What are you looking for?

Back in 1994 I was living as a student in Jerusalem.  A roommate of mine had this book called “The Living.”  He was just finishing when I first saw him reading it.  I asked him if it was any good.  In a non sequitur kind of way, he said, “Look at this picture on the cover.”  It was an old plate picture of a family of loggers in the American northwest, circa 1900 or so.  I couldn’t stop studying that image with fascination.  It seemed to capture an era we’ll only imagine– men and children with axes and saws beside a clapboad shack beside fallen redwoods with trunks six feet thick. I began to read.  Grisham, she ain’t.  She takes her time, but you suspect she’s taking you someplace– that every word is necessary. I remember we took a week long trip to Cairo, Egypt that semester.  Our bus was to be part of a caravan escorted across the desolate Sinai Penisula by the military, without which we were more or less certain to fall prey to sand pirates, they told us.  It will be slow going, they told us.  Bring a book, they told us.  You know what I brought. When I came back to the states, I somehow found an address and sent Annie Dillard a postcard, telling her about how much I loved this novel and her other books I had read since.  About a month later, I got a hand written postcard in the mail from her, thanking me for reading her book.  There she wrote, “I can’t imagine reading that book on a bus on your way to Cairo!” My hope in this limited post is to introduce you to Annie Dillard if you haven’t come across her work yet, and I suppose the postcard story is a helpful place to start for this reason: I picked up “The Living” because I wanted to image the world it described.  In her postcard to me, she wanted to imagine the world I described. Dillard wants to see the world as it is, and knows this takes work.  We have to learn to see if we are to see rightly. I think the power of her writing is that she describes a world where glory and suffering exist side by side.  Where faith and doubt are not so incompatible as a simple mind might guess.  Where love and death somehow give shape to each other. I’m recommending “Teaching A Stone To Talk” as the best place to begin with Annie, though I imagine other fans would have other recommendations.  After all, we’re talking about a writer who won the Pulitzer Prize with her first book, “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” which has one of the most powerful chapters (ch. 2) I’ve ever read in my life by any mere mortal. I recommend “Teaching A Stone To Talk” because it is a collection of stand alone essays which give you a feel for what she is all about.  In particular, it includes an essay called “An Expedition to the Pole” which changed and shaped my thinking on a lot of things concerning how we come to God in worship. (Incidentally, in my letter I told her this was my favorite piece of hers, and she said it was hers too.) So what does Annie Dillard write about, you might ask?  Philip Yancey did an interview with her which you can find in his out of print “Open Windows.”  He opens his essay with these words, and any Annie Dillard reader will probably just nod in agreement without adding much, though frustrated by that fact, since there’s so much more they know they should say, were the words available.  Yancey writes: “Every so often a writer comes along who simply creates a new creative category.  In my opinion, Annie Dillard did just that with Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, for which she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize.“If you ask what the book is about, a loyal Dillard fan will stare at you vacantly.  About?  Well, a woman takes walks in the woods and sees tadpoles and water striders and things, and relates unusual facts about trees and creeks.  Not much of a plot, really.  Yet behind her observations lies a natural theology that has not been attempted with such ambition since perhaps Joseph Butler.“Annie Dillard is a Christian who lives in a post-Voltaire, post-Darwin age of naturalistic skepticism and yet somehow avoids the blinders of that age.  She knows that nature contains, in Rudolf Otto’s phrase, Mysterium tremendum.  Even in a broken and twisted world she sees enough to leave her breathless.”  -Philip Yancey, Open Windows, Crossway Books, 1982 The irony of my coming to know Dillard’s writing is that I read because I saw something I wanted to understand, and her writing is all about wanting to understand what she sees.  If you read her, you’ll discover you are learning to see.  There will be moments where you’ll stop, drop the book into your lap, stare up at the ceiling or sky to think about what she just said.  And you’ll wonder, How great is our God?  You’ll wonder what you’ve been missing that’s been right in front of you.  You’ll wonder. Here’s a short overview of some of my favorites Annie Dillard books: Pilgrim at Tinker Creek— see Yancey above for as good of a description of this profound work as you’ll find. Teaching A Stone To Talk— my recommended starting place.  Along with “An Expedition to the Pole,” this also contains the wonderful “Total Eclipse” which has the most stunning final pargraph you’ll read– but only once you’ve read everything leading up to it. The Writing Life— Annie talking about her craft and her process in her own distinct voice.  Powerful and inspiring to writers and non-writers alike. An American Childhood— A memior of her growing up in the Pittsburgh area.  Winsome, fun, deep and memorable. The Living— She creates one of the more insidious literary villans I can remember, Beal Obenchain, who terrorizes one man like this: “You simply tell a  man, any man, that you are going to kill him.  Then- assuming he believes you enough to watch his every step but not quite enough to run away or kill you first- then you take pains not to kill him, and instead watch what he does, stuck alive on your bayonet and flailing… If you make a man believe that you will arrange for his dying at any moment, then you can, in effect, possess his life… You would pipe, and he would dance.” Holy the Firm— After winning the Pulitzer, Dillard could pretty much write her own ticket concerning her follow-up.  She set out to write about three days in her home town.  On day two, there was a tragic accident where a girl was horribly burned, losing her face, and what was meant to be a three day assignment turned into a profoundly haunting short work on pain, suffering and the glory of God. Dillard writes about something so simple that a lesser writer would look silly trying it.  She writes about seeing what there is to see.  And in the process, she trains our gaze on the details we’re missing– both the grotesque and the fantastic.  But rarely does she assume the posture of the teacher.  Mostly, you’re on the walk through the woods together.  But you’re in good company because she really, really wants to see what’s there. So I believe Annie did try to imagine me reading “The Living” on a bus riding across the Sinai Pinnesula with our military escort because I believe she would have bet there was something worth seeing there.

This may be a Rabbit Room first, but this post is about sports.  Yes, sports.  In particular, baseball.  The playoffs begin this week for this game many people find to be one of the dullest professional sports around.  I, however, find baseball to be loaded with significance and parallels to a meaningful life. (That may have been an overstatement right there, but not by much.) I grew up oblivious to baseball, except that I knew the Pittsburgh Pirates had the best caps in the league.  It wasn’t until 1997, when my wife and I moved to St. Louis that I discovered baseball.  It was the year the Cardinals signed Mark McGwire.  Whatever you think of that home run race now, know this my friend- at the time, it was an intoxicating race toward history.  I was in the ballpark in 1998 for around 15 of McGwire’s 70 home runs that season, and I can tell you there was nothing like being there for that.  I saw grown men weep when he broke the single season home run record– men who weren’t even drunk. Over the years, I’ve watched a lot of baseball.  The last couple of years we lived in St. Louis I had a friend who played in the outfield for the Cards, and he would leave tickets for me any time I wanted to go– 25 rows behind the home team dugout.  As I went and watched those games unfold, certain observations about baseball struck me that led me to believe this sport is a grand analogy of the human existence.  As the playoffs begin, here are some of those observations. Baseball teaches us life is good.  It heightens the goodness of everything around you.  Hotdogs taste better.  You drop $5.75 on a souvenier cup of Coke, and you have no reservations that the cup was totally worth it, and the soda was a bonus.  The grass looks the way grass is supposed to look, brilliant, green, tidy and soft.  The staduim, if it was built right (meaning it has 360 degree seating) wraps you in it’s embrace.  It will host you.  The smells, sights and sounds come together like a symphony for the senses. Like life, when you walk into a ballpark as the game is about to begin, you enter a world where everyone plays a part in the proceedings.  The people in the stands rise to sing the Star Spangled Banner.  Then they sit.  The announcer introduces the players and coaches, and once we’ve gotten acquainted with each other, nine players from one team go to their repective positions, and one from the other team goes to his place at home plate.  The pitcher pitches, the hitter swings.  Sometimes he hits the ball, most of the time he misses.  There is no clock.  The game takes the time it takes. As in life, no one, statistically, has ever been good at baseball.  This year Chipper Jones and Albert Pujols were running neck and neck for the best batting average of the year.  Chipper won.  His average?  He batted .364, which means for every 100 time he went up to bat, he only got a hit 36 times.  Nearly two thirds of the time, the best hitter in the league failed to hit the ball. As with life, you have to decide what you’re going to think about personal failure.  Hall of Famer Lou Brock said, “You can’t be afraid to make errors.  You can’t be afraid to be naked before the crowd, because no one can ever master the game of baseball or conquer it.  You can only challenge it.”  And that’s the deal.  Baseball is a game where you fail most of the time, but you keep challenging.  Greatness is not found in avoiding failure.  It comes by failing less than those around you, and less than you used to yourself.  The catch, however, is that the better you become, the less forgiving people are when you do fail.  But this too is a paradox, since, as Reggie Jackson said, “People don’t boo nobodies.”  Being booed is a recognition of ability.  To whom much is given… Like life, the game is at the same time exceedingly simple and deceptively complex.  You only do four things in this game– hit, throw, run and catch.  That’s it.  Pretty simple.  But its the combinations of these four things that create the problem.  You have to catch what someone else hits or throws.  You have to run faster than the opposition’s combination of a throw and a catch.  You have to hit what is thrown, and most of the time it’s coming at you fast– and sometimes at your head! Like life, for most of the time you’re at the game, nothing much exciting going on.  But then for about every 2 1/2 hours of not much happening, you get about 5 good minutes of exhilirating excitement.  And to the baseball fan, we knew this coming in, and that five good minutes makes the other 2 1/2 hours well worth it. Finally, like life, the regular season is a long haul of going to work everyday.  The regular season consists of 162 games over the course of six months.  During that time, players get a total of about four days per month off.  That’s a lot of time to shine and to fail.  When you’ve played eight straight games in four different cities and tomorrow is another game in another city, who among us wouldn’t wish we were someplace else doing something else?  It is a grind.  On any given day, any given player can emerge the hero just as any given player can single-handedly cost his team the game.  Hitters can get red-hot, pitchers can melt-down.  And you just never really know what you’re gonna get until the umpire yells, “Play ball.” I believe life is good.  But the goodness isn’t found in home runs alone.  It’s found over the span of a long season, one that is filled with more failure than success, more routine than exhiliration, more anonymity than recognition.  Sometimes we hit it out of the park, sometimes we strike out looking.  Sometimes we make that impossible diving catch, other times we miss the routine grounder hit right to us.  And as it goes for us, so it goes for everyone else. Still, if we’d look around, we’d see it is beautiful.

I fell for it again these last few weeks. And it hurt more people than I wish to admit. You see, I’ve never voted. Not once. I don’t really care to get caught up in this person or that candidate. I find the notion silly that everything has to be pared down to only two options and neither have ever been that intriguing as long as I’ve been alive. Plus it always seems to divide and I have more interest in the day to day needs of the immediate world around me than to get caught up in Washingtonian debates. Yet this year is different. Excitement (or fear) is in the air more than ever before. Where in previous years, nobody would bother talking about politics, now this year everyone is talking about it. My conservative parents are concerned about their liberal son. Friends and family are taking up the cause of the economy, the war, immigration and so forth. It’s not just a heightened awareness, but rather an emotional cacophony of concern and protest. I fell for it. I have my favorite candidate. I have those candidates that I truly cannot stand. I have read more books on politics in the last few months than my previous 31 years of life (of course, that’s not fair to count years 0 – 8 since the Hardy Boys held my interest during those formative years). I daily check my international news blogs and sites since I don’t trust our American media. I nurture endless conspiracy theories in my head and try to build my case against ‘the other side.’ Then I unleash that torrent on other people. I take pride in my own stance and scoff at the platforms of others. In my mind there is a clear way to see things and if you don’t agree with me, then I believe ‘you’ve been duped’ by media or political spin tactics and the like. And, ultimately, unless you’re with me, then you’re against me. The worst part is that, in this process, I have lost the ability to love. I don’t love my neighbor. I make fun of my neighbor. I don’t get to know my brother. I stand in shock of my brother’s beliefs. I have allowed concepts and ideals and issues to take the place of loving and serving and geniune relationship. And I hate it. The worst moment came when I received a ridiculous forward. I hate email forwards as it is, but this one struck a major nerve – much more so than the dancing bear who tells me to hug 10 people today. It was some notion about Obama being a closet muslim just wanting to take over our country by deceiving the masses. It was a “this guy is the Anti-Christ” email and I flipped. I made sure I wrote back the entire list rather than just this girl. And I trashed her. I totally trashed her. I wrote over-the-top remarks about how she was uneducated and simply propagating fear and political rhetoric. I told her she needed to think before she spoke and that she was irresponsible and childish and naive and that her candidate was the one to fear. In the end, I spoke harm to her instead of love. I spoke death to her instead of life, and I looked like an ass when I did it. Endless people wrote back berating me for writing what I did and the way that I did it. And I knew it. I knew I had embraced mere principles over the humanity around me. And I knew that’s the very opposite of what Jesus calls us to do. The truth is that there is no hope in principles or issues. There is no hope in politics, world leaders, policies or government. There is no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ candidate. There is only the hope of Jesus Christ. The only thing that remains is the grassroots gospel of a new humanity of people loving and serving and giving their lives so that God might increase and be known to others as they do so. My prayer for myself and my brothers and sisters is that we don’t forget that this political season. In the panic of the economy, the war and our country’s future, I hope that we never let go of the person next to us for the sake of grabbing onto an ideal or a party ticket. It’s only in this way that our light will shine for the next couple months.

Non-negotiable. I sometimes use that word with my kids. There are things in life which I consider non-negotiable. A specific time to be somewhere. A test coming up. Homework assignments, a session or show to prepare for, a deadline, something which can’t be ignored, or rationalized, or passed off, except to our detriment. I tell my son, “This is non-negotiable.” That means no argument, reasoning, or emotional display will change the happening. In reading steadily through the New Testament these past few weeks, I’ve come up against many non-negotiables. Faith in Christ. Holiness. The letter kills, but the Spirit gives life. Legalism, the idea that we can be holy by human effort rather than by faith-reliance on Christ within us, is something to be carefully avoided; a close trust relationship with God as Father is to be consciously and faithfully cultivated. There’s a lot of black-and-white in the Word of God; it’s a book of divine Facts that, if we really grab hold of them in faith, will transform not only our understandings, but our attitudes and actions. These things are to be held to as incontrovertible facts because of the ultimate non-negotiables: the judgment seat of Christ, of which Paul speaks, and the great white throne judgment written of in Revelation. Interpretations aside, the Word states plainly that judgment is coming, both for believers and unbelievers. Those whose names are written in the Book of Life through faith in Jesus Christ will have the quality of their life’s work determined by the only human in history qualified to always give a righteous judgment – the God-Man Jesus Christ. For believers who began in the Spirit by faith and then continued in faith, building Christ upon Christ, there will be reward. Believers who began by having Christ laid as a foundation and then built with the works of their hands, well, those will suffer loss, escaping into heaven’s glories as refugees escaping through the flames – whether by legalism or license will be beside the point. …he that overcomes, and keeps My works to the end, to him will I give power over the nations. The fruit of the Spirit is just that – fruit that comes from the Spirit, not from human effort. His works through us. Unbelievers will face the reality of the Johannine description of standing before the great white throne, clothed not in Christ but in the works of their own hands, and judged by those good and bad works. The trouble is that God doesn’t grade on a curve; their works will be found wanting, the book of Life will be checked for their names, and then one of the most dread-full and horrific things recorded in the Bible happens to them. What strikes me most about Revelation is the total non-negotiability of it. Just as there are times with my kids where I don’t take their opinion into account, so God does with us. And just like my kids, I don’t always like my Father’s non-negotiables. But there they are. I can rationalize. I can ignore. I can pass them off. But they’re still going to happen, no matter what I choose to do with that fact. That’s one of the main things I love about the Word. It goes against the flesh-grain, stirs me up with uncomfortable thoughts that break me out of complacency, world-think and world-sleep; the Word forces me to face Reality. A non-negotiable just is. Tax Day. The day our electric bill is due. The date of our concert, or our book deadline. The day our children leave home – prepared for life in the world, or not. The judgment seat of Christ. The great white throne judgment. A non-negotiable says, “Here’s the fact, Jack. Deal with it or it will deal with you.” We can go with these non-negotiables, order our choices by them and be prepared when they hit. Or we can rationalize, compartmentalize, and be unprepared. In that case we’ll have to endure the consequences; where a non-negotiable meets the Now, choice is no longer an option. Righteousness flows by aligning ourselves with these Facts in God’s Word. That’s faith.

Recently, I heard a guy on the radio say sausage and laws are two things you don’t really want to watch being made.  I thought about that for a couple seconds, and found his logic to be pretty well water tight.  The process of making music, on the other hand—and making a career at it—is something I am very much interested in seeing.  Recently I wrote a speculative piece here about the responsibility one assumes when they download a “pay what you want” record from an artist they like.  I call it a speculative piece because I know little about the actual process or desired ends of creating a record that will be offered at no initial cost.  But then I went over to Andy Osenga’s blog—as I do on a fairly regular basis—and discovered he found my post to be “interesting.” Well that’s cagey, isn’t it?  Interesting? Anyhow, I thought, “You know, Russ, maybe Andy would be willing to be the horse’s mouth and show us how they make the proverbial sausage (awkward and kind of gross mixing of metaphors right there- sorry about that), and what they hope to recover from the process.  We all want to know this kind of stuff, but the rules of propriety and decency keep us from asking such questions at the merchandise table after a show.  You know what would be “interesting?”  It would be interesting if Andy took one for the team of artists offering free downloads and took us through the process, the rational and the objective of giving their music away.  Andy graciously has agreed to weigh in.  Interesting stuff.  Thanks Andy. RABBIT ROOM: Looking at your professional life, it seems you have your hands in a bunch of different projects—Caedmon’s Call, your studio full length records, your Letters to the Editor projects, your session work as a guitar player.  Do you look at any one of those as your full time job and the others as side gigs?  I guess what I’m asking is this: what would you say you do for a living? ANDY OSENGA:  I play music for a living.  I have realistically five part-time jobs:  I produce records, I play guitar and sing on other people’s records, I’m a solo artist, I’m in Caedmon’s Call and I write songs for other artists.  I’d love to get to the place where I only do one or two for a living, and do the rest more as a hobby, but we’ll see… RR: I know some people can get uncomfortable talking about this kind of thing, but would you indulge me and talk a little about financial specifics.  What does it cost to make a high quality record these days?  How about a range for the investment of both dollars and time? AO:  A good, quality recording can cost any range of money, but the budgets I usually work with, on both sides, are anywhere from 10 to 30 grand.  Back in the day they used to cost more, but recording has actually gotten cheaper, with digital recording,  Most records are made with a few days in a big studio and the rest in a smaller overdub place, stuff that couldn’t be done ten years ago.  But it’s not cheap.  You have to pay players and engineers and studio time.  Even if you do it yourself at home you need gear, a computer, microphones, preamps, cables, stands, monitors…  It’s not cheap, though it’s cheaper than a tape machine and a console. RR: For an independent artist, where do the funds to make a record come from, typically? AO:  Often the money comes from family, churches who support the artist.  Some people have jobs and save up, but that seems like another planet to a guy like me.  Artists who already have an audience can preorder/save up, and that’s the best way to do it, I guess. I still owe money from my last record which I hoped to pay off years ago.  It just takes forever, especially with a family. RR: Word on the street is that you’re working on another solo record?  When will that be headed our way, and will it be “pay what you want,” like the “Letters” projects, or will it be for sale like your other full band records, Photographs and The Morning?  How do you, or other artists in  similar situation, make that decision? AO:  I am making another project. Not sure now exactly what it is or when it will be released.  It will not be a Letters project, but who knows how people may sell records by the time it’s finished.  It is a full-band recording, thus it’s costing more money (and taking more time to be able to do it). RR: It seems like you Square Pegs are all friends with each other, which can lead to the speculation that you just play on each other’s records for free because you like each other.  Is this how it works, or are you guys usually compensated if you play on a friend’s record? AO:  We are all friends and do work together a lot.  We do get paid, though.  Sometimes it feels like we just trade money back and forth, but that’s the right way to do it.  Friendship is wonderful, but it doesn’t pay the mortgage. RR: How much of a risk is it for an artist to give their music away?  Have you ever had a conversation with another musician about the pros and cons or risks and benefits of the free download?  Are artists reluctant or eager to give away songs? AO:  It’s a HUGE risk.  We have conversations about it all the time.  People are all over the map on this.  Freelancing at a studio I’m able to do the Letters EPs for “free”, meaning I don’t spend money on them, but I don’t make money when I’m working on them either.  It’s a rock and a hard place at this point. RR: When an artist decides to offer an entire record online at no initial charge, what are they hoping will come of it in the end—both in the short term and in the long term? AO:  We’re hoping for a lot of different things: a bigger audience, better show attendance, a “buzz” in general.  In my case, if somebody decides to pay, there’s no middleman.  It goes straight into my bank account, which goes straight to paying bills.  It’s great when people decide to enter into that.  I can’t explain how big of a help that is.  With label albums I would write and record and a year later get a check for 4% of what money came in.  It’s a lot less profit overall, but I probably make about the same.  Still, the long-term goal is that the music would go viral and get people into what I do, and that they would then buy records, come to shows…  Who knows, man.  I don’t.  It feels like a shot in the dark, but one day I hope something catches on. RR: What about things like insurance, retirement, college for kids?  Are most artists considered self-employed?  In what ways do folks in your line of work plan for the future?  With royalties?  Careful saving?  Or do you all just keep plugging along hoping to score a hit of “Achy Breaky Heart” proportions? AO:  Pretty much the “Achy Breaky Heart” goal, unfortunately.  I’m at the point now where I’m looking at all the things I do and am trying to figure which ones have potential for a better future financially.  You’ll notice there aren’t a lot of 45 year-old singer songwriters playing colleges and coffeehouses for a living.  I’m looking at songwriting and production more these days.  I have two little kids and would like to travel less, as well.  Just wanting to follow the lead of the Lord and find the right future.  I’ll let you know… RR:  Thanks Andy.  Interesting stuff, indeed.  And so you all know, the picture at the top of the post is of a plaque hanging on the wall at the Nashville Airport next to a defribulator.  Not kidding.

This song speaks to me.  Andrew usually writes the blurbs for the song of the day.  But rather than require him to explain how cool this love song to his wife is, I thought I’d take a shot. “Don’t Give Up On Me” is not a safe song for married guys.  A well written song will often speak of something that is at the same time specific and broadly applicable.  When I first heard this song, I wondered if Andrew had bugged my living room or read my journals.  And I’ll bet you married guys will too. My wife and I are both committed to our marriage, and neither would simply give up.  But I also know there are times when I look at myself in my sin, selfishness and general relational ineptitude, and I wonder if she might not have cause to give up on me.  Even for those who say divorce is not an option for them, there are many couples who remain married but have long since given up.  They’re married, but are done with each other. This song, I’m sure, tells a deeply personal story—the details of which we are not privy to.  But it is presented in such a way that we don’t need the details to understand.  The desperation of the chorus tells us what we need to know. This is a great love song because this business of not giving up on each other is so much the essence of deep, prevailing love.  For better or for worse, we promise.  And we will be both.  That’s why we take the vows we do. This is a helpful song. -Also- ATTENTION MUSIC NERDS: For fun, see if you can pick up on Ben Shive and Andy Gullahorn layering in some melodic themes from a couple of older AP songs in this track.  Hint, there are two.  One is a piano melody, the other an acoustic guitar. Don’t Give Up On Me The road is long that leads me home tonight It disappears into the distant light, my love Don’t give up on me. You know I love you but I’m just a man Don’t always love you the best that I can, my love Just don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on me Don’t give up on me I won’t give up on you I’ve got all these letters I never did write All this affection I kept inside my heart Don’t give up on me Don’t give up on me Don’t give up on me Don’t give up on me I won’t give up on you You were there when I shook my fist at the sky You were there when I fell to the earth and cried Do you remember how it felt just like we died And rose again? And the storm inside was raging It was howling like the wind at the Pentecost And His love was teaching us a language We thought was lost I have felt the holy fire of love Been burned by the holy fire of love Made clean by the holy fire of love I walked beside you in the canyon flames Deep as an ocean and hot as a thousand suns We barely survived Now I wake up in a golden dream Angel voices in the rooms where the children run All covered in light Don’t give up on me Don’t give up on me Don’t give up on me I won’t give up on you Don’t give up on me I’m begging you, please Don’t give up on me I won’t give up on you

Ladies and germs, please welcome the newest contributor to the Rabbit Room, S.D. Smith.  I first came into contact with Samuel when he wrote a glowing review of my book and I decided that he must be quite intelligent and possessing of a finely tuned sense of humor.  I visit his blog The Maple Mountain Story Club from time to time (mainly to re-read his review of my book) and it’s often made me chortle.  (Did you know that the word “chortle” was coined by Lewis Carroll in Alice in Wonderland? It’s a combination of the words “chuckle” and “snort”.  Just a little something for you to share at the water cooler today.)  Welcome, S.D. Smith of West Virginia, to the esteemed halls of the Rabbit Room. The Proprietor “Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree.”  –Joyce Kilmer There are few finer pieces of practical theology I have read (outside of Scripture) than those tremendous words. I want to consider them in light of the Word of God, and alongside some thoughts by three guys I met at a football game -guys named Lewis, Tolkien and Milton. OK, to be honest, it wasn’t a football game. It was in books. Books are things people used to read before they invented text messaging. Sadly, these three amigos are unlikely to appear at any football games I may attend. But if my fantasy life is ever fully realized then you may see Jack Lewis coming on to kick the game-winning field-goal for the West Virginia Mountaineers with an able hold, laces out, by “Tollers.” Milton, blind as a bat, would be the long-snapper. Like most Christians I have been through many phases and have, to my great regret, fallen for some of the most popular and foolish trends of faddish Christianity. I hope and believe, by God’s grace, that this is happening less and less. One of these phases consisted of my being convinced that I needed to know every answer to every question any unbeliever could posit. I wanted to be the apologist’s apologist. But, while recognizing and appreciating the wonderful work that our brothers in the fore of apologetics do, I now see it in a different way than I once did. I now believe much of my initial desire was to have good answers to serious inquiry so that I wouldn’t be seen as foolish. I was motivated by pride and fear of my own loss of esteem (glory). This is an improper motivation. From there I transitioned to being worried about God’s reputation, that he might not look so good if I couldn’t say all the right things. This is better, but still far off the mark. I needed to understand that the wisdom of God is foolishness to those who don’t believe, and that God was not a kid sister on the playground needing tough older brothers like me to stick up for him. No, God reigns in power and glory, he is sovereign over all. Above all, he is interested in his own glory and is not dependent upon me to act as his press secretary to spin the daily news in his favor. We are his ambassadors, yes, we do make appeals to the world for reconciliation to God. But he does not need us. In his great mercy he loves us, and he uses us. We are his workmanship, his poems. But the idea that he needs us is both blasphemous and laughable. I have come to believe that beauty and the arts, creation and sub-creation, are as vital in the reflection of the glory of God to an unbelieving world as is the finest intellectual answer. And not for unbelievers only, but for we who believe as well. That is not to say that we must not be people of books, of doctrine, or thinking people. We certainly must. Only we must not lay aside imagination for logic, nor logic for imagination, but use both under the Lordship of Christ for the glory of God. We will find, I believe, that each helps the other. We will be helped by both poets and preachers, philosophers and painters. We will learn, if we read our Bibles, that a man’s heart must be changed by the work of the Spirit. He may use a considered intellectual appeal to begin that work, or he may use a sunrise or a song. It does come to believing the Gospel, which is news, but how God breaks a sinner’s heart is not something we can manufacture in our cleverness.Two quotes help us in this consideration. “A man can no more diminish God’s glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word ‘darkness’ on the walls of his cell.” C.S. Lewis “…God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed, And post o’er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.” John Milton, from “On His Blindness” Anyone who hs read Tolkien can appreciate his love of trees and their centrality in his mythology, and rightly so. In his subcreative art Tolkien expressed the beautiful truth revealed to us so plainly in Joyce Kilmer’s poem. Kilmer’s artful language is lovely, the truth he reveals profound. Thank God for poets, especially for poets who help us to thank God.

I couldn’t tell you the first time I actually encountered an artist I truly liked just giving their music away.  Oh wait, I guess it would have been Degarmo and Key’s 1986 release “D&K,” but that was more of a buy-one-get-one-free-to-give-to-a-friend kind of deal.  Still, two cassettes for the price of one.  Not bad.  Not bad at all. Now all of the sudden, what with the advent of cyberspace and this tool you’re using to read these words, artists aren’t just giving people a second copy free.  They’re giving the first copy away free too! And I, for one, am loving it.  Noisetrade, Andrew Osenga, even the streaming jukeboxes folks like Centricity host on their sites have made it easy for music lovers to get their hands on the latest projects of their favorite artists, sometimes within days, even hours of finishing the mix. This has been going on long enough now that I’m moving from simple, pure elation to a more philosophical appreciation for what this means for the music awaiting us all. I think what I’m realizing is that while the download may not require money, it is not free.  So this is one man’s observations about the genius of “pay what you want” downloads, and the responsibility of the downloader (feel free to use that term at will) to engage with the process.  There’s a lot at stake for music lovers and even more for those who’ve dared to chase after the silly dream of trying to make a living at making music. The “pay what you want” download had landed a serious blow upon the jawbone of the PR machine that is constantly telling you you can’t live without So-and-so’s latest record.  Before, we were left to take their word for it and buy it or become a pirate and steal it. But the Rabbit Room is not really a confessional, is it? When an artist makes a record and offers it to me for what I think it’s worth, a few things converge. First, there’s the integrity of the artist.  There is a lot of truth built into this approach.  If the artist is creating high quality work, I’ll know before I part with my cash.  If they aren’t, I’ll know that too.  So it puts a certain responsibility on the artist to strive for quality and not just “mail it in,” as they say. Second, there’s the relational interplay between the artists and his or her “fans.”  An artist has to want people to connect with their art.  They can’t wander too far off the deep end of weird self-indulgence. (Have you ever got a hold of a record by someone you really liked, only to find that they’ve gradually become less and less accessible?  It can feel like losing a friend.)  When the download is free, the artist must create with the audience in mind, and I think this yields better art precisely because there is a built in accountability to tell the truth in a comprehensible way. Third, there’s the responsibility of the listener to actually pay up in the end.  If it’s crap, it’s crap. So if you download a real stinker, no harm no foul, you got it for free.  All it cost was some space on your hard drive.  But if you download for free and it’s not crap, what is it worth to you? And what if its great? Have you ever known anyone who bought the Beatles’ White Album on vinyl, 8 track, cassette, CD and MP3?  Why would someone do that?  Because the record is valuable enough to them that they want it as a part of their permanent collection.  In effect, it is worth five times what, say, Abba Gold is to them. I’m not advocating that we pay $50 for records we really like, $25 for ones we think are decent, and so on.  What I’m suggesting is that when we download before we pay, we enter into a “gentleman’s (or gentlewoman’s?) agreement” to determine the value of the product and pay up.  I think we’re on the hook to pay something. Artists who put their work up for free are taking a huge risk.  They depend on the honesty of their own fan base to support them in making the art those same fans so look forward to and appreciate and listen to over and over again. The making of a record is expensive, and many of the free ones are independent releases, meaning there are no record label dollars behind them, covering the cost of the musicians and engineers and use of studio space. The independent artist is in a bit of a spot with this, since they know that they can’t skimp on quality– either when it comes to the players or the production– if they hope to gain and retain fans in a way that is competitive with the rest of their industry.  So they have to pony up for high quality if they want to make a living at this.  What they offer at no initial charge has already cost them dearly, of that you can be sure. Yes, it is a life they choose.  Yes, they should count the cost.  But I for one am so much richer for the risks many artists have taken to devote themselves to their craft.  They have invested in me.  When I hear my children sing “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away our sin” in the back of the minivan, there’s a dozen or so artists that come to mind as people who have invested in showing my kids the truth about Jesus. So what is that worth to me? See what I’m getting at?  “Free” downloads are not really free.  They are contracts to pursue truth and respond accordingly.  Sometimes that involves withholding payment if you are convinced the artist has stopped caring about their craft along the way.  But most of the time it means we support them in what they have created and what they hope to create next. I love this system because it keeps us all honest.  The fan base becomes the PR department.  We tell our friends.  We go to concerts.  We buy CD’s and t-shirts.  And what we get in return, ideally, is a product from the artist that they believe in, without having to tell lies in order to sell it.  What is that worth to you?

AGAIN.  I know, I know.  Indulge me.  I’m just so excited about the songs on this new record. All You’ll Ever Need Three Old Testament stories that offer further proof that God knows what he’s doing: Elisha and the Widow’s oil, Naaman the Leper, and Elijah and the Prophets of Baal.  Go track them down and read them.  All three of these stories foreshadow the coming work of Christ in ways that my friend Ben Shive noticed when he was reading them to his kids.  We started the song on the way home from the studio and finished it the next night via an internet chat.  (I wonder if it’s the first song ever co-written that way?)  The point is this: The blood of Christ is the key that opens the door to the Kingdom.  The more I come to know the deep mysteries of God, the less comfortable I am claiming to understand any of them.  The closer I grow to Christ, the more forgiven I realize I am.  And I have a feeling that will go on forever. 2 Kings 4:1-7 2 Kings 5:1-13 1 Kings 20:18-39 The blood of Jesus, it is like the widow’s oil It’s enough to pay the price to set you free It can fill up every jar and every heart that ever beat When it’s all you have it’s all you’ll ever need When it’s all you have it’s all you’ll ever need The blood of Jesus, it is like the leper’s river Running humble with a power you cannot see Seven times go under, let the water wash you clean Only go down to the Jordan and believe Only go down in the Jordan and believe And I need it, I need it The closer that I grow The more I come to know how much I need it The blood of Jesus it is like Elijah’s fire Falling on the altar of your faith All the wisdom of the world could never conjure up a spark But no power of Hell could ever quench this flame No power of Hell could ever touch this flame And I need it, I need it The closer that I grow The more I come to know how much I need it And I need it, I need it The closer that I grow The more I come to know how much I need The blood of Jesus The blood of Jesus, it is like the widow’s oil When it’s all you have it’s all you’ll ever need It is all you’ll ever need

The interviewer asked Fernando Ortega, one of my favorite singers, about what he thought of the commercialization of Christian music.  Here’s what he said: “Well, I think that most of today’s Christian music is based on a thin premise. When you take a pop song and weigh it down with the gospel it sort of cheapens both. The theology is too heavy for the song, and the song usually ends up being too light for the theology. Often I feel like you end up with some sort of fuzzy Christian propaganda that doesn’t do music or the gospel any justice. That’s why I like hymns so much. The early fathers wrote many of the texts to hymns that we sing today. I like that they attach us to our Christian history and remind us of what in our faith is worth preserving. Hymns were written by theologians, not pop stars, and that is why when they are sung, we so tangibly feel the weight of glory.” And that’s why we love Fernando. Here’s the link to the rest of the interview. By the way, if you haven’t listened to his latest album In the Shadow of Your Wings, I can’t recommend it highly enough.  In fact, why don’t we make one of the songs from that album the Song of the Day?  If I get in trouble I’ll take it down.  It’s called “Oh God, You Are My God (Psalm 63).”https://rabbitroom.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/OhGodYouAreMyGod.mp3

In light of the upcoming release of Resurrection Letters, Vol. II, I’m going to post some of the new songs.The label asked me to write a few paragraphs about each song for promotional stuff, so I’ll include that too.  Hope you enjoy! HOSEA This song is not about some dude named José.  The Old Testament story of Hosea paints a powerful picture of the stubborn, pursuing, renewing love of God.  Hosea is told by God to marry a runaround, no-good, heartless woman.  Hosea obeys, and I can’t help thinking that he must not have enjoyed it much.  He was probably humiliated, scorned by his friends, not to mention heartbroken by his new wife, Gomer.  Even Noah, mocked for building a giant boat in the middle of a desert, at least kept a little dignity, could feel like a man with his wife and sons near at hand. But there was Hosea, alone in bed while his wife caroused, and everyone knew it.  All because God wanted to make a point.  After Gomer ran off with another man, God sent Hosea to buy her back and bring her home.  Then God said about Israel, about us, dead in our sin: “…I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her.  There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.  There she will sing as in the days of her youth…”  The word Achor means “trouble”.  From the ashes of the Valley of Trouble came new life, green and lush.  Forgiveness. Rest. Resurrection. Hosea 1:2,3 Hosea 2:13-16 Hosea 3:1,2 Every time I lay in the bed beside you Hosea, Hosea I hear the sound of the streets of the city My belly growls like a hungry wolf And I let it prowl till my belly’s full Hosea, my heart is a stone Please believe me when I say I’m sorry Hosea, Hosea You loveable, gullible man I tell you that my love is true Till it fades away like a morning dew Hosea, leave me alone Here I am in the Valley of Trouble Just look at the bed that I’ve made Badlands as far as I can see There’s no one here but me, Hosea I stumbled and fell in the road on the way home Hosea, Hosea I lay in the brick street like a stray dog You came to me like a silver moon With the saddest smile I ever knew Hosea carried me home again, home again You called me out to the Valley of Trouble Just to look at the mess that I’ve made A barren place where nothing can grow One look and my stone heart crumbled It was a valley as green as jade I swear it was the color of hope You turned a stone into a rose, Hosea I sang and I danced like I did as a young girl Hosea, Hosea I am a slave and a harlot no more You washed me clean like a summer rain And you set me free with that ball and chain Hosea, I threw away the key I’ll never leave

I’ve been struggling over a quote that I’ve read from Madeleine L’Engle, who I personally think is one of God’s most precious gifts to the artistically inclined. Her books like Walking on Water have inspired me toward many endeavors and I have passed that particular book to several friends who all say the same: how wonderful it is. Yet there’s this line in the book: “Art should communicate with as many people as possible…” Really? Of course, the second half of that line reads “not just with a group of the esoteric elite.” And while I would agree that art doesn’t exist for the purpose of society’s elite, I also just wanted to ask a simple question in regards to the first half of L’Engle’s statement. How accessible should art truly be? Such a blanket statement is hardly easy to break down into a formulaic equation – discovering the precise amount of accessibility a sonnet or song should hold. But I do think we could have an intelligent discussion on such a topic. The reason I’m drawn to this idea is simple: one of my strongest dislikes and quickest triggers to get frustrated concern this area of popular culture. Radio rock music, for example, where the Nickelbacks of our time continue to make millions hand-over-fist playing formula driven songs catering to the three-minute pop formula. These songs are as accessible as it gets, yet I hardly believe them to be artistic in any way. Want your country song to be accessible? Mention the flag, God, America, kickin’ tail, and your silly clothing that goes along with all of these and you’re set. Accessible to all of middle America and a certified hit for sure. Okay, maybe that’s a bit cynical. But I will say that this site alone holds evidence of fantastic, thoughtful artists who either have to get used to the fringe of pop culture – a niche within a niche, as Derek Webb told me one time – or else stop making music. It seems the most meaningful art around us, movies and music and otherwise, exists around the fringe, yet L’Engle here stresses the need for artists to pursue accessibility. I am not a songwriter. Nor a poet or painter or any other sort of artist. But I feel I know enough about the subject as an appreciator that I do not want my favorite writers and directors and singers to move toward that idea of accessibility. It seems it would ‘water things down.’ And it seems my favorite artists end up scoffing at that notion anyway – as if they recognize the need to preserve the integrity of their art. So what is the balance here? What does L’Engle mean by this? What’s the tension for an artist to make art for the masses and yet retain its integrity as art? #MadeleineLEngle #WalkingonWater

I’ve been reading the New Testament straight through every morning, and I’m at Revelation. Normally I do Old Testament/Psalms-Proverbs/New Testament, but for some reason awhile back I just went with the New. The best thing about going straight through is that there is an overview, a big picture, that comes into the mind. Errors in thought, or exaggerations of certain doctrines, are corrected. Holes are filled in. A digital audio editor I know, referring to the way we scrutinize details and then move to the big picture, calls this “zoom-in/zoom-out.” Prayer beforehand is definitely required. The Bible was inspired by the Holy Spirit, and requires that same Spirit to interpret its depths. Many theological problems arise when we try to figure things out on our own. When I read the Gospels I touch the heart, soul, mind, and Spirit of Jesus. They put me in contact with the kind of person He is. I see what He likes, what He dislikes, what makes Him glad, or angry, or what makes Him weep. I see how He relies on the Father, and maintains communion with Him, going out early to pray. I see His consistency in loving others, His harsh words to the legalistic mindsets, His shepherd-heart that fights for the truth, in love, against all deceptions. I see how a real Man lives, and how a real Man dies and forgives. And I see how a true Man resurrects. In reading Acts I see how that real Man begets spiritual children, sending the Holy Spirit. I see the outworking of the Holy Spirit in the life of the early church, and the turmoil He generates when He comes into contact with this world system. He literally “turns the world upside down.” In the letters of Paul, the Apostle who is for obvious reasons given the floor in much of the New Testament, I find the righteousness which is of God by faith. I see exactly what happened at the Cross – that I died, and was resurrected, because God put me in Christ there – not “positionally,” but actually. I see that I am a new creation, holy, that I am now in union with the Lord Jesus Christ, who lives in me by the Holy Spirit. In Paul I find the explanations of my identity in Christ – the how, why, what, when, and where of who I really am. And I find, as in Jesus, a holy disdain for self–righteousness, for merely living under the Law by our human effort, for trying to attain a sanctified life by our own human strength and wisdom. In the later parts of most of his letters I also find what a holy life looks like – showing love, hospitality, loving my wife as Christ loved the church, wives respecting husbands, being a diligent worker. Through James, Peter, John, Jude, I find the prompts to avoiding being lazy and lax about holiness. 1John especially struck me this time through, that if we are not loving others we aren’t really walking in communion with God, and that the power to live above sin comes from abiding and resting in Christ. These epistle writers protect us from the distortions that can arise through misusing Paul’s letters, and vice-versa. Through them, we can make no mistake: A holy life, which is simply love-for-God-and-others in action, is required. The only way to get there is by reliant faith which expresses the righteousness which comes from God within us, flowing through the channel of reliance, trust, faith, abiding in Christ. Reading the Word through in this way tears down false theological constructs in my mind and eliminates errors in my thinking. I see now how I used to linger in my favorite books or passages, ignoring or skimming over other passages in my immaturity. This is the source of my former theological construct of “Jesus died to pay my sin-debt so I could be forgiven” which left me with a past event (forgiveness through the Blood) and a future hope (when we go to be with Christ and have glorified bodies, etc.), and no power in the present moment. This time through has proved to me once again that the Word is a many-layered document, endless in its applications to our daily life. It stirs up the Holy Spirit within us, and prompts us to commune with God, to exercise our faith-will, and through that to walk as Jesus walked. I’ve just hit Revelation, which I’ve not read in awhile. As Ecclesiastes says, “Here is the conclusion of the matter…” Revelation protects us from feeling too much at home in this present world-system. I’m interested to see what effect it has on me this time through.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the back of my uncle’s boat, a 43-foot Stephens Brothers wooden yacht, built in 1929, that I’ve been on for the last five days, meandering around the San Juan Islands with him. Last night, over a home-cooked (or would that be boat-cooked?) dinner of corn-on-the-cob, green beans, squash, and baked potatoes–and a couple glasses of red wine, of course–our conversation turned to the same small matters like God and the meaning of life that have been the topic-de-jour for dinner conversations on this trip. This morning, as I drink my coffee–made with a french press–I’m watching the fog roll back from land and other boats pass a few feet behind me as they pull out of the harbor. It’s turning into a beautiful day, the rain that tapped out a rhythm on the roof of the boat throughout the night holding off for now, the sun peaking through the clouds.  A light breeze is blowing, stirring the flags on the boats around me, and making the 65 degrees feel just a little bit cooler. Andrew Peterson’s new album, Resurrection Letters, Volume II, is playing on my laptop, and he just sang my favorite line on the album, the bridge of “All Things New”: Hold on to the promise / the stories are true / that Jesus makes all things new. Yes. Yes. During those times when I believe, and the days in between when I want to believe, that’s what I hold on to. That the stories, somehow, incredibly, really are true. That in some way I can’t even begin to fathom, Jesus will make, and even now is making, all things new. Over a dinner of seafood and pasta at a restaurant on a nearby island a couple days ago, my uncle asked me why I went to church. And none of the answers I gave him–that I like what my church does in the community, or for the friendships I’ve found there–answered his question satisfactorily, either to him or to myself. So the question has stayed on my mind. One of the books I’ve been reading on this trip is Frederick Buechner’s Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons. I’ve read and re-read a couple sermons a day, and in one sermon I read for the fourth or fifth time yesterday, “Let Jesus Show”, I found an answer to my uncle’s question, the reason why I go to church. Buechner writes, ” ‘You will seek me,’ Jesus says, and no word he ever spoke hits closer to home. We seek for answers to our questions–questions about life and about death, questions about what is right and what is wrong, questions about the unspeakable things that go on in the world. We seek for strength, for peace, for a path through the forest. But Christians are people who maybe more than for anything else seek for Christ, and from the shabbiest little jerry-built meeting house in the middle of nowhere to the greatest cathedrals, all churches everywhere were erected by people like us in the wild hope that in them, if nowhere else, the one we seek might finally somehow be found.” That’s why, every Sunday, I make my way to church, one in the morning and another one in the evening. Out of “the wild hope that . . . the one we seek might . . . be found.” And to be with others who are on the same journey, who are seeking the same thing, with more or less degrees of hopefulness and certainty. Others who believe the same wild stories. And in hopes that maybe, just maybe, Jesus will show in those churches. Buechner’s sermon continues, “Let Jesus show in these churches we have built for him then–not just Jesus as we cut him down to size in our sermons and hymns and stained-glass windows, but Jesus as he sat there among his friends with wine on his breath and crumbs in his beard and his heart in his mouth as he spoke about his death and our ours in words that even the nine-year-old angel [in the church Christmas pageant] would have understood. ‘Let not your hearts be troubled,’ he said in the midst of his own terrible troubles. Take it easy. Take it easy. Take heart. ‘Believe in God,’ he said. ‘Believe also in me.’ Well, we are believers, you and I, that’s why we’re here–at least would-be believers, part-time believers, believers with our fingers crossed. Believing in him is not the same as believing things about him such as that he was born of a virgin and raised Lazarus from the dead. Instead, it is a matter of giving our heart to him, of come Hell or high water putting our money on him, the way a child believes in a mother or a father, the way a mother or a father believes in a child.  ‘Lord, where are you going?’ Peter asked from where he was sitting, and Jesus answered, ‘I go to prepare a place for you … that where I am you may be also.’ Can we put our money on that? Are we children enough to hear with the ears of a child? Are we believers enough to believe what only a child can believe?” Buechner closes his sermon, after describing himself as a “skeptical old believer, [a] believing old skeptic,” with this encouragement: “By believing against all odds and loving against all odds, that is how we are to let Jesus show in the world and to transform the world.” #FrederickBuechner

After watching this video three times in a row, we (at the Centricity retreat) talked for about an hour about what we learned from June Taylor about art.  If you have time, watch it twice, then post a comment about what jumped out at you about hearing this woman talk about her work.  There’s a lot to be learned here.  (Thanks to John Farkas for the great discussion.)

Waffle House. There’s something suspect about a restaurant that has the exact same floor plan no matter where you go. The more I think about it the more I wonder if that shouldn’t be comforting. Maybe it’s the guy in the booth under the two-way mirror giving me the stink-eye and working a set of yellowed false teeth in and out of his mouth like a perverse cuckoo clock that throws me off. I don’t know but they can scatter, smother, and cover a mean hash brown. I sit down at the far end of the waffle-bar and finish off a glorious conspiracy of grease, meat, and cheese that labels itself a ‘melt.’ Whether that claim is a description of what it is or what it does to my digestive track, I choose not to think about. When I’m done, I exhaust a small mountain of napkins to clean the grease off my fingers. I slide the plate out of the way, pull out a dog-eared book, and read while I wait for Marge, or Madge, or some other hallowed name out of that long lineage of waitresshood, to refill my sweet tea and slap the check onto the bar. I get lost in the book. It’s a good one. For a few minutes I’m not in the Waffle House, I’m in Sitka, Alaska.  It’s cold there, and raining. There’s a black and green bruise of a cloud over the city and a dead messiah in the room down the hall. There’s a detective, a drinking problem, an ex-wife, and a murder to solve. “What ya reading, hon?” I’m back in the Waffle House. Madge is standing over me with one hand propped on a crooked-out hip and the other dangling an aluminum pitcher of sweet tea. My check is laying in front of me, stuck to the bar by a spot of grease that’s already soaked through the paper turning it pale and translucent. I’m not happy about the interruption so my answer is flat and humorless. “The Yiddish Policeman’s Union.” She doesn’t get the hint. Instead she works the wrinkles of her face into a question mark and asks, “Yiddish? What’s that?” “It’s like Jewish,” I tell her, hoping she’ll top off my tea and go find an order to take. She doesn’t do either. Her face unwrinkles itself to some extent and her tweezed eyebrows crawl an inch up her forehead in recognition. “Ah, so it’s one of the classics!” I stare at her and wonder what to do with this proclamation. The possibilities are endless and entertaining but I settle on agreeing with her and ask for some more tea. “Sure, hon.” Then she’s yelling at the short kid in front of the griddle with the silver spatula and the soul patch and I’m free to go back to Alaska. Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union is not the type of book that I’m normally drawn to. I’m not a fan of mysteries, or hard-boiled detectives, or the Jewish classics for that matter. I’m a huge fan of great books, though. I knew Chabon’s name from things like Wonder Boys, and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay but thanks to the million and one other books I’m trying to mark off my list, I’d never gotten around to reading anything of his. When it came time to pick up a new book a couple of weeks ago, I happened to hear that his newest one had won the Hugo award for Science-Fiction. That threw me for a bit of a loop. It didn’t sound like science-fiction to me. Were these Yiddish policeman on Mars? Did they use the Force? I know, I know, that’s not what defines sci-fi. I’m kidding. But my interest was piqued enough that I bought the book. I’ve been eating it up ever since. It speculates an alternative history in which the U.S. opened a district of Alaska as a temporary sanctuary for Jewish refugees during WWII, an idea that is rooted in an actual proposal voted down by congress. Fast forward to the present day, Israel doesn’t exist, the district of Sitka is a decaying metropolis on the verge of its reversion to the Alaskan Indians and millions of Jews are facing a new exile. Detective Meyer Landsman, divorced, depressed, and alcoholic is just waiting for the end but there’s a dead body in the room down the hall and it’s a case that won’t leave him alone. The Yiddish Policeman’s Union is exactly what it sounds like: a gritty, noir, murder mystery with all the usual suspects—only it’s a great deal more. For starters, it’s Yiddish. It’s bizarre and more fascinating the more you think about it. It even has a Yiddish glossary to guide the reader through it’s idiomatic slang (such as sholem which normally means “peace” but has been corrupted to mean “piece” or “gun” as in “packing a sholem”). He’s created a believable city, an underworld and culture of decay and hoped-for renewal that’s unmistakably Jewish, both foreign and familiar. Chabon’s writing is sharp and sarcastic and his characters are as broken and fading as Sitka itself. He’s filled the city and the people in it with a sense of decline and hopelessness that’s matched by the stubbornness with which they refuse to simply surrender. When I finished the book, I wanted the story to go on. It’s a world so real you want it to exist even when your window into it has closed. Throughout the entire book, I kept thinking to myself, this would make a fantastic Coen Brothers movie and it turns out that they are in fact adapting it as you read this (you can’t see me but I’m doing the happy dance). Think of it as a mixture of Fargo and Miller’s Crossing and something like L.A. Confidential—only Yiddish. Awesome, no? Do yourself a favor—don’t wait for the movie. Read the book. I’ve got it on the best authority that it’s a Jewish classic.

In the very odd case that you have yet to be convinced that The Ill-Tempered Klavier is the best non-rap record ever to contain the word Ill, I submit today’s Song of the Day as evidence and hope you will be persuaded. “New Year” is the sort of song I can’t help but listen to over and over again and I usually end up imagining a future movie in which it will be the soundtrack to a montage of a middle-aged guy cleaning his house, watering his plants, hugging his kids, finishing his long toiled-over first novel, baking a pie, dancing in the rain, delivering a newborn calf, beating Apollo Creed in a foot race, and most likely joining an inner-city chorus line as fireworks erupt and people in a hundred countries across the globe spontaneously break into song, hold hands, and offer to buy each other a coke. Just listen to it, you’ll see.

For years I’ve had the habit of checking the Andrew Peterson message board at least two or three times each day. Tonight was no different. I tired of channel flipping and political talk and decided to see what my long-time friends on the AP board had to say. In the same way I might make a quick, “how ya doin'” phone call to a good friend, checking the board is one way I stay in touch with my cyber friends. Here’s the text of the post, made by a poster that goes by the screen name “kanichol”: I was trying to find a song list for the new record so I did a search on Google …. I found a link to this webpage. http://resurrectionletters.wordpress.com/ From there you can get song summaries for all of the songs on Resurrection Letters Volume II.  That’s not all… you can also get a free download of Hosanna. Oh and one more tiny little thing…… it includes a link to a music player on the Centricity site where you can listen to the entire CD right now. I rushed on over and have been playing the record continuously for over two hours now. I’ve already pre-ordered my copies, but how could I turn down an opportunity to hear the songs today? Listen, there will be plenty of time for reviews, but when I get such nervous tension, I have to do something about it now, or I run the risk of having my head explode. As long as I’ve been listening to Andrew Peterson music, I’ve had this problem. So forgive me. As a method of cheap therapy, and so nobody has to clean up the mess from my exploding head, I hope you will indulge me for a paragraph, or two, or three. When Andrew Peterson releases a record, I try to moderate my excitement, with little success. I am almost fifty years old for gosh sakes. I can’t be wide-eyed and giddy at the release of a CD, can I? Yes, I can. Especially now that I have heard it. So exciting. So surprising. So compelling. So emotional. So truthful. So … Andrew (Andrew doesn’t approve of ellipses, so I did that for fun). Talk about a good shock, like rounding the bend of an unfamiliar road, finding an astounding piece of topography. “Windows to the World,” a lyrical cousin to “Let There Be Light,” simply wasted me. The hot tears leaked from my eyes as naturally as condensation from a glass pitcher of ice water. The viewpoint communicated so effectively in this song is what attracted me to the music of Andrew Peterson in the first place. Thinking back,  after spinning Carried Along that first time through, it’s like I found an old soulmate, a guy that saw like me, felt like me, and had the guts to—say it out loud. And most relevantly, said it in a way that clearly and concisely communicated.  I know most of you feel the same way. “Windows to the World” simply reinforces that sense. I don’t want this article to become some kind of breathless book, so I’m just going to make some first blush, fly-by observations. This is an appetizer, not the main course. “I’ve Got News” does what most of Andy’s catalogue does for us, talks to us as fellow human beings, with temptation, struggles, and pain. Andy’s lyrics never preach or talk down to us, despite being full of Biblical images and references. So on some level, this song is the later day prototype for all of AP’s work. The double-entendre of the “good news” reference is a tasty sweet icing on the cake. As always, the cake would be exquisite alone. But because we are used to rich, luxurious icing from AP, we anticipate it and are never disappointed. The extras light us up just like a birthday cake (inside joke for long time AP supporters). “The Good Confession” is Andy’s story, but it’s my story, and your’s too, I’ll bet. “The story of one of us is the story of us all,”  says Frederick Buechner. I walked an aisle. I had some church camp experiences that blew my socks off. Dedication, rededication. Flying. Falling. All the while, “I believe He is the Christ, Son of the Living God.” I don’t know much, but I do know that “I was blind and now I see.” This seemingly temporal thread has eternity written all over it, though it’s often hard to apprehend. Songs like this help to bring that vision into focus. “All You Will Ever Need.” This is the one that Andy and Ben wrote via instant messenger. It’s one of the most memorable on the entire project. Leave it to writers like Andy and Ben to reframe old stories into a new compelling vista. Biggest surprise of all the songs? “Rocket.” What a bright, sweet, satisfying, musically adventuresome song. AP may have just recorded the world’s first banjo infused reggae song. Is that our old friend Ron Block? The sense of excitement is palpable. I can’t wait to get these lyrics in my hands while I listen. As usual, there are no duds. Each song is written and executed with grace and style. Though I don’t have the technical expertise to understand exactly why, as a whole, this album is just better. Andrew Peterson is better. Indeed, his supporting cast is better. Those songs I haven’t mentioned  are also exceptional. But I’d like you to experience a few of them for yourself first, without any quasi reviewer running interference for you. Here’s the nice thing about writing this letter about The Resurrection Letters, Volume II. These are initial impressions. There’s many more literate ways it could be stated, but the stark truth is that Andrew Peterson’s work is “deep,” but not esoterically deep. Because if we take the time to listen—really listen, we will find. It’s deep in the way that we expect to mine nuggets of truth with repeated listening. Werner Herzog’s exploration of the Antarctic in the documentary I recently saw, Encounters at the End of the World, features some of the most curiously beautiful scenes you may ever see–underwater. The music of Andrew Peterson is like that. The deeper we go, the more the beauty is unexpected and astounding. So these, my initial impressions will be followed by years of discoveries and fresh nuance. An Andrew Peterson project keeps on giving. I’m pumped. The care with which this recording was made is more than obvious with even one listen. It’s thematic infrastructure frames, highlights, and supports its individual parts. Like Behold the Lamb of God, The True Tall Tale of the Coming of Christ tells the story of Christ, Resurrection Letters, Volume II tells—you guessed it—the story of Christ.  We hear echos of familiar words and phrases; resurrection and redemption, but with an original, creative spirit. It reminds us that this story—our story—is alive and well. It’s breaths. It’s real. The sound is thick, rich. The harmonies are wonderfully lush, almost breathtaking. The choir background vocals ring with heavenly reverence, cohesion we might only expect from fewer voices. The instrumentation is precise, busy when a big sound is needed, sparse when appropriate. I can’t wait to read the liner notes to see who did what on each track. When are the CDs going to be sent out? October 21 seems like an awfully long way away. Are we there yet?

It’s false humility – really self-righteousness – to go around sin-conscious. Not only that, it’s a slap in the face to the One who cried, “It is finished,” and to Paul, who said, “And you are complete in Him.” That sort of sin-consciousness, where we go around thinking, “I’m sinning. I’m always sinning. Why? Because I’m a sinner” becomes a rationale for more sinning. To the contrary, “It is God’s will that you should be holy.” This holiness is burdensome to us only because we think “I’ve gotta do it,” when really it is Christ who is our holiness – not positionally or “in God’s mind” but actually, a present-tense, here-and-now holiness that is totally accessible to us at any time through the channel of faith. If we are tempted to unholy attitudes or actions, we can recognize our oneness with Christ – that He is living in us in an indivisible union through which everything that He IS belongs to us, and everything that we are as vessels belongs to Him. But in order for this communication of His life to flow we let go of an independent “I” that has to perform, and we recognize that it is Christ Himself in us who is our Life. We also let go of the idea that there is an independent “I” in us that runs around and commits sin. Righteousness is the possession and character of one Person, God, expressed in His Son, Jesus Christ, and given to us as our own possession not as a thing to be possessed but in the Person of the Holy Spirit. Likewise, sin is the possession and character of one person – Satan. He is the originator of it; he was the one who said, “I will be my own god; I will rule myself.” Jesus said to the self righteous, “You are of your father, the devil, and his lusts you will do.” They weren’t doing their own lusts, but Satan’s. 1Jo 3:2-10 illuminates this: “Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And everyone who has this hope in Him purifies himself, just as He is pure. Whoever commits sin also commits lawlessness, and sin is lawlessness. And you know that He was manifested to take away our sins, and in Him there is no sin. Whoever abides in Him does not sin. Whoever sins has neither seen Him nor known Him. Little children, let no one deceive you. He who practices righteousness is righteous, just as He is righteous. He who sins is of the devil, for the devil has sinned from the beginning. For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that He might destroy the works of the devil. Whoever has been born of God does not sin, for His seed remains in him; and he cannot sin, because he has been born of God. In this the children of God and the children of the devil are manifest: Whoever does not practice righteousness is not of God, nor is he who does not love his brother.” After this passage John delineates what it looks like to live from Christ; it’s loving in deed and in truth, not just in words. But it’s really Christ loving through us. “And this is His commandment: that we should believe on the name of His Son Jesus Christ and love one another, as He gave us commandment.” As we rely, believe, trust, exercise faith in the name – the power, authority, uniqueness, identity – of the Son of God, Jesus Christ, we love one another. Because it is His love coming through us. Think about it – John here flies in the face of much modern theology of “I sin because I’m a sinner.” Believe me, I used to live in that consciousness on a constant basis – the life of Romans 7. John is here showing why a believer cannot sin and feel ok about it. It’s because we are committing spiritual adultery, having a form of godliness but denying its power by saying “Jesus died to pay my sin debt” and then not relying on His indwelling Life. When we sin, we are really allowing our humanity to be used by the devil for his sinning. When we ‘righteous’, we are allowing Christ to live through us. Behavior is produced by the identity we are believing in, relying on – the identity we are “giving ourselves to,” if we want to use God’s symbol of the marriage union. As blood-bought, blood-washed believers, when we give ourselves to the sinner-identity, we are committing adultery with Satan, with the subsequent fruit of it: Sin. We are saying, “I am an independent self. I choose good and evil.” And what happens with that false identity is that Satan gets his marionette strings hooked into us and works us like puppets – from the outside in, since we’re believers. We’re committing spiritual adultery when we sin. When we give ourselves over to the One who gave Himself for us, believing, trusting Him, relying on Him and the new Name we have been given in this marriage union – His very own Name, with all its attendant authority and power, love, security, worth, and meaning – when we give ourselves to this One, He begets righteousness through us. That’s the essential fact on sin and righteousness. They do not originate in us. We give ourselves to one or the other in Satan or Jesus Christ, and they produce through us. This is not dualism. God and Satan are not equal powers. Satan is under Christ’s feet. Defeated. But God wants us to appropriate that defeat at the Cross by faith – by relying on Christ. We take “a willed share in our own making,” as George MacDonald said. That willed share is Faith.

The latest Rabbit Room interview shines a spotlight on Centricity Records singer/songwriter Jason Gray. Some of you might know Jason’s music from the brand new album he’s supposed to have by now but doesn’t because he’s taking absolutely forever to write anything new at all. When I asked him off the record about this delay, he said, “Those other imbeciles in the Rabbit Room will fart and then release it. Real genius takes time.” Ladies and gentlemen, we present Jason Gray. How did you end up meeting The Proprietor [AP] in the first place? Well, I was already a fan to begin with. We had the same booking agency for a time and when I was at their office they gave me his current record, “Love & Thunder”. My wife and I listened to it as we drove south from there to shows in Florida and both of us started crying within the first few moments of that record. There was something special about it. Skip ahead several months and the Breen Agency sends me an offer to open for Andrew at a show he’s doing in Minneapolis. I don’t think any pay is involved, but we wouldn’t have dreamed of missing it. I think it was the day of the show that we spoke with the guy hosting the event and he tells me that he forgot I was coming and didn’t make room for me in the evening, etc. We were already on our way there, so he told us to come and he’d work it out. We got there and he wanted me to do like 10 minutes of music while people were walking in. I told him that this wasn’t our cup of tea and that we’d rather just enjoy the show than go through the demoralizing experience of being background music while people found their seats. I was disappointed with him and with the booking agency and it had soured the evening, so we thought of just leaving, but then I guess he talked to Andrew and Ben (Shive) and they worked me back into the evening. It was so kind of Andrew and Ben to accommodate me – an unknown opening artist – and in spite of all the confusion, it turned out to be a great night! We hung out and had dinner afterwards and became good friends. Andrew offered to let me stay at his house the next time I was in Nashville and I’ve been stalking him ever since. When/how did he first approach you about the Rabbit Room? And what drew you to be involved? Well, inevitably whenever we would talk we would give each other book recommendations and it was clear that we shared a passion for similar kinds of authors and the worlds they created. It became common for us to send each other books as gifts. So when he started this venture, I assume I was a candidate because of that. He asked me to be involved and I jumped at the chance! I love being a contributor here because I can be a little self-indulgent and talk about stuff that I care about that I don’t get to anywhere else. And I love the community and the varied and civil conversations that happen here. It’s also a good place to meet girls. (Just kidding.) Since you brought up your live show, I’d love to know how people describe an evening at a Jason Gray concert? As the most amazing hour and half of their lives! “I laughed! I cried! I grew hair behind my knees!” Just kidding (I don’t know why I always feel compelled to let people know I’m “just kidding” even when it’s obvious). I’ve been thinking hard about how to answer this… because it’s hard to talk about myself, especially in a positive light. I’m afraid of sounding self-important or worse – foolish! – if I begin to talk about the virtues of the Jason Gray experience. But Proverbs 27:21 says: “…man is tested by the praise he receives,” and any praise I receive usually is in regards to my live show. I’m not necessarily an awe inspiring musician – I play mostly first position chords in standard tuning, no frills, and I’m a moderately capable singer (though I try to always sing and play with passion, to play and sing like I mean it), but what I think I’m best at is connecting with people. I think I’m personable and self-effacing enough that an audience feels safe with me. I’m a communicator more than anything else and I craft the ideas I want to share nearly as much as the songs I sing. I share a lot of stories because people connect with stories, and I try to tell each story as if it were a song – it has to have a hook, a chorus (a central thought that I’ll return to) and some kind of turn in the “bridge” or “third verse”. My view is that if people wanted to only listen to music they could do that with a CD in the comfort of their own home. I’m assuming they want something more if they come to a concert, that they want something human. So I try to bring my life to them, working out my salvation with fear and trembling up there behind the mic, trusting that it helps them do the same. I think one of the reasons why people connect with me live is because of my obvious weakness. As a stutterer, a part of what I feel called to do is explore the virtues of weakness – how God meets us and empowers us in our weakness. I get to be the guy who comes and tells everyone that if they feel weak and unlikely that they are the ones who should be most expectant. I’m grateful I get to be the one who brings this story, and I think many people who are crippled by shame and fear are grateful to hear it. I’m not very cool, either – I’m a little awkward, too tall and gangly, and I talk funny. I think my lack of coolness goes a long way toward my audiences feeling like they can open up, be vulnerable, and explore the mysteries of God’s grace with me. I’m always told that my live show is my greatest strength, and the challenge has been to bring every other element of my ministry to the same level of “success” as the connection I enjoy with a live audience – a hard thing to translate into studio recordings and even live recordings. Have you found that weakness of being a stutterer become a major inspiration to your own songwriting? Well, less an inspiration at first than maybe something I had to learn to accommodate. But limitations are always an artist’s greatest asset – it forces you into unexpected, unique places, and gives your work context. I have to let people know early in my concerts that I’m a stutterer to help put them at ease (and avoid any awkward snickering from an audience who otherwise wouldn’t know any better). Over time it became clear that this obvious weakness of mine is fertile ground for exploring God’s grace. As I’ve met so many people over the years who are amazed that I can do what I do even though I have a speech impediment, it’s become clear that my greatest gift I can bring to the table is my weakness. I get to be a trophy of God’s foolishness! The existence of my ministry at all puts a face to the verse that says “God uses the foolish things of the world to confound the wise.” Of course, my speech is really the least significant of my weaknesses – but it is the safest and easiest weakness for my audience to digest. I can start there and then slowly dig deeper with them, though, and hopefully by the end of the concert we’ve started to chip away at the shame that paralyzes so many of us – the fear that my weakness, handicap, depression, addiction, or failure disqualifies me from service. But with my stuttering, I get to symbolically stand for the truth that God takes all those things – all of our brokenness – and turns them into our qualifications. It’s an inspiring thought, really, so I guess you could say that it does inspire my work. I try to be a good steward of my weakness. Let’s say you had the Pauline option open to you, of sorts — that is, to have the ‘thorn removed’ — would you choose to be free from stuttering? Sometimes – especially when I have to call and order a pizza or do a radio interview. Radio interviews are the worst! Radio people can be a jumpy bunch anyway, with most of them nervous about any kind of dead space or awkwardness on air at all. It also can throw your comedic timing off. But I’ve long since accepted that this is just the way it is, so I do my best and trust God will use it. I can honestly say that I no longer really long for that kind of healing. If it came I’d be happy! But I’m just as content to be a stutterer for the rest of my life. It really has become one of my greatest assets. It teaches me so much dependence and humility and I think makes me a safe place for others. I think I’d be somewhat impoverished without it, and the same could be said for most of our suffering. I think of Moses here, who – like most of us – when God speaks to him through the burning bush and tells him that He’s got a job for him to do, begins to tick off a list of why God picked the wrong man for the job, culminating in Moses pointing out the fact that he stutters and stammers and has never been impressive with his speech. God graciously assures Moses not to worry, that He will be with him in all of this. But Moses continues to protest and God puts a hard question to him: “What’s in your hand?” He asks, which is not very polite in a way, since God is essentially reminding Moses of how far he has fallen. The Prince of Egypt who was raised to perhaps wield a scepter is reduced to now to the lowly station of a shepherd. “A staff” a humbled Moses must answer. It seems that God is telling Moses and the rest of us that it doesn’t really matter what’s in our hands, what we think we can bring to the table. All that matters is that we come to the table, and let God look after the rest. One of the byproducts of all this is the fact that if we come and serve and work out of our weakness, those who are weak won’t be afraid of us, we become a safe place for others. It’s much easier to talk with a person holding a staff than it is to talk to one who is holding a scepter. I’ve often thought about how from junior high on we begin posturing, playing the game of hiding our weakness while exaggerating our virtues. We start living a lie and we begin our life-long obsession with hiding from those around us, exerting so much energy to project the best version of ourselves, constantly afraid of being found out. The gift of my stuttering is that I never really had much chance of learning how to hide. Every time I opened my mouth it was clear that something was wrong with Jason, and so I’ve always had to be up front that, yes, something is wrong with Jason. It starts with the way I talk, but that’s just the beginning! My brokenness goes much deeper than just a speech impediment. My stuttering is the beginning of a conversation about all that’s broken in all of us. In many ways it has helped undo the power of shame in my life. It’s hard to wish it away when you think of it in that context. Humiliation has the potential to set you free of the fear of men, and I couldn’t have asked for much more of a bearable humiliation. #JasonGray

We watched this at the Centricity Music retreat this week, and it touched me profoundly.  Spend a few minutes appreciating the story of how this artist came to know Christ.  Beautiful.

Some of you may know that I decided to release my newest album with the help of a record label.  That label is Centricity Music.  Jason Gray was my introduction to the label a few years ago when he joined their ranks, then Andy Gullahorn and Jill Phillips were invited by the label to visit a retreat center in Washington so they could talk to a group of independent artists.  What?  A Nashville record label that a) likes the Gullahorns and Jason Gray and b) gives a hoot about independent artists? When it came time to put the finishing touches on Resurrection Letters we sent it to a few labels to see what the reaction might be, and if one of them seemed to get it, and the contract was agreeable, we’d consider releasing the record with their help.  Well, my manager met with the Centricity folks.  On the way home from the meeting she called me with a note of incredulity in her voice to tell me that she thought that it might be time to sign a record deal again.  They loved the record and wanted to be a part of it.  What?  A Nashville record label that 1) likes my music and 2) wants to help more people to hear it? There’s more to it than that, but you get the idea.  We signed on the dotted line, and both parties are happy with the agreement.  (If you want to know more about the label, you can read the glowing things Christianity Today had to say about them here.)  I’m proud to be a part of their team. So, what am I doing in Winthrop? There’s a yearly retreat in this Old West town during which the artists on the label and the staff spend a week together learning, meeting, praying, planning, brainstorming, recording, etc.  I don’t know of any other labels that approach their work with this same kind of care, wisdom, and attention.  These guys seem to truly care about the artists, about the music they’re making, and about their place in the Kingdom.  So I’ve spent the last few days observing, wondering what exactly I got myself into.  And the conclusion I’ve reached is that it feels just right.  Ask me in two years and the answer may be different, but right now, this afternoon in this cowboy town with a few minutes to collect my thoughts, I’m grateful.  Very grateful.

“Father, it’s been quite some time since my last confession. And I have sinned. You see, I took a week off last week. It’s called a Sabbath, which I think is Greek or Latvian for ‘invest in some time away only to feel guilty the entire time for doing so.’ Anyway, I feel horrible and I’m pretty sure I won’t do it again. Please forgive me.” Replace the word ‘Father’ with various community members’ names and there you have my week: attempting to explain to person after person why they haven’t seen me for a bit around our church community. Where was I? In short, I took a bit of a Sabbath. I wrote, read, prayed, reflected, studied and watched a lot of Olympics in between. I drank coffee and water and beer to varying degrees. I might have even smoked, depending on who reads this. And I absolutely felt reconnected to my purpose and passion for doing what I do. So why do I feel so freakin’ guilty? Why do I feel as if people look down condescendingly upon my little getaway? “Pastors only work on Sundays, so I don’t see why you need time off.” Nobody has EVER said that. And, in fact, upon hearing that I’ve taken a Sabbath, their response is usually, “That’s great. I’m so glad you get a chance to do that. That’s so needed in your position.” But instead, I feel like Sloth (not from Goonies, but from Seven) when I try to retreat for a bit. If someone catches me only reading in the middle of the day, rather than meeting with someone or typing vigorously on my laptop, then it’s almost like my lazy hand is in the cookie jar. When my wife comes home and says, ‘How was your day?’, somehow I magically hear it as ‘WHAT did you do today?’ and can get defensive if I don’t hold an impressive list to read off: Hear Ye! Hear Ye! I finished 14 tasks, wrote 100 emails, preached four sermons and brushed my teeth – all in the course of one day! Ridiculous I know, but I’m in that sort of mood. And overall, I guess I’m tired of feeling guilty. Especially when I read a line like this: Surely I can’t be the only one that struggles with this. Surely I’m not the only one who, at the end of a not-much-done day, decides to drink some coffee and churn out a bunch of writing post-10pm only for the sake of feeling productive. I don’t want to find my worth in this but I have a hard time getting out of the human hamster wheel (see Dare, Double). Any practical advice out there? Any non-practical quotes out there? Any other fellow sufferers for the works part of our gospel? Misery loves company, so I’d love a head count…

Love songs and Springsteen are the hot topics of the week so this pick for Song of the Day ought to be just about perfect. “Everyday” is off of Jill’s first album, Jill Phillips, and it’s not only a great love song but there’s a reference to one of The Boss’s best in the first verse. You can also check out her newest album over at Noisetrade.com.

Mystery. Intrigue. Drugs, dark secrets, the decay of the will, and the transforming power of God’s love sown by a single man to a harvest of redemption. That’s Donal Grant. George MacDonald has an uncanny gift for unzipping a reader’s heart, dropping in all kinds of mind-expanding and life-altering thoughts, and then zipping it all right back up. By my late twenties I’d read nearly all of the C.S. Lewis catalog except for Studies in Words and Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Literature (which I’ve still not read), some of them many times, and began to dig into George MacDonald because he was the man of whom Lewis said, “He was my master” and that his Phantastes “baptised my imagination.” When I first began reading MacDonald he seemed legalistic to me with all his talk of obedience and “doing what Jesus tells you.” At times he really agitated me. There were moments where I literally felt sick, knowing I didn’t have what it takes to be holy. Such is the effect of MacDonald’s work on someone with legalistic and unworthy concepts of God. But perseverance had its way. As I continued I found the depth of his view of God – that it is God within the human who activates and empowers, and that we can be strong by His strength alone. In our time-bound perception this translates to the inner choice and attitude of faith, leading to the outer form or action of faith which is obedience. Donal Grant is a real character study in how this inner choice and attitude of faith is manifested as obedience; the Son re-incarnating the life of the Father in Donal through Donal’s continual offering of his body as a living sacrifice, and being transformed by the renewing of his mind. On strength: “…if any one trust in work, he has to learn that he must trust in nothing but strength – the self-existent, original strength only; and Donal Grant had long begun to learn that. That man has begun to be strong who knows that, separated from life essential, he is weakness itself, that, one with his origin, he will be of strength inexhaustible.” On the nature of punishment and the love of the Father: “All hatred of sin is love to the sinner. Do you think Jesus came to deliver us from the punishment of our sins? He would not have moved a step for that. The horrible thing is being bad, and all punishment is help to deliver us from that, nor will punishment cease till we have ceased to be bad. God will have us good, and Jesus works out the will of his father. Where is the refuge of the child who fears his father? Is it in the farthest corner of the room? Is it down in the dungeon of the castle, my lady?” “No, no!” cried lady Arctura; “–in his father’s arms!” What we touch in Donal is holiness. Not the pressed lips, hair in a bun caricature, but the real, living, breathing, loving, alive-with-the-life-of-God kind of holiness, the kind that makes us want to live and love and be alive with that same Life. “The gospel is given to convince, not our understandings, but our hearts; that done, and never till then, our understandings will be free.”