In celebration of Ash Wednesday...
In the quiet dark of the chapel, he reaches to unfold the kneeler and his tired legs bend, weary bones popping. His elbows find the back of the pew. His worn, wrinkled hands clasp. His crumpled frame genuflects in prayer. Were he able to pick himself up from such a position, he would have chosen to prostrate himself, right there in the aisle - to melt away into the thin, dusty carpet, become nothing more than that. And this is what he prays as he kneels. That he is dust, and to dust he shall return.
His hands hold a tremor, and his shoulders shiver from the awkward position while his parched lips speak in silence, confessions of sins long forgotten by all but him and the One to which he prays. Pleading in penitence. Vowing repentance, then stilling his soundless words when he remembers not to be hasty before God with a vow. So, slowly, in few words, he changes his vow to a desperate hope. This, after all, is the nature of his prayers.
There is a depth to the little room that he has not noticed before. A spaciousness in it that the quiet has brought out. He feels small. There in the chapel, he feels he is shrinking. Eroding. Dissipating dust. Let me retain only that which is essential, he prays. Only that which is pure and vital ... and if there is nothing, let me cease to be. Let me disintegrate to dust, and let me be captured up in you.
Not even dust escapes through Your fingers. He is comforted by this thought, and a thin smile, hardly noticeable behind the penitent grimace, curves his mouth. He looks down at his clasped hands, sees the dirt and grime of the world upon them, the blood and the death. He sees these things there behind the skin, where soap and water does not reach. He sees them there, corruption soaked into dust, and squeezing his eyes tighter, he prays all the more.
He hears the minister speak, but does not move. The voice echoes in the room that has grown so large. Still, he wonders if it is large enough to hold his sins. Yet even as the quiet wraps around him, shrinking him into nothing, the words find his hungry ears. "In returning and rest you shall be saved. In quietness and confidence shall be your strength."
And it happens that he realizes the cavern-like chapel, gaping larger than he has ever known it, is not to serve as a storehouse for sin, but a palace of peace. The yawning space around him is not empty, but has stretched and grown to accommodate something much grander. He opens his eyes again to view his hands, and there, perched before him, elbows on the pew, they suddenly appear clean, even beneath the skin.
He understands now that he is not shrinking, not dissipating away, but changing, becoming something new, something still composed of dust, but possessing a wind-like strength that comforts his weary knees and stills his trembling hands. He now feels a spaciousness within, filled with a billowing, peaceful whisper, words he cannot fully recognize, but residing inside, repeating encouragement he will carry with him like a blanket. And the largeness of the room, like a gaping mouth, is most certainly filled with something like a breath, gentle and sweet, capturing him, the minister, and all other mendicants up in a rest that floods over them like true love in the heart.
Again, he prays that he is dust, and to dust he shall return. Yet he takes joy in this, for within the quiet about him, and the whisper within, he feels the presence of the Maker of dust.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
January Notes
I have been internally debating returning to this blog for about a month now. It isn't that I don't like posting my thoughts. It isn't because my readership is minimal (I write for myself before I write for anyone else). It isn't even because I don't normally have the time handy that it takes to sit down, brood, and write. That is a continual problem, but one that can be overcome with a little bit of planning and awareness. The reasons for avoiding this blog are actually beyond me. Sometimes it feels like a child's toy that's been played with until the thought of picking it up again and entering that wonderful, imaginary world, for some reason, doesn't possess the same compelling feeling. Or like a movie you know you love no matter how many times you have viewed it, and yet, even on your greatest day of boredom, you can't bring yourself to pop it in the player again.
I suppose healing to such avoidance-behavior can only be found by picking that ol' action figure up again, popping that dusty videotape back into the VCR, and forgetting about yourself long enough to allow something to bless you, even if you believe it is a foregone possibility. Hence this, my first post in several months, which finds the structure in the telling of a couple of good experiences had over the past month.
Rejuvenation
I began my year by attending a week-long retreat in Kerrville, sponsored by the Truett Seminary Center for Effective Preaching. Technically an "I-term" seminary class, I was glad to find that I was not the only graduate in the group. I reunited with several friends from my days at DaySpring in Waco, and we joined with several current students for what was entitled "Imaginative Reading for Creative Preaching."
The week was a true blessing. As 2007 drew to an end, I felt like I was running on fumes, as rickety and unsure upon the journey as my old, rapidly-deteriorating Jeep (which, thankfully, carried me to Kerrville and back safely nonetheless). But this retreat/class was like pulling up to the pumps and topping off the tank. I was rejuvenated in both my reading and my writing, so much so that even during the free afternoons, while the current students were cramming and reviewing their notes (ah, the joy of not having to worry about grades anymore), I sat out on the spacious backside of our cabin, softly rocking back and forth in an old, wooden porch chair, and tapped away on my novel, feeling as if something had been restarted within me. I was the Energizer Bunny who had finally - finally - run out of juice, only to be saddled with a brand new charge. I left the retreat with a sad heart, having been reminded how wonderful seeking deep, challenging truth in community could be. It was a long, quiet, reflective drive back to Houston.
Healing
The other piece of devotion that was kick-started, both by the retreat as well as simply by the obligatory resolutions that come with the start of a new year, was a return to a time of contemplation, quietness, and prayer. Not only have Leigh and I begun to meet together one morning a week to pray both for our future - on the mission field - and the current issues filling our lives, but I have taken back up with renewed fervor the keeping of the daily office. The Book of Common Prayer has become even more invaluable to me than it was when I first purchased it our of sheer curiosity a few years ago. I am currently attempting to keep the 9:00, noon, and 5:00 hours of prayer, and I have found that the more I fashion this time as a mini-retreat, the greater sense of importance it inhabits within me. At the office or at home, I shut all the window blinds, clear my desk, light candles, and read the selected psalms, readings, and collects out loud. I've even been incorporating some different styles of chant. So, I guess I'm still perpetuating my wannabe Catholic-ness. Then again, it would be more accurate to call it a wannabe Episcopalian-ness.
The best apart about all of this, is that I have not returned to these things (writing, meditation, prayer) out of guilt, but out of a real desire to revisit the intimate, mysterious connection these things afforded me with God. Growing up, I was always guilted into "quiet times" and Scripture memorization ... and then guilted all the more when I "backslid" from such things. It has surprised me how a prolonged separation of genuine seeking and centering can cause a person to make the effort all by him - or her - self. I guess we're never completely lost, no matter who may tell us so. After all, the writer of Hebrews reminds us that, "when we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot deny himself." It is this saving reality that produces hope when it seems all hope is lost. No matter how far I fall, no matter how rebellious my actions, no matter how impure my thoughts, no matter how destructive my words - there is one I cannot shake from my shoulders no matter how violently I may writhe for freedom.
Jacob wrestled with the angel, but even in his strength and persistence, he did not walk away a winner. He did, however, walk away a new man with a new name.
I suppose there are more bold, italicized topics I could include in here. I could write more about the progression of the novel, about the wonderful books I have been reading, the contemplative prayer service I am going to be leading every week of Lent, or my plans for Ash Wednesday (which includes catching an evening concert by the rarely-outside-of-Ohio duo, Over the Rhine). I could talk about my scary addiction to FIFA Soccer on Xbox, or the new car my wife bought me for Christmas that finally arrived a week ago.
I could talk about a lot of things, but none would be more wonderful and wonder-filled to me than the two mentioned. I am rejuvenated, even in the face of a new calendar year and a lot of new responsibilities. And I am healed, even while the lingering smell of running on fumes still returns to my nose from time to time. But it's a continuous thing, these blessings, and win or lose, no one ever said wrestling was easy.
I suppose healing to such avoidance-behavior can only be found by picking that ol' action figure up again, popping that dusty videotape back into the VCR, and forgetting about yourself long enough to allow something to bless you, even if you believe it is a foregone possibility. Hence this, my first post in several months, which finds the structure in the telling of a couple of good experiences had over the past month.
Rejuvenation
I began my year by attending a week-long retreat in Kerrville, sponsored by the Truett Seminary Center for Effective Preaching. Technically an "I-term" seminary class, I was glad to find that I was not the only graduate in the group. I reunited with several friends from my days at DaySpring in Waco, and we joined with several current students for what was entitled "Imaginative Reading for Creative Preaching."
The week was a true blessing. As 2007 drew to an end, I felt like I was running on fumes, as rickety and unsure upon the journey as my old, rapidly-deteriorating Jeep (which, thankfully, carried me to Kerrville and back safely nonetheless). But this retreat/class was like pulling up to the pumps and topping off the tank. I was rejuvenated in both my reading and my writing, so much so that even during the free afternoons, while the current students were cramming and reviewing their notes (ah, the joy of not having to worry about grades anymore), I sat out on the spacious backside of our cabin, softly rocking back and forth in an old, wooden porch chair, and tapped away on my novel, feeling as if something had been restarted within me. I was the Energizer Bunny who had finally - finally - run out of juice, only to be saddled with a brand new charge. I left the retreat with a sad heart, having been reminded how wonderful seeking deep, challenging truth in community could be. It was a long, quiet, reflective drive back to Houston.
Healing
The other piece of devotion that was kick-started, both by the retreat as well as simply by the obligatory resolutions that come with the start of a new year, was a return to a time of contemplation, quietness, and prayer. Not only have Leigh and I begun to meet together one morning a week to pray both for our future - on the mission field - and the current issues filling our lives, but I have taken back up with renewed fervor the keeping of the daily office. The Book of Common Prayer has become even more invaluable to me than it was when I first purchased it our of sheer curiosity a few years ago. I am currently attempting to keep the 9:00, noon, and 5:00 hours of prayer, and I have found that the more I fashion this time as a mini-retreat, the greater sense of importance it inhabits within me. At the office or at home, I shut all the window blinds, clear my desk, light candles, and read the selected psalms, readings, and collects out loud. I've even been incorporating some different styles of chant. So, I guess I'm still perpetuating my wannabe Catholic-ness. Then again, it would be more accurate to call it a wannabe Episcopalian-ness.
The best apart about all of this, is that I have not returned to these things (writing, meditation, prayer) out of guilt, but out of a real desire to revisit the intimate, mysterious connection these things afforded me with God. Growing up, I was always guilted into "quiet times" and Scripture memorization ... and then guilted all the more when I "backslid" from such things. It has surprised me how a prolonged separation of genuine seeking and centering can cause a person to make the effort all by him - or her - self. I guess we're never completely lost, no matter who may tell us so. After all, the writer of Hebrews reminds us that, "when we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot deny himself." It is this saving reality that produces hope when it seems all hope is lost. No matter how far I fall, no matter how rebellious my actions, no matter how impure my thoughts, no matter how destructive my words - there is one I cannot shake from my shoulders no matter how violently I may writhe for freedom.
Jacob wrestled with the angel, but even in his strength and persistence, he did not walk away a winner. He did, however, walk away a new man with a new name.
I suppose there are more bold, italicized topics I could include in here. I could write more about the progression of the novel, about the wonderful books I have been reading, the contemplative prayer service I am going to be leading every week of Lent, or my plans for Ash Wednesday (which includes catching an evening concert by the rarely-outside-of-Ohio duo, Over the Rhine). I could talk about my scary addiction to FIFA Soccer on Xbox, or the new car my wife bought me for Christmas that finally arrived a week ago.
I could talk about a lot of things, but none would be more wonderful and wonder-filled to me than the two mentioned. I am rejuvenated, even in the face of a new calendar year and a lot of new responsibilities. And I am healed, even while the lingering smell of running on fumes still returns to my nose from time to time. But it's a continuous thing, these blessings, and win or lose, no one ever said wrestling was easy.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Rock On! - A Concert-Going Memoir
Despite the fact that it has been awhile since I have posted anything, and the fact that right now I have a hundred different thoughts all doing a rain dance inside my head, I want to go in a different direct on this post. Besides, most of my thoughts right now are so muddled and jumbled and un-fleshed out that to spill them onto the blog would just be one big, wonderful mess. We'll save that for later...
Last weekend, I attended the Appetite for Construction Concert Tour, which featured Switchfoot and Relient K. All in all, I had a very good time, even if I had purchased 12 tickets in plans of taking a group of youth only to find myself there with my wife, sister-in-law, and her friend, and no youth. But it got me thinking: What are the best concerts I have ever attended? ... and What have been the worst? Join me as we take a stroll down Vernon's Memory Lane...
A very good, very laid-back, stripped-down concert in the basement of a church in Dallas, TX. I was only newly introduced to Pierce by my friend, Josh (who, you'll find, is an influence in a few of these selections), and I was not disappointed by Pierce's deep, soulful folk voice that blends so finely with his stark yet beautiful guitar playing. Eric Peters opened, and did a great job by himself as well, even when his guitar string snapped halfway through one of his best songs - he took about five minutes to change and tune it, then returned to the song as if he had never stopped. I got a chance to talk to Pierce for a moment during the intermission in which he told me a great story about how he came to write one of his songs. And it was his playing of "Song of Songs" that has stayed with me so long, and why I sang it to Leigh at our wedding reception.
#4 - Behold the Lamb of God with Andrew Peterson & guests
Saw this one in Clear Lake, TX with my buddy, Grayson. An amazing concert. You'll notice that I like a lot of folk music, and like it even better in concert when it is laid-back and showcases just an artist and his or her guitar. The first half was just Peterson and his friends (Sandra McCracken, Derek Webb, Jill Phillips, Andy Gullahorn, Andrew Osenga, and Randall Goodgame) all playing a couple of their own songs. After intermission, they all came back out and collaborated, playing through Peterson's entire Christmas concert. Phenomenal talent and beautiful music, and even though Jill and Sandra are married (as well as me, I might add), all rolled up, this was one of the few concerts I felt privileged to be at, like I was in on a secret.
***I got my tickets for this year's show in Sugarland - Nov. 30th - the evening of my birthday -
along with a few extras, in case anyone is interested.***
#3 - dc Talk w/ Christafari and Grits
Not that I could forget the (then very new) group, Grits', audience-participation "Let Me See Your Head Bob" song, or the strange woman who came out of nowhere and started dancing some African/islander-inspired dance during Christafari's reggae-rock, but the most memorable thing about #3 is the energy and craziness incited by dc Talk's set. This concert was pre-Jesus Freak album, post-Jesus Freak single, so their image was still transforming from goofy rap hooks to a melding of grunge and alternative pop ... I don't know if this was the recipe for awesome, but it sure did the trick. For the first time in my life, I moshed, crowd-surfed, pushed and shoved my way to the front of the stage, and left with my entire T-shirt soaked through with sweat. Now, some of you might chuckle at the lameness of said moshing, crowd-surfing, and such that might have been at a dc Talk concert, but you must remember that I was an innocent sixteen year old kid in a youth group, and the sweat-soaked shirt was one of those ridiculous Christian tees (the only one I miss wearing, I might add). But, c'mon, when Toby climbed up the twelve foot speaker, pointed at us, and then jumped off, how could this gig not make the list?
#2 - David Wilcox
What can I say about this one? It's not like me to become a huge fan of an artist just by going to hear him play live. Normally, I'm more of a studio album fan - I've been bored at many a concert because the music just doesn't sound as good live as it does on the album, or it doesn't move me the way the album version does. Certainly not the case with Wilcox. I've seen him three times in the same place (McDavid Studio in Ft. Worth, TX), one year after the other. It was the first song (and subsequent story) that sold me on every ticket and album I later purchased. I still remember the little girl in the front with her parents who, after she requested one of his hit songs right at the beginning, received his answer, "What? Okay, sure. I was gonna save that one for the end, but you might be asleep." At the end of the show, before he could walk out, she ran up and gave a him a big hug. And why wouldn't she? Wilcox is an amazing guitar player and songwriter, but it is his stories that keep you coming back to his concerts. In explaining a metaphor around which he crafts a song, Wilcox will go into wonderful and whimsical detail before playing many of them, all while strumming and tuning. His metaphor on theodicy using golf was extraordinary. Once again, I must give props to my friend, Josh, for inviting me to that first concert and turning me on to this amazing artist. The concert atmosphere is best captured on Wilcox's two live albums, East Asheville Hardware and Live Songs and Stories, and, I promise, unless you despise folk music in its entirety, you'll never feel more alive than when you listen and laugh at his work. If you do hate folk music, I'm pretty sure that is proof you are already dead anyway.
#1 - Rick Elias Remembers Rich Mullins
The Celebrate Freedom concert at Southfork Ranch in Dallas, TX, back in the summer of 1998, shows up several more times on this list, but mostly in the "bad" section. However, there was one shining moment that redeemed the whole experience for me that hot-rainy-hot-rainy July day. Several artists passing through Dallas who were not on the bill showed up at Southfork that afternoon. One was Ragamuffin Band member, Rick Elias. Despite continual warnings all afternoon about lightning, and a sky that was threatening, and soon unleashed, a downpour of rain during his brief set, Rick Elias squeezed into the schedule and stepped out onto the stage. He plugged in his acoustic guitar and said, "As many of you are aware, my friend Rich tragically passed away last September. This was a song he really liked." He proceeded to play "Man of No Reputation," a song, it has been told, Rich wanted to record on the album he was working on at the time of his death, but had not yet been able to get through his cover of it without breaking down crying. It seemed Rick was almost as choked up when he transitioned into his only other song, "My Deliverer," which was out on the radio at that time. As he played and we all began to sing along, the rain began to pour from the gray-green sky, and as stagehands began motioning for him to pack it up because of lightning, Rick stopped singing after repeating the last refrain, stood listening to us continue on for a few moments, and then quietly unplugged his guitar and walked off stage. Never has a concert experience equaled the power of those two, simple songs.
Honorable Mentions
Switchfoot / Relient K - Houston, TX (last weekend)
Third Day Worship Concert - Worcester, MA
Burlap to Cashmere - Celebrate Freedom 1998 (while still unknown)
Reba McEntire - Austin, TX 1996
Funky Brass Factory - Austin, TX - Halloween Concert @ The Oasis 2001
That's my buddy, Michael, in the non-black shirt. Check out his music at www.myspace.com/justmike88
Last weekend, I attended the Appetite for Construction Concert Tour, which featured Switchfoot and Relient K. All in all, I had a very good time, even if I had purchased 12 tickets in plans of taking a group of youth only to find myself there with my wife, sister-in-law, and her friend, and no youth. But it got me thinking: What are the best concerts I have ever attended? ... and What have been the worst? Join me as we take a stroll down Vernon's Memory Lane...
The Best
#5 - Pierce Pettis (Eric Peters)
A very good, very laid-back, stripped-down concert in the basement of a church in Dallas, TX. I was only newly introduced to Pierce by my friend, Josh (who, you'll find, is an influence in a few of these selections), and I was not disappointed by Pierce's deep, soulful folk voice that blends so finely with his stark yet beautiful guitar playing. Eric Peters opened, and did a great job by himself as well, even when his guitar string snapped halfway through one of his best songs - he took about five minutes to change and tune it, then returned to the song as if he had never stopped. I got a chance to talk to Pierce for a moment during the intermission in which he told me a great story about how he came to write one of his songs. And it was his playing of "Song of Songs" that has stayed with me so long, and why I sang it to Leigh at our wedding reception.
#4 - Behold the Lamb of God with Andrew Peterson & guests
Saw this one in Clear Lake, TX with my buddy, Grayson. An amazing concert. You'll notice that I like a lot of folk music, and like it even better in concert when it is laid-back and showcases just an artist and his or her guitar. The first half was just Peterson and his friends (Sandra McCracken, Derek Webb, Jill Phillips, Andy Gullahorn, Andrew Osenga, and Randall Goodgame) all playing a couple of their own songs. After intermission, they all came back out and collaborated, playing through Peterson's entire Christmas concert. Phenomenal talent and beautiful music, and even though Jill and Sandra are married (as well as me, I might add), all rolled up, this was one of the few concerts I felt privileged to be at, like I was in on a secret.
***I got my tickets for this year's show in Sugarland - Nov. 30th - the evening of my birthday -
along with a few extras, in case anyone is interested.***
#3 - dc Talk w/ Christafari and Grits
Not that I could forget the (then very new) group, Grits', audience-participation "Let Me See Your Head Bob" song, or the strange woman who came out of nowhere and started dancing some African/islander-inspired dance during Christafari's reggae-rock, but the most memorable thing about #3 is the energy and craziness incited by dc Talk's set. This concert was pre-Jesus Freak album, post-Jesus Freak single, so their image was still transforming from goofy rap hooks to a melding of grunge and alternative pop ... I don't know if this was the recipe for awesome, but it sure did the trick. For the first time in my life, I moshed, crowd-surfed, pushed and shoved my way to the front of the stage, and left with my entire T-shirt soaked through with sweat. Now, some of you might chuckle at the lameness of said moshing, crowd-surfing, and such that might have been at a dc Talk concert, but you must remember that I was an innocent sixteen year old kid in a youth group, and the sweat-soaked shirt was one of those ridiculous Christian tees (the only one I miss wearing, I might add). But, c'mon, when Toby climbed up the twelve foot speaker, pointed at us, and then jumped off, how could this gig not make the list?
#2 - David Wilcox
What can I say about this one? It's not like me to become a huge fan of an artist just by going to hear him play live. Normally, I'm more of a studio album fan - I've been bored at many a concert because the music just doesn't sound as good live as it does on the album, or it doesn't move me the way the album version does. Certainly not the case with Wilcox. I've seen him three times in the same place (McDavid Studio in Ft. Worth, TX), one year after the other. It was the first song (and subsequent story) that sold me on every ticket and album I later purchased. I still remember the little girl in the front with her parents who, after she requested one of his hit songs right at the beginning, received his answer, "What? Okay, sure. I was gonna save that one for the end, but you might be asleep." At the end of the show, before he could walk out, she ran up and gave a him a big hug. And why wouldn't she? Wilcox is an amazing guitar player and songwriter, but it is his stories that keep you coming back to his concerts. In explaining a metaphor around which he crafts a song, Wilcox will go into wonderful and whimsical detail before playing many of them, all while strumming and tuning. His metaphor on theodicy using golf was extraordinary. Once again, I must give props to my friend, Josh, for inviting me to that first concert and turning me on to this amazing artist. The concert atmosphere is best captured on Wilcox's two live albums, East Asheville Hardware and Live Songs and Stories, and, I promise, unless you despise folk music in its entirety, you'll never feel more alive than when you listen and laugh at his work. If you do hate folk music, I'm pretty sure that is proof you are already dead anyway.
#1 - Rick Elias Remembers Rich Mullins
The Celebrate Freedom concert at Southfork Ranch in Dallas, TX, back in the summer of 1998, shows up several more times on this list, but mostly in the "bad" section. However, there was one shining moment that redeemed the whole experience for me that hot-rainy-hot-rainy July day. Several artists passing through Dallas who were not on the bill showed up at Southfork that afternoon. One was Ragamuffin Band member, Rick Elias. Despite continual warnings all afternoon about lightning, and a sky that was threatening, and soon unleashed, a downpour of rain during his brief set, Rick Elias squeezed into the schedule and stepped out onto the stage. He plugged in his acoustic guitar and said, "As many of you are aware, my friend Rich tragically passed away last September. This was a song he really liked." He proceeded to play "Man of No Reputation," a song, it has been told, Rich wanted to record on the album he was working on at the time of his death, but had not yet been able to get through his cover of it without breaking down crying. It seemed Rick was almost as choked up when he transitioned into his only other song, "My Deliverer," which was out on the radio at that time. As he played and we all began to sing along, the rain began to pour from the gray-green sky, and as stagehands began motioning for him to pack it up because of lightning, Rick stopped singing after repeating the last refrain, stood listening to us continue on for a few moments, and then quietly unplugged his guitar and walked off stage. Never has a concert experience equaled the power of those two, simple songs.
Honorable Mentions
Switchfoot / Relient K - Houston, TX (last weekend)
Third Day Worship Concert - Worcester, MA
Burlap to Cashmere - Celebrate Freedom 1998 (while still unknown)
Reba McEntire - Austin, TX 1996
Funky Brass Factory - Austin, TX - Halloween Concert @ The Oasis 2001
That's my buddy, Michael, in the non-black shirt. Check out his music at www.myspace.com/justmike88
That's all for this post. Check back soon for part two, in which I list the five worst concerts I have ever been to, as well as the three artists/bands I must see before I die.
In the meantime, what are your top five concerts? Comment and let me know ... I'm always looking for a good show.
In the meantime, what are your top five concerts? Comment and let me know ... I'm always looking for a good show.
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