When I was in kindergarten, Matt Levering and I discovered what was, and still is in my memory, the most epic, mud-splattered, dirt-cluttered, filth-clustered sink hole to end all sink holes (which just so happened to be conveniently located in my very own backyard.) That afternoon, we adventured, we explorers we, into the great pit: our own sooty version of sheol I guess you could say. The events that occurred in the two hours after our discovery are somewhat blurred, but I do remember at one point loosing one of my shoes after sloshing through the amorphous gunk, engaging on a rescue mission (with the assistance of my Radio Flyer red wagon), and eventually sludging our way to the front door, covered from foot to waist in pure, 100 percent, unadulterated, mud. Mud caked in every crevice unclothed by our now sierra brown jeans. Needless to say, a bath was out of the question, but the outdoor hose was certainly a certainty.
Gotta love the good ol' days.
Adults don't get dirty. When I was around Princeton, I see very few mud-caked university professors. I think such a phenomena is not uncommon in most urban areas. More often than not, we are encouraged to clean up for our meals, for our dates, for social luncheons and private dinner parties and for every event in between. Dirtiness is a sign of disorganization, uncouthness, and a total lack of urbanity which separates man from beast. We are dirty only by utility: if the telos is worth its weight in mud, then so be it. Otherwise, we avoid jumping through the puddles, wadding in the swamps, shoveling through the compost, or changing any soiled diapers, if possible. We attempt to clean up our messes so we carry around sanitizer, we shower constantly, we cover our odor with perfume, cover our skin with lotions, bathe our clothing in Tide, and scrub every inch of skin we can to become the epitome of spotlessness. This is perfectly fine with me, as I personally have no qualms about those around me NOT being covering in the gunk and grime from their daily grind. However, that which is worth something, often of impertinent value, often comes at the price of our cleanliness.
Last Sunday, Nassau Presbyterian had Brain Blount speak; a former Princeton Theological Seminary Professor of New Testament studies who is now president of Union Presbyterian Seminary down in Virginia. In his sermon, he reflected on Revelation 7:9-17, which reads:
After these things I looked and beheld a massive crowd, of which no one would be able to count, from every nation and culture and from every people and language standing in the presence of the throne and the lamb, having been adorned in white clothing with palm branches in their hands, and they announced in a great chorus saying:
"Salvation belongs to our God, who sits upon the throne, and to the lamb."
And all the angels encircled the throne as well as both the elders and the four living creatures and they fell upon their faces in the presence of the throne and they worshiped God saying:
"Truly, Blessing and Glory, Wisdom and Thanksgiving,
Honor and Power and Strength,
be to our God forever and ever, Amen."
And one of the elders asked saying to me. "These people adorned in white clothing, who are they and from where have they come?" And I answered him "My lord, surely you know." And he said to me:
"These are the who come out of the great struggle, and have washed their clothes and whitened them in the blood of the lamb.
Because of this, they are in the presence of the throne of God
and they praise him day and night in his cathedral,
and he who sits upon the throne will prepare shelter for them.
They shall not pine or be parched any longer,
nor shall the sun or the heat strike them,
For the lamb at the middle of the throne shall tend to them and will lead them to bubbling streams of water.
And God will wipe every tear from their eyes." Revelation 7:9-17 (my translation)
What an ironic statement! To be cleaned we wash not in Tide or Snuggle...we wash in the blood of the lamb. To truly become white, we first must become dirty. Moreover, to be washing in the blood of the lamb, one must first arrive dirty.
Christians are dirty people. In fact, all people are dirty people. Two types of dirty though.
First, we are caked in the dirt of sin. Every inch of our lives is, in some way or another, pervaded and clouded by that dreadful gunk. Life is not simply a cruise, a ride to sit back and enjoy. To be brutally honest, we live each day in a terribly terrifying struggle (thlipsis in the Greek). We constantly see the horrors of famine, genocide, injustice, war, and disease each and every day. Thousands of children die of malnutrition, tens of thousands killed by preventable sicknesses and millions go to bed having endured a day filled with more sorrows than we could ever imagine as slaves of the body, figures of abuse, or products of broken homes. Moreover, we find ourselves heavily leaning towards the wrong. We seem to have a constant calibration which pushes us in a direction of disobedience, pride, and hate. We indulge in our gluttony, play servant to our stomachs, and deny our birthright as children of God by turning our face in the midst of our daily actions.
Me included. Life is dirty.
But, there's another kind of dirtiness. Dr. Blount spoke about this using a story from his childhood. As a kid, Blount played football, well, actually he sat on the bench for the football team. But each game day, he, along with the rest of the team, would (nonetheless) proudly wear their school colors around their torso as a badge of honor. However, Blount soon noticed a difference between his jersey and the others. The guys who played had jerseys discoloured and torn from use, pieces of grass still stuck in the tiny perforations, whereas Blount's was washed, dried, and even ironed for his daily wear (not to hard to keep a clean jersey clean). In short, Blount always hoped that he could, at least once, get out on the field and get dirty. Roll around in the muck. Proudly wear the badge of masculinity which said "I fought the fight".
Christians, Blount said, need to get dirty. We cannot simply sit around, hiding from the devastating depravity of our world and our own human natures. Rather, we must go and, through our faith, let the dirtiness of our actions glisten through the blood of the lamb. This may mean going to dirty places, being with dirty people, and mucking through the sinkholes and swamps of our society. We may get hurt, heck, we may even become so entrenched in the dirt that our own community may question our motivation. However, regardless of the dirt caked upon our spirits, let us never forget that in tribulation and trial that those who come to their heavenly Father will have their clothes...
...washed in the blood of the Lamb
Love to you all
B.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Dance Music
The Mountain Goats captivate me...no, not actual mountain goats. The Mountain Goats is the ontologically misleading moniker of John Darnielle, a folk-rock lyricist whose songs touch on everything from the deepest spiritual skandelon to the confusing days of youth. One of his songs off the album "The Sunset Tree" has really grasped me lately, the title?...
Dance Music.
It's an upbeat, two minute diddy where Darnielle reflects back to his childhood and the abuse he witnessed and received from his stepfather, escaping to his room to his headphones to engulf himself in the volume knob, listening to...you got it, dance music.
Normally, we consider dance music to be music which occasions the moments of life which require jubilation and rejoicing. Dance is, more often than not, something we usually avoid in our sorrow or frustration. Usually, at the end of a rough and tumultuous week the last thing we want to do is dance. When life doesn't go our way, when we bask in our self-remorse and bitterness, when a dark cloud of misfortune shadows us, it is then we avoid dance.
Not Dance Music though. After all, as Darnielle writes, Dance Music was his escape, the volume his separation, and the tones and chords his sanctuary from the shattered world beneath his bedroom floor. Such an irony that such exuberant and cheerful music is merely the droning barrier from the misfortune of our unsettled lives.
Dance Music...dangerous stuff. After all, in a world where we can't do it on our own, we surely cannot depend on our self-ignoring frustration buffer. We need to depend on something, or someone, much stronger than the volume meter on our iPods, the hustle and bustle of a busy schedule, or even the company of others. In the midst of pain we must offer them up to someone who heals brokenness, eases anxiety, and says "brother, sister, have peace"
Here people do something interesting. Instead of greeting during service, they say "peace, may the peace of the Lord be with you". Maybe we should do the same. Maybe peace is something we've long ignored. Maybe we need to trade our Dance Music for the joy of the Lord; His peace.
Peace, shalom, and love
B.
Dance Music.
It's an upbeat, two minute diddy where Darnielle reflects back to his childhood and the abuse he witnessed and received from his stepfather, escaping to his room to his headphones to engulf himself in the volume knob, listening to...you got it, dance music.
Normally, we consider dance music to be music which occasions the moments of life which require jubilation and rejoicing. Dance is, more often than not, something we usually avoid in our sorrow or frustration. Usually, at the end of a rough and tumultuous week the last thing we want to do is dance. When life doesn't go our way, when we bask in our self-remorse and bitterness, when a dark cloud of misfortune shadows us, it is then we avoid dance.
Not Dance Music though. After all, as Darnielle writes, Dance Music was his escape, the volume his separation, and the tones and chords his sanctuary from the shattered world beneath his bedroom floor. Such an irony that such exuberant and cheerful music is merely the droning barrier from the misfortune of our unsettled lives.
Dance Music...dangerous stuff. After all, in a world where we can't do it on our own, we surely cannot depend on our self-ignoring frustration buffer. We need to depend on something, or someone, much stronger than the volume meter on our iPods, the hustle and bustle of a busy schedule, or even the company of others. In the midst of pain we must offer them up to someone who heals brokenness, eases anxiety, and says "brother, sister, have peace"
Here people do something interesting. Instead of greeting during service, they say "peace, may the peace of the Lord be with you". Maybe we should do the same. Maybe peace is something we've long ignored. Maybe we need to trade our Dance Music for the joy of the Lord; His peace.
Peace, shalom, and love
B.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Where I Belong
I've been in Princeton a week now. It beautiful. Lavish. It's a town covering in spacious parks, secluded shops and a collection of the most gorgeous buildings I have ever seen. It has this feel about it: an almost mystical feeling as you walk down each and every street and inhale the history and grandeur of such a place. Towers and arches whose detail could captivate the imagination for hours with courtyards dotted with copper-green statues memorializing figures that one read about in their textbooks. Two hours ago I stood in the front lawn of the last residence of Albert Einstein, the wizard of Princeton who for years walked the campus and honored the grounds which he wended upon with his sheer brilliance. Princeton is the most captivating and engaging place I have ever lived.
But am I home? No. Not even close. In fact, it's lonely.
I'm not one who tries to be needy, and in fact, more often than not I try to avoid such labels. I'm usually a pretty independent person who trusts that God's plan is surely much more sufficient than my own, so following Him is the path I must go, for His good and thus my own. However, though I feel like I'm supposed to be here, there's a part of me which longs for something nothing here can satisfy.
I miss her.
I miss her so much. I know I'm normally more philosophical when I write but right now I can't help but miss and miss heavily. Princeton is great: I fit right in here well with new acquaintances, brilliant minds always equipped for deep discussion,and the most beautiful surroundings I could ever ask for. But it's not home. It's not her.
I miss her. I miss her arms. I miss her smell. I sit alone in my room and wonder what she's doing. I slouch during long, mandatory orientation lectures and wish I could pick up my phone and call her. I stare at her picture and wish it was her I was staring at. I pause at the smell of every cup of hot chocolate and smile sadly whenever i see the beauties of this place because every time I see them, I know she'd love it too.
In fact, I can barely enjoy this place without her. I've realized that she's different. Why? Because I have never felt so empty without someone. So unfulfilled without someone to share the little things with. I ache to speak with her without a cloud of loneliness drudging overhead. I'd do anything to hear her laugh right next to me.
She's my home. She's where i belong. I've been brought to Princeton for a reason, and I know this is where I'm supposed to be. But I know she's supposed to be here too, and until that moment is fulfilled, I feel like all of this will seem shallow, empty, whimsically light compared to the gravity of my longing to be with her.
How love changes everything. Yet, for how much I miss her and wish I was in her arms, I wouldn't wish not to miss her because for how much it hurts for how lonely every night and every day can be, the pain makes me realize how blessed I am to have her at all. How blessed I am to anticipate the day when everything is fulfilled, when her presence is felt morning by morning, and when her kiss can be what I wake and sleep too; forever.
Isn't this what our anticipation for God's coming kingdom should look like? An ache for the future hope of Christ coming to have communion and relationship with us? In the midst of a world of pain and suffering we work, we play, and we mourn. And we loath the painful times. We loath the death, destruction, and emptiness and long for a moment of healing in a dark world. But we have hope, for a day is coming when Christ shall come like a bridegroom (Matthew 25:1-13) and we wait, sometimes heavy-hearted, for Him. The question becomes are we ready for His return? Have we prepared ourselves for His coming?
Our anticipation leads to action which may lead to pain, suffering, and anxiety. However, in the midst of our suffering and in our loneliness we further realize how beautiful the day when Christ comes to heal our broken world.
And how beautiful she'll be when I can see her again, face to face. Until now, I'll long for Christ's kingdom and long for her presence in this place.
Love.
I miss you Hana
B.
But am I home? No. Not even close. In fact, it's lonely.
I'm not one who tries to be needy, and in fact, more often than not I try to avoid such labels. I'm usually a pretty independent person who trusts that God's plan is surely much more sufficient than my own, so following Him is the path I must go, for His good and thus my own. However, though I feel like I'm supposed to be here, there's a part of me which longs for something nothing here can satisfy.
I miss her.
I miss her so much. I know I'm normally more philosophical when I write but right now I can't help but miss and miss heavily. Princeton is great: I fit right in here well with new acquaintances, brilliant minds always equipped for deep discussion,and the most beautiful surroundings I could ever ask for. But it's not home. It's not her.
I miss her. I miss her arms. I miss her smell. I sit alone in my room and wonder what she's doing. I slouch during long, mandatory orientation lectures and wish I could pick up my phone and call her. I stare at her picture and wish it was her I was staring at. I pause at the smell of every cup of hot chocolate and smile sadly whenever i see the beauties of this place because every time I see them, I know she'd love it too.
In fact, I can barely enjoy this place without her. I've realized that she's different. Why? Because I have never felt so empty without someone. So unfulfilled without someone to share the little things with. I ache to speak with her without a cloud of loneliness drudging overhead. I'd do anything to hear her laugh right next to me.
She's my home. She's where i belong. I've been brought to Princeton for a reason, and I know this is where I'm supposed to be. But I know she's supposed to be here too, and until that moment is fulfilled, I feel like all of this will seem shallow, empty, whimsically light compared to the gravity of my longing to be with her.
How love changes everything. Yet, for how much I miss her and wish I was in her arms, I wouldn't wish not to miss her because for how much it hurts for how lonely every night and every day can be, the pain makes me realize how blessed I am to have her at all. How blessed I am to anticipate the day when everything is fulfilled, when her presence is felt morning by morning, and when her kiss can be what I wake and sleep too; forever.
Isn't this what our anticipation for God's coming kingdom should look like? An ache for the future hope of Christ coming to have communion and relationship with us? In the midst of a world of pain and suffering we work, we play, and we mourn. And we loath the painful times. We loath the death, destruction, and emptiness and long for a moment of healing in a dark world. But we have hope, for a day is coming when Christ shall come like a bridegroom (Matthew 25:1-13) and we wait, sometimes heavy-hearted, for Him. The question becomes are we ready for His return? Have we prepared ourselves for His coming?
Our anticipation leads to action which may lead to pain, suffering, and anxiety. However, in the midst of our suffering and in our loneliness we further realize how beautiful the day when Christ comes to heal our broken world.
And how beautiful she'll be when I can see her again, face to face. Until now, I'll long for Christ's kingdom and long for her presence in this place.
Love.
I miss you Hana
B.
Friday, September 17, 2010
"All The World Is Green"
"I fell into the ocean
When you became my wife
I risked it all aganist the sea
To have a better life
Marie you're the wild blue sky
And men do foolish things
You turn kings into beggars
beggars into kings"
-"All The World is Green"
Tom Waits - Off the Album Blood Money
Life is a risky business. Some days are country strolls and others face the onslaught of the headlights and piercing honks of the oncoming traffic. One minute we've struck a spiritual epitome and within seconds a crack in our proverbial dam releases a rush of fears, concerns and outright dreads which strike us upon the very edge of our sanity. The tidal pools of tranquil sunsets suddenly torment with the insurmountable rage of Scylla and the gluttonous appetite of Charybdis.
Our lives are never truly safe. Safe means stagnant. Safe means comfortable. Safe means that we've reached a satisfying place, a peaceful valley where we lie down upon the cool grass and drink our iced teas. However, that which is truly lasting always takes time, always takes effort, and takes a determination and commitment which truly "risks the sea" and truly does "foolish things". But are such actions truly fool-hearty when one cannot risk not to act? The passions we hold, the relationships we treasures, the love of our very life and soul, and the Savior who risked it all of those who don't truly deserve such an audacious risk.
The gifts of God are miraculous. They reach us at the most intimate chasms of our souls. They build us, break us, and journey us to a place where we never could have before reached.
As Chambers says "The greatest spiritual crisis comes when a person has to move a little farther in their faith than the beliefs they have already accepted." In the same, to truly move from being a beggar, we must accept a king who became a beggar. If God "became man so that man might become truly human" then we must accepted both a Christ who descended in love and respond, with his strength, towards His purpose for us. We must risk again the rough seas, the terrific winds, and the scolding attitudes surrounding us if we are to voyage towards Him coming kingdom.
Until the day of that arrival, we must risk. We must live a life dangerous in order to prepare for the true king.
Nice to be back. I miss you all.
I love you Punky.
Blake.
When you became my wife
I risked it all aganist the sea
To have a better life
Marie you're the wild blue sky
And men do foolish things
You turn kings into beggars
beggars into kings"
-"All The World is Green"
Tom Waits - Off the Album Blood Money
Life is a risky business. Some days are country strolls and others face the onslaught of the headlights and piercing honks of the oncoming traffic. One minute we've struck a spiritual epitome and within seconds a crack in our proverbial dam releases a rush of fears, concerns and outright dreads which strike us upon the very edge of our sanity. The tidal pools of tranquil sunsets suddenly torment with the insurmountable rage of Scylla and the gluttonous appetite of Charybdis.
Our lives are never truly safe. Safe means stagnant. Safe means comfortable. Safe means that we've reached a satisfying place, a peaceful valley where we lie down upon the cool grass and drink our iced teas. However, that which is truly lasting always takes time, always takes effort, and takes a determination and commitment which truly "risks the sea" and truly does "foolish things". But are such actions truly fool-hearty when one cannot risk not to act? The passions we hold, the relationships we treasures, the love of our very life and soul, and the Savior who risked it all of those who don't truly deserve such an audacious risk.
The gifts of God are miraculous. They reach us at the most intimate chasms of our souls. They build us, break us, and journey us to a place where we never could have before reached.
As Chambers says "The greatest spiritual crisis comes when a person has to move a little farther in their faith than the beliefs they have already accepted." In the same, to truly move from being a beggar, we must accept a king who became a beggar. If God "became man so that man might become truly human" then we must accepted both a Christ who descended in love and respond, with his strength, towards His purpose for us. We must risk again the rough seas, the terrific winds, and the scolding attitudes surrounding us if we are to voyage towards Him coming kingdom.
Until the day of that arrival, we must risk. We must live a life dangerous in order to prepare for the true king.
Nice to be back. I miss you all.
I love you Punky.
Blake.
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