Thursday, December 23, 2004
Christmas music
Here's a different take on Christmas music.
Recommended listening technique: lights out, on your back, eyes closed, hands raised.
Merry Christmas y'all!
Recommended listening technique: lights out, on your back, eyes closed, hands raised.
Merry Christmas y'all!
the flesh yearns
I have a friend who has been called to a life of celibacy. It makes perfect sense, once you hear his story and see his ministry. But wow, the human in me smarts to think about it.
I've been pondering the physical realm lately, that whole Soul/Body conflict, what is spiritual and what is carnal and what will last when the earth burns up. I've been thinking about bodies and places and how we interact with them:
How a special place can be so permanent, and we can speak of our homestead with such certain terms, and assign it mental images and link to them indelible impressions, and never have to explain their significance to understand them. And then how a coating of paint or uprooting of tree can destroy the whole feeling of home in an instant. There's something in the image that we need. Even though it's all passing away and even though it isn't our real home at all, we cling to it, and I think we're supposed to.
And I want to tell my friend to drink deep of Jesus and that'll be all that he needs. It's something that always comes out of me, before I can stop myself, "All we need is God. We shouldn't try to fulfill ourselves with other people." But that isn't strictly accurate, is it?
True: we can never be fulfilled without the Lord's presence. But He said of Adam, "It is not good that he should be alone." Like we need an earthly home, we need an earthly helpmate.
And so what of the eunuchs? They forge on without. They hug their brothers. They sleep with Jesus. It's not quite the same, but they know their treasure lies in another place.
Not coincidentally, they are often the nomads of the Church, wandering the nations without much of family or home. They live within the Spirit. They deny their flesh. They walk on. They see God use them in ways most of us could never dream.
They, too, earn that term we sometimes seem to think so paltry: joy.
And so my celibate friend sometime gets lonely and cries and prays. And he understands that this pain is God's way of keeping him grounded to the misery of humanity, who is doomed to unfulfillment for lacking the prerequisite engagement to the Son of Man. And he thanks his Father for writing this story, for providing the means, for never leaving him, and for giving him friends to hug him when he's cold.
I've been pondering the physical realm lately, that whole Soul/Body conflict, what is spiritual and what is carnal and what will last when the earth burns up. I've been thinking about bodies and places and how we interact with them:
How a special place can be so permanent, and we can speak of our homestead with such certain terms, and assign it mental images and link to them indelible impressions, and never have to explain their significance to understand them. And then how a coating of paint or uprooting of tree can destroy the whole feeling of home in an instant. There's something in the image that we need. Even though it's all passing away and even though it isn't our real home at all, we cling to it, and I think we're supposed to.
And I want to tell my friend to drink deep of Jesus and that'll be all that he needs. It's something that always comes out of me, before I can stop myself, "All we need is God. We shouldn't try to fulfill ourselves with other people." But that isn't strictly accurate, is it?
True: we can never be fulfilled without the Lord's presence. But He said of Adam, "It is not good that he should be alone." Like we need an earthly home, we need an earthly helpmate.
And so what of the eunuchs? They forge on without. They hug their brothers. They sleep with Jesus. It's not quite the same, but they know their treasure lies in another place.
Not coincidentally, they are often the nomads of the Church, wandering the nations without much of family or home. They live within the Spirit. They deny their flesh. They walk on. They see God use them in ways most of us could never dream.
They, too, earn that term we sometimes seem to think so paltry: joy.
And so my celibate friend sometime gets lonely and cries and prays. And he understands that this pain is God's way of keeping him grounded to the misery of humanity, who is doomed to unfulfillment for lacking the prerequisite engagement to the Son of Man. And he thanks his Father for writing this story, for providing the means, for never leaving him, and for giving him friends to hug him when he's cold.
Björk
I've always been fascinated by the singer Björk. She's so outlandish that I don't quite know what to think of her, but then, there's something that seems completely natural about the stuff she does. This is the woman who performed at the 2000 Oscars in a swan suit. Not much "natural" about that, I'll admit, but sometimes her music is really good, although a bit of an acquired taste.
I'd forgotten about my favorite Icelandic pop star for a few years during my love affair with sub-pop Christian folk music, but a series of events has rekindled my interest of late:
Calla Maria and Jamie and I rented the musical she did a few years ago, Dancer in the Dark. It's an exhilerating, excruciating film that I wouldn't really recommend to anyone, but I was totally amazed by her performance. That week one of my friends at Taylor's said, "It's surprising to me that Björk is such a natural actress because her music is usually so full of pretense."
Never having expected one of my favorite artists to be implicated in such a dastardly crime, I took silent offense to her casual statement, and quickly changed the subject. But my subsequent investigation into the accusations reawakened my curiosity regarding the crazy gal, and I started back listening to her. This time I found a whole new depth of artistry that I hadn't understood in high school. Jonathan said, "Björk is amazing because she makes these things that are so ugly, and yet they're beautiful at the same time." Part of you is irritated--outraged, even--but you can't stop listening.
Maybe she is pretentious. I'm not sure. I can't decide if making an entire album using only human voices is organic or artificial; is her new album, Medulla, brilliant or pathetic? I bought it today, sort of on impulse, and I'm glad I did. I was a little thrown off at first by how weird it is--pretentious, even, perhaps. The whole thing is performed with the human voice: beat boxes and Inuit throat singers, a full choir, rhythmic panting and moaning. Some of it really is just annoying and silly, but then the rest of it is...Björk.
Doing something different on purpose, simply for the satisfaction of being unheard of.
We can call that pretentious, or we can call it groundbreaking. It's up to how much we like it.
Criticism is so arbitrary, isn't it?
I liked her from the start, so I think she's a genius.
My friend never liked her so much, and she thinks she's a phony.
This is a clip from my favorite song on Medulla:
Who is it?
his embrace, a fortress
it fuels me
and places a skeleton of trust
right beneath us
bone by bone
stone by stone
if you ask yourself patiently and carefully,
who is it?
who is it that never lets you down?
who is it that gave you back your crown?
the ornaments are going around
now they're handing it over
handing it over
he demands a closeness
we all have earned a lightness
carry my joy on the left
carry my pain on the right
Who she's singing about I'm not quite sure, but if I didn't know her better than I did, I would think this was the most creative worship song I've heard in a long time. I think this is the first single, so you can maybe hear the whole thing on the radio sometime, beat box and all.
I'd forgotten about my favorite Icelandic pop star for a few years during my love affair with sub-pop Christian folk music, but a series of events has rekindled my interest of late:
Calla Maria and Jamie and I rented the musical she did a few years ago, Dancer in the Dark. It's an exhilerating, excruciating film that I wouldn't really recommend to anyone, but I was totally amazed by her performance. That week one of my friends at Taylor's said, "It's surprising to me that Björk is such a natural actress because her music is usually so full of pretense."
Never having expected one of my favorite artists to be implicated in such a dastardly crime, I took silent offense to her casual statement, and quickly changed the subject. But my subsequent investigation into the accusations reawakened my curiosity regarding the crazy gal, and I started back listening to her. This time I found a whole new depth of artistry that I hadn't understood in high school. Jonathan said, "Björk is amazing because she makes these things that are so ugly, and yet they're beautiful at the same time." Part of you is irritated--outraged, even--but you can't stop listening.
Maybe she is pretentious. I'm not sure. I can't decide if making an entire album using only human voices is organic or artificial; is her new album, Medulla, brilliant or pathetic? I bought it today, sort of on impulse, and I'm glad I did. I was a little thrown off at first by how weird it is--pretentious, even, perhaps. The whole thing is performed with the human voice: beat boxes and Inuit throat singers, a full choir, rhythmic panting and moaning. Some of it really is just annoying and silly, but then the rest of it is...Björk.
Doing something different on purpose, simply for the satisfaction of being unheard of.
We can call that pretentious, or we can call it groundbreaking. It's up to how much we like it.
Criticism is so arbitrary, isn't it?
I liked her from the start, so I think she's a genius.
My friend never liked her so much, and she thinks she's a phony.
This is a clip from my favorite song on Medulla:
Who is it?
his embrace, a fortress
it fuels me
and places a skeleton of trust
right beneath us
bone by bone
stone by stone
if you ask yourself patiently and carefully,
who is it?
who is it that never lets you down?
who is it that gave you back your crown?
the ornaments are going around
now they're handing it over
handing it over
he demands a closeness
we all have earned a lightness
carry my joy on the left
carry my pain on the right
Who she's singing about I'm not quite sure, but if I didn't know her better than I did, I would think this was the most creative worship song I've heard in a long time. I think this is the first single, so you can maybe hear the whole thing on the radio sometime, beat box and all.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
'Tis the season...
Why are the holidays so hard? And why did we talk about how hard they were going to be for the last two weeks of school, even though we knew it wouldn't change how hard they were going to be? Just to rub it in?
Thanksgiving was a total waste of time:
I went home and sat on my parents' couch and watched MTv, getting fatter and hating every minute of it. I didn't study for the tests that were looming on the edge of the semester; I didn't hang out with my dear friends from home; I didn't even read my Bible:
Thanksgiving was a total waste of time.
So, I made some goals for this longer, more dangerous winter vacation:
--stay clean (+)
--see Laura, Charles & Adrian, Marissa, and the Crestview peeps (-/-/-/+)
--play guitar (+)
--write an article for Chi Alpha (at Josh's request) (-)
--fill up a new journal (+ in progress)
--blog & write emails (- until today)
--exercise thrice a week (+ish)
--read from:
---Isaiah (-)
---Nehemiah (+)
---You May All Prophesy (+)
---Boy Meets Girl (-)
--watch some good movies (+)
(So far: Amelie, Dirty Pretty Things, the Royal Tennenbaums)
One dissatisfying thing I've noticed about myself is that I often fail to complete the things I should. Worse still, I'm even less likely to complete a difficult task once I vow to do so. Whether the vow be to God, a friend, myself or my cat, I seem to be better off leaving my "yes" my yes and my "no" my no. This is a Biblical principle we don't pay much attention to in this country, but for some reason, God has really been hammering it into my head this year.
Why, then, did I make this list, even reading it to Josh in our last one-on-one, you ask? Why, you wonder, would I flaunt my resolutions (my goals, as we're so fond of calling them, because that sounds better than promises to myself) in the face of my spiritual leader, and now all my friends, knowing full well that I wouldn't hold to half of them? You demand: why did I not simply say, as I should, "Yes, if the Lord allows it, I'll be productive this Christmas, for that is what is right."
Because I'm an idiot
Because I'm human.
Oh, come now, I speak as though the break were ending tomorrow.
I haven' t done that bad for myself, in all. My mind has been rather busy:
Most of my time has been spent in sleep. I'm working off an exhuasting semester. I'm afraid I'll have to ask Santa for a new pillow.
I've been trying to come up with a good reason for my third consecutive semester with a gpa of 3.3. Some of you might be saying, "Oh, David, a 3.3 is a wonderful average!!! I'm so proud of you." This generic you would not include my parents. They've chosen to focus on the issues of my scholarship and my medical school applications, rather than the difficulty of my classload and my additional time-commitments that steal from my studies but lend generously to my general sense of accomplishment. Valid concerns, I suppose, if you want to be a worry-wart. I'll do better next semester...
When I'm not contemplating my latest academic "failure," I'm pondering the condition of the university system in the modern world. Something seems very wrong with the whole thing. I certainly can't offer you a better system, but if ever again I pull the calculator out the week of finals to calculate the least amount of effort required of me to maintain a 79.5, I'm moving back to Prattville. There's something incredibly backwards about the attitude most of us hold towards this whole degree-seeking deal, and I'd almost rather drop out and work hard for a living than fake my way through a lot of hoop-jumping and ass-kissing to get something more "respectable".
This issue deserves its own post in the future: I can feel it brewing.
I've had some good family time, even with my cousins, who have been drifting apart since they've all married. The Christmas party at my Granny's house has been the highlight of the break thus far. I haven't sat on the floor of that great big den to play with my cousins since I was seven, and for some reason even the 30-somethings were on their knees in a circle playing Catchphrase like we'd never left home.
I have, it is true, watched a fair amount of television, but I am proud to say that the box of death has not consumed the majority of my waking life. And what I have surrendered of myself has been given primarily to Food Network and Animal Planet, rather than MTv and similar empty anesthetics. We'll give the boob tube, oh, 10% of the pie chart of time.
So there you have it. I'll have a busy week next week, buzzing all over the south, seeing a lot of y'all who are reading this. :)
Hope you're getting your money's worth from your vacation...if you get one at all!
Thanksgiving was a total waste of time:
I went home and sat on my parents' couch and watched MTv, getting fatter and hating every minute of it. I didn't study for the tests that were looming on the edge of the semester; I didn't hang out with my dear friends from home; I didn't even read my Bible:
Thanksgiving was a total waste of time.
So, I made some goals for this longer, more dangerous winter vacation:
--stay clean (+)
--see Laura, Charles & Adrian, Marissa, and the Crestview peeps (-/-/-/+)
--play guitar (+)
--write an article for Chi Alpha (at Josh's request) (-)
--fill up a new journal (+ in progress)
--blog & write emails (- until today)
--exercise thrice a week (+ish)
--read from:
---Isaiah (-)
---Nehemiah (+)
---You May All Prophesy (+)
---Boy Meets Girl (-)
--watch some good movies (+)
(So far: Amelie, Dirty Pretty Things, the Royal Tennenbaums)
One dissatisfying thing I've noticed about myself is that I often fail to complete the things I should. Worse still, I'm even less likely to complete a difficult task once I vow to do so. Whether the vow be to God, a friend, myself or my cat, I seem to be better off leaving my "yes" my yes and my "no" my no. This is a Biblical principle we don't pay much attention to in this country, but for some reason, God has really been hammering it into my head this year.
Why, then, did I make this list, even reading it to Josh in our last one-on-one, you ask? Why, you wonder, would I flaunt my resolutions (my goals, as we're so fond of calling them, because that sounds better than promises to myself) in the face of my spiritual leader, and now all my friends, knowing full well that I wouldn't hold to half of them? You demand: why did I not simply say, as I should, "Yes, if the Lord allows it, I'll be productive this Christmas, for that is what is right."
Because I'm an idiot
Because I'm human.
Oh, come now, I speak as though the break were ending tomorrow.
I haven' t done that bad for myself, in all. My mind has been rather busy:
Most of my time has been spent in sleep. I'm working off an exhuasting semester. I'm afraid I'll have to ask Santa for a new pillow.
I've been trying to come up with a good reason for my third consecutive semester with a gpa of 3.3. Some of you might be saying, "Oh, David, a 3.3 is a wonderful average!!! I'm so proud of you." This generic you would not include my parents. They've chosen to focus on the issues of my scholarship and my medical school applications, rather than the difficulty of my classload and my additional time-commitments that steal from my studies but lend generously to my general sense of accomplishment. Valid concerns, I suppose, if you want to be a worry-wart. I'll do better next semester...
When I'm not contemplating my latest academic "failure," I'm pondering the condition of the university system in the modern world. Something seems very wrong with the whole thing. I certainly can't offer you a better system, but if ever again I pull the calculator out the week of finals to calculate the least amount of effort required of me to maintain a 79.5, I'm moving back to Prattville. There's something incredibly backwards about the attitude most of us hold towards this whole degree-seeking deal, and I'd almost rather drop out and work hard for a living than fake my way through a lot of hoop-jumping and ass-kissing to get something more "respectable".
This issue deserves its own post in the future: I can feel it brewing.
I've had some good family time, even with my cousins, who have been drifting apart since they've all married. The Christmas party at my Granny's house has been the highlight of the break thus far. I haven't sat on the floor of that great big den to play with my cousins since I was seven, and for some reason even the 30-somethings were on their knees in a circle playing Catchphrase like we'd never left home.
I have, it is true, watched a fair amount of television, but I am proud to say that the box of death has not consumed the majority of my waking life. And what I have surrendered of myself has been given primarily to Food Network and Animal Planet, rather than MTv and similar empty anesthetics. We'll give the boob tube, oh, 10% of the pie chart of time.
So there you have it. I'll have a busy week next week, buzzing all over the south, seeing a lot of y'all who are reading this. :)
Hope you're getting your money's worth from your vacation...if you get one at all!
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Fun with etymology
The spanish verb disfrutar means to enjoy.
Both of these words are interesting, when you break them down:
Disfrutar.
If you first Latinize and then Americanize it, you get something like dis-fruit.
Imagine crossing your grandmother's pasture, stretching your hand across an infinite space full of sunshine and dewdrops to the tip of some quivering branch, filling the void of your empty palm with the shiniest apple you've ever seen. Now raise it to your eager lips for a sweet, succulent sample.
That's what it means to enjoy something.
En-joy.
Now that you've defruited your grandmother's tree and you're standing there munching that perfect pink pome, take a moment to internalize the especially ecstatic and exultant euphoria that's pulsing through your mouth, nose, and fingers.
Just a thought.
Go ahead. ¡Disfrutadles!
Both of these words are interesting, when you break them down:
Disfrutar.
If you first Latinize and then Americanize it, you get something like dis-fruit.
Imagine crossing your grandmother's pasture, stretching your hand across an infinite space full of sunshine and dewdrops to the tip of some quivering branch, filling the void of your empty palm with the shiniest apple you've ever seen. Now raise it to your eager lips for a sweet, succulent sample.
That's what it means to enjoy something.
En-joy.
Now that you've defruited your grandmother's tree and you're standing there munching that perfect pink pome, take a moment to internalize the especially ecstatic and exultant euphoria that's pulsing through your mouth, nose, and fingers.
Just a thought.
Go ahead. ¡Disfrutadles!
How to live richly #4:
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Get back to nature.
My freshman year was a really tumultuous time in my life, but looking back on it now, I can point to several specific instances that really meant a great deal to my development. And a lot of them happened outside: I think God gave us nature to serve as a reminder of His beauty, His constancy, and His power.
If you're feeling mixed up or bored or almost dead, go camping. Take your Bible and a journal and wait for God to show you His heart. Then, in two years' time, go back and read what you wrote about, and see what God has done in you. You won't be disappointed!
This was me two years ago, in a letter to a friend after a wild semester:
Standing on the edge of a really high cliff in all of mid-morning's glory, on top of one of the highest mountains (hill, really...) in Alabama and surveying the valley below with its lakes and silent highways and cow pastures (or were they ant pastures?), all grey and blue and brown without the leaves, watching the cloud we had slept in rolling away to the west, blue sky so brilliant and sun so bright I could hardly stand to keep my eyes open: that was an empowering experience. The wind was so cool, so refreshing, so reassuring. From the same point the valley at night was like a mirror image of the sky above it, heavenly stars above and man stars below, and tiny me balanced precariously in the middle, now with the wind less assuring and more intimidating, chilly and pushy, but the beauty was too much to resist.
Standing in the gulf of mexico two weeks ago, examining the jellyfish that washed ashore with mixed horror and pity, watching the light flirt with the waves in gorgeous flitting and flying, breathing the salty air and absorbing God's nature.
Skipping over the river on stepping stones, playing by the waterfall, sliding down the muddy banks, standing thigh deep in the frigid water, laying back on the boulders in the middle like iguanas and just talking with some new friends.
These were my sudden joys, my flashes of silver light from a fish swimming just below the surface of the purest mountain lake, my reminders that life is fundamentally good and beautiful and worth holding on to.
[My friend Mizue took this picture of Ben at Mount Cheehaw this fall. I find it beautiful on several different levels, although the scan job doesn't quite do it justice. Mizue is going back to Japan this week, and she gave all of us pictures that she had taken while she was here. We were all astounded to see what an insightful photographer she is. We're gonna miss you and Ayaka, Mizue!]
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Just as I suspected:
You are White Mage! You have devoted your life to
making others' lives easier as they hack and
slash away at the invading hordes of Ogres.
Your kind and caring personality drives you to
save your comrades' skin in the nick of time.
And if they die, you can always just revive
them after the battle is over.
Which FF1 Sprite Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
I'm finished with finals.
I deserve a little mindless entertainment, okay?
Now that all this education business is out of the way, I can do some real soul searching.
Final Fantasy, anyone? :)
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Misty Edwards on Eternity
This may take a while to download, but it's worth it:
Eternity
"At the end of the day, when it's all said and done, and you are just a naked human soul before the throne of God--did you learn to love?"
Misty Edwards is a worship leader at IHOP (the International House of Prayer) in Kansas City. IHOP is a restored warehouse or something where there are people praying and worshipping all the time--24/7. This is a compilation of her music and teachings that I wanted to share with y'all.
Take a break sometime this week and listen to this, even if you think it's weird at first. There is some really good stuff here.
Eternity
"At the end of the day, when it's all said and done, and you are just a naked human soul before the throne of God--did you learn to love?"
Misty Edwards is a worship leader at IHOP (the International House of Prayer) in Kansas City. IHOP is a restored warehouse or something where there are people praying and worshipping all the time--24/7. This is a compilation of her music and teachings that I wanted to share with y'all.
Take a break sometime this week and listen to this, even if you think it's weird at first. There is some really good stuff here.
Pre-Approval
Some days, his only real sense of worth comes from his creditors.
