Under the Water

Baptism was beautiful. I was overwhelmed by God's foresight in giving us sacraments that involve our whole persons in Kingdom reality. It seems like the world so often provides only the illusion of connection. A trailer for a movie out now touts online dating as "a chance to be whoever you want to be." It seems so much time and energy are devoted to building this wardrobe of illusory selves -- an outfit for every occasion -- to the point where we forget who we really are. Disconnected from each other. Disconnected from ourselves. Disconnected from God. See Abba's Child by Brennan Manning for more.

Yet at the lake Saturday morning, the waters were cool, the smiles and the tears were genuine, God's presence was real. We touched and were touched. The Spirit stirred over both physical and spiritual waters. With all of who they are, God's beloved surrendered publicly to Him, declared their utter dependence, and were blessed. Heaven rejoiced in the faithfulness of those to whom God has been faithful.

Lisa was taking pictures and video of the event, and she said that in much of the video, all that can be heard is the sounds of the moving water. There's something appropriate in that for me.

I realize I haven't said much here lately. In a sense, I've been under the waters myself -- not knowing whether I have nothing to say or entirely too much for words. Probably both. Anyhow, as promised, I'll share my reflections on images this week. Check back soon, check back often. Deo Gratias!

Words and Images

I've been thinking alot about these over the past several months. Judy's blogs on beauty, books I've been reading, photography work and so many other things in my life have orbited questions both philosophical and practical about the conveyance of meaning. Mostly, all that stuff went into a pot on the back burner of my soul to cook. It's possible that I'll be ready to ladle something out for tasting early next week.

One of those things has been this site: PostSecret.

My friend Daniel introduced me to it, and it's quite remarkable. Here's the premise: write or draw something you've kept hidden on one side of a postcard and mail anonymously. This untold fragment of your story makes its way through the world via the US postal service until delivered to the site admin, who may or may not scan and post it. It's kind of a cross between vast art project and techno-confessional. The idea seems lovely in some ways and harrowing in others.

Warning: there are two images (line drawings, not photos), way down, that are a bit explicit, and some of them are crass. Don't let your kids read over your shoulder unless you're ready for a lot of 'splaining to do. BUT - it's worth it. Some of these are quite funny and clever. Almost all are thought-provoking, and many will break your heart and move you to pray for the person and the world. At least, that's what happened to me in a way I wasn't expecting. Check it out. If you do, and want to share in the comments section of this post any cards that spoke to you, that might be kind of neat, but no pressure.

Fiat Lux, and may God bless each and every one of you this summer weekend.

(Holy) Ghost in the Machine...?

As I was pulling out of Panera on my way to baptism class, I remembered the iPod in my pocket was freshly loaded with a new worship playlist (somehow, I managed to lose all my playlists and have been slowly building them back up). I hooked it up and pushed play, hoping to get my heart ready for whatever God had on tonight's itinerary.

Class began with table talk. Our table revisited something one of the candidates had shared last week -- that baptism was somewhat intimidating, since it would basically be stepping off the fence in a very public, unretractable way. People might have higher expectations as a result. We talked about obedience... accountability... the power of testimony.

Jan led us in an opening prayer before we moved to the main event: the candidates' sharing of their faith stories. The whole group sat in a circle, faces open to each other. Some looked nervous, others at peace. Each candidate shared as they felt led, and we heard story after story filled with pain and grace and need and struggle and deliverance. Beautiful stories that rang with honesty and truth. In one way or another, each and every candidate said the same two things:

"God is amazingly, incomprehensibly faithful!"
and
"Jesus alone offers LIFE -- life beyond survival -- life that is worth living!"

I felt as though heaven was lit by God's loving "yes!" over each speaker in turn; like grace was rippling backwards, moving inward toward the person who spoke. As we closed, Jan and Becky anointed and prayed God's blessing over each candidate. I left with a sense of the vast panorama of God's goodness. Sliding into my car, I turned the iPod back on to let the worship serve as a background while I prayerfully savored the stories I'd just heard.

One of the odd characteristics of the contemporary worship movement is that you often find the same song on three or four different collections -- the studio version, the artist's live version, the version recorded at the Passion conference, etc. You may find yourself wondering "How many times will I pay for the same song?" Well, my whole collection went on the iPod, and my iPod is always set on random. And so it came to pass that I was pulled out of my musings by the realization: "Wait, this is the album mix of the song that just finished..." With each candidate's journey fresh in my heart, I actively listened to the same words I'd already heard:

The Cross before me, the world behind
No turning back, raise the banner high
It's not for me, it's all for You!
Let the heavens shake and split the sky
Let the people clap their hands and cry
It's not for us, it's all for You!

Not to us, but to Your name be the glory!
Not to us, but to Your name be the glory!

Our hearts unfold before Your throne
The only place for those who know:
It's not for us, it's all for You!
Send Your holy fire on this offering,
Let our worship burn for the world to see
It's not for us, it's all for You!

Not to us, but to Your name be the glory...

The earth is shaking, the mountains shouting
It's all for You
The waves are crashing, the sun is raging
It's all for You
The universe, spinning and singing
It's all for You...

In that moment, the imagery of sunlight and water was all about summer baptism. With the randomness of the iPod, God caught my attention. The event these much-beloved Kingdom children are preparing for is a consummate act of worship. While going into the waters will demonstrate a desire to be faithful to God and say something about who they are, any "performance anxiety" will be swallowed up by God's faithfulness to them. As each publicly affirms his or her commitment to Jesus, each will also be publicly repeating, in a whole-self way and with the entire universe shouting along, the two truths every one of them affirmed tonight: Jesus is LIFE, and He is faithful!!! The unfolding of their hearts in obedience will shake the heavens and reveal to their family, friends, and community who HE is. In the hallowed motions of baptism, every part of who they are -- spirit, will, soul, mind, heart, and body -- will move together and declare the glory of the Lord.

OK, OK, I know I'm getting wordy, but I can't describe the richness of what I was tasting there in my driver's seat.

Turning onto 169, I was humbled and overwhelmed with honor to have a chance to be a part of this; to get to hear and walk with these "living stones." My mind and heart dwelt on who God is and how much He has done in me and in them until, weeping, I had to pull over and let my soul cry out from the level of my DNA: "DEO GRATIAS!!! BLESSED BE THE NAME OF THE LORD!!!"

I'm now at work, and I know it's going to be a while before I can sleep, but I've rambled on for long enough. Pray for us -- the baptism candidates, sponsors, facilitators and guests, that we may all see more as we continue this journey. Thanks.

Oh, and the next song that played? Trading My Sorrows. I love it when God abandons subtlety altogether.

Wise Companionship from a Dead Monk.

I think a massive form of comfort in holding the tensions comes with the sense that others are, too. There's an odd solidarity between those who value solitude, those who long to be separate from things so they can be closer to God. As I was thinking and reading last night, I picked up Tomas Merton's Dialogues with Silence, and I had to read this entry like six times to let it sink in:

My God, it is to You alone that I can talk because nobody else will understand. I cannot bring anyone on this earth into the cloud where I dwell in Your light - that is, in Your darkness where I am lost and abashed. I cannot explain to anyone the anguish which is Your joy, nor the loss which is the possession of You, nor the distance from all things which is the arrival in You, nor the death which is the birth in You, because I do not know anything about it myself. All I know is that I wish it were over - I wish it were begun.

You have contradicted everything. You have left me in no-man's land.

You have got me walking up and down all day under those trees, saying to me over and over again: "Solitude, solitude." And You have turned around and thrown the whole world in my lap. You have told me, "Leave all things and follow me," and then You have tied half of New York to my foot like a ball and chain. You have got me kneeling behind that pillar with my mind making a noise like a bank. Is that contemplation?

Wow. I get that. It's good to know Merton was there, too. It's good to know my blogsiblings are wrangling some of the same questions. It's good to know God is HERE, and all that He is is good, and holy, and available. Again, Deo Gratias.

On Falling Rocks and Troubled Waters

In case my last post wasn't direct enough, the past few days have been hard. Thanks to my beloved blogsiblings for your words of solidarity and encouragement. You have no idea how you bless me, or how much it means to ask and be answered. Of course, it was Jesus who said "Ask and it shall be given you."

Tonight, He put His two cents in.

I wasn't thrilled about going to baptism class. I was feeling very weak and tossed and uncertain, not remotely competent to stand with my new friend Jason as I sponsor him in this process. But I felt like I was at least up to the first two elements Judy reminded me of: show up and pay attention. Before I knew it, rocks were falling into the choppy cauldron of my soul.

Rock #1: Instruction in Reality -- Each year, those participating in baptism are given a t-shirt that bears the logo of water and the cross on the front, and a single word on the back. Jan explained that a different word is selected each year. This year's word? Beloved. As she said the word, I had one of those Homer-Simpson "D'oh!" moments. God split the word in two and it became a command, answering the question of my last post: BE LOVED. I realized I haven't been paying attention to that reality much lately. I felt sheepish. Which is appropriate, since I am a sheep.

Rock #2: History, both Personal and Corporate -- Becky (whose heart I love) spoke on the symbolism and history of baptism, and at one point she shared how those going into the waters of baptism would disrobe as they came up and let the flowing waters carry their old garments away. As that image formed in my head, another rock dropped as I remembered my own baptism experience. It was in a pentecostal church, and my best friend Peter stood by me as I entered the tank in a scratchy blue polyester robe. The church leaders started praying loudly for me, that the Spirit would transform me in the waters. I went under, and that moment felt like an eternity -- a warm, fluid eternity where God is very close. Immersion in God. I came up suffused with joy, and soon went to the small room to change back into my clothing. As I entered, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and was shocked to stillness to see that the robe was still blue. The reality in my soul said that, in the waters, the robe had become rich, white cotton, luminous in its purity. It didn't seem possible that the robe was still blue. As I removed it, I felt God hold me in place and clothe me in that white robe of the Spirit. I realize some might think I'm skirting blasphemy here, but I really believe I heard Him say "You are my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased." Talk about undeserved favor... Beloved.

Rock #3: The Power of a Name -- I'd seen the Jesusy-baby-name-books on the table when I came in, and thought of the perceived irony of my own name. The brown wood-and-parchment plaque that used to hang on my bedroom door said: JEFFREY, Peaceful One. Given the chaos of my adolescence, I always got a good chuckle from it. Becky invited us to look up our names and write on a stone something we resonated with or felt called to around our names. The book I picked up listed literal meaning and spiritual implication, and it had a slightly different take. It gave the literal meaning of Jeffrey as "DIVINE Peace." My name is not at all based on MY peace, it's based on God's peace. Revolutionary. Just above it, I saw "Jefferson," a nickname my friend Holly gave me years ago. It's spiritual implication was "Contemplative." Something started to shift. I wrote down on my stone: "Contemplate the peace of God."

Rock #4: A Friend, A Film, Abide -- Bob had been setting us at ease all evening in his honest, mildly self-deprecating way ("And now there will be a few minutes of awkward silence I'll break up shortly"). I noticed he had written on his stone, "Abides in God." I like the word abide. It tastes like that divine peace, like actively waiting, like restful resistance to being tossed. I remembered the main character in The Big Lebowski, another Jeff who lived the identity of "The Dude". Whenever someone asked him "How's it going, Dude?", he'd invariably respond: "The Dude abides." In spite of the fact that the viewer couldn't tell if this serenity was the product of Zen or vast quantities of weed, I liked the sentiment. I aspire to abide. Abide in belovedness, contemplating the peace of God.

Every new remembrance or realization shook me, jolted me, forced my perception in a new direction. As each rock plunked into the waters of my soul, it produced a new set of waves, and this is what's so amazing. Each expanding circle of ripples cancelled out more and more of the choppiness. I re-visited who I am and whose I am, and as I did, the waters settled. Belovedness. Cleansing. Divine Peace. Abiding.

The waters are still stirring, though not much more than can be expected when the Spirit is hovering over them (at least, I hope that's what's happening). Part of my reason for blogging all this is an attempt to make sure I don't stick my spoon back in the pot first thing tomorrow morning and start making waves again. That would be entirely too in-character. But now, as I prepare for bed, all I am is grateful. Christy (fairly new to blogland, but already feels to me like a welcome mothervoice) frequently ends her blogs with two words I'm going to shamelessly appropriate tonight:

Deo Gratias.

Overstirred and Overstimulated

Can someone please teach me how to hold the tensions?

I have two distance-ed classes I need to get through. I have at least four poems, two personal essays, and a short story that are crammed like children in a playpen inside of my head, pushing and shoving one another to be the first to get out on paper. I have hurts and thoughts and feelings about several situations in widely disparate communities that I need to express and resolve. My To-Do List is a mile and a half long.

I'm relatively happy, don't get me wrong. I'm in a good mood. I love life, even though it's been a little warm out lately. I just feel like my will is crippled, like there are casts on both my psychic legs and even the simplest progress requires a ton of work. I'm a blogger, I'm majoring in English Writing and Literature, and yet more and more I find myself aspiring to wordlessness. I catch myself wandering through the hallways of my soul, peeping into old rooms that haven't been touched in years and noticing all the little knicknacks and reminders of days gone by.

These are good things. I think we all need to take some time to be still, to meander and rest and remember. But I haven't managed to find a way to structure these things; to integrate them in such a way that my inward life gets fed and watered without my outward life falling into chaos. The picture in my head is of a large kettle of water and I'm stirring it so fast that a whirlpool forms and then I reverse the direction of my stirring and the water gets all choppy and splashes everywhere.

I appeal to the collective wisdom of blogland. Has anyone figured this out? Even if the answer is no, that will bring some comfort. And don't hesitate to point it out if I'm being ridiculous...

Quote of the Day

"There's a bookcase in his apartment... an empty bookcase. I don't understand... How can you be an adult and have an empty bookcase?"

Postcards from Real Life, Part 1

Driving home, I found myself following a silver Saturn with two bumper stickers. The first read, "Modesty is the emblem of faith and the entry pass to heaven." The second said "I drive this way on purpose. Deal with it." Go figure.

Dog Therapy 101: Beyond Pavlov

Dogsitting is odd. My lack of a day job means I'm free to chill with the pooches for long hours. They get walks and attention at times of day that they are unfamiliar with. I feel like I'm disrupting their routine. But it's been interesting. Being away from home, having this spacious apartment all to myself, having a chance to be quiet with canine company has let me sink a bit deeper.

I'm noticing things about their personalities. Hudson is older and fixed. I imagine the whole emasculation thing would cause a personality change in anyone. He's more mellow and quiet, though he still oddly humps things on rare occasions. Percy, on the other hand, is a complete nutbar who bears constant watching. His fondest desire is to take things apart. He noses under the sofa cushions as if convinced he'll find a canine version of Davy Jones' locker crammed with kibble. Left alone too long, he'll worry a rug until a strand comes loose and then pull out row upon row of yarn. When you catch him, he'll look up at you as if to say, "Dude! I figured it out!"

He reminds me of... well... me. As a child, I always needed to understand how things worked and I'd hoard the most random treasures. The click pens in our house never worked because I'd unscrew the barrels and take them apart and get fascinated by the springs. They seemed to me to be miniature slinkys. I'd push them down on the table with my thumb and, without fail, the tension would twist them sideways and they'd launch across the room, never to be seen again. My parents modified their writing grip to hold the button on top of the pen down with their thumbs.

Legos were my favorite toy, in part because they were just as much fun to dismantle as they were to put together. I disassembled calculators, wristwatches, anything I could get my hands on. I think my parents brought me up short when they caught me approaching the microwave with a Phillips screwdriver. Thinking back, it's a wonder they're still sane and functioning considering the number of times I raided their dresser drawers on treasure hunts. I collected foreign coins from past trips. I found my dad's one-inch black and white mini-TV, and we spent about a year taking it back and forth from each other. Aspergum became my favorite treat.

My sister told me recently that we needed to get together and talk, because her eldest son seems to be exactly like me and she has no idea how to deal with it sometimes. Since that chat, I pray for them both every day. They need it.

I hope, though, that I'm becoming more like Hudson and less like Percy. I hope I no longer piss in the dish I drink from. I hope I've learned to respond to the tugs on my leash more rapidly and calmly. I hope that I'm taking more time to curl up on the top of the couch and look out the window just to see what there is to see. I hope I'm understanding that not everything must be analyzed and deconstructed and conquered and possessed to be valued. In short, I hope I'm growing up without losing the wonder of a puppy.

Maybe those metaphors don't work for you. That's OK. If not, just be amazed with me at the way insights come in the oddest packages.

A Hypothetical Experiment

Of the 27 blogs I page through every day, 3 of them today were about politics in some way, shape, or form. So I'm going to do something I've (quite deliberately) never done before. I'm going to propose an experiment.

I wonder what would come of it if the following happened:

1) Fifty intelligent, educated, qualified individuals (one in each state) legally changed their name to "Tired of Partisan Obstructionism" or something of that nature.

2) Each of these people got on the Senatorial ballot in their state for 2006.

3) None of these people did any advertising or campaigning beyond what was necessary to get on the ballot.

I wonder how many votes they would get? It would be interesting on several levels. First, it'd demonstrate how many voters actually READ the ballot instead of just checking down a column. Second, it would offer a barometer of how fed up people are with our political system. Third, it would speak volumes about advertising dollars and the bombardment of the airwaves every other blessed fall.

OK, yeah, the state government is shut down. My dad's cousin is a state representative, and I suppose she could wind up taking this entry personally. I suspect, however, that she wouldn't know a blog if one bit her in the fanny, and I never really liked her much anyhow. Still, I'm amazed at how most people find it so much easier to care about issues and agendas than they do about people. It's like when politics comes up, compassion shuts down or metastasizes into this massive Abstract Ideal that is pretty much totally disconnected from need and suffering and justice. I'm wondering if authentic transformation can ever be imposed, or if it must be inspired.

OK -- that's enough on politics.

Something I Heard

As I was on my way to work Tuesday night listening to my iPod on random, I heard a spoken-word poem that moved me more deeply than it ever has before. It's about God and the ways we view and use Him and see Him portrayed in the world. Now, I have no idea what the spiritual state of this poet may be, but I found it very powerful and thought-provoking.

To listen to or download it, Click here.