Mark for a while after that. Mark used to love that story and always chuckled when he told it.

Mark didn’t try to be cool. He hated facades and veneers. He reminds me, in a strange way, of William F Buckley Jr. Hosting him at a fundraiser years ago, I remember that this very well-heeled writer and publisher seemed to be intent on maintaining his school-boy disheveledness. Shaggy hair, frayed cuffs, a huge old Louis Vouitton bag that would seem to hold a Volkswagen that he just threw everything into. Bill’s first impression seemed intentionally to not be about first impressions. Mark was very similar. He avoided first impressions entirely. He loped when he walked, like a big golden retriever or Mr. Snuffalufagas, he never wore jeans, his uniform was khakis (long or short), t-shirt of a well-worn variety, flannel shirt and “flippity floppities” as he called them – flip flops. He was always shaggy-haired and the harriest man I know – diametrically opposed to body razors. The worst criticism he could give you was, “Wow, that’s cool, Dave.” It meant that you seemed to be trying to be something you weren’t. Something that I’ve needed a lot of help with in life, and something that Mark was better than a brother at helping me manage.

But that was part of Mark’s core personality – he was very quiet with new people. He didn’t need a lot of friends. He was polite but also very blunt with people that felt they needed to espouse some version of BS. He seemed to have this efficiency with words, probably because he thought a lot about who he was talking to and what he was saying before he spoke, that were more powerful from their economy.

His very best friend took the place of Joe and Dave and I almost 10 years ago when he married Sarah Ochs. They became Mark & Sarah, a unit. Someone recently said that no man will love Sarah as well as Mark did. I’ll take it a little further and say that few men love their wives and treat them with the respect that Mark did. It may sound like this is candy-coating my friend, but he really did love Sarah as close as any man I know could come to the way Christ loves the church.

Recently I was talking with Howard Hills, a long-time neighbor on Brooks Street and very good friend of Mark and Sarah’s. He said that Mark seemed to know what he needed to hear and how to say it without any direct effort at trying to convert Howard or proselytize him, just to deliver something true that would provide value to Howard. You can get the whole story from Howard, and you should – it’s powerful, but the part I love is that when Mark was trying to get across to Howard that the Christian life isn’t about being good, it’s about realizing the state we are all in, that we live under this state of original sin, and we can’t get out from under it on our own, and we’re all pilgrims on the same journey just trying to help each other out. But we can’t journey together until we all agree on the fundamental assumption that we can’t do it ourselves. He paraphrased that for Howard by saying, “Howard, what I have come to realize is that basically, I suck.” He just left that statement hanging in the air, and Howard talked about how it made him stop and deeply reflect on how big of a statement that was coming from such an amazing human being.

Mark lived his life for others. I don’t know all the details of what he was doing, but I know something of what he did. He was a soldier and he worked very closely with local people in countries where he operated in ways that were unique. In Afghanistan, he actually lived with the tribal people he was serving and training. He was invited to an Afghani wedding, something that never is allowed for foreigners. He was one of them, he loved them as people, because he believed that we are all children of God. When he died, Mark had essentially put himself in the lead vehicle in a convoy going into a dangerous area with Iraqis he had trained. He realized that if he was going to be an effective leader and if the Iraqis he loved and trained were going to be able to stand on their own without him, then he had to lead by example so they could do the same. Like Stonewall Jackson, Mark lived the way he expected his team to live. He did not lead from the rear. We read a lot of he same adventure stories by Bernard Cornwell. The worst characters in those novels are the leaders who are dishonest. Who lie to themselves because they try to lead while eating different food, sleeping in different beds and removing themselves from hardship and from harms way. Mark realized that to be the tip of the spear, you have to ride point, and if you expect others to do that then you have to be willing to do it yourself.

We all lie to ourselves, especially us men, and I’m pretty bad at fooling myself. The quality in Mark that I will miss the most was how he was brutally honest with me, which forced me to be brutally honest with my own lies. It is probably one of the best qualities, assuming love, that you can find in a friend.

It seems funny that such a quiet guy could leave such a hole in my life, and I am sure a crater in Sarah’s, but it is a hole that creates tremendous substance from the vacuum it leaves. And in a horrible way, I think that the economy of that void will help make me a much more honest person in much the same way that Mark did.

But I don’t want to talk about Mark in the past tense. I am a firm and resolute believer in the very real body of believers, the communion of the saints living and dead.

When my own older brother died from Leukemia14 years ago, I remember asking God to show me that he was safe and whole and happy again – I knew he was a believer and that he was living a complete life in the presence of the Father in Heaven, but I needed to see it. God granted me a vision of my brother smiling deeply and joyfully and wholly again. His look told me that he was living entirely in the joy of the sovereignty of God.

My older brother and I started surfing on the Great Lakes together. Mark helped fill part of that hole as a brother, like my younger brother Joel does. It’s a bond that creates a tribe among surfers. You see it here in Laguna with the Laguna Bros, the Hakamoms and other rogue gangs. Every time that I would go surfing, it seemed that I was having a baptism of water and the spirit, it was a place that I could always go to feel closer to my brother.

One of Mark’s favorite verses is Genesis 1:2 “. . . and the spirit of God was hovering over the waters.”

Mark is more alive now, more real now, more true now and more whole now than he ever was on Earth. The difficulty is that we have this veil between us that separates us for a time. For me, getting in the water – getting our gills wet, as Mark and I used to say – helps bring me into communion with the body of believers beyond the veil. It is where I find the spirit of God most often and all the saints, living and dead. I find great comfort in being a small part of that body, it keeps me close to my brothers, some who are alive and some who we are separated from, for a time.


now more real than me
st mark intercedes for us
hovering over

Pirate Radio

Flying back from a great but tiring weekend, I watched Pirate Radio on the flight home. Admittedly wasn't expecting much but found the film surprisingly wonderful.

The story takes place in 1967 off the coast of England on a ship that is broadcasting pirate content--pop music--which at that time was not allowed to be broadcast in Great Britain. The DJs and crew live a bohemian existence that reminded me of our days at Wheaton, in what I now look at fondly but was a bit wild and crazed at the time.

As I'm getting older, the character "Quentin" inspired and reminded me a bit of myself. He's played by Bill Nighy and is the guy who runs the ship and keeps things going with a minimalist approach to management and a maximalist approach to hedonism within boundaries.

The inspiration came from a group of loosely organized libertines who figure out how to live together and manage their internal disputes whilst battling the British government, which is adamantly working to shut them down. It reminded me of The Church of Reason with our own minor publications (the scrolls in red crayon posted on the Forum Board and The Icecream Socialist) winning the hearts and minds of many friends but ultimately loosing to an administration who was worn thin with time.


to love liberty
requires that you allow
things you do not like

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Didya Want to Be a Rockstar?


I don't know why, but it sure seems like there are a lot of frustrated rockstars out there. I made an assi, late-night, one-too-many-cocktails-while-cruising-FaceBook comments on Rob Bell's Resurrection video, something about 'a bit over-produced for my taste but not surprising for a guy that is a frustrated-rockstar preacher.' It actually wasn't that mean, but that's what I was thinking. Poor Rob--I really like what he's doing, but the video felt like it was Rob-as-Bono, and I wanted more Rob. I'm blaming his producer.

About a day later I got a little cosmic aikido. Was cruising unread emails and I found a note from Carlos Vergara, an old Wheaton friend and photog who had attached some images I'd never seen before from an outdoor show we put on at a house party where I went to college (Wheaton) at the house I was living in at the time. It slayed me. It took me back in time as I tried to figure out what I was thinking, where I was and what the hell was going on in those images.

No doubt I count myself among the wannabes. Not that I was that talented a rock musician, but I did have a brief moment in the sun, more from pure balls and marketing/promotional ability than talent but there was Dungus Mangulaneous (still not entirely sure how to spell the second name of our band).

On Sundays at Wheaton, a few friends and I would drink a Coors Party Ball. It was a 'spiritual discipline' that we forced ourselves into as part of our Reformed Pledge. If you don't know Wheaton, it is a very conservative Christian college outside Chicago. They have a pledge that students sign saying you won't drink, dance, smoke, gamble or fornicate. We created a Reformed Pledge that we signed stating that we would do at least one of those things every day, thus "keeping the pledge today." The Coors Party Ball was our Sabbath rest. I don't recommend this.

Anyway, after completing the discipline of the Party Ball, we decided to create a rock band and to cement the deal, we started calling clubs to book a gig with this band. We named it Dungus Mangulaneous after an abnormal psychology term someone had heard at a party the night before. We got a meeting to book a gig at Club Stodolla. The problem was we didn't have a band, didn't play instruments and didn't even know where to get instruments.

The first thing we did was use the new world of word processing via Apple Mac and laser printers to create a press kit that looked way more professional than was thought possible (1990) and went to the club. We dressed up, acted crazy and had a story. We were looking for a club to kick off our national 'Label the Jar Tour.' Stodolla bit on it.

Next, we got some friends in a good band, Fish Club, to teach us how to play, loan us equipment and get us through a set list--simple songs; i.e., "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by The Clash, loud volume and lots of distortion. We also added playing in boxer shorts with dayglow body paint under black lights for effect.

I had just been kicked out of Wheaton a few days before (long story) and was the director of recreation for College Union, so I rented a bus to pick up all the kids that would be at our kegger the night of our show at the house I lived in. We had some friends put the kegs on the bus, everyone followed the kegs and, voila, we had a sold-out show.

Our band sucked, but we had a lot of fun. The Sex Kittens opened for us (a real, legit punk band in Chicago), we won the bets about whether we'd play or not, and our drunk friends cheered us on. Club Stodolla re-booked us for their big Halloween show that fall. . .idiots. These photos are from a party at our house the next night (I think), where we did an outdoor concert. . .until the cops showed up.


wanna be famous
fun to be at the center
now what do i do?

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Becoming Real



The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the [Velveteen] Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

--From The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams


We had some mixed emotions on the Thread today--new babies, dead uncles, published articles and whatnot. It seemed like life was hitting full-force--like we were experiencing becoming a bit more real, more fulfilled, more whole.

Truth to me seems to be the things that aren't always easy but the things that make me feel like I am being fulfilled, being turned more and more into the divine creature that my nature was formed from--of God or one with God. I've got a long way to go for sure.

As George MacDonald says, "We are not and cannot become true sons without our will willing his will, our doing following His making. It was the will of Jesus to be the thing God willed and meant him, that made him the true son of God. He was not the son of God because he could not help it, but because he willed to be in himself the son that he was in the divine idea. . .And we can be sons and daughters, saved into the original necessity and bliss of our being, only by choosing God for the father he is, and doing his will--yielding ourselves true sons to the absolute Father. Therein lies human bliss--only and essential. The working out of our salvation must be pain, and the handing of it down to them that are below must be in pain; but the eternal form of the will of God in and for us, is intensity of bliss. [From Creation in Christ]

It seems odd to me that so many Evangelical Christians want this Earth to pass away and to flee in the fourth quarter--as if that is how God works during Armageddons. It appears that during the great floods and fire-from-heaven episodes of the Bible, the righteous are left behind--Noah, Lot, Rahab, etc. . . I'm becoming a fan of NT Wright's work, particularly his affinity for nature and the way that God reveals himself to us in the great work he created around us and Christ is recreating for Him. As my friend Shani wrote in her FullFill article this month (http://www.fulfill.org) quoting NT: "You are not planting roses in a garden that's about to be dug up for a building site. You are--strange though it may seem, almost as hard to believe as the resurrection itself--accomplishing something that will become in due course part of God's new world."

Sheldon Vanauken paraphrased CS Lewis in A Severe Mercy: "Both Heaven and Hell are retroactive, all of one's life will eventually be known to have been one or the other."

CS Lewis said it even better (in my humble opinion): ". . .every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing either in a Heaven creature or into a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is Heaven: that is, it is joy, and peace, and knowledge, and power. To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness. Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state or the other." [From Mere Christianity.]













becoming more real
pain of regeneration
dios mio, man

Monday, April 5, 2010

Being Remade by the Living Word


Christian Meditations by Hans Urs von Balthasar has been resonating deeply with me these Lenten and Holy Week seasons.

This was from a friend this week who has also been reading Ezekiel and getting into what "eating the scroll" means--what it means to injest the Word and to be reborn/remade by it:

Then the friend is on the ground. Kathy and I are burying her in the dirt. She is still trying to talk to me and taunt me and I kick dirt over her face and tell her if she says it again I will stomp on her face. She is completely buried now except for her eyes.

Next scene: I watch the friend come up out of a pool. Face up toward the sky, wet hair down her back, and I think to myself, “Oh good, she got all the dirt off.” I am also standing in the water up to my waste aware that dirt is coming off me as well.

Baptism.


Here are some words from Balthasar about the continual rebirth/renewal we experience in the Word:

Now in the bridal oneness of Christ and the Church, as God-Man and as the Father's Word, he certainly remains the active Word in quote another way, above all in the free spontaneity of his Eucharist. The Church receives the gift of the Word--like Mary, as handmaid of the Lord--in "reverential fear" (Eph 5:33). And the word that she returns to him as response s an echo; as it were, of his Word, although an active echo that the power of the Word has given her to express. So given that she is first of all "produced" (Eph 7:27) by the Word; in her very response she is a creature, a product of the Word. This is so not only once but ever anew, inasmuch as she is continually being "produced" by the Eucharist of the Bridegroom; but she likewise receives perpetual authority to "produce" this Eucharist herself. As response to the Word she is empowered to speak back to the Father (in the eucharistic Sacrifice) the Word itself in thanksgiving (eucharistia).

In both these contexts it reminds me of how the DNA that God gives us, the code or word of ourselves, is constantly remaking us--how our cells are constantly regenerating tissue. When our internal code, our DNA, our word is corrupted the regeneration can evolve into things as normal as the aging process and as abnormal as cancers. One of the benefits of stem cells is the renewel of the reservoir of that code. In the same way, we as the body of Christ, the church, the Communion of the Saints, need to continually renew our DNA, our word by 'eating the scroll' by meditating, injesting the Eucharist and speaking back in thanksgiving.

eat the living word
regeneration happens
baptized by the scroll

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Aikido Jesus is My Easter Bunny



A friend posted a story on FB a couple days ago about a church in Texas that is giving away over $2m worth of luxury items as "an opportunity to share Christ with people who may never go to a church for any reason." I commented back that it makes complete sense for a church where Jesus is the Easter Bunny.

http://www.christianpost.com/article/20100402/texas-megachurch-to-give-out-cars-tvs-at-easter-services/index.html

So many criticisms come to mind from the utilitarian--how about putting that money to good use reaching people that are desperate to hear the good news? Who need simply to eat, get clean water and some help back on their feet? Christ cleaning out the temple is another easy response, "It is written," he said to them, "'My house will be called a house of prayer,' but you are making it a 'den of robbers.'" (Matt 21:13 NIV). I'm learning to be careful of the con when something like this seems so easy to criticize--it's like there is some cosmic aikido just waiting to happen.

The most unsettling word came from an old friend in Florida this week, ney, today. She highlighted her own turmoil over Oswald Chambers' devotional for today (April 4th) from My Utmost for His Highest:
After we have been perfectly related to God in sanctification, our faith has to be worked out in actualities. We shall be scattered, not into work, but into inner desolations and made to know what internal death to God's blessings means. Are we prepared for this? . . . Are we prepared to let God do as He likes with us - prepared to be separated from conscious blessings? Until Jesus Christ is Lord, we all have ends of our own to serve; our faith is real, but it is not permanent yet. God is never in a hurry; if we wait, we shall see that God is pointing out that we have not been interested in Himself but only in His blessings. The sense of God's blessing is elemental.
What struck me the hardest about my own condemnation of the church in Texas was that it was really a condemnation of my own personal desires for God's blessings--very scary stuff indeed when it is presented in such a clear mirror with such harsh lighting.




















what i want from god
spring blessings rust and decay
mammon stares at me

Let Us not Mock God with Metaphor


More epic verse from another modern writer, John Updike:

SEVEN STANZAS AT EASTER

Make no mistake: if he rose at all
It was as His body;
If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecule reknit,
The amino acids rekindle,
The Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
Each soft spring recurrent;
It was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the
Eleven apostles;
It was as His flesh; ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes
The same valved heart
That—pierced—died, withered, paused, and then regathered
Out of enduring Might
New strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
Analogy, sidestepping, transcendence,
Making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded
Credulity of earlier ages:
Let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,
Not a stone in a story,
But the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of
Time will eclipse for each of us
The wide light of day.

And if we have an angel at the tomb,
Make it a real angel,
Weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in
The dawn light, robed in real linen
Spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
For our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
Lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed
By the miracle,
And crushed by remonstrance.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Advent for Easter

I know that "Advent" by Sheldon Vanauken is an Advent poem, but it feels like it's better served at Easter (it also jives perfectly with Christian Meditations by Balthasar):




Two thousand years go by while on the Cross

Our Lord is suffering still--there is no end

Of pain: the spear pierces, nails rend--

And we below with Mary weep our loss.



The chilling edge of night crawls round the earth;

At every second of the centuries

The dark comes somewhere down, with dreadful ease

Slaying the sun, denying light's rebirth.



But if the agony and death go on,

Our Lady's tears, Our Lord's most mortal cry,

So, too, the timeless lovely birth again--

And the forsaken tomb. Today: the dawn

That never ended and can never die

In breaking glory ushers in the slain.


Advent by Sheldon Vanauken

from A Severe Mercy, Davy's Edition, p. 122.