Musical Moments

For an amazing treat go to the link and watch Jake Shimabukuro play his Weeping Ukelele. (I got one for Joel for Christmas.)
I think this guy could probably make a tin can sound melodic.

subversive

`They commonly enter seminary motivated by a commitment to God and a desire to serve their Lord in some form of ministry, and find that they are being either distracted or deflected from that intention at every turn. They find themselves immersed in Chalcedonian controversies, they find themselves staying up late at night memorising Greek paradigms, they wake in the morning, rubbing their eyes, puzzled over hairsplitting distinctions between homoousios and homoiousios. This is not what they had bargained on.... Seminaries were regarded as the graveyard of spirituality. Seminaries were where men and women lost their faith.' -Eugene Peterson

Churches can be a graveyard as well.
No matter what we study: Greek or tech sheets

Keep seeking Keep knocking(up from the grave He arose)

Christian faith, by definition
Cannot die
The death has already been done

Shared Thought

Thy Grace is Sufficient

We're all trying to live it and figure it out it seems. Our faith that we claim is never stagnant.
Steve Norris quotes Peggy Noonan here:

"My mother, too, associated Catholicism with unhappy things, though she was not clear as to why. They married in 1947, my father just home from the war, and one belief they seemed to hold in common was that organized religion was for the old-fashioned, for hypocrites and creeps who would hit you on the head for wearing the wrong shoes.

They wanted to be modern, They wanted to leave their not-adequately lit apartments behind and enter the American sunlight. And while the church held little for them, other areas of life, which might even be called competing areas, seem more alluring."

Every Generation.
Even the Greatest Generation
Moved On
and Left behind the community
that seemed to offer them nothing.
And someone let them go
Some people didn't fight for them and
woo them
and love them through it.

Or maybe they just wanted out.
and they told themselves they were
misunderstood
When it may be that
They didn't seek to understand

Still Soliton

So, four months later, I am still wondering about Soliton.
Soliton, a gathering of seeking believers in Ventura last year, still much to my dismay is having it's ripple effect upon me. I am asking all the same questions as the rest of the group, but not at all liking the continuous loose end. Here is my first impression, written the day I got home, freshly nudged to Blog:

....I found something so new and beautiful at Soliton, but I am terrified by it thin and fragile frame.
To others, the frame may be bold and compelling. But I took in all that my ears and heart could hear and I am left shaken. I was not aware of the accountabilty to scripture. A new theology, but in reference to what? The ideas that were explored were out of my framework. My black and white unpopular unPC framework. Not all, but enough that I am having a hard time trusting. How can I take in the ideas and not the Soul Individuals that freely create them? This is touching on my co-dependancy. I want to take care of them. I am grieving over the gap I fear.
I am asked to make relationship with precious hurting urban people, to not turn from them.
I am losing courage. People are hard to hang with! I am writing my own song of lament. Micheal Card has written of this.
Psalm 119 touches on this. I want people to be heard and accepted and loved, but as Jesus would.
Now even who He is has come into question.
Blessed is the man who does not fall away on account of me. Matthew 11:6

So today, I know as much as then.
Soliton gleamed such promise for me, and gave me a warning. Show me what you got from it.
I must have a huge blind spot...
Show me Christ and I can see you clearly.
Show me what He sees and I will trust it.
Lay your answer down deep in this Man and I will follow you.
Lay your mystery down deep in this Man and I will live there.

Who'll Make the Team?

At the risk of turning this into a Knitting Blog (please don't run away), I'd like to announce my semi-final selections for this years Knitting Olympics:

Ribbed Center Cable or
All-Over Right Twist (sounds like a ski-jumper's manuever)

Yarn Harlot is logging up to 700 responses to date. Next thing you know, Matt and Katie will be calling for an interview.
I'm going for the Gold!

Knitting Olympian

I'm in training to take a blogger's challenge. I'm sure you'll be cheering me along with the downhill racers and bob-sleds. I'll be following the Yarn Harlot and lots of other knitters in a challenge of strength and stamina and we'll still get to eat what we want and avoid the cold snow from getting in our boots.
I'll be doing a classic Aran in Lambspride Oatmeal. 'Twill be lovely and just the thing for our trip to NYC for my B-day. Oh what a good idea!
Check out the Official of the Games @ the link......

worshiping

Tomorrow, I begin again to offer what I have, what's been given me and what I can't keep.
But why does it always have to run this path of anxiety?
The shortness of breath reminds me that I do not supply the air.
The images freeze-framed remind me I do not supply the vision.
The memory at a loss makes me rely on another Word.
Only one note in a long melody.

Grieving

Prayers and condolances. I pray where others cannot.
(Gene J. Puskar/AP Photo)

All Our Hands are Dirty

With my son, daughter and friend I saw Syriana last night. It was not as violent as I expected it to be, but it's hopeless images left a mark on me. Every character in this movie has their humanity all over them.
I knew it would be political, presenting a side of the story with the usual villains; corrupt government, greedy corporates, naive up-and-coming youths with their idealism.
Did any one else see the inference in the corporate names?
CONnex and KILLen.
Is it a coincidence that there is something in a name, converging to make a power that murders through deception?
But what was new and welcome to my sense is how this movie puts all our world players in the same desperate world. All the various motives and lies that hold up our world structure make all of us involved and important. It does matter how I react. It does matter how it is all connected. The story seems to demand a reaction that will offer more hope than a suicide bomber or a displaced, desperate government worker.
How can I make a difference? Instead of hardening my heart to the need, I must continue to allow the injustice to effect me, even going against the political tide of my community that turns our face from the collective greed in SUVs and thoughtless consumption. When will I begin to fast from that which does have it's roots in the poverty of others?
We are beholding to the Kings of the Earth. And in this movie about the Oil, the Middle East and American Greed, we apparently have many kings. Who is mine?
Who is willing to die in a way that brings life? Yes, the west and all it's philosophy does fail the destitute, and the forms of religion that continue to bring oppression. Good men everywhere know that we must continue to fight for justice. How will I emulate my King? Does His Kingdom reach from me across the world which I can now view from my laptop?
If I found myself in a small room with those my life could effect, would I disclose myself and offer the Good News of His Kingdom?

1/1/06

Light against Dark;
the reason I sleep
Love over death;
the hope in my prayer
Silence against the clamor;
the walls around my Kingdom
His breathing;
why I speak

Going Getty

It's always overwhelming, looking at all the collection. It's like entering a new city, when you realize once again, as you're confronted with all the mass of people and their objects; this world is huge.
Maybe that's why some lose faith. It's too big for any God. All the history and all the thoughts and the millions of choices. Which then leads you to all the questions.
I don't think there is anything in Christ's teachings that shies away from all the enormous stories. He says there are many mansions and eternal life. And He says I Am. Which, to all who hear, is a very large statement.
It's all or nothing with Him. The art, the thoughts. And in my waking hours, my God who receives all of mine.

A Visitor

I had a very special visitor on Christmas. Somehow, the author of Christ the Lord Out of Egypt, Anne Rice found my blog on Christmas Eve.

I have seen that Ms. Rice has commented on other blogs as she peruses thoughts on her book. But my entry had been back in November, way past easy Technorati searches.

It was a gift. A special "mailing" this year, her comment. As I finished the book today, so beautiful in it's love for Christ as well as it's portrayal of what could have been, I found the story to be familiar. In the way of mystery, His story is always familiar. And even though I have not met Anne Rice, she is familiar to me in the way she relates to the Lord and relates that to her reader. We are all drawn to the beautiful man, the Beautiful God who really does tell us the story of our Faith; what we know we most need to hear.

Please, if you have any interest in the testimony of a changed life, find the time to watch the video feed in it's entirety. I have here linked to the video of an interview that continues to encourage me as when I watched it this morning.

It's Always Advent

Can one blog their own blog? One entry for two blogs? Why not? Here's what I wrote today somewhere else....

I could not get warm today. Now don't think I'm going to write a depressing entry, but today was about Winter.
I have experienced real-time winter weather while living in New Jersey. Nothing in the world can compare with wind chill 40 below. Or two feet of snow on the ground from December to April. That kind of condition can effect the soul. Empty trees all around for six months.
You start wanting to lay green lettuce from the grocers out just for a change of sorts.

A book I'm reading lately tells of snowy Israel. Could Christ really have been born in winter? Well, whatever. It seems the right time for a Son of Man with no esteem. It seems the right time for a Savior of Sufferers. A pagan day, winter solstice for the marked life of a man cut short. And He changed everything. At least for me.

I know everything about Him from my mother. I cannot ever remember not knowing Jesus. She would tell me stories every night at bedtime about her childhood or mine. But often, she would tell me about Jesus. And there in the dark, usually as she rubbed my back, she would tell me wondreous miracles and mysteries. We would listen to choirs and classic recordings and I would wait for her as she sang for mass in the mission.
Later, I would go with her to choir. We attended at a large old church with a winding staircase to the choir loft and it's spindled railing. Every Sunday for six years we sang the latin words that repeated the Gospel. Up and above the people, out of sight, we stood over the organ and player as it pumped the broad sound to the pipes twenty yards at the ceiling of the alter. And Christ was there. He was in our words and in our grace. He was in our worship and in our questions as we viewed the creche every advent. He was born in the cold and the dark and we were just beginning to wonder. Where is He now? When will He come back? What is He saying to us?
We asked those things of Him together, my Mom and me. She went ahead of me, I miss her and I am still asking Him the questions while she is in the answer.

Me and Condie in Ukraine

Here is a bit from her remarks during her recent trip to Kiev:

"I was here in 1994. And Ukraine was about to have elections, but nobody was quite sure whether those elections would be real elections. I mean, it was not that long after independence. And I remember that the atmosphere was just kind of wild, I guess, chaotic a little bit. And I remember one sign for a candidate who was from a very reactionary party, maybe even -- I don't think he called himself from the Fascist Party, but from a very reactionary party. And the poster said: "Vote for me and you will never have to vote again." (Laughter.) And I thought, okay, that's quite a campaign slogan. (Laughter.)

Fortunately, I don't think there are any of those campaign posters around anymore in Ukraine. And it shows what can happen in 11 years".

She and I are on the same timetable, which I thought was interesting.

Time

It's time to bring out the language tutor and begin the trip to Ukraine. This time Tim will be going too. I promised that if I came back next year, I would know more language. I am so thankful and excited, that if I start now, a little every day, I will speak better Russian. This future plan is a huge gift to me and keeps me focused. It's something to do. Not just something to think about, or something to theorize about.

This week I will finish tasks that distract me big around Christmas. Today I will mail things to people who can, for some reason, only receive a package from me. I will mail cards that only speak a whisper of my love for others. I am feeling very small today and looking for Christ. I'll know when I see Him.

This Christmas I will study Russian and bake. I will knit and hear a choir. But in it all, I will carve out a empty place for Christ to fill.

Fresh Emerging

My friend just wrote me about the day he spent hearing a speaker forecasting the emerging church. He had avoided some meetings of Up and Comers because the tone of the conversation had the quality of grumbling. Who wants to hear that? I don't. So, wisely, as I also commend my own aversion, he stayed clear. Like me, he wants to hear about Jesus, and he wants to hear about how His people are moving against a stagnant society.
Bless his heart, he gave a good report. He told me it's exciting really. The news is that the way of the UK will soon hit our town too. The New church is coming. And all the men and woman behind the scenes are admitting it.
What will the church look like years or even weeks from now? We can all speculate. But I am thankful that there are those who are pursuing an authentic action and a heartfelt worship. Thanks to my friend, I am encouraged.
God is a the center of those who love him and I need a good report.

12/4

my prayer to Christ
Is tangible and
shaped around your face

my spirit of Christ
is breathing and
holding even when you let go

my rest in Christ
is sleeping and
loving still while you don't feel it

Where Are We to Buy Bread...

...that these may eat? John 6:5
Si Johnston spurs me on to write this:

The church and it's mother Israel has only lay dormant in the face of injustice because it refused to listen and act upon the words of her prophets.
We must strive for justice right where we find ourselves. The story of the paralytics healing reflects lives that are connected to real people. The Emergant Village has it's own. Let them attend to it, without being overwhelmed. The main hurdle now is our western pride that says we should save some third world when we do not even attend to our neighbor. Let's be careful not to tie our hands numb with however a well meaning pity or righteous cause.

Is there an ebb and flow in the sowing of justice? I just read from Nouwen something about a withdrawing from community that can serve it as well as participation. For the nurture of the soul in solitude also cultivates what can be gifted to the whole upon reunion. Namely prayer. God is at work as Jesus asks us to trust. (John 5:17)
Anytime you find something for your hand to do, do it with all your might. I cannot serve justice in my endless talk of it. But in my active listening. Jesus living among you asks that the ears who would hear, let them hear.
Only self-deception dulls our ear to the prophet. The call for justice never ceases. Guard the well-spring of your life. Serve out of the abundant life that can only come from Christ.

My heart, for one, can only bear the capacity of my neighbor. God lets me know who my neighbor is by the compassion that flows through me; His life.

New Thoughts on Christ the Lord

Thoughts of a Regular Guy: The Historical Jesus Of The Gospels
Some interesting conversations about my new favorite book and it's controversial believing author. I am a new fan, savoring every word of this book that paints a picture of how the young life of Jesus Christ may have looked. It's or about how it may have felt. And that's what art is all about.

Appreciation

We have this strange day in November. Right in the middle of the week comes this Holiday every year. So we stop whatever we're doing and scramble to find some family and sit and eat this traditional meal together. And we're giving thanks.

I love it, I really do. It's my favorite meal of the year. But it will never be as good as my mother made it, and I will never be served like I was when I was a child and the house will never feel as full as on that particular day in November.
So I get caught in the remembering and the moving forward. And I cling to the word that is spoken around me.

We all went to church the evening before. I knew of some very grievous hardship with a few families. I gave thanks, but felt none of it. I gave thanks some more and acknowledged that the point was to give thanks.

For far too long I have connected the idea of giving thanks with appreciation.
We are all taught to say thank you from an early age. It's right to say thank you. It's the mark of graciousness and goodness. Somewhere along the line I've misunderstood that I must feel it too.
It has been a very confusing couple of weeks for me. This time of year brings along hard memories. I don't appreciate that. But I am thankful for a day where we stop everything and think about it for a while. It has called my attention to it and asked for a response.
And as my mother said, "Say thank you!"
I say Thank You to God.
Thank you for Tim and Joel and Karin and Matthew. Thank you the we are together and have all that we need. Thank you for new friends. Thank you that we are all healthy. Thank you for work and a house and a town. Thank you.
Now, having said that, I realize I really appreciate it too.