Being terribly, terribly decieved

So I’ve decided to create my own band.

Its going to transcend genre, but if one had to classify our style, I would call it post-Mongolian nihilist folk opera.

Here’s concept art for the first album. =)

I Corinthians: Reflections on Chapter 2

“And I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling…”

At the beginning of Fall semester this year, as part of the Bonner leadership program, I spent a night and a morning at the House of Charity homeless shelter.  That morning, we had devotional in which we read meditatively one of the psalms, and there was a woman there whom we had talked to the night before, under the freeway. She had confessed to having schizophrenia, multiple personality disorder, and a host of other mental problems (and had joked about everything her boyfriend had to put up with- he met this with a shrug and a wry smile). Sitting there that morning, she confessed with equal honesty her doubts about God. But there was a part in the psalm we read about God caring for the weak, using the weak, and while we were talking about it she eventually spoke up and said: “This gives me hope. If God loves the foolish, then maybe I have a chance.”
I echo her sentiment, and would claim her hope as my own as well, and maybe Paul would join us too. I am at a point right now where I have been trying to serve God, walk in his footsteps, live a life of love, but have become increasingly aware of my weakness. I find myself in dificult times. And I must admit that I overestimated my strength, enthusiastically taking on too great a burden without having a sufficient spiritual foundation. In all that I took on, I expected perfection of myself, or at least excellence. In this, I was as foolish as Peter, asking to be second to Christ in the kingdom but having no idea what that means. But Christ still used Peter, and he still uses a fool like me. He speaks comfort. He says, “I love you.”
I don’t know if I understand God’s love yet, or what he has prepared for me along with the others who love him, but I pray that his Spirit would be born in me, and search my heart, and teach me the fullness of the love that is in the crucified Christ.

1 Corinthians: Reflection on Chapter 1

“Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? 21For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe. 22For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, 23but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, 24but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. 25For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

26For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. 27But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; 28God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, 29so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. 30And because of him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption, 31so that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.”"

1 Corinthians 1:20-30

I am weak, but Christ is strong. Can I confess this? My salvation does not come from my own strength and understanding. It is a hard thing, to need help. This is the place where something in me dies. This is where I am freed, and begin to live. In open confession of brokenness, in return to the open arms of God, something new is sparked within me, and I begin to mature in Christ. In the words of Paul, I am “being saved”. I am one of the saints, the “set apart”. What does that mean? Right now, I can tell you that it means pain. It hurts to die to oneself. It hurts to constantly have to relearn what true wisdom, strength, and power are. But I also rejoice. As God has worked in me, I have come to see the wisdom of his foolishness, the greatness of that different way in which he works. I have experienced it in my life. Though stubborn, I welcome the outpouring of his grace, even though it brings discomfort, even though it brings the unexpected.
However, that doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t look like foolishness sometimes. I take joy that Christ would use a broken person like me, but often lose heart at the brokenness of the church, of the many mistakes the “saints” have made throughout history.  God is saving the world through a man who died, a “rebellious people”, and an old book? Often, I feel inclined to trust instead in what I understand, what I can touch: modern sensibilities, American pragmatism, the wisdom of the universities, the march of technology, the comfort of middle-class suburban life.

Revival

“Well, school has certainly been busy this month…”, I wrote at the beginning of my last post, in October.

And to continue where I left off, it should suffice to say, “And it got busier from there.”

But now we’re in January, and I’ve been making changes to open up more space in my life, and I’m going to start writing again, because writing -whether in my journal, publicly on this blog, or even for class- is something that’s very important to me. Besides being something that makes me feel complete, something I take joy in, I think it’s actually crucial to my well-being. I love words- I love choosing them carefully and arranging them into sentences and paragraphs to bring out meaning, beauty, emotion, and story.

So the blog is starting up again.

First on the line up will be reflections on Paul’s first letter (well, the first one that has survived) to the Corinthians (which I’ve been studying for the last month).

Work, Rest, and the Desert Fathers on Humility

Well, school has certainly been busy the last month.

A lot has been going on, mostly good, certainly formative, but overwhelming at times (as in, several times a week).

And in the course of about two weeks, I heard this verse quoted three times, and I began to think it was something I needed to hear:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28

I’ve been realizing I need to learn how to rest.

I’ve been realizing that being overworked and stretched to the limits is less heroic, as I would like to think, and in reality more, well, wrong. Not how things are meant to be.

It is wrong not to recognize that my strength has limits.

It is wrong not to recognize that I can do nothing unless I abide in Christ, that the strength I have depends on him.

Dust returns to dust and the flower fades. I am subject to hunger, sickness, the need for sleep, aging, and one day I will die.

All men are sinners. There is darkness hiding in my heart.

So today, and this week, and in my life, do I trust that beyond me there is a strength of unfailing love that is made perfect in my weakness?

Can I trust that where I fail short Christ is victorious, and that his victory is a generous victory?

Can I rest in that grace?

Can I be defined by that grace?

What does that mean, for the posture of my heart, for my schedule this week, for the way I see others, for how I deal with business and failure and stress?

This, I pray that Christ will teach me, that I may slow down long enough to hear his voice, and that I may be humble enough to take his words to heart, about work and rest, and, again, about how to live life well, as he meant for me to live.

Well, since this all really has to do with the subject of humility, I think it would be good to share some of the sayings of the Desert Fathers (early monastics from the 4th century). We read these for class a couple weeks ago:

“A certain brother came to Abbot Poeman and said: What ought I to do, Father? I am in great sadness. The elder said to him; Never despise anybody, never condemn anybody, never speak evil of anyone, and the Lord will give you peace.”

“Abbot Alonius said: Humility is the land where God wants us to go and offer sacrifice.”

The Splash Down

This week, certainly, has been more than eventful.

Life at university has begun once again, and with it a whole world of happenings and persons.

I came to my senses a couple hours ago, after my last class ended. Hey, the week’s over! I don’t mean that I was literally asleep or intoxicated or anything like that, just that in the midst of the rush of things all you can see or think about is that rush. It’s like being in a water-slide. You’re in the tube, flying along, and you forget about everything else for those seconds. You shoot out the end and splash down into the water. And then there’s that moment, which figuratively I feel like I’m at right now, where you come up to the surface. The ride’s over. Welcome back to the in-between world, where you have time to think about other things, put on sun-screen, and perhaps buy some overpriced food.

So, now that I’m here in this in-between, and can think again, perhaps I will share and reflect on how things are going thus far:

1. Dorm life: I’ve moved into the Shalom Community Center, also refered to variously as the Nursing Home (for humor), Cornerstone (for official purposes), or “Shalom Home” (the best one because it rhymes). I’m about 75 to 80 percent unpacked, which means I’ve unpacked everything I need in order to function. Winter clothes and a substantial amount of books remain stuffed under the bed in all of their glorious disorder. So far the building has been, appropriate to its name, peaceful, a good place to retreat to between classes. We have twelve students living here, and two “graduate assistant ministry interns” to look after us and lead us in our goal of being an intentional community that pursues God’s wholeness and peace. This week we met to decide on dorm policy, followed up by some late-night ice cream and cake in the downstairs kitchen. But it’s this next week that we’ll meet again to really get down to business and discuss our dreams and visions for what our life as a community will be this year.

2. Classes: I’m looking forward to the interplay between History of Christianity, Sociology of the Middle East, Conflict Mediation, and American National Politics. Very distinct classes, but I think they will all have things to say to each other and I have the feeling that the combination will be very thought-provoking.

3. School tradition: I had forgotten how great Traditiation is. But yelling the old Carlson chants, the cacophony and waving flags at Mock Rock, and the over-the-top muddiness of the Carlson water-slide, brought that back (Meanwhile, “Shalom Home” has the funny dynamic of being neutral and a newcomer. Feels a little like being Switzerland).

4. Being a sophmore: The influx of about 500-600 newcomers on campus means a new sea of unfamiliar faces. In such a situation, people that I thought of as just acquaintances last year are nevertheless that much more likely to become friends this year. In general, seeds planted last year have sprouted, paths set out upon have led to exciting new territory. The year seems full of the promise of growth, intellectual, spiritual, practical. I think the greatest danger for me will be taking on too much.

To end with, just a couple of more minor points:

1. At this point (pre-Winter), having a bike is allowing for very fast transport around campus, which is a wonderful thing. And certainly more fun than walking.

2.  Aradnha. These people’s melodies have been stuck in my head all week; right now I’m in that honeymoon, listen-every-day phase of discovering an really good band. Seriously, for the sake of your happiness, check these people out.

La Machina Verde

For a while now, I’ve been wanting to get a bike.

Last year, my main transportation device was a razor scooter. Great for getting from one building to the next quickly (meaning a few extra minutes for breakfast), but not much better than walking for anything more than that.

Meanwhile the bus is what I like to call “blunderbuss” transportation: aim in general direction of target, blast away. It has set routes and times and you have to work with them; it doesn’t exist just for you and your purposes (though I should remark that even having public transit that operates on a mostly-on-time schedule is something we take for granted). To put it simply, it works well for getting downtown but not for running errands.

So, my big event this week was finally purchasing a bike:

REI was having a labor day sale, I went to check it out, and found this very cool commuting model.

Features: Eight speed internal gearbox, fenders, lights (powered by a wheel generator), disc brakes, rack.

To use Californian dialect, what I’m actually the most “stoked” about is that I was able to set up the crate on the back. I went into Target with the idea of finding bungee cords and some kind of box, and strapping it on somehow for the purpose of carrying groceries and stuff. I can’t believe that plan actually worked, but I’m glad it did, because so far it’s been super-useful, sort of like having the bike version of a pick-up.

I’m trying to think of a name for the bike. Currently, I like “Green Machine” but am thinking that is too cliche. Perhaps if I transfigured it into Español…

“La Machina Verde”. Hmm, maybe that could work… Your thoughts?

My task now is to feel I’m worthy of “La Machina Verde”. I think that will largely involve riding it regularly, and learning good maintenance from some of my biker friends.

Timothy and Mary, part 2

Timothy and Mary live under the bicycle underpass five minutes from my house. A little-used bike path that runs alongside Escondido’s drainage canal suddenly dips down under a somewhat-more-used highway, and there in the shade, with the concrete of the canal yawning to one side, the couple has set up camp.

“It cost the city millions of dollars to build this underpass,” Timothy tells me, then laughs, “We were the first ones in.”

I laugh too. Its a quick moment of shared acknowledgment. There’s some sad irony here.

We have been accidentally generous to the broken people on our streets, have acted out an unintended grace. How sad that it was an accident, that it was not meant.

We, the outwardly clean, respectable world of Escondido, like to forget the broken people are around, hiding the night away somewhere ‘out there’, somewhere beyond the automatic lights and locks that mutely proclaim unwelcome at every door.
When sunlight returns, we would prefer and would insist if we could that they remain in those distantly close shadows and not follow the sun out to wait inconveniently with their cardboard signs at impatient intersections.
Perhaps we fear them like we fear the grit that spoils the delicate smoothness of the well-oiled machine. You see, we respectable people have a cardinal rule that keeps everything running on. It’s the very oil that slicks the mechanisms of our word.
The rule is this: “Like proper Victorian children, all problems must be kept hidden and under control.”

Scandalously, these people cannot hide their problems. They have committed the unforgivable crime of blatantly being needy for grace- because the one thing we cannot bear is to be reminded of the human brokenness that in pride we refuse to admit in ourselves, and that in fear we refuse to confront with trust in a God greater than ourselves.

We are not broken. We do not need.
(Smooth oil of pretending, greasing the death of souls…
Repelling against the sincere transparency of water, its cleansing honesty.)

Nonetheless, in direct violation of the unspoken rules Escondido has unwittingly provided a shelter for these people. Again, accidental generosity, unintended grace.

“It’s cool here all day,” Timothy explains, “Never gets above 80 degrees.”

Of course, the city is repentant for such a slip in judgment, and makes stern-faced atonement in the form of 4 AM evictions and laws banning bikes in the park.

But here I will end this self-implicating rant, such as it is, and attempt once again to start from the beginning, such as it is.

As I explained in part one, it had been my plan all summer to step out from my outwardly clean and respectable world into the shadows, to see what Christ might teach me there. As I also explained, my confidence in my own resolve to do so was more than it should of been.

And so it wasn’t until my last week in Escondido that anything happened.
On that morning, my friend Riley and I woke early, having resolved to make the best breakfast sandwiches we could and then head out into the streets to find people to give them to.
We made our way sluggishly to my kitchen, and with our rudimentary cooking skills set to work, hoping that good flavor would be an emergent property of the various elements we had assembled: a hefty loaf of bread, butter, eggs fried in an oiled skillet, salsa, brussel sprouts (for vitamins).

Half an hour later, sandwiches now made and wrapped, we approach the couple in the underpass with a bit of nervousness. The woman in the sleeping bag struggles to sit up, rubs her eyes. We say hello, apologize for waking her up, introduce ourselves, shake hands. Her name is Mary.

I say, “We’ve made sandwiches. Would you like one?”

This is the awkward moment. Here we are, with our desire to in some way be generous and loving to “those in need.” And, of all things, this desire has become incarnate in the form of an egg sandwich.

Timothy and Mary, part one

If there’s one thing that I’ve learned this summer, it’s a deeper appreciation for the difficulty of translating ideals into reality, plans into action, the exciting and imaginative conceptual into imperfect and everyday concrete.

I think of the lines T.S. Eliot penned in “The Hollow Men,” chilling but all-too-true:

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

And so I’ve been reflecting on the last two months, trying to discern where the shadow fell, and why.

I think that my capacity to dream -to hope- is greater than my capacity to enact, greater than my capacity for the elements that form the foundation for action: persistence, patience, faith, sacrifice, love…

And I think that to some degree my hope itself has been mis-founded, resting more on an overconfident estimation of my own ability than on Christ’s ability to form me as his disciple, that process I so frequently resist, that life-long journey I wish could be done in a moment. One day there may be such a moment, a “twinkling of an eye” (1 Corinthians 15:51, 52), but that day is not now, and I remain myself, imperfect and needy for the outstretched arm, the loving rebuke, the spirit of the cross: that mundane, everyday sort of resurrection. In short, needy for the wiser guidance of real love amidst all my dreams of heroism.

I Apologize for the Drought

Again, I must apologize for the drought of posts here…

Of course, this is provided I have any sort of regular readership. Otherwise, it doesn’t matter as much. Though you could say, in that case, that I am apologizing to myself. =)

I do have somewhat of an excuse, as in the last weeks I’ve finished up the last hectic two weeks of my church internship job, moved back to the city where I go to college, and begun a painting job that averages about 10 hours a day.

Regardless of excuses, however, I do realize that posting consistently is a key part of having a solid blog, even though the expected and unexpected immediacies of daily life often get in the way of that ideal (here’s a novel idea: I could write shorter posts. Not every post, after all, has to be some sort of masterpiece).

This thing is definitely still in its germinating stage. In other words, I’m still trying to figure out what kind of “publication” I want my blog to be.

Record of personal life?

A compendium of philosophical musings?

A commentary on the larger goings-on of the world?

Or pet project with a limited life span?

I don’t know yet, really. Hopefully some combination of the first three, and that ideally with more artful weaving than disjointed jumbling.

We’ll have to see

For now though, we’ll end not with that ambiguous sentence but with a disturbing fact: I said earlier that “I don’t really care if nobody reads this.” Turns out that I must care more than I thought I would, because I’ve been checking to see how many hits I have far more often than I’ve actually been writing anything on here. How’s that for a manifestation of the human narcissistic tendency?