onward

leaving prague in a touch more than eight hours.
it has been remarkable. and by "it" i mean the city, the people, the adventures, the memories, and the moments that i have crossed paths with this month. by "remarkable" i mean worth remarking about. instead of only word remarks though i will share three picture remarks before booking it to the airport and (as nehemiah himself would say in an almost complete sentence) "go bye-bye on a high-guy."




the metro - so fast, so loud, so the way to go. this is me with two of my favorites: aaron and bumble, who has a head in real life, just not this picture.



see the faces, note the expressions (particularly aaron's) -- that's just how cool my time in prague was. (that's bumble with his head on.)



the best sight in all of prague - a store front window display not far from our flat on Kamenicka. these boys are brilliantly happy to be playing with their toy train. and it makes me laugh. everytime.

three

i have done more than three cool things recently, nonetheless here's three cool things that i have recently done:

went skiing with aaron (who snowboarded) in the mountains that are about three hours of pleasant bus riding away from here. the snowflakes were many, the slopes taxing and forgiving all at the same time, and they had these t-bar lifts that got aaron giggling like a school-girl everytime one hit me in the back of the head.

taught more czech students about canada - doing my best to correct some of the stereotypes and typify some of the others. by the end of class we had discussed igloos, beavers, maple syrup, canadian beer, the existence of God, favorite ice cream flavours, and i had them all singing 'o canada' with gusto.

finished reading 'resurrection' by leo tolstoy. it is a novel that has the potential to pull its reader into the centre of a struggle with the complexities of the system of oppression and injustice that was apparently functioning at the head of russian society around the time when horses pulled carriages through the city streets (the sort of system that still functions today in so many societies and in the world at large). it is about a rich guy who encounters his own idifference, rebels against it, and spends five hundred pages trying to atone for his past sins while coming face to face with the sins of his present - sometimes feeling beautiful and noble like atonement and sometimes feeling dirty and messed up like sin. it's about a rich guy who had dreams, lost them, and goes through a very slow process of finding a field of hope to cultivate more dreams (similar ones, but new ones) in once again.

and now i will go do more things..

in the present tense

I met Lucien Zell the other day. I don't know quite how to describe the encounter because it took me by surprise, caught me without all of my be-prepared-for-cool-encounters receptors turned on. Unforgetable, maybe? Totally random, or, because it seems that way, totally not. He's a poet, that's what he does, that's who he is. He has dread locks, a dark beard with a strand or two of white here and there, and he only has one hand. I told him I'm an aspiring poet, and I got the impression that, were we to remain friends, he would hold me to that.
In a bookstore tucked along a small street not far from the river he showed me a book of his poetry. We sat there and offered select bits of our stories to each other.
We were joined by a Czech student he knew, and I learned that my love goes out naturally to some and gets damed up enroute to others. Lucien was fun to love, because we connected, the other guy was easy to be bothered by. Oops.
In a tea room, a few turns and a slight stroll away from the bookstore, the three of us sat in low chairs and shared a meal together - each of us approaching life in a different way, but maybe not really, but yes really too.
Lucien listened with his ears open wide, and eyes the same way. The words and phrases we passed back and forth as we crafted the conversation (or do they craft us?) kept on hitting targets in me, kept striking me in tender spots - the spots that tell me I'm poetic, I'm romantic, I'm hopeful.
I like meeting other people like that. It helps me, somehow, in my belief that Jesus was and is like that.
We talked about Jesus, Lucien and I. Lucien said beautiful things about Jesus, true things about how Jesus wanted people to love each other and how he didn't want to start up violence and hatred in people's hearts even though that's what ended up happening, because that's what always seems to end up happening. But Jesus didn't want that, Lucien said, he didn't want to get mixed in with the struggle for power. Jesus wanted people to be kind and to live life well, and in a bold display Jesus went about loving and living well.
I think Lucien would probably talk about Jesus in the past tense only, I didn't notice, but that's the impression I got. I think Lucien probably could approach spirituality without it all being saturated with Jesus. Lucien's pretty tolerant and I think he could stomach the religions without Jesus just as readily as the ones with Jesus. And that doesn't scare me too much; doesn't scare me in the sense that I'm not afraid of Lucien because of it, I embraced him as a friend rather than skewering him as a threat.

I read something tonight by an old friend and mentor of mine. He wrote about me and a lot of my peers - people who are sifting through an emerging if not fresh sort of Christian spirituality - and his words were stuffed with encouragement toward us. He also extended some warning, because that's how he thinks - he finds positive things in various approaches to faith as well as things to be wary of. "Keep Jesus," he wrote. And by it he meant, when we talk about Jesus we ought to talk about Jesus in the present tense as well as the past tense; and if we're really bold we'll talk about Jesus in the future tense too, maybe we'll even talk to Jesus and not only about Jesus. My old friend and mentor meant that if we're really interested in the Kingdom of God, life to the full, loving our neighbors as our self - if we're committed to these things - then our spirituality has to be saturated with Jesus; if we're going to live religiously then our religion has to be saturated with Jesus; if we're going to live, period, believing and hoping in those things, then our lives have to be saturated with Jesus -- and not just a "once-upon-a-time" Jesus and not just a "happily-ever-after" Jesus but a real live right here and now Jesus.
I'm glad he reminded us to keep Jesus. I'm glad he didn't suggest that we should feel threatened by people who don't.

the hunt

Aaron designed a scavenger hunt for me, handed me his camera, gave me a Czech/English dictionary, a map of the city, and pushed me out the door. So much fun. He had me riding trams and the metro, looking for graves and castles and signs with penguins on them. I walked through some of the grittiest and most graffitied bits of Prague. I discovered some of the most beautiful urban-vistas. I climbed trees, made friends, and pretended I was a photographer.
Below are a handful of the pictures I took – some that I’m in, some that I’m not.
Enjoy. I did.

ones i'm not

ones i'm in

today (30/1/06)

some observations from it, experiences during it, glimpses into it..
-- a nose that hurts from the cold of the morning while i juggled the names of three foreighn sounding train stations trying to find the one with the 9.22 to Kralupy
-- singing the canadian national anthem for a class of czech highschoolers and having them sing theirs for me in exchange
-- the little yellow birds with the black foreheads and wingtips that keep crossing my path
-- a low ceilinged tunnel then the old cemetary where a tired angel statued over a grave with an evergreen bow resting on her shoulder
-- new tastes, filled belly
-- aaron and i synchronizing our ipods to bright eyes' melodies while we strided over slick cobble stone and past the man smoking some not-a-cigarette
-- getting mail that smells nice
-- unshoeing feet that don't

today was a really good day.

disciplines

My brother David has this incredible ability to take words and sculpt them into the shape of questions that help you take a look at the important things - whether those things have to do with your insides (introspection/contemplation) or if the important things have to do with what is all around you (kingdom vision/awareness). In this way he is an artist.

He is also an athlete, in that he has quite a disciplined training regiment regarding the condition of his heart and soul. He's a coach too because he extends this regiment to others (in chunks that are manageable for them). One of the chunks that he sculpted is called the "rear.view.mirror" - it is a collection of questions to puruse through pondering up answers and in so doing you sort of evaluate the past year of your life. He sent it to me and a handful of others toward the end of 2005. (www.zigsrearviewmirror.blogspot.com)

Going through it was kind of like getting a physical at the doctor's, because you have to sit there in your underwear all vulnerable, you get poked, and it's not always very comfortable - but, if you're interested in staying healthy, it's not a bad idea to go through with it.

One of the prods asks about the spiritual disciplines, and asks more specifically about which ones you have been trying or enjoying, which ones have recently been significant in your spiritual formation.

For me, while I was in Edinburgh especially, receiving the elements of the Lord's supper was perhaps the most beautiful source of spiritual nourishment - and it was a discipline because I went to communion even when I felt like staying where I was (in bed sleeping or on the couch reading a book). Other spiritual disciplines I have stayed divinely-connected by are: randomly pausing to breathe deeper and look around, sitting on benches or on the porch, going for walks, whistling, colouring with crayons, poetry, and listening to wordless music while sipping something hot.

You should try the colouring with crayons one, it is tranquilizing.

skipping

I had my first official Czech class today - eavesdropping on and participating in Aaron's language lesson with Alešš. Czech is a fun language to look at and fascinating (as are all languages really) to listen to. They have vowels, like we do, and use them, but more sparsely - they don't seem to be as concerned as we are with slipping vowels in most everywhere. They're not as afraid of consecutive consonants.
I also got my travel pass today - good for třicet (thirty) days (and the "c" in třicet makes a cool "ts" sound not a "ss" or a "k"). With it I can skip across Prague via metro, tram and bus. And we've done a fair bit of skipping already. Aaron and I even waved farewell to Prague for a couple days and I got to experience cool places called Sokolov, Karlovy Vary, and Cheb (which is pronounced way different from how you just pronounced it in your head).
More than Prague (and other places in the Czech Republic) though I've enjoyed getting to know the inner workings of Nehemiah's world. Nehemiah Williams is the most fully alive individual I've encountered yet on my journeys. He's got a contagious passion for aviation, he is quite well read, has an extensive library which he eagerly shares from, he's an artist, he's extremely social and outgoing, a world traveler, and most of the time now he poopoo's and peepee's in the toilet. He and I are rapidly becoming great friends.
Many memories being made, new words being learned, and lingering conversations being had. Here's some pictorial representations of some of it..










sokolov, tattered-wet-butt-giving chair outside of joel's flat, where i met brian as well


















traveling by train, second class












mike, aaron, and aram - it looks like we're in a band, we'd make a great band (mike plays guitar, aaron knows music, i have a bandana on)



















big hug offered to all from the centre of old square in prague



















the wind that made my eyes watery, enroute to cheb



















my faithful travelling companions



















me and one of the locals



















my new friend mike, my old friend the mountain hardware windstopper, and my me












bark bark



















my nano in action, nehemiah enjoying the sporadic musical movements composed by jon brion for eternal sunshine of a spotless mind

praha

about 42 minutes before i get on a bus that'll take me to edinburgh's airport.
a few hours before i get on a plane that'll take me to prague's.
meeting aaron and phoebe and nehemiah williams there - and i'm really excited and really curious about what will ensue throughout the remainder of this month and the majority of next.

took a long walk in the rain last night to say, not "good bye" but "good bye for now" to edinburgh. feeling grateful. feeling ready. feeling pleased.

"I sat a long time, unwilling to go; but my unfinished story urged me on. I must act and wander." (george macdonald penned those words, but i would have as well had i thought to before he did.)

more dense

This is from an essay by Natalie Rusz, found in a book that Santa gave me, and I think it's really quite moving. Natalie spent much of her childhood being cared for with other children in a children's hospital where "we were some of us handicapped, but none disabled, and in time we were each taught to prove that for ourselves." She wrote:
"For most of us, as people of crisis, it became clear that horror can last only a little while, and then it becomes commonplace. When one cannot be sure that there are many days left, each single day becomes as important as a year, and one does not waste an hour in wishing that that hour was longer, but simply fills it, like a smaller cup, as high as it will go without spilling over. Each moment, to the very ill, seems somehow slowed down and more dense with importance, in the same way that a poem is more compressed than a page of prose, each word carrying more weight than a sentence."

good days, good man

Some reflections/memoirs about my time here, brief and scattered, I penned in my journal last night, I hope they give you a few more glimpses of what it's been like:
When I walked into the hostel back when Wayne was the manager, or like he did just the other day as he biked passed me on the sidewalk, he would shout out with his half Australian, half uniquely-Wayne accent, 'Big man!'
When I walk into the Posh Lounge I'll likely find a Sweedish girl there knitting, though they are just as likely found in the kitchen doing the same.
Sometimes the sky is a deep deep blue with night time inside of it and stars sparkling through. Sometimes, like tonight, it's an almost-ugly grey, and it would be ugly if it weren't so beautiful. And when the sun gets stuck and lingers on the horizon - whether it's going down or coming up - bits of the sky get lit up with a whole variety of pastels. And I suppose that's no different from other places where the sun sets or rises, but there is something peculiar and wonderful about the pastel bits of sky being juxtaposed against the old plain stone building tops.
Sitting in St. Giles and looking up - sometimes it's the echoes that get to me, get in me, sometimes it's the silence - tonight it was the thought that pretty well every stone must have been placed individually.
I think I'm going to miss hearing cuss words during lots of the parts of everyday - not that I particularly condone cuss words - it's just that there's something about hearing them that tells you you aren't completely isolated from the world. Maybe I'll start listening to more rap - or perhaps I ought to make friends with more people who say cuss words.
Living with lots of vegetarians hasn't been quite as contagious as I would have thought - I had a hot dog for lunch today (didn't pay for it thought) - but I think I may begin to tread in that direction anyway.
I had a walking pic nic through a trashy park yesterday on the eastern fringes of the city - it wasn't very pretty, but quite pleasant.
Oh, and the way, everyonce in a while, something catches me unprepared to be touched - like the moon did rising out of the clouds last night while I stood atop Calton Hill, or like select salutations from certain letters often do, or like happens when my sister's tone of voice over the phone hints at her well being, or like when I kneel by my bed or stick the upper part of my body out the window to pray and the words come, words that actually mean what I feel and hope and want.
These have been good days.

Also, I'd like to share Chrales with you:
I don't know how old he is, I think he's 57 or maybe 61, but he's really healthy and energetic and young seeming - probably because of the cod liver oil he ingests (however it is one ingests cod liver oil) each morning. I think he likes to smile more than me, more than Santa Claus and Bob Marley even. A smile settles well on his face, settles better in his eyes. He seems possessed - not by a demon, although the gap in his teeth and the way he gets excited and bugs his eyes wide open at you wagging his head with laughter does have him resembling a goblin (a cute goblin, not a scary goblin) - not by an angel either, I'm not sure what he's possessed with, he just strikes me as one possessed.
We went to church together yesterday, had some tea afterwards. At church last night we crossed paths again and afterwards went out for tea. He's got a faith that is humorous - not ridiculous humorous - just unique and easy to smile at. Listening to him talk is overwhelming and fun - he goes real fast and switches gears like my cousin in his suped-up Mustang.
My favorite was talking with him about Jesus - hearing him say odd philisophical things about the energy and providence and omni-presence of God, then say, with his white-South African accent, something as simple and fundamental and perhaps, when it comes down to it, just as whaky, as, "What a savior we have in Jesus!"
Truly Charles. Truly.
He also said something else about being on guard against the wiles of our human nature, which is a whirling vortex of conflicting emotions.
And he bought my tea both times.
He's a good man.

how he prayed

After the bible was read from by the old gentleman whose face looks a bit like an owl's and whose voice suggests a wisdom to match it, the minister prayed before standing to continue with the liturgy and administer the elements to us. He prayed, saying that the lives and words and efforts of the four saints - Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John - as they composed their experiences into the writings that are held sacred by the church and that have softened hearts continuously, with power, over the centuries, are cause for (and here the r's rolled off the tip of his tongue) great gratidude.
And if nothing else, this is so. Whether inspired, illuminated, dictated, or simply scribbled down on a whim - those words, which we may or may not always heed, which we may or may not always feel warm inside about, have in them a transforming power that long proceeds us and will most likely out last us.
Bring them to life Holy Spirit - in our lives and in the lives of those most unliving.
Grateful. Amen.

Genesis 12.6

Astride one of the largest branches highup in the great tree of Moreh at Shechem - I wonder what we would have seen. Abram's caravan of relations and possessions cresting the dusty horizon. Moving slow by that time no doubt - wearied by the miles left behind them. But if we were able to crawl down a bit, unnoticed by those approaching, if we were able to get close enough but stay hidden enough to see into Abram's eyes (which would equal seeing into his thoughts and inner emotions) I wonder what they would have contained.
Would they tell the story of his journey, complete with conflict, confrontation, obstacles; containing the pain of a good home left and the delight of new sights seen, new territory approached and explored? Would that be clouded with doubt? doubt of himself and doubt of that Voice he heard -- the one that all his friends assured him was merely indigestion, the one he couldn't ignore and couldn't stop dwelling on. Would they be aglow with a wild, untameable peace? peace that he couldn't be rid of even if he had wanted to, peace that haunted him and watered the flower of enthusiasm that was budding so miraculously in his heart?
And if his eyes looked one way as he approached the tree would they look another way as he trekked through the hills east of Bethel? Did the father of faith have room in his soul to vary? Does faith offer the space for its possessor to take in lungfuls of whatever emotion is stirring in the air at any particular moment? Can the faithful appreciate and enter into the moment's emotion while living out of a source that goes much deeper than emotion?

humbly hugely happily

I stood at my window a couple evenings ago, being sad for many of my friends at the hostel - sad that they're stuck in a pointless lyfestyle and don't have much in the line of hopes and worthwhile desires. Then later, while I was waiting for my £2.95 all day breakfast (roll, beans, ham, sausage, egg, and black pudding) at Castle Arms I asked Angus what he wants to be when he grows up. Angus has dread-locks, a mustache and a soul-patch that help him resemble Captian Jack Sparrow, and he smokes pot. I had already labeled him in my own head as one of the hopeless, dreamless, stuck. He slapped me in the face with this dream of his to start a network of organic farms in South Africa whereby he could teach locals to support and sustain themselves while funneling tourist money into the local economy. How's that for a not-worth-while desire? Sounds like he wants to change the world to me. I was humbly, hugely, happily corrected.

After having breakfast for supper I went to my first ballet ever - Cinderella at Edinburgh's Festival Theatre. The colours and costumes were extravagant and fabulous to look at. The way they stand up on their toes like they do is well worth applauding. It's a lovely story. Some funny parts. No Gus Gus, but well done nonetheless.

And I've been reading Lilith by George MacDonald, who wrote lines like this:
"Please, king, I'm so afraid of being afraid."
"My boy, there is no harm in being afraid. The only harm is in doing what Fear tells you. Fear is not your master! Laugh in his face and he will run away."

enriched

since last i wrote: buckingham palace has been danced in front of, a couple corners of london and several of its streets have been thouroughly explored; pin nics have been had, the new year brought in (a top a double decker bus heading north somewhere between big ben and ben nevis), and many of my favorite edinburghian spots have been shared.
sharing the sights and sounds, having new conversations, and experiencing unchartable adventures with father and kelly brought a much hoped for contentment - we have (i think) been mutually enriched.

with my holiday over i'll be setting my hand to the plow again and probably, before the day is over, be tagging tartaned handbags at ness.
i'll be in edinbugh for two more weeks. there's an air plane holding a seat for me to go with it to prague on january the 19th.
at least that's what i have planned.
but really..Who knows.

digestive crumbs

he came, he ate my digestives (leaving only crumbs) and drank the milk (cleaned his own dishes) pinned a stocking to my bed and hopefully continued on his jolly way to help make your Christmas magical and full of experiences worth smiling about, moments worth remembering.
my days have been filled with blessed interactions around the hostel, transatlantic-phone-relayed conversations, and an appropriate allotment of solitude, usually taking the shape of walks throughout the city.
and i saw King Kong for free - one of the hostel-dwellers works at the cinema. i enjoyed it. i'm a sucker for a story with fist fights and love in it; it had both.
and i finished reading Phantastes by George MacDonald, which is even way better than King Kong, because it not only has love and fist fights in it but poetry and fairies as well.

enroute this very evening to London where, tomorrow, i'll meet father and Kelly for some shared adventures. shared adventures are a thing i greatly desire and i am excited!

one more sleep

Matthew chapter three.
In those days (which is to say, the days when miracles happened more blatantly than ever, when God was whispered to walk amongst us) water-wading-body-baptizing John showed up in the wild parts of Judea with a message vibrating forth from his vocal chords and shaking the rocks around him, "Turn around, turn around cause God's Dream is sneaking up on us!"
John's the one that the crazy old sage Isaiah had talked about all those years before, "A voice issuing from the wilderness - 'Clear the road, mark the way, God's coming through!'"
All he wore was his own hairy skin and a few tattered scraps of animal hide. He chomped on bugs for nourishment and drank down honey straight from the comb. People came from the city, people came from the countryside - people came from all over opening up their souls to John and letting him dunk them in the river and hold them there until their lungs screamed for air, until their hearts cried out for new life.
But once, when the teachers and preachers came tip-toeing out into the wild regions trying desperately not to dirty their garments all the while ignoring their own soiled souls, John called them out on the fake lives and complex lies they were living. He said this to them (and, if we're honest, to us all), "Bunch of snakes! Why are you slithering and sniveling out this way? You think running to daddy everytime you're in trouble is going to save you? No - it's time you start owning up to your own crap, it's time you start blossoming with acts of kindness. Your dung heap lives are as good as fire fuel if you don't."
Then he turned to everybody else and let them hear, "I splash you with some water, get you a bit wet - and that's a sure enough sign that you want to live better, but" (and here he whispered, drawing those intent, dust smeared faces all the closer) "one's coming..one's coming who can make you live better. I wouldn't even dare finger his shoe laces. One glance from him and you'll be washed cleaner than clean with wind and fire. One touch from his hand and your insides will melt. He'll find the good in you, if there's any there to be found - and if not, he'll clean out the bad. One's coming..."

And so our time of waiting draws to a close, only to begin again. Let's get wrapped up - like all those presents under our trees - in the intensity of our coming Savior.
Peace. Merry Christmas.

Christmas in Edinburgh

There's the winter wonderland, which has all of the high priced rickety rides that you might hope to find at any fair or exhibition - and all of them crammed snuggley into one small pocket of the city; right along side of the outdoor skating rink which they've been trying desperately to keep frozen in the above freezing temperatures of these winter days. Mostly what results is a mass of people gliding about a pond of almost-slush with their ankles all wobbley in rental skates and smiles spread across their faces.
There's the nativity what a golden retriever in it on the corner of West Princes St. Gardens, not far from where I rolled down the hill in my Santa suit. The life size nativity pieces were sculpted not immaculately but roughly, with a touch of the grit and earthiness that I'm sure must have accompanied the initial event of the incarnation.
And from my window, five or six stories off the deck, I can see across the way over the tops of chimneys and streets and terraces, into the windows of some sort of office building where they have Christmas trees on each level all lit up with different colors. Off to the left I can see the subtle but proud summit of Arthur's Seat; at night time the moon lingers above that and if I cast my gaze straight ahead it reaches to the belt across Orion's waist. And I suppose these last bits don't have much to do with Christmas, except that anything celestial and everything wonderful ought to remind us of the miracle behind this holiday.
May it be so with you.
May it be so with me.

proud feet

Last night I got to talk about faith and spirituality for a while. Pam, who is from Australia and lives at the hostel right now, working in Edinburgh saving money up to get on the road again, and I went to the Castle Arms, which is a pub about 37 big steps from my front door where they have this thing called the Traveler's Menu and its reserved for us hostel dwellers, it has food on it that is cheap enough to be considered by backpackers and scroungers like us, but good enough to actually enjoy. I had nachos with heaps of stuff on them. Filling. £2.95. Miracle.
Pam has her chin pierced (most people here don't), she rolls her own cigarettes (most people here do), and her parents are practicing Roman Catholics. But she got sort of tired of (or perhaps was never much interested in it in the first place) a Christianity that didn't mean much at the level of the soul. She doesn't seem bitter at all, but I got the impression that, as fas as she could tell, Christianity was mostly boring and useless, though perhaps a bit mysterious as well. Can't say that I blame her, a lot of times Christianity (Protestant or Catholic or whatever) tends to come across that way doesn't it? I'm not sure who's to blame?
But anyway..as we were talking she got me telling her what it is I think Christianity is, or is supposed to be all about. She listened real graciously and I don't quite remember what I said but I enjoyed saying it and I think it was halfway coherent. Throughout the conversation I talked about God as if God exists without a doubt; just because that's pretty well how I approach life.. but I know there are doubts, lots of them, I think that's alright and that it's good. It's alright that Pam asked, "What if, in the end, you find out you were wrong all along?" It's good that she asked, "What is God anyway?"
I haven't had all kinds of interactions like that, but I think under the surface (and there's often several layers of surface) these are the sorts of fears people are confessing and these are the sorts of questions they are asking, in one way or another, when we encounter them regardless of the kind of interaction.
God grant us eyes that peel and ears that delve; then courage or patience or whatever it may be that we need in order to respond well.


We also all decorated our Christmas tree last night here at the hostel. It stands 14 proud feet tall and I got to put the tinsel up around the very very top.

a poem that stumbled upon me

Cross skyward floating ablend with the night

Jesus hanging from the ceiling all tangled up on a cross so luxuriously adorned

And me sitting staring
or walking wondering

In speechless proclamation (which is contemplation)
I can't escape
We shan't escape
the question:
What difference does Jesus make?

In answer I blink an unknowing blink
or smile a smile like on the face of a child

What difference, what difference, what difference
up there
does Jesus make?

Stuck on, plastered on to some crosses with years of complacent idolization
Idolizing the son of God with his bleeding hands, his bleeding sides, his bleeding brow
Fixing him to the cross with our
inaction our
indifference our
toleration of indecency

Some crosses emptied of flesh
Bare and naked like the Jesus we've peeled off of it
Peeled and empty and left to dangle round our necks
below our chins held high with the touch of arrogance that comes
with the assurance of our place round the throne

What difference does Jesus make?
Stuck up there half dead
Or ripped off and disregarded
Where's the living Jesus?
Where's the moving Jesus?
Where's the loving Jesus?

He spoke of movement
we've settled for inaction
He touched with love
we are touched with arrogance

What difference does Jesus make?
Can't be answered by the sound of sloppy words
Only answered by our unknowing, our cease striving, our becoming

"Come to me all you who are sick of the way things are
the way things ought not be
and I will give you rest
I will show you peace
I will teach you the rhythms of grace
Only come to me
Become like me"

What difference does Jesus make?
What difference are we making?
For Christ's sake, what's the difference?

pictoral proof of me (and steve) in scotland

our shared ascent of Arthur's Seat - Steve jet-lagged and me glad to have a friend near enough to touch.






some reading material - (actually a super big book full of old fabric samples at Holland and Sherry in the little town of Peebles, where they make luxury fabric for the suit company Steve works for)





my basement at ness - see the cute little harris tweed tartan teddy in the box on the floor? you too could hold him tight - ww.nessbypost.com






us clubbin!






Scotland forever! - our hike through Glen Nevis just around the corner of Fort William

the sauntering santas

This morning, after sharing some brekky comprised of toast, eggs, clementines, oj, etc (with Wayne, Roger, Emma, Beck, Kristy, Anthony, and another guy whose name I don't remember but he has his eyebrow pierced and his hair is sort of like Ben Blevins hair) we met up with hundreds and hundreds of other people - all shapes and sizes, even a few different colours. We met in the gardens that are sandwiched between Princes Street and the castle, we all put on Santa Claus suits and we went for a bit of a jog serenaded by some kilted piping Santas; all to raise some of the good Queen's currency to put into the "When you wish upon a star" foundation. It was brilliant!
I was fortunate to pass the rest of the afternoon with my friends, each of us in our red felt pants, at "The Last Drop" listening, talking, listening. Fascinating people - with real life hearts, emotions, opinions, and stories about what their days on this earth have been like.
This evening I received a sweedish birthday cake (late but ludicrously delicious) from the Swedes, decorated gingerbread cookies (I made a gingerpig and gave him smarties for his nostrils), and there were Christmas carols at St. Giles.

Enjoying here.
Missing home.

for mom and dad

twenty-three years ago something very significant took place in my life.
this morning i think of that occurence (though honestly don't recall much of it) and wish to extend my thanks to my parents for being who they are and helping me to be, and for their nearness to me as i have grown and as i become.

with the tastes from the Lord's table and a taste from mom's kitchen (mint squares received yesterday - christmas is officially allowed to come!) fresh in my mouth, i'm ready to embrace this damp day in edinburgh -- ready to embrace another year of life; moved by the unforced rhythms of grace...

spiced tea and tickles

I have celebrated the Sabbath now several times with the Edinburgh City Corps of the Salvation Army during their Sunday morning worship. The Salvation Army, as I understand it, is rooted in the methodist tradition - as is my own Wesleyan heritage. Just as the liturgical celebration at St. Giles is refreshing like a glass of cold water, the more familiar style of church carried out at the Salvation Army is soothing like a mug of warm tea. (Still different though, a different sort of tea - spiced with songsters and a brass band and uniforms and their own lingo.)

-----------------------

I continue to enjoy the encounters - brief and extended - that are given to me. Sometimes I almost miss them, but as often as I remember to I cherish them..
Rob the yoga instructor from the Netherlands, late into his fifties, small, and quirky as all get out. He was at Fort William when Steve and I were there, a week later he was in the bunk above mine here in Edinburgh - leaning his head over upside down while I read the psalms with my tikka to tell me, with his broken english and evangelical-vigor, how important experience is when it comes to religion and life and anything.
A chicken packed pita and chips at the pub with Anthony from Sri Lanka then Australia then Canada now here. He ate a meatless double burger since he's a vegetarian and an accountant. We shared stories. Talked about hopes, desires. Both love the films 'Big Fish' and 'Finding Neverland' and 'Swiss Family Robinson'. He's never seen 'Princess Bride'.
Remember Johnny our brother with the dreads dreaming toward being a reggae singer? He came in one night while I was working at the desk and had a slew of Bob Marley pictures from an old calender, gave me a couple - one of them with Bob Marley's teeth bared smiling, the same sort of smile that Johnny mirrors whether he means to or not.
Talking with Greg about the food he eats to fend of sickness and avoid hangovers, helping Maria remember my name by drawing a picture of a ram, bantering behind the desk with Rachel and Katie, being offered turnip chips from Ash and Alaya, piano lessons with Jen, a chat about cuisine and literature with Sweedish Charlie. And let's not forget the Irish lady in the shop who sounded (as much as a middle aged woman with class can sound) like Brad Pitt from 'Snatch'.

-----------------

Leaned up against a damp statue of some sort last night to look, really look, at one of my Christmas trees (I have many in the city) while I listened to Enya sing 'Silent Night', only without english words. Appreciating the way Christmas tickles the heart. Missing the sharing of tickles.

combatant clemintines

steve left this morning.
i walked about edinburgh seeking information regarding my post-christmas travels (which, in time, you will read fully about).
i've got a bit of a runny nose, but loads of clemintines to combat it with.

and here's some words from one of my favorite writers - words that i have to return to often:
"Yes, crucifixion before resurrection, winter before spring, a seed left to die in order to yield a harvest, such is the pattern of life, of living. We must walk through the petite mals, the little deaths, and on occasion the grand as well. But, our focus is not on the death, our view is toward the promise, the fullness, the freshness of new legs and unrestricted heart! This is how our Lord’s pattern is different than all of the rest. Instead of distracting us with the illusion of “comfort” or medicating us with“leisure”, He shows us up front the cost of honesty, the price of becoming real. Ole Wormwood would have us playing X-Box while the van drives headlong, full speed toward the cliff. Brother of Life takes our hand and walks us through the valley (ah, the flowers and plains and grizzlies!), no illusions, no distractions, no smoke or mirrors, just true life – with company."

with Company...

Let me tell you about Holy Communion at St. Giles..

My alarm clock wakes me around 7.37am, Communion is at 8, I don't need that long to get there, but I need that long to get there in time to experience the deep silence and grand space of the place 15 minutes prior to the sharing of the elements. I wake up and my flesh, damn it, tells me I want to sleep. I say, "No I don't," it says, "Yes you do." Then I look at it with a hard cold look and swing my legs out of bed. I wiggle into my pants, put on shoes but no socks, drape my coat over my shoulders and flee to the eucharist. Sometimes, when I'm lucky, I meet the man walking his two short-legged, puffy-bellied dogs as the city starts waking up with a pink tint up against the stone fo the buildings. The minister sits on a bench just inside the doors to guide us God-hungry (or at least God-curious) individuals to the little cubby of a chapel tucked against the north side of the church. Then we sit, one two or three of us - eventually four, seldom five - in that deep silence and grand space of the place until the bells toll. After the bells I hear the squeak squeak and clunk clunk of the steps carrying the man who is carrying the elements to us - bread wrapped up in a cloth like the mystery that it is and wine in the sliver goblet with little dents, the goblet that reflects the hands that carry it, the black and white tile of the floor, the thirsty lips that approach it with care.
The squeaks and the clunks make my heart skip, like the whistle at the start of the game - only more sacred.
The minister places the elements before us, then sits with us, usually right next to me, making our four count five or our seldom five, six. Quiet. He reads a psalm with words and voice and accent that hangs and flows like the white robe he's adorned in. It's my native tongue and it's a foreign language all at once. It's music in cognito. He reads more, from the gospels sometimes, from the letters others. And calls Jesus names, beautiful names. Then his prayer - not a written prayer, but polished and crafted with careful thought and poignant phrases - each time a bit different, each time more or less the same: "Feed us that we may feed others." He approaches the symbols of flesh and blood and turns to face us. Then back and forth we climb our way through the liturgy like the switch backs of a steep ascent. "Give thanks to the Lord," he says. We say, "It is meet and right so to do." And other words, back and forth. "Lord Jesus Christ..have mercy upon us. Lord Jesus Christ..have mercy upon us. Lord Jesus Christ.." And just when we're ready to plead for mercy a third and final time something shifts - a sudden boldness, a sudden desperation, or just because it's written this way in the lectionary - who knows - but for some reason we finish with the wild request, "..grant us thy peace." And most of us believe it is possible, the rest of us go through with it hoping that it might be. The elements blessed, committed - the minister nibbles and sips then brings them to us. The man on my left absorbs the elements with haste, as if the mercy and peace we've been speaking of, believing in, hoping for may escape if he takes too long. The woman on my right, the one whose face has been glowing the whole time as if Jesus was there holding her hand and telling her secrets, chews the bread pensively and sips the wine cautiously not wanting to arrive on the other side of this experience. I love how dry the bread is in my mouth. I love how the cup covers my whole face when I tip it up to receive the drink offered to me. Then we all shake hands - like at the end of the game, only more sacred - briefly breaching the barrier of island-existence and in so doing passing a hint or two of the previously mentioned peace with a moment of touch and a shared smile. We don't sit down until the minister speaks a good word over us and leaves with the leftovers. After that we can stay as long as we need to - long enough to let it all setlle in, long enought to wonder at what it is that just happened during that handful of moments between one deep silence and the next there in the grand, sacred space of the place.
Once I stayed long enough to be the last one, long enough to be the one to blow out the candles as I walked back toward the door and the world waking up, as I walked back there all nourished in my soul.

the hielands

The weekend had us in the scottish highlands, skipping through the hills at Big Ben's toe's. (Ben Nevis is the highest peak in the UK, Steve and I enjoyed two days of rest, rain, and adventure just around the corner from it in Fort William.) Opening my eyes to the creative landscape surrounding us, I was astounded, shocked, made to smile.
We have had a handful of pleasant days together, several sub-surface conversations, and many memorable moments (he took me clubbin', I took him hiking; he bought me nice pub meals, I bought him day old bagettes and discounted cheese; he taught me some of the intricacies of the game of golf, I shared some of my favorite poems). Steve left for Berlin this morning to meet some friends - he'll be back for the night Friday then U.S.-ward on Saturday. (Steve has a digital camera, we've been using it, pictures coming asap..)
Meanwhile, I'm leaning back into a bit of the routine I've established in Edinburgh and enjoying its familiarity. I find this such a lovely city to look at.

Finished reading Robert Louis Stevenson's "Kidnapped" while sitting in my bunk in the Highlands - having walked that day amongst the glens and lochs and forrested lands that make up the setting of the narrative made the read a special one.
Strolling now slowly, carefully through Frederick Buechner's "The Magnificent Defeat" -- and with his words I depart the realm of the web for the present..

"My question is this: Are there in us, in you and me now, that recklessness of the loving heart, that wild courage, that crazy gladness in the face of darkness and death, that shuddering faithfulness even unto the end of the world, through which the new things can come to pass? Are there in us such qualities as these, which are in fact themselves the first glimmerings of the new things that even now are beginning to come to pass?"

seventeenth to twentyfirst

Thursday November 17th 6.52pm through Monday November 21st 9.27am held an adventure of unbloggable proportions!
It involved this:
--four countries by train and bus, one sea by ferry
--several encounters with the coast, both shared and solo
--love music and love lyrics crafted into love songs held together by the glue of Rosie Thomas' voice - so soothing
--laughter, conversation, a November swim in the Irish sea, and Christmas celebration in Dublin
--quirky, crappy hostels and all sorts of loop holes in my travel plans, through which I fell tumbling head long into greater Travel Plans
--finding beauty in the sky and on the sidewalk walking toward me and almost everywhere I opened my eyes to it

Back in Edinburgh.
Meeting Steve Toroni at the airport tomorrow a.m.
So blessed.

tilt-a-whirls & ferris wheels

Edinburgh has that gorggy-I-went-to-bed-late-and-now-I-have-to-get-up-early sort of feel to it. After keeping up with the heavy influx of tourists, congested side walks, busy shops, and fully booked B&B's during the warmer months (which were the months before I arrived) it has had these few weeks of semi-slumber, and is now stretching, yawning, preparing for a new day - preparing for the festivities of the holiday season and more specifically for Hogmany, the week leading up to the new year, apparently quite a celebration here - one of the world's top street parties complete with half a million bodies and fire works back dropped against the castle.
I attempted a picnic on my favorite bench the other day by the Scott monument but my way was blocked and the benches moved because they were setting up tilt-a-whirls and ferris wheels.
There were guys climbing trees by the castle with ropes and harnesses and I was like, "Sweet! I didn't know you were allowed to rappel from the castle trees!" And I recollected, with great happiness and nostalgia, adventures of just that sort with my good mate in Houghton a couple years back. Then, just before I swung my leg up to the first branch, I realized they were setting up Christmas lights for the queen and that's probably why that barrier was there that I had ignored and walked around and I'm sure I'd get along just fine with the queen, but maybe I shouldn't climb her trees without asking first, so I continued on my way.

Still working hard boxing and unboxing, shelving and tagging and not wearing Scotland-made women's clothing. Also working as often as I may, and enjoying more and more each time, at the hostel reception desk. If you want a picture of what that's like take the picture that ocmes in your head when you think of the reception desk at a regular hotel and throw it far far away, then add any flavour of upbeat, quick tempo-ed, smooth lyric-ed music, add the fluster and bustle of a college dormitory, juggle five or six different accents and a good dose of poorly spoken english, a youth camp snack bar, plus a tour booking service, plus an information centre, plus costume party, plus internet cafe, plus a steady vibe of creativity, personality, and enthusiasm -- now you've got an idea. Super fun.

Leaving Edinburgh for the first time since I arrived (I've been nowhere my own two feet haven't walked me to in the past three and half weeks) this very eve. Back on Sunday. In between - a happy boy enjoying a few moments' company with a pretty girl.

In regards to peanut butter - I'm learning to be content in all circumstances. And I bought some generic Nutella to help with that.

the week has been like this...

..on sunday i worshipped with some lovely people (in lovely uniforms) at the salvation army gathering in the a.m. afterwards Arthur's Seat and the windy sunshine beckoned me for a walk and a climb to the summit of the city. i stood looking to the distant hills with the sound of "Gathering the Clans" from THE soundtrack serenading my heart. an imaginary date at starbucks where i ordered a chai latte soy milk extra chai extra hot, or something like that - they were out of soy milk and my date was on the other side of the irish sea but it was lovely, soul-soothing. an organ recital at St. Giles in the evening and a quick conversation on the phone with father who had recently returned from the wilds of the Paria Canyon. good sabbath.
..throughout the week i have worked here and there, on and off at the hostel - booking rooms, booking tours, greeting guests, selling juice, selling internet time, cleaning toilets - that sort of thing. i've worked here and there, on and off (more on than off) at Ness, this small scottish clothing company on the Royal Mile - taking stock, tagging caps and skirts and pink rubber boots, hanging strings of icicle lights, fixing stuff, transporting goods, carrying huge boxes to the post office to be shipped away - that sort of thing. (check out our site: nessbypost.com - it's all girl's stuff except like two sweaters that are for men, and it's ridiculously high priced - quite a fit for me don't you think?) i've gone for some walks, watched fireworks burst from the scottish hill sides, had some picnics, read from "The Wallace" by nigel tranter while sipping tea and nibbling digestives, i got to talk with two of my favorite people in nova scotia, and just last night i got a basket supper (cheese burger and chips) from The Blind Poet and watched the Celtics beat the Rangers 2-0 on the big screen.
..i've met martin from south africa, he's a musician and a chef and extremely intelligent. i've met jolie, our jamaican rastafarian brother who is also a musician and i've caught him singing a few times at the bottom of the stairwell at the hostel where his voice, which isn't particularly good, echoes all throughout, and he swings and sways like he's worshipping, and we talked about living life for more than money and aiming to please the Lord. i've met mj, from michigan, she's jewish by heritage (her dad's a rabbi) but kind of new agey by faith; and flick, a fellow canadian who has been living and working at one of scotland's other hostels out west, we talked about home schooling and catholic liturgy. i've met roger from new zealand, but he's been in edinburgh on and off for 8 years - he has long hair and lip rings, looks a bit like Jesus might have, except paler.
..and i walked through the drizzley edinburghian night listening to jewel sing christmas songs, singing along, with lite heart.

and that's what the week has been like.

sticky

a lot of the people that are my age-ish will live here a while, leave, then come back. they get stuck. apperently edinburgh is very sticky.
i don't feel stuck yet. though i suppose i could see how it would happen if totally all of your friends were here. it's an intriguing city with plenty of cool places to hang out and one awesome cheese monger shop to visit daily (if you are bowel-worthy). i was wondering the other day if i would end up feeling the stickiness after being here a while, but then realized..
i like it plenty, but there's no way i could stay here indefinately. why? peanut butter. there's only like two kinds of peanut butter in the grocery stores and of those two kinds there's like maybe seven jars of each, tops, on the shelf. and it's none too cheap. i don't get it. until this afternoon i had gone two days without because sainsbury's which is behind jenners across from the walter scott monument that is next to the information/tourist center on princes street near waverly bridge hadn't restocked the shelves with the cheapest brand. absence makes the heart grow fonder - it's true. my long awaited bagette and peanut butter pic nic in the rain (fine scottish weather) was emmaculate.. that's too strong a description, it was delicious though, really really really delicious.

between damp pb sandwiches and free tea in the lounge at the hostel i've been looking for a job and finding the best places to walk to and sit at in the city. meanwhile i'm still working at the hostel to cover accomadation.
thanks for prayers.
i need them because they struggle in the orange juice department here too.
but the chocolate bars and biscuits demolish anything and everything in the US.

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.

like daisies

I've done at least three cool things this week...

I read a book by Rob Bell called "Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith." It's a book about how things like Christianity and the Bible tend to get all situated and comfortable in the world and then lose the very essence of what they are, what they're supposed to be - things that transform and spark a new style of living. It's about that more or less, though I suppose if you were to read it (and I suppose you should) you might put it differently. It's a book with insights that are, if not fresh, at least refreshing. After reading it though I don't feel like sitting around and being refreshed - I feel like actually doing something that will make me thirsty again.

I painted a yellow house (yellow like daisies) for an old woman named Helen. She just turned 85 and she still mows her own lawn. It's been wonderful doing something that makes some of my muscles ache and helps me get my hands dirty. I was feeling the need to immerse myself in some sort of manual labor - itching to do something active and creative (previously I had been doing a lot of somethings that were contemplative and speculative - I think we probably all need a fair assortment of these various somethings in order to be truly human). Five days of scraping, washing, priming, painting helped scratch that itch.

I experienced laughter. My sister and David and I went to see comedian Brian Regan perform live. And perform he did and alive he was. His energy and creative wit had my right side aching with laughter. It was such a delight to share laughter, something so foundational to what God is all about, with two of my favorite people. The one I liked best was when Regan talked about his neighbors annoying wind chimes. I'll tell you about it sometime.

extension

been spending these past days in indianapolis sharing moments and memories with my family (cherished!), reading a lot, writing a fair bit, listening to music (love songs, country songs, and ghetto rap), eating at einstien's, playing frisbee golf, camping, painting, and having my heart further romanced and healed by the touch of Jesus.
i continue to prepare for the edinburgh endeavor - both practically, outwardly, in a gotta-take-care-of-physical-things sort of way -- and heartfully, inwardly, spiritually, in a this-is-already-stretching/challenging/enriching-my-faith sort of way.

john steinbeck's words remain true for me, as they were for young jody in The Red Pony:

"it was a strange time and a mysterious journey...an extension of a dream."

style of a carpenter

Today I spent the day with Grampy Perry. We were making somehing in his workshop, something I had an idea for and knew he could help change it from an idea in my head to something polished and smooth in my hands because, like Jesus, he's a carpenter.
Grampy took me to Wendy's for lunch and we both ordered cheeseburgers and french fries and I had some chili too, and we got the senior discount. We sat at a booth and he told me stories about when he was my age, except he was my age during a war and was fixing broken fighter planes in Canada, and in Holland and England and France. And I'm not sure things were actually all that different, except he was probably a great deal more responsible than I and probably has a greater appreciation for life and family and God, but then, I've experienced some of the brutalities and lonlinesses of war too - a different sort of war though.
What I mean when I say things weren't all that different is that he had friends and adventures and hopes and dreams, his heart beat quickened at the thoughts of romance, and he got caught off guard every once in a while with tears in his eyes when he realized the hurt in this world and the healing grace of God.
My favorite part of today was watching Grampy work in his workshop. He does it so effortlessly, with such an appealing style. such a desirable pace. Grampy lives hastelessly, which is to say he doesn't rush through one moment in order to get to the next. He's one of the only people in the world who actually drives the speed limit, which is evidence, I think, that he is not hurried or anxious, his heart is at rest - at rest in Christ according the prayer he prayed over our burgers.
Watching his leathery hands take some scraps of wood and shape them into something beautiful, valuable, special made me want to live more like him - with the same style, the same pace, the same rest.

nova...

...which means 'new' or even 'fresh, unspoiled.' and that is certainly the way things have looked to me, smelled to me, felt to me today. i am at my nova scotian home and somehow today the colors and scents and emotions of nova scotia were more vivid than they ever have been. it is beautiful and i am at rest. this will be a week of contemplation and celebration - celebrating the family relationships i have been blessed with (while playing with my little cousin bradon today i asked him who his favorite ninja turtle is, he responded, "you cousin aram") - contemplating and planning for the terrain ahead, the 'terra nova.'

God-kisses

They are moments - brief and sweet. Like the other night, returning from our weekly shower with adventures behind and relationships established, somewhat clean, somewhat comfortable. As I was walking to the wild-side of camp, my eyes (for some reason) drawn up and they took it in as best they could. Took in the magnificence of a flying bird. Simple perhaps, profound I think - with its wings spread out like it was hugging the wind, up there playing, dancing, soaring near the sunbathed cloud, all orange and pink, that I wanted so desperately to touch. Heart stopping.
God bless you. God kiss you.

Leaving Summer's Best Two Weeks tomorrow after lunch. It has been a month of pure and steady growth, or is communion a better description, or is it what Lewis described on page 117 in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when he wrote, "that deep shiver of gladness which you only get if you are being solemn and still." But then I suppose, for that to work, you would have to believe it possible to be completely engaged in the active work of the Kingdom of God (whether biking, hiking, or wiping runny noses) while also being 'solemn and still.' I happen to believe it.

from matt in fiji

my dear friend and brother, matthew, sent me an email on july 20 from fiji's capital city. he is working/living/minsitering with an organization committed to Christian based community, a missional approach to living, simplicity, spiritual formation, and education through experience and adventure. in his email he wrote, 'the pictures of Christ here are so visceral and tangible.'
which is of course to say that he is daily encountering very raw and real and fleshy examples of what it means to be like Jesus -- he is doing theology as it is meant to be done, by living it out, by entering into the stories of others and so entering into The Story (Kingdom/Life) of God.
perhaps we could learn a thing or two from matt -- for i'd wager that if we'd open our eyes wide enough (whether we're on an edenesque fijian island or standing in line at wal-mart) we too would realize that we have the opportunity to touch and be touched by Jesus everyday in a very visceral way.

dancing really

'Heavenly Father - Thy whole creation, sun, moon, and stars, and this blessed earth which thou hast made with thy hands in all its beauty, and every creature of this earth whom thou has given life, all of them shout forth in joy and praise of thee save only man whose mouth is stopped with words. Forgive us what we speak and what we know not how to speak. Forgive our world, we pray thee, thy world, which thou hast left us free to grieve and break. Make thyself known to all who are broken in spirit or in flesh, and that is all of us. Grant us thy peace, Lord, which the world can neither give nor take away, they peace that exists only in the eye of the storm, the heart of the battle. Grant us finally they joy of the man on the cross. We ask it in his name. Amen.' (f.buechner)

I spent the week noticing the hand-crafted beauty that manages to out-speak, out-pray, and out-worship us. Spent it with a collection of 14 middle class white kids, leading them - along side of two fine fellow wilderness savvy guides - through adventures of all sorts. Dancing really. Dancing with cliffs, rocks, river, rain, mountain, cave, falls, and fire. Dancing with the Bible, dancing with relationships, dancing with questions of faith and questions of fact. And it was a good dance. I stepped on toes no doubt. I'm foot-sore now. But still enjoying the music and the memories of the motion.

The cave is miraculous. It's a different world in there; you forget that this other one even exists, and it's awesome. I wrote in my journal about something I saw in the cave...
'There was a loose rock very evidently and intentionally placed by the creative sparkle of God's attention to the slightest detail and wonder. It was loose as I said, but had obviously rested on that ledge for some time, according the shallow divet made by persistant water droplets. Its looseness allowed it to be moved easily, and moved it was, rather carelessly, though not vindictively, by one who passed by. And that small miracle ceased as a result. Placed with a casual indifference where the water drops would strike it no longer and the divet would be made no deeper. It made me think of the delicate miracles I pass by during the days of my life - the ones I notice, like the fragility and beauty of a young lady's heart, the power and importance of family, the tender and nourishing richness of the created and natural works of God, friendship, and opportunities to love and be loved. It made me think of how much more I long to treat these delicacies as such, to cherish the ones I recognize all the more, and to realize the ones I miss.'

boyhood

I'm in PA - I'll be working at Summer's Best Two Weeks (www.sb2w.org) for the next month, guiding wilderness adventure trips and ministering along side of a quality group of men and women. Arrived on Monday (11th) and was on a bus en route to our rock climbing destination with a group of 15 boys early the next morning. I love the raw energy of boyhood. I spend the day watching (and joining) boys of all ages as they climbed cliffs, scrambled on rocks, pushed over trees, captured and cooked craw fish, slid off a waterfall into a cool pool of fresh water - as they devoured hot dogs, toasted wet shoes over the fire, and as they couldn't possibly refrain from playing with flaming sticks. Theirs was a refreshing presence to be in. One of the other counselors asked me to tell the boys about how I met Jesus - I ended up telling them what I have found the way of Jesus to be like since I met him. I told them that I think, if we listen quietly - quietly enough to hear the music of the rain or the sound of a baby sleeping - then we'll probably hear, each morning when we wake up and our hearts are the most vulnerable, the Spirit of Jesus whispering something about an adventure, something of an invitation; and maybe we should start asking if we can be a part, or just start being -- 'enjoy being' as the bumper sticker on the small pink car on Central Avenue in Indianapolis says. The raw energy of boyhood, that's what it is - it's being, and enjoying it. We could all learn a bit from such childlike enthusiasm.

thots to ponder

"Those who believe they believe in God, but without passion in the heart, without anguish in the mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God and not in God himself." -- miguel de unamuno

"We have been content for too long to netiher believe nor disbelieve but to accept God as a comfortable old habit rather than a burning passion." -- thomas yorty

"God is always bigger than the boxes we build for God. So we should not waste too much time protecting the boxes." -- richard rohr

a conversation i didn't have

I'm reading 'The Last and the Word After That' by Brian McLaren. It's sort of about hell and how hell has been perceived in Western Protestant circles for the past few hundred years and how some of those perceptions might not be all right. But more than that it is about the process of becoming and growing in the presence and accountability of community as guided by the Spirit of God and divinely-placed friendships.
It's format is a quasi-narrated collection of hypothetical and imagined dialogues, so, in keeping with that here's one I didn't have...

'I don't really approve of all the ideas in this book, I don't like where they lead. That is, to the denial of the truth (unfotunate truth though it may be) of hell.'

"Why are you so reluctant to let go of hell?"

'Why are you so frivolous as to deny hell?'

"I think that's an unfair question. Perhaps I should rephrase myself; perhaps 'let go of' is not the best termonology. If I am frivolous it is in being willing to rethink hell, not by denying it."

'Well I think that is dangerous still, my question stands: Why bother rethinking something so rooted in tradition and scripture?'

"Alright, if I try to honestly answer your question will you try to honestly answer mine?"

'Deal.'

"I'm willing to rethink hell because the way it has traditionally been understood doesn't settle right."

'You mean it doesn't feel right - that's kind of shallow don't you think?'

"No, I mean it doesn't settle right. I'm not talking about finding a soft substitute for hell that feels good. I'm talking about at least looking for an understanding that setlles with our belief that God is good, just and loving."

'But if God is just then hell is fine, cause we all deserve it from the get go.'

"Granted. Maybe. But let me finish first. Then see what you think."

'Sure.'

"Thanks. I grew up understanding the point of Christianity to be believing in Jesus (which meant saying the right prayer and being good according to a certain list of goods and bads) so that I could go to heaven (and avoid going to hell - though nobody ever said much about that). This worked fine for me because all the people I really loved and cared about had said the same prayer and at least tried to abide by the same list. But then one time I asked my dad to autograph my Bible, because he is one of my heroes. He signed it and wrote 'John 10:10' under his name. It didn't do much for me then, probably because I didn't know anything but 'life to the full'. Still, it was there and the idea began to seep into my soul - and eventually caught me off-gaurd. The idea that the whole thing Jesus represented (which has most often been labeled, for better or worse, 'Christianity') was (is) something more than avoiding eternal suffering in hell. The idea that hell isn't the point, and nether is heaven for that matter. The point is to be for what God is for (which is, I think, the Kingdom of God - we should talk about that another time, it's hugely important) and to be against what God is against (things like sin and selfish arrogance and indifference and hate). So the grace that is so central to the gospel is not about a free ticket to heaven so much as it is about a free makeover - transformation. It is not so much a moment of grace (not to say that there aren't moments of grace) as it is a process of grace, a process of grace-full transformation - a process of becoming a person who identifies with Jesus in being (actively/courageously) for what God is for and against what God is against. I think that some of the things God is against are exclusion and suffering; these are parts of the Story (very real parts) that don't make God smile. So I wonder if we've gon wrong somewhere in our understanding and usage of hell, just as I was wrong in my undertanding and usage of Christianity (thinking it was about me and my eternal destiny rather than about God and God's all encompassing Kingdom - perhaps we should talk sometime about eternal destiny vs. eternal identity). I wonder if, maybe, God is interested in something more than what we've made this whole thing out to be. So, where in lies your reluctance?"

(then I think the phone rang or the cat knocked over a glass of orange juice on the kitchen table so the conversation was never finished. but, really, is it ever?)

pk's comment

Paul commented on 'Romance...' --- "For some reason, this is the line that really stuck out to me: 'For those who believe in God it is all the purity and wonder of God's grace. And for those who don't I'm not sure that it's anything less than that anyway.' Any thoughts on why that might have stuck out to me? "

one thot: it might have something to do with the fact that you would get along well with julie (a delightful lady we met together who, if one were to use labels, could be labeled as conservative) AND you would get along well with her sister (who we were told was a bit more on the liberal side, or rather on the other side of the liberal side) - the fact that you realize the value of patiently living the gospel into people's lives, rather than force feeding it to them, and living the gospel into people's lives requires a certain (or uncertain) patience, an understanding that some people will call grace by Its name and others will not, not yet - you recognize the harm done by approaching the gospel as an item to sell and therefore approaching your neighbor as a consumer rather than as your neighbor. Sure the gospel ought to stir in us a sense of urgency - but it is not the urgency of a salesman trying to force his merchandise, it is the urgency of a gardener watering her budding flowers, patiently desiring their scent and awaiting their beauty. It is the urgency of Romance.