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.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Saturday, January 28, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, January 23, 2006
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
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
Thursday, January 19, 2006
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.)
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.)
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
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."
"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."
Monday, January 16, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, January 13, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
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?
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?
Monday, January 09, 2006
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."
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."
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
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!
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!
Saturday, December 24, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
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.
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.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
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?
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?
Sunday, December 11, 2005
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.
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.
Friday, December 09, 2005
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...
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...
Monday, December 05, 2005
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.
-----------------------
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.
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...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)