I attended my first ETS (Evangelical Theological Society) meeting in 2004. Having graduated from Dallas Seminary in May of that year with my Th.M., I energetically prepared myself for what would assuredly be a mountaintop experience.
“odd” barely (and graciously) captures the existential aura wafting through the convention. let’s leave it there for charity’s sake.
this year, I expectedly prepared myself for what would assuredly be a mundane experience.
“audacious” barely communicates the experiential joy that whacked me upside the head today. I listened to a presentation, interaction, and follow-up Q&A on Andy Crouch’s book, Culture Making: Recovering our Creative Calling. stunningly profound.
but more than that, to hear these men dialogue in such a way that life transformation, social justice, and beauty that screams the glory of God were the ends made my mind spin. in 2004, I wept because I couldn’t seem to find one session that gave a you-know-what about the concept of “neighbor.” this year, I met a whole room full of neighbor-loving theologians.
or, “childhood devotional, #4,” by guest blogger, Eva Bleeker…
I lost my Bible. I was so mad.
During my college years at Kansas State, my Christian campus group met on Thursday nights in the student union. And one Thursday I left my Bible on the floor under the rows of flip-down seats, never to be seen again.
My parents gave me that Bible for Christmas just before I left for college. My mom had inscribed the front pages in her perfect calligraphy with my name and something encouraging. Losing the Bible was bad enough. But something else disappeared that night: one of Josh’s elementary-age devotionals. Number Four. The original autograph. Gone.
When Josh and I started dating, I discovered the devotionals in his old bedroom. I fell in love. I mean, I already loved Josh, but I flipped over the little yellow pages. I loved seeing that God had been massaging his heart for years. So I started carrying Number Four in my Bible because it endeared Josh to me.
Since I bear the responsibility for losing this precious document, I offer my best attempt at recreation.
Josh Bleeker #4
Read Job 33:28
“Brung Back”
We read that God redeems our life from the pit.
A Thought: Let’s make him not have to do it again.
a couple years back, an adamant student attempted to corner one of our World Missions profs, pressing him finally with, “Well, are you pro-Palestine or pro-Israel?” to which he replied, “I’m pro-Gospel.”
zing.
that’s a rubric most of us don’t employ in our decisions. I reside in a staunchly Republican area, where - sadly - being Christian means being Republican. but Jesus ain’t a white middle-class Republican. he ain’t even white. he’s shekinah white, which means he votes for himself.
I spoke with an extremely bright confidant of mine today. “Wanna hear a secret?” this person quipped. “I voted for Obama.” this same person elected W twice and had sights set on McCain for months. but in the last two days, “I came to believe that although voting Obama may have repercussions for me personally, I’m willing to endure those for the sake of the Gospel.”
really? what does that mean?
“I’m a missionary. I travel around the world. Obama is favored much more than McCain in most other countries, especially Africa. I think Obama may open up doors for the Gospel to spread because other countries may be more willing to interact with Americans, again.”
dispute the particulars of this sentiment all you want. that’s not why I posted. my question is, Do I make decisions like this? Do I base my decisions on what I envision may be best for the Gospel?
Hemingway scripted a unique genre of literature: the six-word novel. the famous first publication still scribbles across my mind:
For sale: baby shoes, never used.
you get it. the simplicity initially deceives you, but then your brain begins crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s, and soon you’ve spun the rest of the story. fascinating.
Once I did. Never again. Sorry.
the genius resides in the novel’s ability to generate back-story, immediately. and identification. I thought to try something similar, but particularly suited for Sundays. the seven-word sermon.
I cannot take credit for today’s; my pastor penned this punch from Philippians 1:18b-26…
Joy’s not an amenity. It’s your mark.
To edit down a thought so precisely truly sharpens it. I invite you to submit your own humble homilies.
like something out of the Old Testament, Dalí smote canvasses with his brushed brilliance. wholly 105 lithographs in 5 volumes, his Biblia Sacra stands like a pile of stones in the Jordon, testifying to his genius.
to the right you see “Vanitas Vanitatum,” or “Vanity of Vanities.” this piece commands my devoted attention every time I happen upon it. powerful.
I first encountered Dalí in college - of course, with his timeless “Persistence of Time.” ironically, the lightning strike of appreciation reeked collegiate. the actual title is “La Persistencia de la Memoria” or “The Persistence of Memory.” oh well. I also prided myself on a sweatshirt with the single word COLLEGE printed on the front. yet another genius artist.
a few years after college I visited St. Pete (the Rays playing the Phillies for the World Series?) and wandered upon the Dalí museum there. according to most, it supercedes the one in Spain. on my first trip, I saw “Persistence.” the MoMA loaned it for a season, and I saw it. cool, it was, but not nearly as impressive as “The Hallucinogenic Toreador.”
then, in the spring of 2007, a 2-day trip took me back to St. Pete, and back I went to the Dalí museum. almost accidentally a friend and I lumbered into a back room where a special exhibit opened just that week. the Biblia Sacra sat on display, stunning every visitor…for the first time since its creation by Dalí himself.
“The Hallucinogenic Toreador” stops you in your tracks. the crucified Christ puts you on your knees.
you can see 53 of the prints here, listed with titles, or all of them here sans titles. this site stores the best digital copies, and this one translates the original titles.
Project 86 has cranked out killer album after killer album for the last 10 years. just when I turned the corner on faith, they showed up on the scene and gave me the grace to be me. i.e., having sobered up and settled down, I feared my faith embrace would force me to hold hands with the characteristically pathetic CCM.
thanks be to God I was wrong. hardcore wrong.
each album displays explosive growth and an appreciation for intelligent music. on top of their tight theology and stunning instrumentation, they’re literate. “Hollow Again” from Truthless Heroes gives a growling nod to T.S. Eliot.
their last release, Rival Factions, masterfully studies the various angles on family feuds. within Christendom, that is. one particular song simultaneously grieves and relieves me - “Sanctuary Hum.”
the song pictures the pain of the oppressed suffering from silence. in other words, church is often the last place on earth that we feel comfortable bearing our pain. or shame. or anything that doesn’t fit into a CCM video.
by God’s grace, my church is a safe place, and our pastor models integrity, grace, and compassion. but I still fear being real. it hurts to hurt publicly. as I’ve mentioned before, we’re studying Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell. movement four: tassels, calls us to come out of our darkness and be real. Andrew Schwab, lead singer and poet for Project 86, says of the following song:
And when violence prevails in the hidden sanctuary of the church, it can cause the followers to cry out for relief from heaven itself. But when those who have been oppressed find meaning not in secrecy, but in revealing their dark secrets, there is healing. No matter the wound.
tune in, rock out, and be free.
Smile, wave
Convince the sanctuary, our charade
Though you’re the object of my deep rage
Just counterfeit this holiness for me
And everything will be OK…
My sweet one
You tell no lies
The greatest reason to be despised
But we must pretend
Your broken wrist
Just happened when you fell off your bike
So this is
The reason
The sanctuary hums
God save us
God save us
From your chosen ones
Smile, wave
Protect his pulpit from all suffering
He’ll make celebrity the end game
So much more valuable than family
Not even violence can betray…
As long as
You keep your lips
Locked up til the end of this age
And even
If you won’t
It’s your word up against what he’ll say
So this is
The reason…
Cry, Girl
Become the wails of victims unheard
Your tears have given you the calm nerve
So if they’re asking you to hide your bane
You just keep screaming to the grave…
So this is
The reason…
You’ll be
The reason
The helpless celebrate
He takes us
He takes us
From our violent shame
any band introduced as offering a “sound combining the baroque psychedelic pop of the ’60s, sacred harp singing, gospel, and folk music” requires full attention.
especially when they back it up by selecting Pieter the Elder Bruegel’s “The Blue Cloak” as the album cover. these guys are arteests.
God blessed me in the most fantastic way of discovering Fleet Foxes, too. I spent an unmeasured time in Good Records, in Dallas, TX, floating through the aisles of discs. one of the listening stations highlighted their self-titled LP, and I stopped to soak it in. the last time I remember the awe of discovery so fondly was when the Virgin Music store was still in Mockingbird Station and I imbibed Iron & Wine’s Woman King EP. Fleet Foxes contains a band full of Sam Beams; haunting harmonies, layered and textured instruments, and lyrics laced with mesmerizing narratives (”Tiger Mountain Peasant Song”).
one notes the echo of Jim James’ vocals throughout the album, but Robin Pecknold’s lead quickly billows into much more as his bandmates join the effort (”White Winter Hymnal”). some of the grooves also ring of My Morning Jacket (more Z than Evil Urges), but ultimately Fleet Foxes’ depth and range of sound outstrips MMJ. on “He Doesn’t Know Why,” whispers of the actual band James thread through the measures.
clearly, though, the standout track is “Your Protector.” hearing this the first time I thought, “This must be what it was like the first time ‘The Battle of Evermore’ spun on your turntable.” yes, I really said that. the track can withstand that comparison. try it.
anticipating your fear that you don’t have time to listen to all these tracks, I endeavored to cut the list down to five solid pieces. I found, however, that deciding which tracks would remain was much like deciding which of my ten fingers I would choose to keep, had I the responsibility to sever the others. trust me - just listen to the whole set:
“odd” barely (and graciously) captures the existential aura wafting through the convention. let’s leave it there for charity’s sake.
who did you vote for?
