a few things i've done

Edinburgh gave us a clear-skied-blue-sun-shiney day, which, what with the normal drizzle and all, was bizzare and beautiful. On that day my Australian friend Peter and I hiked to Arthur's Seat. Peter is a primary (elementary) school teacher who has worked in Australia, Italy, and most recently London teaching hudlums. Arthur's Seat is the summit of a massive rocky hill that thrusts up out of the east side of the city, with no regard for it's urban surroundings. A touch of wild stone amidst others that have been tamed and made into dwellings, roads, cathedrals, and castle. When I asked Peter what he wants to be when he grows up he thought only briefly and said, "The best primary school teacher I can possibly be," which I took to mean that he wants to be himself, only more truly and fully himself than he is even now. I think Peter's on to something.

At the hostel there are lots of "long-termers" who have lived there for months and don't really plan on leaving. Some of them have jobs. Some don't. Out of the some that don't some of them show up in the main lounge each day at 11am to do two hours of housekeeping work in exchange for one night's lodging. I don't have a job yet, and even when I get one I like the idea of (nearly) free lodging - so I changed like 317 beds the other day - strip off the old sheets, slap on the new ones. Megan (from South Carolina) and I tackled the host of beds on the second floor - then joined some aussies to finish the top floor - an army of six of us - efficiency at its finest.

St. Giles Cathedral, an arrow's shot away from the castle, has been holding a series of musical events this year each Sunday at 6pm. Sitting, leaned up against a girthful stone pillar, with eyes closed letting the music of the choir and the organ, the finely blended voice of worship, wash over me was threateningly beautiful. They're doing Christmas music in a few weeks. I love booting Haloween out of the way to make room for Christmas - though I do wish I could dress up with Colin tonight and be his right or left hand man as Hamish or the crazy Irish Stephen (Colin is going as William Wallace) and run the streets of Indianapolis screaming "Alba Gubra" - which probably isn't spelled right, but means "Scotland forever!" and is what Wallace shouts out after his speech at Stirling in Braveheart.
I went back to St. Giles for the night service and communion. How soothing it was to bury my face in the bowl of Christ's cup of the new covenant, to feel the liquid warm my heart, the mystery of the elements nourish my soul. And the minister, who slurred his words a tad, had a bit of a lisp, and spoke with a rich Scotch accent (rich like dark chocolate) offered a sermon on Generous Orthodoxy - referring to Brian McLaren's book, but referring more so to living a life of wide-armed embrace to any and all. I got a copy of the sermon from him, so when I get back we can sit in a coffee shop and read through it together if you like.

Finn McCool

It is whispered that there lived, long ago, an Ulster warrior and commander of the Irish king's armies, a giant named Finn McCool. He lived without a care on a draughty Antrim headland. One day he fell in love with a lady giant on the island of Staffa, so he built a wide commodius highway to bring her across to Ulster. That is the origin of the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland. There are other stories too, but that's the one I like the most.

I got to see, enjoy, and share this miracle of creation.
With her...

spittle

when i was in enniskerry i sat on a bench next to john, he was eating his lunch - looked like a ham and onion sandwich and lost of mayonnaise, much of which squeezed out of the bagette with each bite he took and clung to the corners of his mouth. i intended to ask him about glencree and if he knew if there was public transport to get there or was i going to be walking, we ended up talking about faith, more so hope, and touched on politics, economics, and astrology (or 'solar philosophy' as he called it, which, apparently, Jesus was into). As we talked he splattered the ground in front of us with bits of his sandwich, and when that was gone he splattered his chin with his own spit from time to time. he asked me, when i told him i studied the bible in college, if i was a christian...er born again or something, and i told him that it depended a lot on what he meant by that; i told him i would certainly not deny my christian faith, and certainly aim my life at following Jesus, but that sometimes, i think, labels like 'christian...er bornagain' can be less than helpful if you really want to get to know what a person is all about. we talked about how sweet it is to be young, to explore and open up to the world, even to be idealistic. he said that ireland has lost much of its youthful idealism, and we pondered whether or not to lament that. i asked him, if there was a positive sort of idealism, what he though it would look like. he said it would look like openness, exploration, and hope for the future. then he wiped the spit off his chin, offered me half of his chocolate bar, he ate his half, i ate mine, he said something about not thinking that any one denomination, sect or even religion quite grasped - all by itself - the 'totality of the situtation', well said, i said, and we parted ways.

that was a few days ago. since then i have experienced some of the delights that can be found in county wicklow on the coast; specifically i enjoyed the delights of greystones, and delighted in the company found therein.
now i'm in edinburgh (arrived yesterday) - we're getting acquainted, the city and i. i sat on a bench today facing toward the castle, eating bread and cheese, reading 'lady of the lake' by sir walter scott (out loud, in the best accent i could muster). then i turned around and realized the large beautiful structure behind me was the sir walter scott monument.

what next?
Who knows.

yesterday, today, tomorrow

yesterday i was with my sweetheart - and it was beautiful and so was she - and we celebrated life, we celebrated her life (her birthday) - we did this to the tune of a bus ride from dublin airport to a hostel in belfast, with stops at the crumbling, but still regal, dunluce castle and the majestic cliff sides, ocean's hue, and divinely-crafted rocks that make up the giant's causeway. i also met her friends - those she is studying alongside of here in ireland. i tasted of their quirky and most welcoming community.
today i am in dublin. i rode a bus here and throughout much of the day i walked the streets - not so much trying to discover anything in particular about dublin, but trying to let dublin discover me. i'm staying at a hostel called the avalon house - with two australians above me in the loft and a brazilian bloke on the bunk below.
tomorrow i hope to walk amongst the wicklow mountains. and that's all i really know.

Bold

"Existence has greater depths of beauty, mystery, and benediction than the wildest visionary has ever dared to dream"

That's a line from The Magnificent Defeat by Frederick Buechner. And I think it is true. I think it is also encouraging, because it hints at the fact that there is a visionary, a dreamer who is wilder than the wildest we know. There is a vision, a dream that is wilder than the wildest we can conjure up. There is a depth of beauty that cuts through all the grime and slime of life. There is a depth of mystery that explains away the unexplainable situation of sin and death. There is a good word that is better than all the enticing words of falsehood that are incessantly whispered to us by our world, our enemy, our selves.

That beauty, mystery, and benediction have something to do with the claim that, "He is risen." It is a bold claim, a bold reality, a bold faith. May we who believe not be unchanged.

lessons from a stray

These past days I have been living along side of family and friends in Indianapolis. I've been a substitute teacher a few times at my old middle school. I've camped out with Colin (step-brother) in the back yard. I've done some porch sitting with such gentlemen as Jimi Moore (friend) and Ben Blevins (friend). I've played touch-football with David (brother thru marriage) and the neighborhood boys. I've shared some walks with Laurence (father) and Kisa (dog).
Recently when Dad and I go for walks with Kisa around the block, Fuzz joins us. Fuzz is this wiry, stray black cat who begs for food door to door and has so captured our hearts that he's gained for himself a steady diet and a blanket to curl up on on the porch. And Fuzz likes us too. He sees us heading down the sidewalk and runs along behind, finding tall grass and urban gardens to act like a jungle cat in. He and Kisa will pause every so often to annoy and threaten and play with eachother. It's adorable and, honestly, I've been inspired by this feisty, freeloading, feline. What's inspiring is that he is so very much himself - lounging on the porch, running through the grass, meowing at the door, cuddled at your side - he's him, and he seems to love it, to really enjoy it, for the most part. And what with my tendency to overcare about what other people think about me, and to compare myself to people I think are cool - this cat that has pretty well got it all together is very encouraging.

I'm glad there's space on God's dance floor for white boys like me.

a piece of a letter i sent to a friend

I've been reading 'Travelling Mercies' by Anne Lamott - she says something very true:
"I'm pretty sure that it is only by experiencing that ocean of sadness in a naked and immediate way that we come to be healed - which is to say, that we come to experience life with a real sense of presence and spaciousness and peace."

That ocean of sadness being some sort of grief or brokenness, some sort of cloudiness that glooms life all up.

Reading from a novel by John Steinbeck, I stubbed my toe on this line, then picked it up and pocketed it to glance at it again later:
"A longing caressed him...and he was full of a nameless sorrow."

Then listening to the Gladiator soundtrack, there is a song called "Sorrow" and it got me thinking...

That ocean of sadness, that nameless sorrow for me has not been a specific grief-causing event. It has been for me a realization that life is not rated G or even PG. A realization that life is not about easily resolved conflict. A realization that life is not happy. That realization for me created an ocean of sadness - because I didn't understand why life should not be primarily about happiness. That realization planted in my a nameless sorrow. The beautiful thing is (and I mean beautiful not easy to look at or polished) that in coming to this realization, this naked and immediate experience of sadness I have begun to experience life, I have begun to embrace life to the full. Only, not life to the full in the Care Bear/Disney World sort of way, but life to the full in the streets of Toronto/Requiem for a Dream/grittiness, greys, and colors of life/good news of the gospel of peace/reconciliation/redemption/hope/healing sort of way.

And it is all very heavy, very wonderful.