What are you looking for?

So the most celebrated album around here lately is easily The Ill-Tempered Klavier. Yet besides the beautiful music, you won’t find much information available about the thoughtful artist behind the release. Thus, we can think of no better artist to reveal next in our Rabbit Room Interview Series than Ben Shive himself. Matt: Do you remember when you first met Andrew Peterson? Ben: I came to Belmont University in 1999 and Rich Mullins had died, but I was really in love with his music. I wanted to do something in that vein. At the time, I wasn’t writing at all and I had no aspirations to do so. I actually still don’t have that in mind for my entire career. I really wanted to be like Beeker, just a right-hand man. So I had my eyes open and, through an old acquaintance, I met a guy who was Andrew’s roommate in college. He said, ‘This guy is gonna be the next Rich Mullins.’ I hadn’t heard his music, but I just thought I would be looking out for it. I knew that Carried Along was coming out and I bought it when it came out and thought it was great. I was in a class at Belmont on arranging and I had to write an arrangement for an orchestra, so I did “Faith To Be Strong” and it was recorded, which I sent to Andrew as my sales pitch for myself. So then he liked it, or I guess he did, and he needed some strings written for “Behold The Lamb of God” because it was in its third year and he wanted to do a show in Nashville – a bigger show. So he got me to write some strings and I spent the time I should have been writing my senior recital writing his strings. Then that show in Nashville was a few days after graduation and that’s when Andrew asked me to play with him. It was perfectly timed, and the rest, as they say, is history. Matt: So did you find your acquaintance to be correct – was Andrew the next Rich? Ben: Oh, I won’t do that to him. I think he wants to be understood in that same vein by people, but he’s not comfortable with the comparison. I definitely think he’s not Rich Mullins but I think his writing is doing for people what Rich’s writing did for them. I think what’s beautiful about Christian music is that it really can change people’s lives if it’s done right and I think Andrew’s music does that for people. You know, the church just needs great art. It really does. And Andrew is one of the ones leading the charge. RR: Do you feel fortunate to have fallen into this group that you’re largely surrounded by? Ben: Oh, man. Every day. Absolutely. If I could have scripted my career back in high school when I was in love with music, this is what I would have written. You work with people who are really thoughtful about their faith and who are doggedly trying to write great music. So yeah, I’m so fortunate to feel at home with that group of people. RR: Many of the artists you’re involved with could be thrown into an ‘underappreciated’ category – that their music really deserves to be heard by the masses or on a greater level. What is the expectation for you as you put your own debut out there? Ben: Hmmm… first of all, we’ve had that kind of attitude a lot – that underappreciated thing. But after a while, it gets old to feel and talk that way. Not to speak for Andrew, but I think over the last few years, we’ve just moved to feel thankful for the people who listen to and like our music at all. Maybe there’s a bit of that feeling, but that’s also so arrogant. You know, ‘We deserve to be appreciated.’ So I think we just need to be thankful and not take that for granted – the people who like our music. As far as my own record goes, I love my record and I’m proud of it but I’m just thankful that any would like it. I guess my hopes are just that the response would be good enough that it could justify me making more records. When I set out to do this and writing these first songs, I was really writing just for myself, as a hobby for kicks because I just enjoyed it. No offense, but I didn’t make it so that it could be heard by the world. There was just a part of me that needed to make a record. I love records. I’m a collector and I loved the idea of making my own music. So it’s a wonderful feeling now to have other people hear it and it’s a pleasant surprise. But I don’t need it. I don’t know that I have a longing for a career as an artist to become my big pursuit. I have the production thing going, which allows me to be at home with my family. It’s really been a good life, so in my mind, a good template for what I want is what has happened for Daniel Lanois. People love his production and really appreciate him. And then he puts a record every few years and the people who enjoy his records, it’s a real treat to look forward to. But I don’t think he feels tied to making it as an artist. He continues to be a producer and being interested in music and then, when it’s time, he makes more songs and a record. But that’s his bread and butter and I think I’d like same thing – obviously, on a much smaller scale. I’d love to, when I’m ready, write more songs and make another record. RR: You said that the church needs great art – was that foundational for the ethos of making this record? Ben: Absolutely. Here’s the deal, as I said, I’ve just discovered all this new music over the last seven years and the sense that I’ve gotten is that the musical palette for those outside of the Christian music market is so much richer. When I get into artists like Rufus Wainwright or Elliot Smith, as I’ve dug deeper into The Beatles and Talking Heads, I feel they really turn me on sonically but none of them have changed my life. It’s my favorite music, but it could never do for me what Rich Mullins did for me. He changed my life in high school. Hearing what he had to say about the gospel changed my life. So in my mind in whatever position I am in, I have an opportunity for Christian people to hear my music and maybe some non-Christians. My hope for the Christians to hear my album that it would be this great art for them. My hope for nonbelievers who hear the record would be like C.S. Lewis. All kinds of people read his books and he wrote well enough that people may have not been converted, but he was respected. His arguments and logic, they held up because they made sense. Not to compare myself with him because he’s my hero. But I would love to make a record that could swim that pond – that musically would make sense–and not just for people who had grown up on Christian music and that lyrically, with a few exceptions like “Rise Up” which is very Christian, that they would not to be able to pigeonhole it but that they would realize it says something about the world, about myself. That they would have to contend with that. RR: How does having that as part of your ethos tangibly affect the songwriting process? Ben: I don’t want my songs to resolve. I don’t want them to have happy endings. With “A Name, A Name, A Name,” I was writing that song and I had this story about a woman. I was praying about it and asking God, ‘I want my music and my songs to have Jesus as a shadowy figure in the corner hounding them. I want Jesus to be knocking on the door in my songs, not be the figure I’m talking about.’ Then I realized that maybe that’s what happens in this song. This woman has this day and then when she finally gets to a place of quiet, Jesus in the form of her memories, every good thing that she’s experienced knocks on the door of her office. But then, where it goes from there, because of what I believe about art, is that she doesn’t say the sinner’s prayer in her office. I hope that for that character, but that’s not what the song is necessarily trying to do. Similarly with “Out of Tune,” I didn’t want to break the metaphor. So you’re not going to hear the name of Christ in that song. But to me, that song is the Scripture of ‘in Him, we move and have our being.’ That piano is inert until it is played by someone. So my songs to me are very Christian songs but I don’t want to make them cheap. They shouldn’t be cheap Christian songs. I want them to be more like Old Testament stories, like the book of Esther where you don’t get a nicely packaged life application at the end of a book. But you do get a story in which you have to contend with what God did for his people. It’s still a story about God even though he’s not mentioned in the story. That’s what I want. I like that kind of music. I like mystery. I also want to have a tangible relationship with God, but I like the fact that Jesus opened his mouth in parables. I want to tell parables, to tell stories. It cheapens it, for me, if I package it up and said, ‘Here it is,’ because that’s all you can learn from the song. That’s all you can take from it. I hope some people misinterpret my songs in a way that is more helpful for them than what my interpretation would be from it. I hope that people would get things from “Out of Tune” that I didn’t make. I want people to think and listen and be challenged a bit.

This is another beauty from Jeremy’s record RCVRY. Darkest Night words and music: Casella I know that face, I know that smile Though I haven’t seen it in a little while Through your restless eyes and your heavy heart Well it’s been awhile Just down the road, a fifteen minute drive Where it’s another day and it’s another mile And you’ve come so far just to lie so still By your father’s side When you’re all alone and you’re counted out When you’re swallowed up inside the shadow of a doubt With your faith worn thin as your sorrows rise And you’re forced to find the words to say your last goodbye Follow the truth or follow your heart Either way you find it’s pulling you apart There’s a silent ache that just won’t back down On your darkest night No easy answers here, it’s such an awful mess You only question more and more the deeper that you get All that your eyes can see is the pouring rain But our love burns brighter than this dark cloud Your tears will be my tears Your tears, love, will be my tears On the darkest night

The Yellow Leaves: A Miscellany, the new book from my favorite author, Frederick Buechner, was released on June 16th. I added it to my Amazon shopping cart when I first heard about it from the Proprietor and Eric Peters, after they heard Buechner read a couple excerpts during the grand opening of the Frederick Buechner Institute back in January (which also featured a concert by Michael Card, with AP opening for him). The blurb on the back of The Yellow Leaves from John Wilson, editor of Books and Culture, perfectly describes it: “Heartbreaking, sardonic, whimsical, elegiac, crazy-funny: this is a book to be sipped like a rare wine, the last bottle of a fabled vintage, brought up from the cellar for our delectation.” After receiving it in the mail a couple weeks ago from Amazon, along with a Chuck Klosterman book and the full score for Richard Wagner’s Die Walküre, I read a couple pages here and there when I could find some time around work. When Saturday rolled around, after mowing my lawn, I returned to my air-conditioned living room, put a Jerry Goldsmith soundtrack on the stereo, settled into my reading chair with a cappuccino in hand, and read the last 80 pages, savoring each page, each sentence. When I finished the last page, the first feeling that came over me was gratefulness – gratefulness for more stories and memories from Buechner. Last Friday was Buechner’s 82nd birthday, so it’s possible this will be his last book. In the introduction, explaining how this book came about, a miscellany of stuff he’s worked on over the last couple of years, he writes, “I can still write sentences and paragraphs, but for some five or six years now I haven’t been able to write books. Maybe after more than thirty of them the well has at last run dry. Maybe, age eighty, I no longer have the right kind of energy. Maybe the time has simply come to stop. Whatever the reason, at least for the moment the sweet birds no longer sing.” I’m thankful for this book because of what Buechner’s writings do for me. On the back of his book The Longing for Home, there’s a blurb from the New Oxford Review that says, “Journey on, Frederick Buechner. We need your stories to help us make sense of our own.” That’s a theme that is present in much of Buechner’s work, how all of our stories are the same and we need to share our stories with each other, and by doing so we can make sense of our own. We all go through the same struggles, all have the same doubts and questions and joys and celebrations and longings and feelings of aloneness. I don’t know how many times I’ve quoted the introduction to his memoir, Telling Secrets, wherein he offers a poignant reminder of our need to tell our secrets. The first thing I read from Buechner, the passage that convinced me I needed to read more from him, is found in Listening to Your Life: Daily Meditations with Frederick Buechner. He recounts a time he walked into a class he was supposed to be teaching, saw the sunset outside, and turned off the lights. The entire class sat in absolute silence for the twenty or so minutes it lasted, watching the day fade away. Pondering the way we think of silence and words, Buechner writes, “The way this world works, people are very apt to use the words they speak not so much as a way of revealing but, rather, as a way of concealing who they really are and what they really think, and that is why more than a few moments of silence with people we do not know well are apt to make us so tense and uneasy. Stripped of our verbal camouflage, we feel unarmed against the world and vulnerable, so we start babbling about anything just to keep the silence at bay.” (Read the full passage here.) Continuing that thought, in a chapter in The Yellow Leaves where he writes about some of his colleagues from his time as a teacher, he writes of one friend, “I dropped in on him every once in a while, and to keep the silence at bay we made conversation about things that neither of us was particularly interested in while Mrs. Favor served us tea and cookies.” It’s a sobering reminder to me to be conscious of the ways I use words. In one chapter in The Yellow Leaves, he recounts a time he met Maya Angelou at an event where the two of them were speaking. The host made a point of how different Angelou’s story was from that of Buechner: “But even as Fred Burnham was saying how different our two stories had been, I could see her shaking her head from side to side, and when she took her place at the lectern the first thing she did was say that he was wrong. ‘No,’ she said, ‘Frederick Buechner and I have exactly the same story.’ She was right, of course. At the deepest level the story of any one of us is the story of all of us. We all have the same dreams, the same doubts, the same fears in the night. Her words brought sudden tears to my eyes.” And on the next page, when Buechner was visiting with Angelou at her house, he writes, “I do remember that at some point she said in a slow, pensive way as if it was only then occurring to her that she believed that, given the chance, we could be real friends. I replied that I thought we were that already, but she said, ‘No, I mean real friends,’ and if we didn’t live so many miles apart, and if she wasn’t so busy being a celebrity and I being whatever I am, I think she may have been right. In any case as we sat there I had the feeling that even if we never set eyes on each other again, in some soft, shadowy way we had left a lasting mark on each other. For a few moments, with the dusk beginning to gather, our two stories merged like raindrops on a window pane.” The book ends with a group of poems about friends and family, the last one titled “Lawrenceville Fiftieth Reunion”. In this excerpt, he starts out by talking about a poem he had written for their graduation, fifty years earlier: I finished up my poem like this. I said, “Remember too that life is very good, And that to live is better than to die,” And all in all I’d say so still, though sixty- Six is not so sure as sweet sixteen What life and death are all about. Suppose We lose less, dying, than we find. Who knows? Life’s good, for sure, but would we choose to live Forever if we could? Or might that seem Like twilight never deepening into dark, Like never calling it a day, and letting Go, and lying down to sleep. “Life should Be wondered at,” I said, “not understood,” As if I thought there was a choice, then said, “Remember love,” as if we might forget.

You have to see this. This may or may not be the wife of someone named Randall Goodgame. Hilarious.

This one is the title track from what is arguably the most important of the bazillion records from Caedmon’s Call: Share the Well.  The writing and recording of this album was collaborative, courageous, and deeply passionate.  These guys have put out a lot of records, toured heavily for years, and in some ways it felt to me like it all led to this album and what it did for the Kingdom.  I’ve heard so many great stories about their time in India and South America–stories that remind me that the wild hope of the Gospel actually matters, that it actually changes things, least of all my own stony heart. So here’s a song by our own Randall Goodgame, written for the Dalits, an Indian caste-that’s-so-low-it’s-not-even-a-caste; they’re not even allowed to drink from the same well as those of other castes for fear of persecution and sometimes death.  That a bunch of rowdy Texans in a folk-rock band actually went to India, let these stories infect them, came back to the U.S. and wrote an album about it is remarkable.  Like I said, it’s important.  And it’s important that we pay attention. All that, and it still makes you tap your foot. Share the Well Words and Music by Randall Goodgame Je Ra Ji Ra, Ji Ra, De Ji Ra, De Ji Ji Ji Share the well, share with your brother Share the well my friend It takes a deeper well to love one another Share the well my friend Je Ra Ji Ra, Ji Ra, De Ji Ra, De Ji Ji Ji Do you think the water knows Flowing down the mountain thaw Finally to find repose For any soul who cares to draw Some kindred keepers of this Earth On their way to join the flow Are cast aside and left to thirst Tell me now it is not so Share the well, share with your brother Share the well my friend It takes a deeper well to love one another Share the well my friend All God’s creatures share the water hole The blessed day the monsoon comes And in His image we are woven Every likeness every one From Kashmir to Karala Under every banyan tree Mothers for their children cry With empty jar and bended knee Share the well, share with your brother Share the well my friend It takes a deeper well to love one another Share the well my friend Je Ra Ji Ra, Ji Ra, De Ji Ra, De Ji Ji Ji You know I’ve heard good people say There’s nothing I can do That’s half a world away Well maybe you’ve got money Maybe you’ve got time Maybe you’ve got the Living Well That ain’t every running dry Share the well, share with your brother Share the well my friend It takes a deeper well to love one another Share the well my friend Je Ra Ji Ra, Ji Ra, De Ji Ra, De Ji Ji Ji

A little toe-tapping bluegrass/gospel goodness from the mind of Ron Block (from his latest record, Doorway). BE ASSURED Words and Music by Ron Block I’m a man, flesh and blood, of just one thing I’m sure I was made from the dust and to dust I will return But the dust ain’t the end ’cause in my heart I know I’m spirit and soul, to the Father’s home I go Be assured, be assured If you’ve trusted in the Lord All who call on His name Are gonna live forevermore Oh I know, oh I know, ’cause the Spirit lives in me The Spirit of the Son says a son I’ll ever be I can be assured that my home is up on high I’ve found it in the Word of the One who’ll never lie Be assured, be assured If you’ve trusted in the Lord All who call on His name Are gonna live forevermore If you live, if you live in the darkness and the fear There is love, only love, He will wash away the tears Pouring love into you, the Spirit of the Son He’ll flow through you into everyone Be assured, be assured If you’ve trusted in the Lord All who call on His name Are gonna live forevermore Be assured, be assured If you’ve trusted in the Lord All who call on His name Are gonna live forevermore

In less than two weeks, I’ll be out of a job, out of a home, and hundreds of miles from my nearest comfort zone. I resigned from a job I love, the best job I’ve ever had. I told the little old lady I rent from that I won’t be renewing the lease and I’ve written my last rent check. I sold everything but my pickup, my motorcycle, and a few boxes of books, tools, clothes, and sundries. If it doesn’t fit in the pickup, it’s not coming with me. I dismantled my unfinished sailboat and saw her bones thrown on the burn pile. That was the hardest part of the entire thing. The boat that I’d put so much sweat and work into was too big to come with me, too unfinished to sell. I nearly cried when I took the saw to her and cut her apart. I wish I could say I had a concrete reason for having done these things but the truth is that I don’t. People ask me what I’m going to do and for the most part, I just wince and shrug, “Time for change.” In one of Wendell Berry’s poems he says, “…every day do something that won’t compute.” This qualifies. A couple of months ago when I made the decision to move, I felt very strongly that I was being led by God. It was the culmination of months of prayer. Today I feel like I’m standing at the top of a huge flight of steps and saying to God, “Next Friday I’m going to fling myself down these stairs. You’d better catch me.” It feels like I’m daring God to let me break my neck. The trouble is that I’m pretty sure God has every intention of letting me fall, break my neck, and lay on the floor dying while I wonder what I was thinking. I expect to be hungry a lot. I expect anxiety over where the rent money is going to come from. I expect to have to take jobs I hate because they pay the bills. I expect a lot of things that won’t be enjoyable. But I also expect resurrection. The last line of that poem says, “Practice resurrection.” That phrase has been with me a lot these past days and next week when I drive away from everything that makes me comfortable, it’ll be with me then. I’ve had plenty of practice in the past. I wish I could say I was getting better, or that it was getting easier, but each time I’ve flung myself down those steps it’s been a brief moment of flight followed by a bone-snapping crash. It hurts to die but each time I’m raised again and I’m something new, something I don’t recognize, something I never expected. I’ve gotten no better at avoiding the pain, but maybe, just maybe I’m getting better at trusting in the coming resurrection. When I get where I’m going, I look forward to laying out that sailboat again. I learned a lot the first time through. I’ve honed my skills and I have my tools. I trust in the blueprints and I understand them better this time around. Though she’ll be the same, she’ll be cut from new wood. She’ll be finer than she was before and built by surer hands. There will be new problems to overcome, more blistered hands and cut fingers but one day, when I’ve bled for her enough, she’ll sail. Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay. Want more of everything ready-made. Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die. And you will have a window in your head. Not even your future will be a mystery any more. Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a little drawer. When they want you to buy something they will call you. When they want you to die for profit they will let you know. So, friends, every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it. Denounce the government and embrace the flag. Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands. Give your approval to all you cannot understand. Praise ignorance, for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed. Ask the questions that have no answers. Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias. Say that your main crop is the forest that you did not plant, that you will not live to harvest. Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into the mold. Call that profit. Prophesy such returns. Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years. Listen to carrion – put your ear close, and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come. Expect the end of the world. Laugh. Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful though you have considered all the facts. So long as women do not go cheap for power, please women more than men. Ask yourself: Will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child? Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth? Go with your love to the fields. Lie down in the shade. Rest your head in her lap. Swear allegiance to what is nighest your thoughts. As soon as the generals and the politicos can predict the motions of your mind, lose it. Leave it as a sign to mark the false trail, the way you didn’t go. Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.

This is my manuscript for the Baccalaureate service I was honored to speak at for Roanoke Bible College this May. Thanks to the folks at the college for allowing me the chance. The Unseen World 5.9.08 For the students of Roanoke Bible College, Class of 2008 There are things about me that you can see: a thirty-something guy with a weak beard and floppy fingers.  A conspicuous lack of neck tie because I gave them all to the Salvation Army the week I graduated from Bible college.  I also ditched all forms of pant-wear but jeans and shorts, though in my old age I have been known to occasionally wear cargo pants on special occasions.  For the sake of graduating, I abided by my Bible college’s dress code in heroic silence, bearing the coat and tie and slacks the same way Jacob bore up under Laban’s workload for the sake of Rachel’s hand.  Here I am, tie-less, and hopefully not offending anyone. Last year I was invited to play at the White House for members of President Bush’s staff who attended the weekly Christian Fellowship.  I was honored, to say the least.  And then I realized the awful truth that this was a situation in which I would have to wear a tie.  The day before I left I walked to my neighbor’s house to borrow one, then I realized that I didn’t have a coat either.  Then I realized that I didn’t own slacks, or a single belt.  “Ooh, do you by chance have a pair of nice shoes I can borrow too?” I said.  On my way out the door I realized that I also needed a pair of black socks.  No kidding, everything I wore at the White House the next day was borrowed (well, almost everything), and I had cause to reflect that all my college dreams had come true.  If you work hard, you too can have a career that doesn’t require slacks or a tie. Thank you for having me.  Goodnight. But seriously.  When I walked up to the podium you saw me, and began to fill in the blanks.  On the outside I’m not very complex.  Not much to look at, unless you ask my wife.  But I believe that it’s my responsibility to tell you about what you can’t see.  It would be easy for me to hide behind the suit coat and floppy fingers and talk about something that has very little to do with the constant play of light and shadow in my heart–and the heart is the thing that matters here. There’s a story in 2 Kings about the invisible world: The king of Aram sent a strong force of men to capture Elisha in the city of Dothan.  When Elisha’s servant saw the Arameans he shook in his boots and asked Elisha what they would do.  “Don’t worry,” Elisha said.  “Those who are with us are greater than those who are with them.”  Then Elisha prayed that God would open his servant’s eyes to see the unseen.  When the servant looked he saw the hills covered with horses and chariots of fire. An army of angels surrounded them, which also probably means there was another, sinister force gathered in the unseen world.  Did you notice what he said?  “Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.”  So there was something else there besides the angel armies, which is enough to creep me out.  But the point is, all around us things are happening that we can’t see.  There are things happening inside of me even now that would shock you. But it’s not just the spiritual world that is unseen.  It’s the world of our personal stories.  I stepped up to the podium with a long history of disobedience and shame, and victory and forgiveness.  Have you ever disliked someone until you heard a bit of their background?  Once you know them in the context of their greater story, you find the capacity to forgive.  Maybe it’s because you remember the seasons in your own life when you weren’t so fun to be around.  Maybe it’s because your heart now breaks for them and the burden they carry.  Whatever it was that bothered you about that person becomes a thing to love and to forgive them for—all because they have allowed you access to their story. So the unseen, you see, is very important. When I came here my insides were whirling with a whole universe of emotions and history and pain and excitement, and my impulse is to strive to cover it over and pretend like I’m comfortable when I’m not.  I want you to like me.  I want to be talked about positively after I leave the room.  Or negatively.  I don’t care as long as I’m not forgotten.  But I do care.  I’m desperate for friendship and companionship and validation and love.  Telling you this makes me uncomfortable.  It makes you uncomfortable too, I’d bet. Are you squirming in your seat?  Because I’m only getting started.  I’m a sinner, of course.  Sometimes I’m short with my kids.  Sometimes I’m short with my wife.  Sometimes I joke in ways I shouldn’t, and sometimes I stare too long at the pretty woman on the airplane.  Sometimes I wish I was rich.  Sometimes I make strong judgments about people across the room based on nothing more than their hair.  Sometimes that room I’m looking across is the auditorium where my church meets.  Sometimes I gossip.  Sometimes I get mad at people in traffic.  This paragraph has gone on long enough, I think. But wait—sometimes your motives are impure.  Sometimes you do truly good things for people, while in the back of your mind you’re wondering what you’re going to get out of it.  Sometimes you lie, too.  Sometimes you confess only a part of the truth because you’re hoping to save at least a little face.  Sometimes you fake smile.  Sometimes you fake laugh.  Sometimes you’re jealous of people who are better looking than you, better dressed than you.  Sometimes you resent wealthy people because you’ve never been wealthy and they don’t know how good they have it.  Sometimes you think about the kids in junior high who had the best BMX bikes and skateboards and shoes and you realize that you hated them when you were young.  You realize that you may not hate them anymore, but you still have a hard time liking them. Everything that is hidden will be made known. I don’t necessarily think that it’s the job of the preacher to always bare the sordid details of the darkness in their own lives, but it is the job of the preacher—of the Christian—to tell the truth.  If you stand before your congregation or your co-workers or neighbors and hide your heart from them then they will be interacting with only half of you, and you will be loving them with only half of you.  This doesn’t mean that every conversation with every person you meet should be a soul-baring confession session; it means that Christ gives you the freedom—his love gives you the freedom—to wear the pain on your sleeve just as much as the healing.  The two depend upon one another.  God’s power is made perfect in our weakness. Frederick Buechner said that the story of one of us is the story of us all.  I have found in my music career that if I am willing to plumb the depths of my heart, willing to dredge to the surface those things that terrify me the most, and fashion them into a song, then it is those songs that proclaim God’s mercy the loudest.  It is those songs that I get the most emails and comments about.  Why?  Because that deepest, darkest part of us is the part that is the most common.  If you don’t think your heart has shadows in it, then you haven’t been walking in the light. Christ, you see, illumines the cellar and its hidden passageways and begins the slow work of cleaning it out.  Becoming a Christian means that you have been forgiven, that you will continue to be forgiven, and that you have the Holy Spirit inside you to comfort and to guide.  But it is not the end of the journey, it is the beginning.  The dark cities you have built on the wasteland of your inner life must still be leveled, cleaned out, the weeds pulled up and the seeds planted and tended to.  Your walk with Christ is a long journey.  And it’s going to hurt when the roots of sturdy trees tunnel deep and branch out and give new life to places long dead. Don’t be afraid to pay attention to what is happening inside of you.  Be willing to allow the Holy Spirit to have his way with you.  Then when you stand before your congregation, or your school, or your neighbor, bear witness to the painful changes that help you to be who you are, and who you’re going to be. Paul cried out with such passion, such familiar heartache, “I don’t understand what I do.  For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”  “What a wretched man I am!  Who will rescue me from this body of death?”  I have wept this very lament, lying face down in my driveway in the dark of night.  I have have groaned it in my car, hunkered over the steering wheel with my heart heavy as stone, unable to drive for the tears in my eyes.  “I don’t understand what I do.  I don’t understand what I do.  I don’t understand.” Then Paul remembers the gospel:  “Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!”  And just a few sentences later comes that glorious declaration:  “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”  No condemnation, though my heart is weak with shame.  Though I hate myself.  I hate my sin.  Why, oh why do I continue to lust, why do I continue to worry, to loathe myself when I look in the mirror?  Why am I always so afraid?  Why, why, why?  Why, if I’m now in Christ, do I still feel so tired, so sinful?  Why am I so prone to wander, prone to leave the God I love? “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”  We have been set free.  Do you feel that relief? That breath of clean air after all the smoke?  That sprig of hope pushing up through the wasted soil? Resurrection surrounds us.  It is the heart of the story God is telling us. But there can be no resurrection without there first being death.  There can be no towering oak but that the seed falls to the earth and dies.  There would be no forgiveness but that we broke the law.  The two together are part of one story.  And that story has the power, by God, to heal. And yet we walk through our lives, through our ministries, with the focus on attendance numbers and programs and yearly budgets (all necessary evils), paying little or no attention to the unseen world.  The world of our private sorrow.  The world of the human heart.  The world of harrowing battles that rage around us, even when we’re sitting in Starbucks or standing in line at the post office, or on the stage in front of the audience. There is a dark power in silence, in secrets.  We carry them like a disease, and like a disease they fester. “Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord…there is no condemnation.”  Again, that sigh of relief.  Again, the strength to smile.  Again, the feeling of waking to birdsong in April.  The darkness of the unseen world is great, but God’s love is greater, and it is in that love that our brokenness is fashioned into a song that can heal.  And that is something only Jesus could do. I have heard too many sermons that left me feeling lonelier instead of less alone.  I have heard boisterous admonitions from the mouths of well-meaning preachers who were masters of exegesis but who were unwilling to quietly confess to their fear, unwilling to admit that they doubt, that there have been moments in their lives when they wondered if this wasn’t all a game.  And that confession is what I long to hear.  That quiet, humble admission of guilt is what I yearn for, because I sit in the pew a broken, confused, lonely man, even though my wife and children sit on either side of me. I’m not saying that I’m always depressed and whiny, or that we the church should be so.  But I have found that when I reflect on the nature of my soul, I sense a discontentment.  Even though I’m a Christian, I get the feeling that something in me is not right.  And that is true.  Then I become aware with a surge of joy that Jesus of Nazareth is there in the brokenness, wading through the battle, crushing the enemy with the Word of the Father: “There is no condemnation for this one,” he says. “He belongs to me.” Do you remember that we’re all in the same boat, and it’s taking on water faster than we can dish it out?  The best of us is capable of terrible things.  I remember hearing a pastor at his son’s ordination service tell him, “If you have sin in your life, your ministry will be ineffective.”  I nearly fell out of the pew.  I stand before you, living proof of the falsehood of that statement.  I’m not saying that it’s okay to sin.  I hope that much is obvious.  But the closer you grow to Christ, the more you know the great, loving, mystery of the mind of God, the more aware you become of your desperate need of him.  You learn that there is more about God to worship and exult in, and you learn that there is more about you that needs fixing.  Hopefully, you will find yourself less and less prone to certain sins because God is helping you to grow—but with each step deeper into his glory, more that is broken in you will be revealed. My wife and I took a spontaneous trip to the Grand Canyon in her parents’ car when we were in college.  We didn’t see a thing wrong with taking that trip, and there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with it, I guess.  But it didn’t cross our minds to ask her parents if they minded that we put an extra 5000 miles on their car.  They didn’t let on that there was the least problem, then years later I realized that the car had been a lease.  When the lease was up Jamie’s parents had to pay a ridiculous amount of money for the over-mileage, and they never told us about it.  They absorbed it and didn’t complain because they loved us.  Now that I have grown up a bit and have learned more about the ways of the world, I blush for the thoughtlessness of that trip.  What I did was wrong and I didn’t even know it.  So it is with God.  The more I come to know him the more I see my need for him.  There are probably things that we’re all quite ignorantly doing right now that will fill us with regret later on. Some close friends of ours attended a church that recently split.  The reason for the split?  A contingent of members believed that they no longer sinned.  That’s right.  Some of them claimed that it had been three or four years since they had last committed a sin.  It is my belief that these people are fools.  Their understanding of the nature of sin is much, much too small.  The very claim that they are not sinful is itself a sin.  The sin of pride, for starters.  This belief that the Church of Christ is a place where we come to be perfect with a bunch of other perfect people leads to a congregation of people who sit in the pews with nice dresses and suits, all smiles for the camera, afraid to admit to themselves that it’s all a lie. I know of a pastor who houses filing cabinets full of visual filth in his basement.  Now, how could something so vile take root in his life?  Because he has ignored the unseen world.  Because he has hidden parts of himself from his elders and his congregation.  And for their part?  They are only willing to look on the surface of things too. The unseen world is the important one.  Pull pack the trap door and let the light shine in on those dusty places.  Watch the insects scatter.  Walk into those places with Christ at your side.  Let him hold you.  Let his righteous anger and burning love change you.  Then tell about it.  Tell that story. And when you tell it, watch the faces of the broken and exhausted.  Watch the faces of the confused and bitter.  Watch the faces of the lost.  They will soften.  The defiant, clenched jaw will slacken.  The creases in their foreheads will smooth out.  Their eyes will tear up.  They will hear the mighty Word of God in a way that they haven’t before. They will wet the feet of Christ with their tears.  They will long to hear the gospel again, and again.  Because to them, it is truly good news. In the writing of my book, I learned something about God.  I learned that there is no story without conflict.  If I want Janner Igiby, my main character, to grow, and to learn, and to become who I see him becoming at the end of the story, then he’s going to suffer.  He’s going to find himself in terrible situations, beset on every side.  One author said that when you write a story you chase your main character up a tree, then you throw rocks at him. You are in the middle of your own story, and the Author is leading you somewhere.  There will be much to be afraid of in your future.  You will find yourself angry at times, shaking your fist at the sky.  You will find yourself weary and worn thin.  Remember that the writer of your story is leading you to a good land.  He is making you into something unimaginably beautiful, a shining immortal, a prince or princess in his eternal Kingdom.  There will be journeys in the seen world, and there will be journeys in the unseen one. Praise be to God that he is Lord of them both.  His footsteps rattle the ground of the unseen world, his voice thunders in the seen one.  They are both his domain.  Like it or not, if you are in Christ he will redeem them both. Greater is he that is in us than he that is in the world.  Don’t be afraid.  Don’t be afraid to be known.  I pray that as you begin this next step in the journey, like Elisha’s servant your eyes will be opened and you will see that a shining host stands at the ready to lay waste to all that you fear.  In the world beyond the veil a great battle is being fought, and the way to enter that battle is to descend into the fray of your own heart with the Spirit of God before you, asking only that you trust, and believe, and obey. May he give you eyes to see. “I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.” Amen.

More musical goodness from my friends at the Tokens radio show. Jeff Taylor, musical genius extraordinaire, is asked to come up with a segment called “Class and Grass”, a fun meld of classical and bluegrass music. It gets really fun toward the end…

I present to you in all of its silliness, “The Biscuit of Zazzamarandabo”, the latest Goodgame/Peterson song on a Veggietales video. The new video, called The Big River Rescue, is available Tuesday in stores near your kids. Just this morning I met with Randall and put the finishing touches on the silly song to be used in their next video. (This one’s called “Sneeze If You Need To”.) We drove to the Big Idea headquarters in Franklin and met with the fine bunch of gentlemen who labor for months and months over these stories. We played them the song, they liked it, then we drove away once again feeling blessed to be a part of the team. Anyway, here it is. Hope you like it.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alex Taylor, and I’ve been asked by the Proprietor to tell you all a little something about Mike Mignola’s Hellboy. At first glance, I may appear to be an odd choice for the job: I have never had any special regard for comic books or super-heroes, have a generally low tolerance for darkness and violence in the arts, and loathe and despise the whole horror genre with every breath in my body—and yet, I love Hellboy pretty much unreservedly. Why? And, more importantly, why should you care? Hellboy is a great oddity, for many reasons. Mention the title to a group of friends, and you’re likely to be met with blank stares (at best) or disapprovingly raised eyebrows (at worst). It’s no wonder, really—many potential readers are turned off at once by the sheer silliness of the name. It smacks of pulpish violence, puerile eeriness, and dime-store deviltry—sure to be no better than any of the other tasteless horror and action comics fighting for shelf space at Barnes & Noble. Further inspection, however, reveals Hellboy to be made of much richer, deeper, and truer stuff than its nearest competition. This begins, at the most primary level, with Mike Mignola’s art. Mignola’s genius as a visual artist and technical mastery of the forms and language of his chosen medium are unparalleled—his books have much the same effect on me as The Lord of the Rings, in one small sense: reading them squelches any chance I might have of enjoying anything else the genre or medium has to offer. I’ve read some other comics, and found them passably entertaining, but I have yet to find any other artist possessed of such a thorough grasp of what the medium can achieve. Mignola is aware of his limitations, and does his best to avoid them—but what he does, he does with absolute and unfailing confidence, deftness, and grace. His style is unlike anything else in the field, blending a dynamic kineticism with classic illustrative technique, brilliant use of colour, chiaroscuro lighting, and strong German expressionist influences. Mignola’s chosen subject matter in the Hellboy stories is pure delight. Their content is superficially similar to Indiana Jones, but always far superior to that franchise’s legion of imitators for one simple reason: Mignola doesn’t imitate Lucas and Spielberg; he imitates their sources—and those sources are a nigh-inexhaustible well. This authenticity of intent and delivery is one of the principle factors setting Mignola’s work apart from the rest: it has deep roots. Globe-spanning folklore ranging from Irish to African to Russian and beyond is blended magnificently alongside classical mythology, 19th century Romantic and Gothic literature, early 20th century adventure fiction in the vein of H. Rider Haggard and William Hope Hodgson; and weird esotericism, conspiracy theories, and pseudo-history ranging from medieval alchemy and saint’s lives to the lost lands of Atlantis and Shambhala. The books are liberally scattered through with references to writers as varied as Melville, Poe, Milton, and Blake, but Mignola’s gleeful exuberance as a storyteller prevents such literary name-dropping from ever feeling pretentious or contrived—he’s simply taking the opportunity to tell us “a few of his favourite things.” But I’m getting ahead of myself. What about Hellboy’s hero? Half-demon, half-man, brought into the world at the close of WWII by a desperate Nazi plot for victory through occult means, the infant ‘Hellboy’ was rescued by allied forces and raised in the war’s aftermath by a kindly professor—nurture trumping nature in the truest sense of the phrase. Hellboy soon found employment in the service of the U.S. Government, working as an investigator for the newly formed “Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense” (B.P.R.D.), pursuing strange and unearthly menaces that would surely have baffled the likes of Mulder and Scully. Although seven feet tall, bright red, cloven-hoofed, and horned; Hellboy does his level best to live a normal life. He grinds his horns down to little stubs (trying to “blend in”), and treats his work with a wisecracking, no-nonsense, blue-collar attitude that flies delightfully in the face of his darkly epic surroundings. It sounds much sillier in theory than Mignola makes it in practice, but much of the series’ appeal stems from seeing its hero’s bluntly pragmatic and underwhelmed reactions to the mad, maniacal ravings of its absurdly operatic villains. For all the apocalyptic struggle and strife present in Hellboy’s world, the tone of the series remains essentially friendly and accessible due to the likable charm and warmth of its often very quirky characters. Finally, and most importantly, there is the underlying moral and spiritual framework of Mignola’s world and hero. This is where the real substance of Hellboy may be said to lie, as its maker has spared no effort in detailing a richly imagined, intricate universe imbued with real meaning and depth. Although I have yet to learn anything of Mignola’s personal religious persuasions, a careful reading of his work reveals an undeniably and essentially (if only hereditary) Christian framework of understanding and reference (i.e. theolo-vision™). Symbols, types, and images are used in their proper, God-ordained context. The Serpent, or Dragon, is utterly evil: the archenemy of the human race. The Cross is consistently representative of goodness, sacrifice, justice, and love. Throughout the series, Mignola makes striking but subtle use of the visual nature of his medium to communicate these ideas in ways far more powerful and imaginative than any the didacticism of written description could ever allow. Hellboy himself is, rather curiously, the paradoxical exception to this rule: he is a “good demon.” He is a creature made and fated for evil. His nature is evil, his prophesied purpose is evil; he looks evil. And yet, in spite of these and other constant reminders that he is born in sin as the enemy of mankind and the harbinger of its destruction, Hellboy consistently and unwaveringly chooses to deny his fallen nature and do the right thing, no matter the personal cost. Why? The selfless love of his adoptive father, Trevor Bruttenholm. This is illustrated most clearly in the beautifully symbolic climax of Guillermo del Toro’s film adaptation, wherein a broken, defeated, and sorely-tempted Hellboy finds the strength to follow truth and goodness against impossible odds when another character tosses him a rosary once owned by Bruttenholm and earnestly exhorts, “remember who you are!” The great key here is, of course, that what his friend says he “is” is what he has chosen to be out of love for his father, rather than what he was born or fated to be. And that, in the end, is the essence of Hellboy’s message: that it is not the circumstances of our birth that make us who we are, but rather the choices that we make—not how we start things, but how we finish them.

I walked into a theater on the opening day of Wall-E wondering if this would finally be the Pixar film that didn’t measure up. I didn’t want it to fail, mind you, it’s just that I have a mounting sense of dread that after so many fantastically enjoyable films that the odds are getting higher and higher that the next one is going to be a stinker. Two hours later when I walked out of the theater I was amazed once again that Pixar managed to put out something wonderful, something extraordinary, something that should shame the rest of the Hollywood machine. Wall-E is a great film. Nearly half the movie is devoid of dialogue leaving the visuals to do the storytelling, as it should be (this is cinema, after all). It’s romantic, it’s ironic, it’s funny, and it’s just gosh-wow amazing from beginning to credit sequence. I didn’t want it to end. So on the drive home I got to thinking about how this one animation studio manages to consistently defy the odds and produce not only passable cinema but cinema par excellence. Sure, some of their films are better than others, but there isn’t a one of them that you can point to and say, “what were they thinking’. What secret have the folks at Pixar stumbled onto that eludes the rest of the movie-making world? I think part of the equation is that Pixar as a studio so highly regard their ‘brand’ that they pick and choose very specific projects to develop and then have the clout to see those few projects through to excellence. But that begs the question, why does a studio like 20th Century Fox not achieve the same sort of success with live action films? Could the answer be that Pixar’s animated format eliminates the variables of actor performance, lighting, stunt work and all the other baggage that comes with live action film production and places 100% of control within the hands of the creator’s themselves, the animators, the writers, and director? I don’t have enough knowledge of the film industry to figure this out but I certainly hope there are people in an office somewhere scratching their heads and trying their level best to learn Pixar’s secret. The world could do with a few less bad movies.

I get weepy every time I listen to this song. Before the record came out I was listening to this song in the car with Ben and said something like, “Oh, man! The nostalgic music fits the sentiment of the lyric so perfectly! It’s like the two things just” (I clapped my hands) “chonk together!” It was the best I could come up with, fer-klempt as I was. So here it is, a song from The Ill-Tempered Klavier chosen in light of our recent holiday, “4th of July”. 4TH OF JULY Words and Music by Ben Shive The first star of the evening Was singing in the sky High above our blanket in the park And by the twilight’s gleaming On the 4th day of July The city band played on into the dark And then a canon blast A golden flame unfolding Exploded in a momentary bloom The pedals fell and scattered Like ashes on the ocean As another volley burst into the blue But the first star of the evening never moved We stood in silence The young ones and the old As the bright procession passed us by A generation dying Another being born A long crescendo played out in the sky Yeah This nation, indivisible Will perish from the Earth As surely as the leaves must change and fall And the band will end the anthem To dust she will return So the sun must set on all things, great and small But the first star of the evening Will outlive them all

This time around it’s a Jill Phillips song called “Square Peg” that she herself wrote (rather than her husband Andy Gullahorn). I picked this one (from her album Nobody’s Got it all Together) because it was the inspiration for the Square Peg Alliance‘s name, and because I love singing it with her when we do shows together.\ SQUARE PEG by Jill Phillips Like a square peg in a round hole I can’t seem to fit their mold And make my way past the entrance I have had my turn to play But never understood their game And much less how someone wins it Always looking in Never seem to fit But you’ve been there before Do you have a place For losers in this race Cause I can’t run it anymore It is said that the rain will fall Equally upon us all And there is no rhyme or reason Still I find myself surprised When it seems like its my time To walk in that rainy season Always looking in Never seem to fit But you’ve been there before Do you have a place For losers in this race Cause I can’t run it anymore Nothing has turned out as planned And all I have left is to throw up my hands You never led me the safe way And this time’s no different I’ll walk it again, again Like a square peg in a round hole I will never fit that mold So why even try Why even try Always looking in Never seem to fit But you’ve been there before Do you have a place For losers in this race Cause I can’t run it anymore

More Eric Peters goodness.  This is a song called “Radiate,” from his current album Scarce.

I just turned the last page of Leif Enger’s new book, So Brave, Young, and Handsome. It hit the shelves a couple of months ago and, yes, I’m a slow reader—correction—deliberate reader, because some books are too good to ever want to finish. I want them to keep going and going because I love the sounds of the words and the flow of the chapters and the nearness of the characters. I don’t want endings to those books. I want them to come along with me, and keep on like an old friend because I know I’ll mourn the passage once we part. This is such a book. It’s set in the early days of the twentieth century as the Old West is fading into industry. Automobiles are noisily replacing horses, the flicker of the cinema is beginning to outshine the travelling Wild West shows, and the outlaws and law men of the old century are grown old, worn quiet and wise, and gone in search of absolution. Within this world Enger places his reader in the matter-of-fact company of Monte Becket, a husband, father, and writer, as he accompanies Glendon Dobie, an old train robber, on one last journey west to deliver an apology. Behind them, like a bloodhound, comes lawman Charlie Siringo, sniffing out their trail as it wends its way amongst a cast of characters scattered across the American west. Glendon, the gentle old trainrobber, wants only to make amends and pay his moral debts, while his foil, Siringo, is a man so bent on bringing him to justice for the crimes of decades past that he’s become the antithesis of grace itself. The story unfolds in brief chapters, rarely more than a page or two, that provide tautly written vignettes of the characters as they make their way west. I’m always skeptical of stories that use a writer with writer’s block as a device, it’s been done too many times, but here it works, partly because it’s not the primary conflict of the book, and partly because Enger’s conversational narrator, Monte Becket, is a joy to listen to. I’m glad to have had the experience of watching him come into his own grace. I don’t want to spoil the book but those looking for explicit Christian themes and a big emotional finale, as in Peace Like a River, might be disappointed. Those things are still here but they’re buried deeper, nestled down into the corners of the narrative like a prospector’s lode. It’s a story about grace and forgiveness and patience, how they change us, and how their lack corrupts us. A big recommendation on this one. Leif Enger 2-0.

It’s time for another official installment in the “Rabbit Room Interview Series” and there’s no better place to go than to the door of the (much too) humble mind of Eric Peters. For those familiar with the wonderful Scarce or even earlier material (Ridgely, anyone?), you know Peters to be a very talented singer/songwriter. What I didn’t realize is the fragile nature of the artist within…. Meet Eric Peters. Rabbit Room (Matt): How closely related to Scarce is the new music you’ve been working on? Eric Peters: Honestly, I’m not sure yet. My confidence is in low estate these days. I’ve struggled to write anything new since Ellis’ birth (December 2006). It quite truly pissed me off that all I ever heard when we found out we were pregnant was, “Oh, I can’t wait to see the songs you’ll write once you have a kid.” Things like that, and it built up my expectations and hopes. Well, along came the boy, there we were in our 750 sq. ft. house in Nashville, and I could not think, could barely exhale, could find no quiet moments to escape with the guitar, and there seemed to be nothing to say since solid rest was nowhere to be found. Strangely enough, there was little equilibrium in my life. But, though Ellis’ first year is a blur to me, I suppose I managed to write a few things, however unfinished, because here I am making another record. Some of these songs were written a few years ago – even prior to Scarce – so I’m not sure how they’ll stack up to the newer material. A bunch of the songs are stories told in third-person, so I suspect there will be a theme to root out there. One, in particular, is a song I wrote for a dear friend who went through a bankruptcy. He and his family lost nearly everything they had (home, cars, business). When I later got to catch up with him and listen as he told me the story (in the boating aisle of a Bass Pro Shop of all places), he wiped many tears from his eyes in relaying the story of how, at one point in all the events, he told God he hated him, the moment of his coming alive again in spite of this terrible scenario, and how God’s Spirit had to remove all the “shit” in his life in order to get his heart back. Where before my friend was bitter, stressed to the core, sleeping very little, and generally uncaring for his family, he came out with a distinct peace that he otherwise would never have known. In short, he was a reborn man, and I could absolutely see it. I related to his bitterness in the aisle of that store and on the 15-minute drive back home, I started writing a song I hope will make it to the album. “Living for Myself / I Had to Tell You” feels like a very honest song (I know, I know… how many times have you heard me and every other singer-songwriter out there say something that a song is “honest” or “vulnerable”?) to me, one of the most true ones I’ve ever written. It’s almost as if I’m starting to finding a voice. I welcome that. Not to leave anyone wondering if I despise my dear son, I did recently write a song for him, one I like very much, called “I Will Go With You”. It’s a piece for him, for his hopes, for his growing up, for his figuring out and remembering who he is as a man and a saint of God. Ellis is already a saint to Danielle and I. I have a feeling that the new album will be more distinctly personal than Scarce was. Now, I fully realize that hearing some writer talk about making an album full of story songs sounds absolutely dreadful to you, o’ audience. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that. But I think Ben is smart and able enough to keep things from entering the same-ol’-same-ol’ territory. RR: When you work with guys like Shive and Osenga on your albums, or even having friends play on your own recordings, how does that familiarity help or enable the recording? EP: Well, having recorded most of my other records on the other side – i.e., not being all that acquainted, or at least being close friends, with the players or producers – I’d have to say, even though Ben (Shive) and I are barely only four acoustic guitar tracks into this thing, that recording with people you know and who know you, *especially* outside of music, is a tremendous and most-welcome blessing. In the very little I’ve experienced so far with Ben in the studio (though we’ve been friends since 2002 when I toured with he, Andrew Peterson and Laura Story), this fares to be an enjoyable and more relaxing exercise for me on the whole. I think Ben is a genuine fan of my songwriting, and that can only bode well for the way these songs and this album ultimately takes shape. If there is any good and decent art that comes out of me, it is due to the grace of God, the nurture of my family, and the encouragement of friends in my life. I need them all for the sake and courage of my heart. I am really excited to see what we come up with for the new record. Listening to Ben’s album only increases my joy and eagerness to keep working on it. RR: What about the opposite side – do you think the familiarity hinders the music at all? EP: Well, it might I suppose, but then again if you trust and value your friends’ talents and abilities, then their service to, and desire for, your songs will be just that: to serve the songs and, therefore you, as both an artist and friend. I believe that’s what community does. I guess if you’re an artist who’s trying to create a completely new image and sound for yourself, then I could see how bringing in a whole new group of musicians would benefit that effort. Then again, these men and women are called “studio musicians” for a reason; they’re good at what they do. What do I know… RR: Looking back at where you were with Ridgely, when you first decided to go solo, is this what you pictured when you made that leap? EP: Ha! Not at all. Not many folks have ever asked me this question, so I’m glad you did. My solo career is nothing even close to what I thought it would be when I first embarked upon it, post-Ridgely, circa 1999. You’ll laugh, but I truly believed that the solo thing was going to be a piece of cake, a walk in the park, and an evolution towards my one day being famous. After all, Ridgely found modest success and I thought it would be natural and easy for me to step out on my own. It’s embarrassingly true that I thought and believed all this, but at the time I was 24, and dreams, like so many other things, eventually wither and die, for good reason, sometimes. But unlike death, there springs life from the unlikeliest of places. I am grateful for the time I had in Ridgely and the music we made those few, young years, but I like the songs I’m writing now so much more. I’m sure there are plenty of folks out there who will completely disagree with that statement, and God knows I didn’t help bring them aboard early on with my first solo album, a weak effort at best. But I followed that up with an album called Land of the Living, and it was a much more authentic and richer effort that helped ease some of my nagging doubts about having called it quits with Ridgely in the first place. I still deal with lingering second-guesses from time to time, but I no longer regret the decision to leave. I think back on those times when my wife and I survived those first few solo years with only my EP, More Than Watchmen (the “weak effort” in question), to sell at shows and it makes me wonder (and marvel): “How on earth did we ever make it, how was there ever enough money to survive?”. It actually makes me shiver to think about now. I guess when you’re young (and clueless) (and stubborn), you don’t need much at all to get by. I remember one of my very first solo shows involved driving 14 hours to play in west Texas (I lived in Baton Rouge, LA at the time) where I played for 4 or 5 listening people, my wife being one of the audience members. I sold one CD, gave two away. No financial guarantee (I think they wound up giving me $50 in an act of mercy), no travel allowances, just some pizza and a hill-country bed. Amazing grace. Though my hopes for my career have, to a large degree, been dashed – or at least altered – throughout all this time, I feel I am slowly coming to a place of peace, intermittent though it may be, about my place in the kingdom of music. I’ve said this before somewhere, but I hope to come to a place where I can give God utmost thanks for my little plot of land, for I know it is what is best for my soul. My job as Saint Farmer Eric, as best as I can figure it thus far, is to till the soil, work it to the best of my abilities, weed it, manage it and hope for its sustenance and bounty. And perhaps one of these days it will produce a 4-H award-winning pumpkin, or some metaphor to that extent. RR: What’s the closest point you’ve ever come to quitting? EP: This past fall, 2007. Though I on any given day feel the uncertainties of my place in the music industry, I can’t recall a moment when I felt like it was so clearly time to give up on this like I did in November. I was so thoroughly discouraged – by the general lack of response to my music (after all, I’m a musician, I want people to like my writing), by the gaping chasms in my booking schedule – that I could plainly see the writing on the wall. I began interviewing for a job here in town as a financial advisor. Though my wife was not at all excited about me entering this particular line of work, ironically enough I might have been a good fit to the company due to my skeptical, cynical nature. “So, there IS an up side to my cynicism, after all.” I suppose some or all of this will seem silly to folks, but the truth is that my overall confidence in what I’ve been doing, what I’ve been saying or trying to say in these songs doesn’t, or won’t, amount to much in the grander scheme of things. That is my fear: that I will have wasted my entire adult life on something so fruitless, so worthless, so selfishly motivated and self-serving that I will not have propelled people, or myself, to the good and decent things of earth. That may sound big and too far-reaching, but I, like any husband-father simply want to provide for my family the best I can and to give them some nice things in life. As it is – and has been for years – we simply survive. We certainly don’t live extravagantly, albeit here in America, but we manage to pay our bills every month. It is a hard thing for me to be daily grateful for what I have been given, career-wise; I still compare myself to most every other artist, especially within my circle of friends, I long for the successes they find, I yearn for a financial boon and for my career to all-of-a-sudden take off. Yada, yada. RR: You mentioned most of your career hopes have been dashed or altered… so what career hopes do you have now (unless you refuse to use anything but gardening analogies – which I rather enjoyed, but for the sake of asking)? EP: I don’t fully know. At this point in my life, I am sure of one thing: that I am to take care of and provide for my family. I don’t feel like I’m doing that very well as a musician holding onto his everlasting dream. I sometimes wonder if it’s just a pipe-dream instead of something based in reality and faith. In some way, I feel as though I’ve given up on career hopes. In another way, I don’t think you can ever completely give up on them, try as you might to suffocate them. Career hopes? My artist friends will give me grief for this, but I still hope to be signed to a record label one day (I never have). I hope for management-booking representation. I hope to get a song on a movie soundtrack. I hope to get songs placed in TV shows. I hope Emmylou Harris and/or John Hiatt records one of my songs for their albums. I hope for respect among my peers. I hope I’m not a novelty. I hope I’m not a fraud or a wannabe in this business. I hope to get our house painted. I hope to get our 1965 Karmann Ghia out of the shed onto the road, once and for all. I hope to take my family on summer vacations. I hope to take my wife to Greece. I hope the landscaping I did this spring will, by this time next year, have been worth the labor (Sorry, I couldn’t resist mentioning the garden.) RR: Finally, how did you first become acquainted with the Proprietor? EP: My former band, Ridgely, was on tour in the fall of 1998 (Awakening Records Tour) with Bebo Norman and Mark Williams. We played here in Nashville at Vanderbilt one night, and Andrew & Gabe (Scott) came to the show. I remember the Caedmons folks were talking up this songwriter guy, Andrew Peterson, so I was eager to meet him. We met after the show at the merch table and we gave them Ridgely t-shirts while extracting a promise that AP would send me one of his shirts (Note: for you early fans, this would be the famous stick figure “Andrew Peterson is My Friend” shirt). I bugged him (yes, there was email then) over and over again to mail me a shirt. He finally did. I’m a persistent fellow. Somehow, somewhere in that process I got ahold of his album, Carried Along, and loved it. It was so vastly different and better and more rich than most stuff I’d heard coming out of the CCM world. He took me on the road with him as his opener in 2002, an enjoyable tour. I also became friends with Ben Shive on that tour. Andrew has easily been the most encouraging and generous artist friend I have in town. He sees good things in my songwriting that I, myself, am unable to see — the key component to that statement is that he actually verbalizes it. Andrew was the one who listened to my pathetic-ness one fall day in 2007 (see above) as we drove out to a new used bookstore that had opened east of Nashville and I explained my inability to do this musician thing anymore. I was hurting and low and he listened, asked questions, propelled me to keep going, to not quit. Andrew Peterson is a unique soul; he can break your heart with a lyric and build you up with the encouragement of his mouth. I credit him, along with my wife, Danielle, for my stubbornly sticking around as an artist.

Lest we in the Rabbit Room get too intellectual or elitist, I present to you a clip from the bonus features of the new VeggieTales video, titled Tomato Sawyer and Huckleberry Larry’s BIG RIVER RESCUE. Randall Goodgame and I once again had the pleasure of writing the silly song for the episode (and are putting the finishing touches on the song for the next video, too). This one’s a road trip song called “The Biscuit of Zazzamarandabo.” Go ahead. Say it aloud a few times. Savor it. Franklin (a wonderful little postcard town just south of Nashville) has a weekly Movies in the Park event, where they show family films on the lawn, and last Friday was the premiere of BIG RIVER RESCUE. I sat on the lawn with my family and some friends (Randy couldn’t be there but his family was right next to us), along with six or eight hundred people and watched the movie in an awkward anonymity. They didn’t know the dude who co-wrote the silly song was sitting there too, so there was no chance they’d laugh at it out of pity. I broke into a sweat when the biscuit song came up, even though nobody was looking at me, and I was giddy with relief when (in spite of the distractions that come with watching a film in a park) they actually laughed. Or, at least they chuckled, in the proper places. That was good enough for me. The Big Idea folks filmed this little interview in which Randy and I tried our best to pull off a Stephen Colbert-style ridiculousness. (You know, for kids!*) Many thanks to the VeggieTales crew who allow Randy and I to be a part of the team. The video releases July 12. I hope you and your kiddos enjoy it. *Yes, from The Hudsucker Proxy

How can you not feel a blush of hope when you listen to this one? I remember at a meeting of the Nashville Weaklings a few years back, Andy played this song and asked us what we thought about the bridge. He wasn’t sure about it, he said. We told him he was a crazy foo’, that the bridge was great. It’s a good thing he believed us, or my favorite part of this song might not have made the cut. And then the world would have broken, or something. This is called “New Beginning,” from The Morning, which is available on iTunes, here in the Rabbit Room, and at Andy’s website. See, we try to make it as easy as possible for you good people to support us.

The inhabitants of Canaan, the Canaanites, were not Israel, God’s chosen people. They were usurpers of the Land. Israelites were not to identify with the inhabitants, were not to make agreements or bargains or befriend them. Romans 8:13, For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live. When I sin it is no longer I that sins, but sin which dwells in me. The usurping forces inside me are “not I” but sin – remnants of sin-tribes, fears, etc., I have not yet slain. And if I go on identifying, making agreements, and basically partying with the Canaanites, I am not living in Eternal Life; I’m not abiding in Christ. I’m “walking according to the flesh.” And that is a living death to a believer; it’s a halfway house where sin is no longer enjoyable and yet we can’t stop doing it. Rom 6:12-18 says, Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, that ye should obey it in the lusts thereof. Neither yield ye your members as instruments of unrighteousness unto sin: but yield yourselves unto God, as those that are alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness unto God. For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace. What then? shall we sin, because we are not under the law, but under grace? God forbid. Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness? But God be thanked, that ye were the servants of sin, but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you. Being then made free from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness. In other words, you are not to be identified with, in bondage to, or under the rule of sin: Take no prisoners. A warning: If your indwelling Canaanites seem less than that of others, if you grew up in a good home and are relatively well-adjusted, have good relationships, are popular, and life seems to go great for you, beware of the wilderness in the land and the beasts that arise. It’s an uncultivated land with vicious animals. Pride is a stronger animal than Fear, Doubt, Dependence on Others, and the rest, and harder to overcome because it is so insidiously deceptive, quick, and stealthy. It will wipe you out. For more on this subject read C.S. Lewis’ chapter in Mere Christianity, “Nice People or New Men.” The Israelites were not related to the Canaanites, except from way back in their history before they had their new identity of “Israel.” Through Noah, they were related. But that relation was cut off when Jacob (“heelcatcher” “supplanter” “layer of snares”, the conniving schemer) wrestled with the Angel of the Lord and had his name changed to “Israel” (“God prevails” or “God commands”) Gen 32:28, “And He (the One who wrestled him) said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed.” This new identity, the exchange of natures from being a manipulating heel-catcher trying to gain blessing by effort to being God-directed (and so commanding and having power with God, in a sense, through faith in His promises), is the source and spring of the new identity in Christ. We exchanged Satan for Christ, the false lord for the True, and now “the old has gone; the new has come.” We’re not to identify with Canaan. We’re not to make agreements. We’re not to have any kind of relationship with these sin-tribes, because to do so is to commit adultery against our true identity in Christ. Various Fleshly Means of Coping With Inner Canaanites Psychology says, “Let’s talk to the inhabitants, figure out where they came from, and learn to deal with having them in the land. We can work around them.” Psychology identifies the inhabitants of our inner Land as part of “I”. Hedonism also identifies with them. But Hedonism says, “Canaanites? Let’s party!” New agers, Christian Science, and other groups just say, “What Canaanites?” They deny that the inner inhabitants exist. Legalism: “Let’s live with the inhabitants, but make sure we hide them and feel ashamed of them. Hide them away when anyone comes over to visit.” Legalism identifies the Canaanites as part of “I” as well. The half-gospel of Jesus-Died-To-Pay-Our-Sin-Debt says, “I’m just a lowly half-Canaanite/half-Israelite, saved by grace. I sin a lot. But Jesus died and rose again so I could go to Heaven. I ask forgiveness for my Canaanite ways every day. I’ve got a little bit of Israelite in me. But there’s nothing I can do about the Canaanite part.” This attitude also identifies with the Canaanite, probably more so than any of the others. And it keeps us bound to continue in Canaanite ways. How do we overcome the Canaanites? 1. We trust God to guide and lead us in the process. We ask him to expose any and all Canaanites on his timetable. When Israelites dove in presumptuously for battle without checking in with God they came back covered in their own blood. 2. We acknowledge their existence. We don’t rationalize; we face the facts. God has a certain way of stating the facts without being condemning. If you’re hearing condemnation as a believer it isn’t God – period. 3. We refuse to identify with the Canaanite tribes. They are not “I.” 4. We refuse to make any kind of agreement with them. The power to do this comes by reliance on our real identity in Christ. We “divide good from evil” by recognizing that evil is “not I, but sin.” And we recognize that righteousness is “not I, but Christ.” And Christ has made Himself one with us. So we get familiar with our real identity by studying the Word of God to find out what He says about His people. And we eat that Word continually – feed on it – rely on it as true no matter what. 5. We battle through faith, trusting in Christ as our real inner identity, our strength, our power to overcome. We refuse flesh-effort and hypocrisy and faithe that it is already done in the Spirit. We believe God even if we encounter the Anakim – a giant that looks indestructible. God wants us to take this Promised Land by faith. It is a “fair and fertile Land,” ready to be productive and powerful in the Kingdom of Heaven. It is a process which involves total faith in God, guts, and stepping out in faith-action. But we’re called to it by God Himself, Christ within us, our Sanctifier.

We sing this song in my church often. The text is profoundly beautiful to me, and that Sandra was able to rescue it, along with many other hymns, from the flotsam heaved overboard in the American church’s mad voyage to Praise and Worship Land, is a great gift to the Kingdom. It must be said, many fine songs are still being written for use in corporate worship, classified as Praise and Worship songs because of their simplicity over the perceived archaism of Hymns. But however emotional the repetitive praise choruses may be (and repetition, like liturgy, can be a good thing), we should take care to pay attention to the wisdom of our forbears, those who crafted songs without computers, usually unconstrained by the typical three or four guitar chords or three or four same rhyming words we always tend to use, influenced by poets like Shakespeare and Tennyson and not writers of three-minute pop songs. And that’s not to mention the theological depth of many (but not all) hymns. I don’t need to remind you that words have power. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. It is words that God employed to create the galaxies, and it is in the words of Scripture that he tells us so. Words elevate us; they separate mankind from the beasts of the earth. It is words that make a covenant, and words that overflow from the heart. So read these words by John Stocker written two hundred years ago, this expression of humble thanksgiving to God for his great mercy, and be glad that Sandra used her fine sense of melody to undergird this text and make its ancient message feel as new as the morning.https://rabbitroom.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/ThyMercy.mp3 THY MERCY, MY GOD Words by John Stocker Music by Sandra McCracken 1. Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song, The joy of my heart. and the boast of my tongue; Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last, Hath won my affections, and bound my soul fast. 2. Without Thy sweet mercy I could not live here; Sin would reduce me to utter despair; But, through Thy free goodness, my spirits revive, And He that first made me still keeps me alive. 3. Thy mercy is more than a match for my heart, Which wonders to feel its own hardness depart; Dissolved by Thy goodness, I fall to the ground, And weep to the praise of the mercy I’ve found. 4. Great Father of mercies, Thy goodness I own, And the covenant love of Thy crucified Son; All praise to the Spirit, Whose whisper divine Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine. All praise to the Spirit, Whose whisper divine Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine.

Continuing our espionage through Canaan, I found that Canaan itself meant “lowland,” from a root word meaning “to be humbled, subdued, be low, be under, brought into subjection.” Our bondages to sin, subjections to Satan. Amorite – “a sayer” probably from amar, “to say, speak, utter, to think, to command, to promise, to intend.” Amorites were apparently the greatest and most powerful of all the nations of Canaan. The false agreements we make with the Liar are powerful. These false words we speak, these identity statements about ourselves, are the greatest and most powerful of all the soulish “tribes” in the promised land of our soul/body. These lies we believe can be used in a wider sense to include all these inhabitants of our inner landscape, because the lies are where the sin-tribes get their life. The cure: to recognize God’s truth, to speak it out and faithe in Him- to make our agreements only with God and His Word. Hittite – “fear, terror.” Our fears. These are killed off by “being of good courage” and trading fear for faith. Perizzite – “belonging to a village.” From a root meaning to separate, i.e., decide. Used as “a leader, an officer over soldiers” (Gesenius’ Lexicon). This is our tribe or mob mentality. Our false dependence on others decides a lot in our lives. It becomes our leader, our captain. This mentality has to be slain and Jesus made the captain, the center of our dependence; we are dependent by God’s design, and if we don’t make Christ the Source from which we draw everything, we will find false sources to feed our need for dependence. Hivite – “town, village dwellers” from the root word “chavvah”, Eve, “life” or “living.” The dependence on others is false life. False life has to be replaced with true life. For the believer this means recognizing and affirming Christ as our life, our breath. It means recognizing that if we have Christ, we have all the love and approval we’re ever going to need. Any other source of security will fluctuate with our circumstances. Jebusite, from Jebus – “a place trodden down, as a threshing floor” from a root meaning “to tread down, reject, trample down.” “To tread with the feet, trample on, as a thing neglected and despised” (Gesenius’ Lexicon). Jebus was an ancient name of Jerusalem, used in the time of the Canaanites. The Jebusites inhabited Jebus and its neighboring mountains. Where we’ve been beat up in life, trodden down, rejected. This becomes the stronghold, the mother-city of the mountains. This rejection becomes the soil for unbelief. I had a lot of these pernicious idol worshipers planted early on in my Land, and just in this past year the last remnants of Jebusites (as far as I can see) have had their pathetic, whiny butts kicked. These sin-tribes are energized and operated by the Screwtape paradigm. Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m not blaming the devil for everything. We have a responsibility. But our responsibility is faith; I’m not responsible for what the devil throws into my head, but I do choose what to do with those thoughts. The only way to spot the counterfeit “I,” the masquerade Satan puts on to get a grip on me, is to be so familiar with the real “I” in Christ that the devilry is obvious. Now, if you are a maturing saint, see if this sounds familiar in light of your long experience with God. The LORD says in Exd 23:27-22: I will send my fear before thee, and will destroy all the people to whom thou shalt come, and I will make all thine enemies turn their backs unto thee. And I will send hornets before thee, which shall drive out the Hivite, the Canaanite, and the Hittite, from before thee. I will not drive them out from before thee in one year; lest the land become desolate, and the beast of the field multiply against thee. By little and little I will drive them out from before thee, until thou be increased, and inherit the land. And I will set thy bounds from the Red sea even unto the sea of the Philistines, and from the desert unto the river: for I will deliver the inhabitants of the land into your hand; and thou shalt drive them out before thee. Thou shalt make no covenant with them, nor with their gods. They shall not dwell in thy land, lest they make thee sin against me: for if thou serve their gods, it will surely be a snare unto thee. God is the destroyer of sin; he makes sin run from us and drives it out. He does it little by little so Pride does not take over our inner landscape. Little by little he sanctifies each part of us until we are using each part of our soul/body in worship and love and gratefulness to God. He sets the bounds where Abraham’s feet walked, as Jesus, our progenitor defined our inner promised land by walking the landscape of His humanity in total freedom. Jesus Christ Himself, indwelling us as the inner Fiery Cloud that goes before us, is the one who will deliver these inhabitants of the soul/body into our hands: our besetting sins and false slaveries, the lies we have believed, our fears, our dependence on others that gives us a false sense of life, security, worth, and our rejection. We are to make no covenant with any of these usurpers of our Land, nor with their gods. If we serve their false gods, it will be a snare to us. We will not have the abundant life that God desires. “If you do not believe, surely you shall not be established.” So on we go, like Caleb, like Joshua, into the Land. And we overcome by the Blood of the Lamb and the Word of our Testimony. We died in Christ and rose again; we are new creations, and now we subdue all these inhabitants of our inner landscape by the power of the resurrected Christ within us, our Captain who leads us in battle, the Ark of the Covenant leading the way. In Part Three we’ll go further into the Land and see how this works out in practice.

I’m not sure how to title this one because I’m sitting still as a stone and am headed neither West nor East. How sad. Our travels brought us safely into the drive at 10pm. Dad had a nice little tray of snacks ready for us out at the gazebo when we got home — fresh-made tabouli, avocado salsa and hummus, all wrought by his own hand. Yum. He brought out our favorite wine glasses and a chilled decanter of white for me and mom. I mention all of these little details because it all served in making the re-entry not quite such a let-down as it has been in the past. Another thing that helped was the fact that the weather in Nashville is unusually GORgeous and cool. I am praying with all my might that God would allow whatever forces are at work to make this beauty possible stay in control for a lot longer than a couple of days. Something could also be in store for the Airstream — mom and I started to dream on the way home about the small things we can do to get her on the right track. “Her” being “the trailer.” I’m just going to have to start chipping away at small things I can accomplish, and leave big things like replacing the holding tank and sub-floor until a certain friend of mine who is good with wood has arrived in Nashville. I think I might be able to arrange a barter whereby we will exchange one new sub-floor for home-cooked meals, including pie, for as long as it takes to install said sub-floor. In the meantime, I can chip paint, clean, replace drawer pulls, scrape messy caulking, and speak lovingly to her. When she’s ready, we can all look forward to new adventures in my next travel log. Thanks for reading, whoever you are.

I’ve often wondered what the “sin which indwells me” of Romans 7 really is. I was recently reading in Exodus and a lot of light was shed on the subject for me by the Word of God. The Old Testament is full of historical happenings which are simultaneously illustrations of truths or realities if we have eyes to see them and do a little digging into meanings of Hebrew or Greek words with a lexicon. The Passover is Christ our substitute; the Exodus from Egypt is our deliverance from bondage to sin; the Ark of the Covenant, made of wood overlaid with gold, containing the unbroken tablets of the Law and the jar of manna, is Christ, his humanity overlaid within and without by the gold of Deity, our living Law and daily Bread from Heaven. Bear in mind that humans are three-part beings, spirit and soul (Heb 4:12) and body. The word “flesh” is from the Greek word “sarx”, and in the sense in which Paul uses it means the body and soul of man taken as a unit. Eph 2:2 says that there is a “spirit that works in the children of disobedience (literally, ‘the unconvinced’) and that this spirit is “the prince of the power of the air.” In Christ this spirit is removed and we are given a new inner spirit, a new source – the Holy Spirit. Thus, our soul/body is a container, a temple or vessel of a spirit – either the Holy Spirit or the unholy one. Bearing all this in mind, let’s take a look at Exodus 33. The LORD said to Moses: “I will send an angel before thee; and I will drive out the Canaanite, the Amorite, and the Hittite, and the Perizzite, the Hivite, and the Jebusite: Unto a land flowing with milk and honey.” Ex 33:20 One day not long ago I wondered what the various names of the inhabitants of Canaan meant. I already knew that most of the old Gospel songs about “The Promised Land” being Heaven were wrong. Heaven won’t have Canaanites to subdue. And my experiences in the Word and in faith over the last few years have taught me that God works from the center outward; He implants His life in us and changes us from the inside out. So that the Church ruling and reigning with Christ will take place when she learns to rely on her inner Husband at all times and in all things. So from the inside out, the Promised Land is first our own soul/body. Our flesh. Our “land” in which God plants Himself, unifies Himself with us, and then wants us to take over in faith. This Land becomes populated with Canaanites early on, often as children, as Satan implants these hooks for his latching-on. These hooks foster our fleshly ways and means of coping with life, and bring passive, aggressive, and passive-aggressive behaviors, phobias, and any other kind of tool by which Satan lives through us. We’ll deal with these hooks in Part Two.

If you’re not familiar with Allen Levi, you should know that this song doesn’t necessarily represent the rest of his music. But then again, maybe it does: it’s a story song, it’s creative, it’s musically excellent (I mean, how cool is that occasional banjo?), and it presents the gospel in a way that conveys Allen’s deep and loving wisdom.  I chose this one because for a few years it was the only song my children requested from my iPod when we were on road trips, and it gave me a great way to talk to them about Jesus. It’s called “Where the People Walk Backwards,” from his album, The Moon is Round.