I don’t have much to post today. I came across this video and want to share it with you since it’s timely. Sufjan Stevens is probably my favorite indy folk artist, and this is a song from his Christmas album. It makes me feel warm and slightly fuzzy, although it may just be that I need a shave. It also remeinds me of Schoolhouse Rock, which makes me sort of nostalgic as well.
Anyway, enjoy:
In the book The Velveteen Rabbit, a little stuffed bunny is given as a Christmas present to The Boy (as he’s called in the story). During his time in the nursery, he is befriended by another toy, The Skin Horse. The Skin Horse instructs the toy bunny about what all the toys of the nursery are really waiting for, and that is, becoming real. When the Velveteen Rabbit asks the Skin Horse what this means, here is the reply:
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often 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.” …
The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.
Welcome to the world of the Christ Follower, on a journey to know the transforming power of Love.
The band Pieces of the Wreck is going to play a little “mini-show” on December 31st (New Year’s Eve). We’ll have our Burning House service, and then roll right in to a Sounds of Thunder/Pieces of the Wreck concert.
It’s sort of funny though, because they are almost the same band with the exception of just a few members here and there. Same bassist, drummer, guitarist…the only thing that will distinguish us is the band name. Heh.
Anyway…this all means that we have to practice, which is always a combination of hilarity and extreme frustration. Last night, we were working on a cover of the Train song “Calling all Angels”. It has been a while since we last did that song, and I had a little trouble at times trying to keep the rhythm, vocally. I had the words right, and the tune was correct, I just had the wrong emphasis going, which put me out of sync rhythmically. When I realized it, I hurried through the vocals to catch myself up…you know, just sort of droning through them quickly with no emphasis or passion at all.
It got me thinking about the Bible.
“Doesn’t EVERYTHING make you think of the Bible?”
“No…well, maybe, I don’t know. Stay out of this.”
Maybe part of the problem that seems inherent in the 21st Century
American Church© is that we’ve worked so hard to get all the words right that we’ve lost the proper emphasis over time. Is it even possible that having all the words just right may not be the most important thing?
If you look at a sheet of music, with lyrics and musical notes printed on it, does that piece of paper accurately convey the song the composer wrote? It does potentially, but not in practicality. How could looking at all the notes in place and all the lyrics written out ever reveal the beauty of a song? Is it even music if it’s not performed?
But when it’s performed, it must be done with more than just the right notes and the lyrics properly in place…it must carry the right emphasis and passion in the expression of it. Think of how a singer can do a cover of another artist’s song. He makes it distinctly his own while not doing damage to the original tune. The cover artist can only do this by retaining the original emphasis, and taking the song into himself and then expressing it with his own passion.
As we come to God’s Word, our interest has to run deeper than just getting the words right. It’s more complex than just parsing out proper context and interpretation. We must take it in, find the rhythm of it, find the emphasis, and then express it as our own life. Otherwise, it’s just words on a page. Is there really any music if a song isn’t performed…is there really inspiration if the Word isn’t lived out?
Just some thoughts over my coffee this morn.
I don’t know…this may be right along the lines of “us versus them”…but there still needs to be room for parody and self deprication, which the PC “Christian” really is. I believe it’s self deprication because the PC Christian is my brother, no matter how he comes off. We’re sharing the same life, so to point out his goofyness, I am indicting myself along the way.
Anyway…I still thought it was funny.
I’ll admit it right off the bat…I’m a Christmas Junkie.
I love Christmas. At 45 years of age, I still slow down to look at cool displays of exterior holiday lighting, and run through the house in my pajamas at random moments shouting “It’s almost Christmas!”.
I think my love for this holiday is two-fold. For one thing, there were eleven or more years of my life spent without Christmas. According to the belief system of the church I was a part of when I started following Jesus, Christmas, as with all popular holidays, had a pagan origin and should not be indulged in by God fearing Christians. Even after I left that church, I still struggled with my participation in the holidays. I just remember one day, walking through a department store alone, trying to avert my eyes from the beautiful decorations, and it seemed to me (you don’t have to believe it) that the Lord spoke to me.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Well…I’m not supposed to be afraid of anything….perfect love casts out all fear.” Slowly, my tight resistance to the holiday began to loosen.
For some reason that little exchange woke me up. This was no different from eating meat sacrificed to idols. Paul made it clear, those things mean nothing, it has everything to do with our own conscience (Romans 14, 1 Cor 10) and what we do with it. I could celebrate this holiday and let it be the warm, wonderful family holiday I wanted it to be.
(By the by, John MacArthur has written a really good article about the origins of the Christmas tree which I think puts to rest any worries about pagan connections to our dear tanenbaum.)
I think the other reason I’m a Christmas Junkie is the way it transports me back to a different time in my life. A time of innocence and ardent anticipation of good things to come. I believe there is a place for that sort of thing in the Christ Follower’s life. In so many ways, the childish rush of Christmas joy is a foretaste of what can be found in a life centered on Jesus. That’s the way I put Christ into Christmas…by seeing this holiday as a point of reference.
How about you? Are you in to Christmas, or is it a drag? Got your holi-dizzle in full effect, or do you think this is a heapin’ helpin’ of pagan stew?
Ok, so I was reading a blog, and it was an article on Steven Baldwin’s activities to “cool up” Christianity. The article is found here….and you need to read it before you read my post.
Here’s the thing….at first I was all “you gotta’ be kidding me, this is stupid, Christianity will never be cool”, etc. My usual tirade. But then I started really thinking about it…about how Jesus would react to my reaction (so to speak). So I wrote a little story. Enjoy.
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John and another disciple were out of breath when they finally found Jesus. They stood before him, huffing to get air into thier lungs after what appeared to be a long run.
“Jesus….puff, puff….we….did something….huff…..for you.” said one of the disciples.
“Yeah!” exclaimed John, bending over and holding his side, “we….fixed a real……problem!”
Jesus squinted his eyes, and let slip a barely perceptible “yikes” through his lips.
“What?”
“Nothing,” said Jesus, “what problem did you fix?” he said, making quotation marks in the air at his last word.
“We found this guy…and he was setting people free from the devil, but he wasn’t one of us! He was using strange terms, like gnarly and awesome…and we knew those weren’t words that we use.” said the one disciple, his face aflush.
“Yeah…and they had skateboards and ramps and….well….what in the world does that have to do with what we’re doing? Anyway, he’s not one of us, so I told him to knock it off!” John said, with a flourish of his hand.
“You told him what?” asked Jesus, furrowing his eyebrows.
“I told him that in order to use your name, he had to be like us, and part of our group, using our words and our approved methodology.” John was beaming.
Jesus groaned, and began rubbing his temples. “Guys….John…you can’t do that. John, what did you say this guy was doing in my name?”
“Trying to set people free from bondage to evil…but don’t worry Jesus, we made him stop!”
“Were people being set free John?”
“Well…yeah, I guess, but that’s not the point, is it? He isn’t one of us! He was doing stuff that we should get to do, we’re the ones who’ve made the sacrifices to follow you. Who does this guy think he is, just coming on the scene and doing things like he was part of your plan?”
Jesus took in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “How much evil do you think there is in the world, John?”
“I don’t know….lots?”
“Yes John, lots. Do you think there won’t be enough evil left for you to fight against if this guy fights evil too? There is plenty of evil to go around John. There are plenty of demons to cast out, everyone will have more than their fair share of work to do, you don’t have to worry about that. John, those who use my name for good are not your enemy. You only have one enemy, and this guy aint him. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
John had the look of someone who was slowly coming awake. His head began to slowly nod, like an engine starting to chug and a smile emerged on his face. “I get it Jesus! You want us to go and make him one of US! C’mon guys, lets go get this guy!”
The disciples raced off down the road, arguing about who would be in charge of training the new guy.
Jesus called out after them, waving his hands for them to listen to him, “He who is not against us in ON our side!”. But the disciples couldn’t hear him.
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You can read the real story in Mark 9:38-40
Giddy. That’s how I’d describe it.
Obviously, the term “giddy” doesn’t seem right, but it’s the only word that comes to mind which is even close…but it’s really more than giddy, it’s deeper, this sensation that I feel.
There is something about those Burning House meetings that I haven’t experienced in any other regular meeting of the church since I first began hanging out with the church. It’s not something connected to our order of the service. It’s not the songs we sing, even though there certainly is a lot of passion expressed during those songs. It’s something else.
As I stand in the room, and catch glimpses of all the different people, I almost feel like I need to avert my eyes, the reverence I feel for God is so strong in those moments. I feel like Moses before the burning bush. The atmosphere is not what is usually associated with moments of awe and reverence…people are talking, laughing, chewing and sipping from plastic cups. Almost without exception, there are smiles stretched across every face in the room. Here and there, I witness glassy eyes that are barely containing tears from a torrent.
In those moments, no one would know it, but I start trembling. It’s involuntary…but it begins in my knees and reverberates all through me. I look at the smiling faces, the joy, the bread, the cup; all I can think about are Paul’s words to the Corinthians “…he who eats and drinks in an unworthy manner eats and drinks judgment to himself, not discerning the Lord’s body.” If I understand Paul correctly, my sense of reverential awe is coming from this brush with Jesus Christ Himself, present in His body, the church.
We’ve been accused in the past of doing a disservice to the communion service in our Burning House meetings. I couldn’t disagree more strongly. I understand that it’s very different from a traditional approach, and I understand it requires a loosened grip on our former definitions of “reverence”. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea…but I believe with all my heart we are on a good heading with it.
I wish I were a poet, or at least someone who is good with words, then maybe I could articulate what I experience at those meetings. I watch a young man, a teenager, laughing with his friends, sharing torn bits of bread, handing a cup to one of his peers. I watch him, his eyes closed, head held high, mouthing words of prayer for the one he holds hands with. I see him, his face aflame with passion, his hands outstretched to heaven as he sings about his Great Redeemer.
He’s not alone. His passion is repeated all over the room, and my knees want to buckle because I’m in the presence of the body of Jesus. The abyss of His love is like a vortex we’re drawn into.
Burning House keeps me alive. There are a lot of things in life that I’m convinced are designed to kill me…at least emotionally. I battle discouragement and depression on a daily basis, and sometimes I just don’t win. But at Burning House I tremble before that Something So Much Bigger than myself, and I find strength…vitality, inspiration, motivation…to press ahead in the journey. I can smile, remembering that none of this is dependent on me. I’m too frail, too flawed for that. It all rests with Jesus, present in His body.
Each year, my daughter Janelle and I are in charge of putting up the Christmas lights. We usually do this the day after Thanksgiving…and we will be doing so later on this afternoon. I just wanted to share something I wrote about it several years back.
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My daughter and I put up the Christmas lights yesterday. I look forward to it every year. It’s our project, the passion of two exterior holiday lighting junkies. I love the search for the old boxes where we stored the lights from the season before. It’s almost like a treasure hunt, because we have no real system of storage when we rip them down (and rip them down is apropos, because there is nothing so “over” as Christmas, as my Dad used to say). Usually, we have to rely on help from my wife to find them, who tries to stay out of this process as much as possible. She comes out to the garage, moves a few boxes, and locates them. Of course we take credit for the find, congratulating each other while my wife rolls her eyes.
Then the Jelly Bean and I lug the boxes to the front lawn and open up them up to find the tangled glory of our lights. Relying on a very stale joke from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, I make the obligatory command, “A little knot here, I’ll let you work on that.”…while I steal away to find every available (and those I consider to be used superfluously) extension cord in the house.
This is our raid on the redundant. Every year, we are commandos, who wrestle away the sameness of our house, and turn it into something bright and gaudy (and even dangerous because of my propensity for running staples right through the electrical cords).
With ladder in tow, and staple gun in hand, we survey our canvas.
“Did we run those blue ones around the window last time?”
“I’m not sure, but I think the big ones go across the garage.”
“We should really write this down someday.”
But we never will, because then it would be a job, a construction project. Then it would be a routine that held no surprises, no adventure, worst of all, no laughter.
“Which end do we start with?”
“The plug end….I’m sure of it.”
If we charted it out, numbered our steps and followed them flawlessly, we could do the same thing every year. It hurts just writing a sentence like that.
“Wait a minute…now that they’re all up there…how do I plug this….OH NO…we put the whole string up BACKWARDS!!!” The Jelly Bean is doubled over laughing.
I ask my friend B___, “Do they make an adapter that has a plug at each end?”
“No, people would kill themselves with that.”
“Can I make one?”
“No, you definitely would kill yourself with that.”
The Jelly Bean’s laughter has spread to the whole house; it’s infectious. Plans? We don’t need no stinkin’ plans. This is our escape from the order. This is our joy in the journey.
“We need more extension cords…do you think the boys would miss their T.V.?”
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One more thing….I thought this was hilarious!
Rob Woodrum
He wasn’t really walking as much as he was dancing. Dressed in a blue Power Rangers sweatshirt, he cavorted in front of the line of cars in the Wal Mart parking lot.
I had to stop for him. I watched with rapt fascination as he moved to a position that was more in line with my vehicle’s projected path than he had been before, for the sole purpose of stomping through a puddle of rain water. Was he Godzilla, smashing a town? What images were conjured in his mind as water dropplets hurled from either side of his foot? Another car came to a stop behind mine.
A strong hand pulled on the little boy’s left hand, and he literally soared away from the puddle, back into a position which provided more safety than his previous one. Out from the path of the waiting cars, off to the side of his parent. He tilted back his head, all buzz-cut and freckles, and let loose a laugh from the ride.
I didn’t move until they were safely inside, and I could virtually feel the impatience of the driver behind me. I had to wait…let it soak in. Lessons like that are important. He was not in a safe place…nothing safe about a sea of cars laden with consumers. Danger rolled on each side of him, in front and behind him, but he was calm. He was dancing. It’s all about who holds the hand. For that little man, nothing around him posed a threat, because he knew his mom was there, holding his hand, guiding him to safety.
There was shopping to do, there were cars to park, but I was caught up in a little angel’s jig.
There are a lot of things facing me…facing us….that could threaten, and frighten us. Bewildering things like church growth and responsibilities…mysterious things like illness and death. I want to be like that angel in blue. I want to joy in the journey like he did. I want to trust that the One who’s holding my hand is good, and have confidence that He will guide us all through.
The problem is, it’s easier to write about it than live it out. Well…maybe not for you, but it’s that way for me.
WONDERWHAT 