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.)
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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'.
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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.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Saturday, December 03, 2005
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...
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...
Thursday, December 01, 2005
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 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.
Monday, November 28, 2005
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?"
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?"
Monday, November 21, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
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.
..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.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, October 31, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
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...
I got to see, enjoy, and share this miracle of creation.
With her...
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, October 21, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, October 03, 2005
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.
"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.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
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."
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."
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
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.'
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
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.
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.
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