Pushin’ Buttons
Ever since I moved to St Louis I have been an intern at the church I go to. One of the things that I have to do as an intern is write down the things that I have questions for or even a critique on. This, I recognize, is very rare. How often have you been to a church where you are asked to be honest as to how you feel? Few churches welcome your feedback, fewer invite it and desire it.One of the things I’m to consider is why certain things make me uncomfortable or even mad.
Through this process I realize that there are not many things that make my blood pressure take a ride up a hill, but the things that I am passionate about I am really passionate about. And once I get the answers to the things I need answers for, I’m all set. Well. Except for the things I already asked about. I may have to buy a new whip so I can continue to beat my rotting horse’s corpse.
Through this process I have also come to realize that the things that I have expressed concerns about I feel like I have a good reason to continue pushing. And more than anything I am scared that God is going to use this passion. Yes scared. Even though I know that God can use me I am afraid that He will. He is sending me to help and encourage a people I don’t want to know. I’m changing my name to Jonah tomorrow. Bring out the dead horse…. here we go…
~
I am pretty sure that churches only know two ways of dealing with singles:
1. Put them all in a class together led by a pastor who was married at 23. Allow the entire church to ask inappropriate questions about the dating life of your singles, neglecting questions about any other area of their lives. Then have dinners where you invite a few of them over put secretly hope they will marry and have babies in the next 10 months. Pretend their life is a fishbowl on which you are allowed to watch whenever you like. Oh, yes. Don’t forget to live vicariously through them. Just because you got married at 24 and started having babies right away doesn’t mean you can’t constantly tell your single friends that they are lucky to be “free.”
2. Singles? What singles?
~
So, what would I change?
Speaking from personal experience the best thing a church can do for her singles is to give them the family they need. The answer isn’t necessarily marriage of your singles. The answer is family – you know, being what the church is supposed to be. This is where the church of the west especially has to fight back and go against culture. Culture tells us that we can do life alone, that we are strong enough- that we have to find it within ourselves to overcome. But that is just not how we were made. We were made for each other. We were made to live in community – in a family.
Christ gave us access to be His brother and by association we are all brothers and sisters. We are to love each other. I mean what would it look like for all the singles to be “adopted” into a family? And for families to adopt each other as more family? What if we stopped lying and admitted that we need each other? What if the world saw it and thought we were crazy?
Guilty
When I was a kid I would often climb all over the counters and cabinets. I was short so I would hold one of the handles on the upper cabinets and pivot my left foot sideways. Then while holding on, trying not to cause the cabinet door to swing open and make me fall or hit me in the temple, I would bend my right leg and throw my knee up onto the kitchen counter. I don’t know how I never pulled the cabinet doors right off the hinges.
Once the first act of what my mother called “monkey business” was over, act two would commence. Anchoring my right hand next to my right knee, I then would thrust myself up onto the counter while my left leg was loosed out into space, my mind trying to remember to get it up to the counter next to my right leg. Now, with two knees up on the counter top, I’d lean back using the center of gravity to pull the cabinet doors open on my right and left. While my body was angled like a rock climber I carefully scanned the contents of the cabinets. If I had ropes I would have repelled down. What a rush from having to jump.
Why did I do all this? To get a snack. Yes, just a snack. I got pretty good at getting up there too. The first few times I would fall and my mom had to tell me to stay off the counters and I never really learned. At one point I could get up on the counters in a matter of 8 seconds.
One day, to my mother’s surprise, I had gotten up there and gotten an entire bag of chocolate chips in the time it took her to check the laundry. How did she know? Well, half of the chocolate chips were all over my face. So when she asked me, “Did you climb up there and get into the chocolate chips?” it really wasn’t much of a question. She was giving me opportunity to say that I did and acknowledge that I disobeyed. I had no idea I was a chocolate mess so I tried to hide it and emphatically say, “Noooooo.” When my mom heard my answer she looked disappointed, cocked her head to the right, turned me around and directed my body by driving my shoulders into the bathroom. When she turned the light on I saw my reflection in the mirror and I knew I was done for. Chocolate on my lips, on my cheek and a little bit up by my ear. What can I say, I’m an… excited eater.
~
At my church we do communion every week by intiction. (Intiction is when you get a piece of the bread and dip it in the cup.) I have been going to this church for two months now, since I moved to St Louis, and every week I rip a piece of bread out of the loaf and dip in into the wine. And every week I inevitably get wine to drip down my arm because the bread didn’t absorb it in the amount of time I had it in the cup.
Tonight while I was standing in line, waiting for my turn to rip the bread and dip my piece in the wine I thought, “How appropriate.” I mean, I am as guilty as guilty can be. There is no use hiding it. And as the wine dripped down my finger and down my arm and then onto my jeans I think it was a good reminder that I am the cause for Christ’s death- his blood is all over me. Instead of being found with chocolate from ear to ear I am found in a garden with fruit in my hands. I am found next to the cross holding the nails while His blood is all over my body. There is no getting away from it; there is no use trying to hide my sin. In knowing this I can see that the grace that covers me is even bigger.
From now on I’m not hiding it. I’m grabbing a big piece of bread and letting the wine drip down my arm as it may.
To Grasp It
This song is a work in progress. It may change…
My soul has been stirring
I’ve tried to give it up
Crying, “My God My God!” has gotten old
And you lifted my head
Spoke peace to me,
And reassured me that you know -
“I feel your pain more
More deeply that you do.
I know the hairs on your head
And the freckles on your face.
Those hazel streaks in your eyes -
I put those there…
And not only did I plan
Your days and know your pain
If that weren’t enough, I -
I collect and save your tears.”
So these things I know
Although it’s hard to believe
With the Spirit to remind me
And the peace that He gives
I want to live the resurrected life. Not content
In chains, bounded- oh you tell me…
“I feel your pain more
More deeply that you do.
I know the hairs on your head
And the freckles on your face.
Those hazel streaks in your eyes -
I put those there…
And not only did I plan
Your days and know your pain
If that weren’t enough, I -
I collect and save your tears.”
And so I walk
Not by sight’s deceptive way
But by the faith that first was giv’n
Trying to remember your loving way
And knowing I can cry
And that you care.
Bridge:
It doesn’t mean the pain goes away,
But walking in newness, unashamed…
“I feel your pain more
More deeply that you do.
I know the hairs on your head
And the freckles on your face.
Those hazel streaks in your eyes -
I put those there…
And not only did I plan
Your days and know your pain
If that weren’t enough, I -
I collect and save your tears.”
Quotes I’ve Loved Along the Way
-Come here, I want to say goodbye. And by ‘goodbye,’ I mean holding you in my arms until you are ready to change your mind and stay.
-I find it shelter to speak to you.
-Difficulties went on presenting themselves to him; at times he would be overwhelmed by the tossing waves of contradiction and impossibility. But with every fresh conflict, every fresh gleam of doubtful victory, the essential idea of the Master looked more and more lovely. And he began to see the working of his doubts on the growth of his heart and soul–preventing it from becoming faith in an idea of God instead of in the living God.
More to come, I will keep adding- I just wanted a safe place to keep these.
That Was Literally Music To My Ears (Part 2)
This one won’t make any sense unless you scroll down a few posts and read the first one. So go ahead and read that one if you haven’t already. I’ll wait.
Okay, Sigur Ros. That concert at Red rocks was pretty incredible. It was probably the best concert I’ve ever been to and I don’t know that it will ever be topped. Between being under the stars near the Rocky’s and listening to the most passionate, inspiring music, it’s gonna be hard to top.
The lead singer of Sigur Ros, Jonsi, decided to do a solo album about a year ago and it was just released in April with a limited US tour to immediately follow. Luckily, Chicago was one of the stops.
Now Sigur Ros knows how to combine lighting/stage effect with music in order to help you get the full emotion of the song. And while I’m not much for gimmicks in concerts (let the music move you, not the effects) I have to say I was pleasantly surprised.
Jonsi’s new album,” Go” featured him sporting a headpiece with feathers, reminding me of Peter Pan. I’m not so sure that he’s hip to the fact that schools are pulling anything with a headdress as a mascot for fear of racism, but since he’s from Iceland, we’ll give him a break. Besides, it seemed to “feel” pure and whimsical, if you will.
On Tuesday, April 27 I walked into the Vic an hour early and took my place with friends along a railing in the middle. This show was packed, but it was more intimate than Redrocks. And between songs you could hear a pin drop. No one was talking. No one was really moving. I think we were all trying to just soak it in. It was like having sunshine for the first time after months of damaging hail.
Jonsi had animation and lights that aided in the emotion of the concert. This was no normal ligting effect. For example during one song that was giving you a feel like you were being pulled forward on an adventure; there was a pencil drawn deer put to animation. It lept across the screen in several forward, fluid movements. Then a fire came and devoured the forest that it stood in. It looked like it was real fire and it started at the bottom right hand corner and slowly burned up the backdrop as the music got sad and at points, furious. Once the music stopped suddenly, the sheet dropped and thousands of butterflies appeared as the music made you feel as if there was rebirth. I don’t know if this sounds hokey, but I assure you it was the exact opposite. Euphoric and epic? Yes. Hokey? No.
Another song, Grow Till Tall, starts out a little light-hearted and a little pensive - is it possible to experience those two emotions at once?. At the concert we saw flowers on the backdrop growing. Most of the time Sigur Ros sings in Iclandic, or hopelandic (a made up language that uses similar sounds to iclandic). Jonsi did most of his new album in English, which is difficult if you think about it. He’s not writing in his heart language.
After Grow Till Tall’s beginning, it gets a little more happy with subtext of unsettled. Enter instruments gaining momentum. Enter Jonsi repeating a phrase and gaining momentum until the instruments join him. Then boom. Dark. He puts you in the middle of the reality of heart wrenching pain. You are in a downpour of emotion. He even changed the song on the CD to make the dark part longer and way more intense during the performance. When Jonsi got to that intense part, the background lighting effect went dark and simulated a downpour. All the flowers withered and gave themselves to the rain. I think everyone grabbed the railing, feeling as if they were in that storm too and feeling the power of the music to take them into pain. The images that came to mind for me was the moments of Christ’s crucifixion when He was giving his last breath. When death thought it won and the world was mourning. I had to hang on tight. Tears my friends. Tears.
For All the Mother’s Days We’ve Missed
Mom.
I wonder if you ever had this kind of Monday
And if a boy ever broke your heart.
I wonder if you leaned to the right when you stood
And threw in spices just to see if it worked.
I wonder if you ever felt like you just didn’t fit in
And you wanted to but couldn’t betray yourself.
I wonder if you ever served just to hide…and if you wore
Your lipstick bold because you didn’t want to look tired.
I wonder all this because our time was cut short
And I’ve got this blood in my veins that’s half yours
And I do things sometimes that don’t make sense
And I want to know I’m not alone.
I wonder if you begged God for things you didn’t need
And if He answered you in silence.
I wonder if you stood on California’s coast and felt small
And if you ever felt no hope at all.
I wonder if you liked to wear heels, even though tall
And if pictures held stories and not just images.
I wonder if you held memories in the way something smelled
And if you wondered if there was grace enough to spare.
I wonder all this because our time was cut short
And I’ve got this blood in my veins that’s half yours
And I do things sometimes that don’t make sense
And I want to know I’m not alone.
Mandy, 2 years is too long
I walked into the courtroom not really knowing what to expect. Two friends sat on either side of me as my eyes saw the man who hit and killed my friend Mandy two years ago.
I had no idea that that day would be as emotional as it was. My stomach leapt like a frog as my finger played with the simple necklace around my neck. My mind was instantly brought back to my birthday when Mandy gave me that necklace. I remember her smiling and letting out a giggle, talking in her funny lispy voice as she told me to hold out my hand and close my eyes as if I were a small child.
But then I was brought back to the present when the judge introduced the case and asked everyone to have a seat.
My eyes glazed over and I noticed that the legs holding the bench that was in front of the one I was sitting in had supports that came up to where my knees were hitting. On those supports sat four pieces of gum. I can only imagine the stories behind those. At first I thought it was probably some inconsiderate person who couldn’t wait his turn to tell a judge why he was not guilty for the three unpaid parking tickets he had. But then I wondered if those pieces of gum represented people like me sitting in a courtroom for hours waiting to hear what the outcome would be for a person who killed their friend. At that moment I wished I had a piece of gum to contribute to the pile.
As the day went on I heard Mandy called a lot of things. I heard her called “the victim” the most. She was also called “the expired,” “the body,” “the cyclist,” “the girl,” “young woman” and “the deceased.” As my hands propped up my head while I stared at the floor I wanted to get up and protest, “Call her Mandy! She has a name.” It’s interesting how much weight comes in a name. I hate it when mine is misspelled. And I love it when people use my name while they are in conversation with me. It carries a bit of who I am. And when someone is called “the expired” it takes a little bit of her person-hood away.
Again I was jostled back to the courtroom reality when I heard a witness say he saw what happened and followed for four city blocks the man who hit Mandy. They brought the map out with ten points marked. The lawyer (for Mandy) explained what each of those marks meant. As I saw the point for where Mandy was hit and then the point symbolizing where she landed, I gasped. I didn’t know at what scale the map was drawn, but I knew it was far. Then the lawyer uttered the most awful number. “So in doing the math, the victim was thrown 124 feet.”
Up until this point, for two years I kept myself from hearing the numbers. I kept myself from hearing what her body looked like. I kept myself from hearing how much blood was shed. I kept myself from these things, because she wasn’t just a victim. She was Mandy, and she was a very real part of my life. She liked chocolate donuts on Sundays and she wore converse. She had size 10 shoes even though she stood at only 5 feet 4 inches tall. She didn’t laugh, she giggled. She had far too many stuffed animals for a grown adult. You could sit on the lip she pouted with. She wanted to be a mom so badly. She was fiercely loyal to her friends. She kept Coca-Cola in business. She was always willing to go on an adventure and she taught me about living in the moment.
I’ve done a lot of things over the last two years because of what Mandy taught me about bravery and being real. I’ve done things I never thought I could do. It is two years later and I can still see her life woven into mine. I’ll be forever grateful for having a friend like her.
So in Mandy’s honor today, I’ll drink a coke and do something gutsy. Join me!
That Was Literally Music to My Ears
About a year and half ago I walked into Red Rocks amphitheater not really knowing what to expect, but having high expectations. My friend and I sat down as the chilly night air raised every hair on my bare arms. As the evening grew darker the first band came on and performed what was arguably one of the best opening “we don’t have a real website but we are on myspace” bands I’ve heard.
Then came the magic. The lights went out, the stage lights went on and Sigur Ros came out. Then that voice that could be recognized from anywhere started in that smooth falsetto that functions more as another instrument. I don’t remember what song they opened with but I do remember the tears (!) that came to my eyes when they began to play. And play they did. They had fun. They had emotion. They played instruments unconventionally. Violin bows instead of guitar picks, drum sticks on a vibraphone and guitar. The list goes on.
The amazing thing about shows like this is you get to see how they do all the sounds your ears drums have danced to since you bought the CD. I mean sure, you can go to a Taylor Swift concert and see the drummer, guitarist and bassist do their four chord thing and come away just as wise as if you had stayed home and listened to the CD. But this stuff, this is different. Go ahead. Roll your eyes.
I know that it sounds a little melodramatic, but when you watch them, it’s a little like coming to life. I confess, I like (read: LOVE) the Fray, they are sort of my guilty pleasure. But for a while I couldn’t figure out why. But I think I do now. They know the meaning of climax in a song. They fit their music to the intensity of the lyrics. And this serves and works for them well (Lyrics first then music). But this post isn’t about the Fray.
Sigur Ros knows the meaning of climax better than most bands because I think they make the music and then put the lyrics in there. (Music first then lyrics.) I think ( I could be totally wrong) that is where Sigur Ros especially gets it. Let’s remember music is about music primarily, not words. Am I ruffling any feathers? Sorry. I’m not saying that stories don’t come before the music. Or that the lyrics don’t matter. Or that music doesn’t dramatically improve the spoken word. But I think the best pieces of MUSIC are the ones that are free to be themselves- roam the canon of musisity (I think I made a new word and I like it. mu-SIS-ity) and come out stronger with the best possible outcome because of the freedom they have.
Sigur Ros will start you on your song and grab you, make you curious and make you feel. Then they take you deeper into the story, picking up minor chords and taking you through a proverbial dark forest. Then music gets intense and it changes tone and rhythm and then they keep you at that intensity for a long time. A lot of songs will do that for a measure. Whitney Huston’s “I Will Always Love You” is a great example. You get the dramitc pause then the “Thud. Thud.” of the music and then she just gets louder. The music doesn’t change much.
Remember back in the day when music wasn’t a big deal in churches? Most churches were lucky to have someone to play the piano well. In order to get through a four-verse hymn without feeling like it lasted forever, the much-anticipated key change was there to the rescue in between verse three and four. I’m pretty sure I could characterize late 80s church music by just saying “key change.” That key change served its purpose, but I think that the “new wave?” of praise choruses brought us something good. And to be sure, I’m not a fan of most of them, but with non-cliche lyrics and a good melody, well, you get the picture. Enter Chris Tomlin, for the win.
“The Old Rugged Cross” is such a great hymn. Packed full of rich theology and reminding the singer of the depth of Christ’s sacrifice. But up until a few years ago, the only hope for connecting to that song was lost somewhere in a run of the mill key change. Then Chris Tomlin added a couple of lines in between the verses, something that seems so natural and like it should have been there all along. He inserts what his soul was probably wanting to say after being reminded of the cross in the first two verses : “Oh! The Wonderful Cross! Oh the wonderful cross! Bids me come and die and find that I might truly live!” The cross is the climax of all history, so it makes sense that a song about the cross ought to come with a little musical height, if you will.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fan of “getting hyped up.” But,there is a big difference in getting someone to get emotional for the sake of getting emotional than to play/sing so intensely that you are only pouring out the natural way your soul is connecting to the music.
::Stepping off soap box::
To be continued.
The Art of Balance
I’ve been thinking a lot about balance these days. I have friends who are on crazy diets that limit the kinds of foods they can eat. I don’t think it’s a good idea to eliminate whole food groups or kinds of food. Moderation is key. Learn how to control yourself instead of starving your body of things it was meant to enjoy, that is, on occasion.
Other people avoid alcohol under so called religious conviction. Honestly, I think they are scared. What if I go overboard? What if someone judges me? What if… That isn’t living the grace-centered life, however.
That’s the tricky thing with the gospel. If you trust the gospel, you know you are accepted. There is nothing you can do to outrun grace. Do you believe that? Then have a Guinness. If you don’t do something because you are afraid, then you are not acting in faith. And that, my friend, is the sin. So please put your pointy finger away. Or get a manicure if you plan on continuing to wave it around. At least do me that much.
