What are you looking for?

When New Favorite came out in 2001, that was my introduction to Alison Krauss and Union Station. Talk about feeling late to the party. I had no real concept of bluegrass, assuming it was hillbilly music like dueling banjos and that was the extent of it. But when I got my hands on New Favorite, I was so moved by what I heard. And I want to try and be specific about what I heard that caught my attention. It seemed the instrumentation in that record came together like a choir–each part was its own distinct voice–and it was beautiful. Jill LaBrack at Popmatters.com went beyond worn out words by offering this description; “Her voice is beautiful and compelling and sounds as much like hope as it does the final moments before the giving up begins.” An analysis of the lyrics reveal that this is a record dealing mostly with themes of pain and loss and regret, and yet it does sound “as much like hope as the final moments before the giving up begins.” Around the time I started listening to New Favorite, a dear friend of mine lost a son to suicide. As I watched this dad grieve, as I watched him mourn, as I watched him bow himself to the providence of God and rise up in anger toward wickedness of the enemy, I wanted to help. But what could I say? What could I give? I prayed, I spent time with he and his family, but I wanted to give this man I knew to be an introvert who often processed things alone (on his touring motor bike) something that might help. There were no words, no poems, no statements to reach deep enough into his pain in those initial days of shock. But I kept returning to the same idea. I can’t give words that will make this better. It’s too ugly right now. Maybe I can give him beauty. What can I give him that’s beautiful? I gave him New Favorite, and I told him I wanted him to have it because it was beautiful, and in this ugly season, I thought a little beauty might comfort him. A couple years later he took me for a ride on his bike and as we pulled away from the house, I heard that faint intro to New Favorite and we listened as we rode. He told me it hadn’t come out of his disc changer since I gave it to him, and that it brought him much comfort–the beauty of the record. His last best memories with his son were on that bike riding through Missouri Wine country, talking about Christ. And when he misses his son, he hops on that bike and rides out to the country graveside. And when he does, he often listens to New Favorite. It is beautiful.

WARNING: What follows may be an annoyingly gushing review by a music geek who loses all sense of perspective and dignity when a new Daniel Lanois record releases… When mixing and engineer extraordinaire Todd Robbins emailed me about the new Daniel Lanois record, I couldn’t wait. It’s been 4 years since his last proper studio recording, Shine – a record that at the time restored my faith in the power of music. For those unfamiliar with Lanois, he is the famed producer of some of pop/rock music’s most important records by Bob Dylan, Peter Gabriel, Emmy Lou Harris, and U2 (including the biggest albums of their careers, The Joshua Tree and All That You Can’t Leave Behind. He’s famous for helping these great artists dig deeper and find the soul of their work. He is also the master of electric guitar tone, helping put The Edge of U2 on the path that has made him one of rock music’s most distinctive guitarists. In between these high profile gigs, Lanois also makes his own records that are uniquely his and clearly a labor of love. Lanois is always chasing down the deepest mysteries of music, what it means, where it comes from, and even it’s ultimate destination. There’s so much folklore surrounding his unorthodox approach that it’s hard to separate fact from fiction. I’ve heard rumors of him forcing an artist to go sing their vocal track in his barn to get them out of the mindset of singing in a studio. There’s the story of him ripping Dylan’s cell phone from his hands and throwing it in a lake to make the point that if they were to make a great album together, there could be no distractions and that he needed to be completely present to the process. The result was the Grammy-winning Time Out Of Mind. It’s not hard to believe these stories since Lanois’s own music reveals an artist who is much more interested in the humanity of a performance than perfection. There is plenty of atmosphere and vibey sounds to tickle the ear that could easily degrade into mere ear candy, but Lanois never loses sight of the heart of it. Lanois’ music is not so much about technical precision as it is about a gut level emotional aesthetic. There are imperfections and some of the playing is loose, but it always feels emotional and often transcendant. I guess the best way to describe it is to simply say that Lanois means every note he sings or plays. Lyrically he’s often bordered on the mystical. Consider this from my personal favorite Lanois record, Shine. They have spoken of the river Forever bending inside the fever Of the saints who walk all night with no domain In the end the thing that keeps them walking Is your shine Your shine when they wear no coat Your shine when the feeling’s low Your shine as they labor to the new day… To me his lyrics always speak to the mystery of God and ultimate meaning. For me, the above lyric rings truer than most of what I hear on CCM radio, and that’s because I think it speaks to divine mystery without trying to reduce it. What the exact nature of Lanois’s spirituality is I’m not sure, (in an interview segment with Brian Eno on this disc, Eno elaborates on his own atheism, however Lanois talks openly of God in other interviews I’ve read) but that his music is deeply religious is undeniable. Shine also features a worship song he wrote with Bono called “Falling At Your Feet” and when I saw Lanois in concert he ended the night with a beautiful little song called “Thank You For The Day”, again written with Bono. Lanois is releasing his new record, Here Is What Is, digitally 4 months before the official release in March. The much vaunted distinctive about this release is that you can download it either as mp3 files or the actual WAV files which are the larger high quality files on actual CDs. I downloaded the WAV files last night and have been listening to it over and over during my travel day across the continent from Florida to Washington. I haven’t been able to dig in to the new album a great deal lyrically, but it’s clearly classic Lanois – mystical, arcane, and sadly beautiful. His penchant for gospel music shows up throughout in tracks like “Joy,” “This May Be The Last Time,” and “Where Will I Be”, originally recorded on Emmy Lou Harris’s Wrecking Ball. Here’s a sample lyric: The heart opens wide Like it’s never seen love And addiction stays on tight like a glove Oh where will I be Oh where will I be when that trumpet sounds But it’s really the music that takes center stage here. I think listening to Lanois’s music is like learning a language. I remember when I first heard Sufjan Stevens’s record I was aware that I didn’t have the tools to understand his music – it was something entirely different from what I’d ever heard before, and I had to learn Sufjan’s musical language before I could truly appreciate it. Lanois is similar, but whereas Sufjan’s musical language seems to me to be more about arrangements and his lyrical sense of irony, Lanois’s is more of a sonic language. It’s about tones, wavelengths, soulful performances, and feeling the thing. I’ve heard that Lanois has talked at length about how the high frequencies of modern mixes – the sizzle that radio likes so much – distracts him from the spiritual energy of music. My understanding is that he feels that the lower frequencies are best suited for conveying the spiritual power of music. “The race to the extension of the high frequency part of the spectrum is choking the shadows of the bass… if you light your picture too bright you will lose your shadows” (This is an interesting analogy to me for lyric writing as well). His record “Shine” is mixed very dark and warm and it ruined my ears for other kinds of mixes! He might be onto something. My first impression of Here Is What Is is that it’s mixed a bit brighter than Shine and seems a little groovier. My good friend Todd Robbins treated us to a Daniel Lanois show in Minneapolis a couple years ago where an industrial jam band named Tortoise opened for him and then backed him up for his set. There were two drummers and the songs grooved hard. I would venture to guess that tour influenced this record, with at least one song featuring two drum tracks. The arrangements sound like what I remember from the show. From what I understand, Here Is What Is is part of a film he’s making (see trailer here) about his process of making music, so interspersed throughout are bits of conversation between Lanois and legendary producer Brian Eno (U2, The Talking Heads, Coldplay, Paul Simon, among others). The track titled “Beauty” captures this exchange between them: LANOIS: I’m trying to make a film…about beauty itself… about the source of the art rather than everything that surrounds the art… ENO: …What would really be interesting for people to see [in your film] is how beautiful things grow out of shit, because nobody ever believes that… Everybody thinks that Beethoven had his string quartets completely in his head, that it somehow appeared formed in his head… and all he had to do was write them down… But what would really be a lesson that everyone could learn is that things come out of nothing… the tiniest seed in the right situation turns into the most beautiful forest. And then the most promising seed in the wrong situation turns into nothing… and I think this would be important for people to understand because it gives people confidence in their own lives to know this is how things work… If you walk around with the idea that there are some people so gifted and have these wonderful things in their head, but you’re not one of them – you’re just a normal person who could never do anything like that – then you live a different kind of life. You could have another kind of life where you say, “Well I know that things come from nothing very much, start from unpromising beginnings, and I’m an unpromising beginning, and I could start something…” Another track called “Sacred and Secular” captured this conversation: “To think of sacred and secular being apart… it’s all just always, y’know, praise for me. I can never see [music] another way… it’s always this…” Lanois says, “The pedal steel is my favorite instrument. It takes me to a sacred place. I call it my church in a suitcase…”, and his playing does reflect something of ecstasy to me. A friend of mine joked after seeing him live that he felt like he needed to smoke a cigarette after. I remember being moved to tears numerous times when I saw him. Whatever is happening in Lanois’ music, for those who connect with it it is something sublime, emotional, intimate, and maybe even holy. Lanois calls what he does “soul-mining” and I can feel his music stir my deeper waters. Here Is What Is is at it’s best when Lanois’ playing takes center stage – whether it’s a quiet pedal steel song or a searing elecrtic guitar over a deep groove. It’s worship to me. Obviously it is for Lanois, too. From his keynote address at South by Southwest: “I practice and put my heart and soul into every note my passion becomes the same as the one i felt at 9 years old i invite everyone here this morning to ignite — re-ignite — or just plain old turn up the flame in what you believe in and get to the top of the mountain that you see invention is in your brain — and that never ending commodity is in the bottom of your heart — it’s called passion Danny lanois is going down one more time with coal dust in his eyes going down — soul mining” You can download Here Is What Is here: www.daniellanois.com For the uninitiated, you may want to go to iTunes and start to learn Lanois’ musical language from more accessible albums like Acadie and Shine as well as Emmy Lou Harris’s masterpierce Wrecking Ball and U2’s The Joshua Tree. I believe it’s well worth the money as you find yourself swimming in music that is nearly as deep and dark as the mysteries it tries to point to.

—Andy Goldsworthy Not too long ago here in the Rabbit Room we followed a thread dealing with creative intent, and talked at length about the artist’s responsibility to mean something with their art, and the beholder’s responsibility to look for it. It gave rise to the observation that sometimes beauty, simplicity or playfulness is meaning enough. I’m not sure what Andy Goldsworthy “means” with his art, but it is beautiful, simple and playful–and it’s among my favorites to look at. Andy Goldsworthy, born in 1956, is a British artist/photographer who literally uses the earth as his canvas. From Japan to Scotland to the US to the North Pole to the Australian Outback, Goldsworthy travels around, picks up things he finds on the earth’s floor or stuck to the earth’s walls, rearranges them and in so doing shows us things we’ve seen a million times in ways we’ve never seen them before. And when you look at his photography it often feels like you’re seeing icicles, leaves, feathers or rocks for the first time. His work is mystifying, and I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed just looking at what he creates (or maybe “co-opts” is a better word) from his natural surroundings. He’s like M.C. Escher stuck in the woods with no paper or pencil. CBD oil and capsules Hemp oil – H Drop UK. Most major booksellers carry his work, and if you’re looking for a new coffee table book, any of his collections will captivate your imagination for a good long time to come. Here he is in his own words, along with a few more images. “I enjoy the freedom of just using my hands and ‘found’ tools—a sharp stone, the quill of a feather, thorns. I take the opportunities each day offers: if it is snowing, I work with snow, at leaf-fall it will be with leaves; a blown-over tree becomes a source of twigs and branches. I stop at a place or pick up a material because I feel that there is something to be discovered. Here is where I can learn. ” “Looking, touching, material, place and form are all inseparable from the resulting work. It is difficult to say where one stops and another begins. The energy and space around a material are as important as the energy and space within. The weather–rain, sun, snow, hail, mist, calm–is that external space made visible. When I touch a rock, I am touching and working the space around it. It is not independent of its surroundings, and the way it sits tells how it came to be there.”

God wants us to jump headfirst into total reliance on who He is and what He says about reality. When we plug that cable into the power outlet, we’d better watch out. Life change happens, first in us and then, as others connect to God through us, it happens in them as well. Christianity is meant to be spread by contact – Lewis called it “a good infection.” Christianity is a choice of the will: Am I going to rely on God and His promises? Or will I exercise faith in what I feel, see, think, hear, experience? That’s the bottom line. One choice will produce life and light and power and change in us, causing us more and more to be in experience who we really are in Christ. The other choice leads to a waste. 1Cor 3 is a sobering warning to anyone who tries to build on the foundation of Christ in himself with the wrong building materials. Only faith, reliance, and trust build with gold, silver, precious stones. Anything less – hedonism, sin, and even good works done from mere fleshly effort – is to build with wood, hay, and stubble. The man himself shall be saved, yet as a refugee escaping through the flames with nothing to show for the one earthly lifetime we’re given for all eternity. Wood, hay, and stubble will burn up in the Consuming Fire. This temporal “experiment” will never be repeated; we have one single lifetime to build a Devil-may-care reliance on God and His Word, because in eternity we will be able to see Him face to face. “Blessed are they which have not seen, and yet believe.” The choice is clearly laid out in Scripture. We can trust God in total reliance – or not. We can limp along struggling with the same besetting sins year after year after year, never really addressing that it’s our unbelief and fear keeping us on that hamster-wheel of try-sin-repent-try-sin-repent. The Devil discreetly laughs and, like the Witch in The Silver Chair, keeps throwing that sweet-smelling magic powder on the fire, thrum-thrum-thrumming his hypnotic rhythms, and cooing, “There’s really no power in Christ. It’s all just a dream. See? You just sinned again, you sinner. Interpret reality by your experience. You’re a sinner, unholy, not a new creation. Where is this ‘new man’? Your old man has come off the Cross…” Thrum-thrum-thrum. “There is no Aslan.” Those condemning, limiting voices in our heads come from a single source; they are the subtly enchanting arrows of the evil one saying, “There is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan,” as they drive home to the heart through our lack of battle-vigilance. And so we fall under his spell, where his Romans 7 deathtrap is the only reality we believe in. We’ve got to stamp out that drugged fire of the Liar with our bare feet like Puddleglum continually until it lessens to gain some clarity both for ourselves and for those around us. We combat his lies by saying, “As it is written…” and relying on those Facts, period. Puddleglum defiantly says, “…I’m going to stand by the play-world.” We stand by the unseen “play-world,” damning the Devil’s lies because God says Narnia is Real, and wake up. This isn’t condemnation, a works-trip, or a prompt to more effort; in fact, it’s the opposite, a desire that we as God’s people should take Him literally and walk in the recognition that He cannot lie. That’s what He is looking for. What I’m saying isn’t new; it’s straight-up Bible, no-chaser, repeated through the centuries by countless saints of Jesus Christ. The “Christ died to pay our sin-debt” gospel that God merely imputes righteousness to our “account,” is a half-gospel. It’s a neat little side-step to interpret reality by experience rather than by the Word; it short-circuits God’s love from coming through us. It says nothing of the imparted power that God has placed in us; that power in us is His very own Self. Jesus died to save us from our sins themselves, from being a selfish, sinning kind of people; he didn’t merely release us from the consequences due our sins. He reversed the curse and made us into a holy people. The real Gospel is a radically life-altering truth that we are to receive by faith and then walk in by faith. Jesus became sin for me so that I could become the righteousness of God in Him. As a result of Romans 6, the Father and Son have made their abode in us by the Holy Spirit. That’s power in its most basic and pure form – God, in us, ready to live through us if we just rely. That’s why Paul says “the Word of God…is exercising its [superhuman] power in those who adhere to and trust in and rely on it” (1Th 2:13, Amp). When we rely, the Lord makes us “to increase and abound in love toward one another, and toward all men…to the end that he may establish your hearts unblameable in holiness…” (1Th 3:12,13, KJV). Faith connects us to the limitless power of Christ in us, causing us to increase and abound in love toward one another. “For God hath not called us unto uncleanness, but unto holiness…” (1Th 4:7,8, KJV). Faith connects us to Power; that Power increases Love, and Love, if we continue in reliance on the Spirit, loves God and neighbor. But we’ve got to keep the chain in proper order, the horse before the cart. Much of modern Christianity is either about striving to behave “properly,” or mere intellectual assent to ideas about God. Legalism, or “grace” where there is a lot of the Devil’s condemning self-talk allowed in our consciousness resulting in very slow life-change. That’s not what Paul preached. His message was Power-in-weakness, a desertion of flesh-effort for radical reliance on God’s indwelling Holy Spirit to produce extreme life-change. If we concentrate on reliance, the rest follows. A branch doesn’t bear fruit by exertion. It trusts specifically in the Tree’s ability to give it all that it needs, resting in that, and the flow of sap through it just happens. Our behavior follows our willed reliance on our real identity. When we listen to the devil’s lies we live from them; “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.” God calls us to a life of power, adventure, risk. We are kings, priests, holy, blameless before God, one spirit with the Lord. Dead to sin. Dead to Law (what a relief – Christ is now our inner Law of love). New creations. The old is gone, the new has come. We put off the old man and put on the new by relying on these things as Fact. “Reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God” (Rom 6:11, KJV). We count it as a done-deal and stand by Aslan, stand by the play-world and claim it as our own by faith. Let God be true, and every man (and especially the Devil) a liar.

So let’s make this fun. How many bizarre ways can you interpret things to be about the Gospel, Christ, or Christianity in general? We’ll give it a week and whoever comes up with what I decide is the funniest, most obscure, most far-fetched, or plain bizarre Jesus-centric interpretation of a movie, book, or song gets a free CD from the Rabbit Room Store of my choosing, and an official title of Theolo-visonary™. I’ll start (and prevent you from using the obvious): Pan’s Labyrinth: young girl holds to her beliefs even when the world considers her foolish and when she’s ‘martyred’, she’s given a crown and a throne and welcomed home as the daughter of the King. Harry Potter(SPOILERISH): young man of prophecy must accept his destiny to die for his friends and be resurrected to save the world from the Evil One. Meat Loaf’s “For Cryin’ Out Loud”: This song has always sounded almost like a prayer to me: (some excerpts)I was lost till you were found But I never knew how far down I was falling before I reached the bottomI was damned but you were saved And I never knew how enslaved I was kneeling in the chains of my masterI could laugh but you could cry And I never knew just how high I was flying with you right above meFor taking in the rain when I’m feeling so dry For giving me the answers when I’m asking you why My oh my, for that, I thank youFor taking in the sun when I’m feeling so cold For giving me a child when my body is old Don’t you know, for that, I need youFor coming to my room when you know I’m alone For finding me a highway, for driving me home You’ve got to know, for that, I serve youFor pulling me away when I’m starting to fall For revving me up when I’m starting to stall And all in all, for that, I want youFor taking and for giving and for playing the game For praying for my future in the days that remain Oh Lord, for that, I hold youBut most of all, for cryin’ out loud For that, I love you That’s right, I just pulled out Meat Loaf. Beat that. Your turn.

If you ever have the opportunity to visit Jerusalem, and you find yourself at the church of the Holy Sepulcher—one of the possible sites for Jesus’ tomb—and if you look up and to your right before entering, you’ll see an old wooden ladder on a ledge resting against a window. Its story requires that you know something about the church itself. For centuries six different Christian groups have each claimed ownership of the church. This dispute led the Ottoman Sultan, in 1757, to issue an edict known as the “Status Quo,” which defined which parts of the church belonged to which groups. So, for example, one group had possession of the floors while another had possession of the domed roof (which led the Israeli government to put up trusses when the integrity of the domed roof began to fail because the owners of the floor would not permit the owners of the roof to use their floor to erect scaffolding to repair the roof.) Some historians say that this little ladder set the precedent for all this. In the early 1800’s, Armenian monks, who held the rights to the outer windows, set out to repair them. But this caused a problem one historian described this way: “At some point the Armenians put out the ladder for the purpose of doing work on the windows, [and] the Greeks protested that the ladder was resting on their portion (the outer ledge). The Armenians refused to remove the ladder – hence the frozen reality.” Over the years, the heated dispute has cooled, but the ladder remains in place—visible in photos dating back as far as the 1800’s! Here’s one from 1857: The ladder stands as a testimony to the “Status Quo”—no one dares remove it. (Monks make replacement ladders when the existing ones rot.) It’s ironic, considering what that church memorializes. We can go so far from the hope of Jesus as our Immanuel—“God with us”—when our practice goes from heartfelt faith and joy in the risen Christ to keeping the Status Quo. Monks struggle to cling to where He once was, quibbling over a ladder, yet we seem to lose the glorious message of where He now is because the tomb is empty. We do some strange things in the name of religion. We all have ladders—practices we impose on ourselves or that have been imposed on us. (We don’t just throw away, but burn our “secular” music. In hard times, we search for the sin God is disciplining us for until we name a dozen. With disappointment, we analyze all the reasons we didn’t deserve God’s blessing (we used a credit card last month; we skipped our quite times; we forgot to send a relative a birthday gift, and then got angry because they seemed to expect one). Somewhere between the emptying of Jesus’ tomb and the filling of modern churches we have propped a lot of ladders against a lot of windows—ladders which have stood for generations. But over time, as many of us can verify, we forget why they’re there, even though we labor to maintain them. And our “religion” becomes devoid of any true joy in Christ, and instead becomes the means by which we keep an “angry God” at bay and other Christians from suspecting we need a Savior. It is an age-old problem—forgetting what Jesus had come to do and why He had come to do it. The good news is Jesus did not forget. Jesus knew what He had come to do. He knew why He had come to do it. And He knew how we would be inclined to receive it. I have to imagine that there were times in the history of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher when the focus of the discussions centered on that ladder. Monks arguing their points… forgetting that the more important issue was why, if the tomb was empty, could they not be united in their joy? Outside the church is a monument to our unwillingness to delight in that joy which sometimes seems to be lost. But inside the church is a monument to the empty tomb—the promise that the church has been washed whiter than snow. And as long as this is the case, that joy will never be truly lost, even though it may be lost on us.

A few years ago I decided to stop talking about writing a book and actually wrote one. If you had asked me before writing it what I thought the hardest part of the process would be, I’d have told you the physical, butt-in-chair, writing of it. Turns out I was wrong. For me, that was the easy part. Then I might have said that the endless editing and rewriting was surely the hardest part, but once again I’d have been wrong. The hardest part of this entire process, the part that makes me feel like I’m trying to pound my head through a wall a foot thick is the effort to get it published, the selling of it, not like art, but like a cheap commodity that needs a witty sales pitch, a wide demographic and a catchy jingle. As many writers do, I wrongly believed in the fairy tale of “if you write it, the publishers will come” but I’ve learned the hard way over the past couple of years that that is about as true as the tale of Whitey Cheekum and the Golden Booger (trust me, you don’t want to know). The trouble is that the sheer amount of bad literature being produced is staggering, and the path to publication passes beneath the watchful eyes of the gatekeepers: the literary agents. An agent has to sift through a wasteland of dreck to uncover those one or two manuscripts that will hopefully, one day, find their way to publication, bookstore shelves, and at long last into the readers’ hands. The problem is convincing someone that you alone, out of the multitude, are that gem. The volume of manuscripts these agents have to sort their way through requires them to streamline the way they separate the wheat from the chaff. One of the ways this is achieved is through the query letter: a brief one page summation of your book that must be sufficiently clever, literate, and interesting to convince an agent in seconds that your book is worth reading. This is often compared to what you might read on the inside jacket cover of a book. Sounds easy. Trust me, it is anything but. Even if you manage to craft the perfect query letter, your book is still a long way from sold. If an agent is interested he might request your first five pages, or first chapter or some other sampling of your work. Based on that, more might be requested, representation might be offered, or more likely, you’ll just receive a polite “No Thanks” in a form letter. That’s what I’ve been dealing with for the past couple of years and it is unbelievably frustrating and depressing. To date I’ve sent out somewhere around forty letters to forty different agents and have been rejected by them all, most with the dreaded form letters. A few have sent encouraging notes and a few have requested to read more but eventually they all turned me down. The last round of submissions and rewrites left me emotionally and mentally exhausted and I haven’t had the gumption to get in the ring again for several months. Now, I’ve heard time and time again that you have to simply keep plugging away at it, and I intend to. The Rabbit Room was envisioned as a forum to discuss stories and I’m going to use it to do just that. I’m going to get back in the ring and start the process again. I’m going to blog my progress (or lack thereof) here on the Rabbit Room. Hopefully, some of you will find it of interest and maybe even learn a thing or two and hopefully, it will hold me accountable and force me to stick with it. The first thing I am going to do is dig out my old query letter and see how it’s aged. I’ll post it here once I’ve located it and we’ll take it from there.

Music sinks into me differently than books or movies. I’m very picky with it, and prone to listen to one thing over and over again rather than gobbling up lots of different music. I treat music like I treat menus: if I know I’m going to like the chicken chimichanga, why order something else? So rather than provide you with a straight-up list of favorite albums (I doubt I could come up with ten new albums that I’ve listened to this year), I’m going to list some of my favorite musical moments of 2007, in no particular order. James Taylor, One Man Band. James Taylor is one of the Great Ones in the world of songwriting. I’ve seen him live one other time, and I’ve watched his DVDs with awe, not just at how good he is at what he does, but how good his band is. He’s played with basically the same band for years and years, and they sound like it. When I heard that he’d be at the Ryman with naught but his guitar and a piano player, I bought tickets immediately. I wanted to see how well one of the Great Ones could pull off a show without all the bells and whistles. It was remarkable. His playing is so nuanced and solid, and of course his voice is nearly flawless live–but to my surprise there were still bells and whistles, and they were part of what made the show so good. During the songs movies played on a screen behind him, old films from his childhood with pumpkins and bicycles and images that fit the nostalgic vibe of songs like “Copperline” and “Walking Man”; he told stories about old songs and showed pictures of some of the people who inspired them; once he played along with a pre-recorded virtual choir. Brilliant. I walked out of there humbled and fired up about finding ways to make my own shows better. Playing the Waterdeep song on the Christmas tour Don and Lori Chaffer of Waterdeep fame came to our Christmas show in Kansas City and we surprised them with a cover of a song called “I’m Still Here”. It reminded me how good Waterdeep was/is, and was a sweet-spirited way for everyone on the tour to honor Don and Lori. Hearing Allen Levi play Again, on the Christmas tour this year. When we were in Birmingham a kind southern gentleman named Allen Levi, who’s written more songs than I’ve eaten cheeseburgers, obliged our request to join us in the round. He played a song about Santa being set up at the mall right next to Victoria’s Secret, how they’re both dressed in their best red and white, making promises of endless delight that they can’t keep. It was nothing short of amazing to see the way he took that adult topic and charmed the audience (and all of us on the stage) in a way that not only got a lot of laughs but warmed us and reminded us of the truth. Thank you, Allan. The Weepies, Say I Am You My favorite discovery of last year. I first heard the Weepies during a game of WePod, in which everybody in the van takes turns picking a song that matches the chosen topic. I don’t remember what the topic was, but Ben’s friend Emmett played “Take It From Me” and I was a goner. Great songs, and a sweet, happy sound. Favorite songs, in case you want to take my word for it on iTunes: “Take It From Me”, “Stars”, “Gotta Have You”. Hem Ben’s been listening to this band for years, so I had heard bits and pieces. I finally bought Rabbit Songs and am glad I did. My favorite songs: “Sailor” and “Leave Me Here”. Oh, man. Fernando Ortega, In the Shadow of Your Wings I can’t recommend this record highly enough. Fernando’s put out a lot of excellent records, but something special happened with this one. Recorded by the great Gary Paczosa (Alison Krauss, Mindy Smith, Nickel Creek–ahem–Andrew Peterson), this album is intimate, grand, and beautiful. It’s the first thing I play on Sunday mornings, and just yesterday I jogged to it (which I realize is weird in light of its mellowness) at sunset here at the Warren and was so moved that my eyes watered. Every song is a winner, so just go ahead and get the whole thing. The Door, Jill Phillips Jill’s Nobody’s Got it all Together came out last year. It’s an excellent album, and I’m not just saying that because of the stellar BGVs on the song “Square Peg”. The last song on the record, “The Door”, has long been one of my favorites, but I remember listening to it on a long drive with my family a few weeks ago and being nearly overcome by it. Hearing Jill’s voice belt out that last chorus knocks me out every time. But don’t stop there. The whole record is great. Randall Goodgame at the Army base I had a very patriotic year. We got to see the shuttle take off (did I mention that Pat Forrester, the mission specialist, brought some of my records up with him? I will never stop finding ways to insert that fact into conversations), Ben and I played for the White House Christian Fellowship, and Goodgame and I played at a U.S. Army base in the Carolinas. I loved having the opportunity to play for the troops, but I found out pretty quickly that without a band, my music doesn’t exactly…groove. Goodgame on the other hand? He’s not afraid to channel his inner soul singer. The troops listened with barely disguised apathy to my songs, but when Goodgame stepped up to the mic to sing “Army of Angels”, or “Susan Coats’s Pants”, or “Sweet Aileen”, the crowd basically went nuts. His music brought such light and joy into these weary soldiers’ faces I just stood there in awe. I’m so thankful to have had the chance to play for those men and women, and thankful that they didn’t heckle me off the stage. I’m also thankful to call Goodgame a friend, what with that inner jive daddy knocking around inside him. Skye singing “Over the Rainbow” My daughter fell in love with Dorothy this year. Here’s a link to a YouTube video of her being all cutesy. Thanks to Ron Block my wife and I were able to see one of the best bands of our time play at the arena here in Nashville. They’re a remarkable band, equally talented across the board, and you’ll love them whether or not you’re a country/bluegrass fan. Great music is great music. Alison sings a song on her newest record called “Country Boy” that makes me convulse every time I hear it. Ben Shive Concert Jill and Andy Gullahorn planned a special Ben Shive Solo Concert for the last day of the Christmas tour. After soundcheck the whole tour sat on the front pews of the empty auditorium and forced Ben to play a sampling of his songs. It was staggering to hear how many great–great–songs he’s written. One after another he played, and we kept thinking of and requesting more. Hopefully this is the year his record will be finished. Erik Tilling We had a great tour in Sweden last Spring, accompanied by Erik Tilling and a rascally pianist named Hektor. Erik’s gentle spirit and great musicianship was a huge relief to us, because we knew we would be doing a week of shows that would’ve felt like a month had his music been lame. At one show someone translated his songs to me quietly as he sang, and the lyrics were potent and simple and full of truth. The Finn Brothers/Neil Finn I’ve been told by basically all my friends that I should listen to Neil Finn (of Crowded House fame). Finally I succumbed, and was glad. Two songs, in case you’re visiting iTunes: “Won’t Give In” by the Finn Brothers, and “She Will Have Her Way” by Neil Finn. The Innocence Mission Their hymns record is beautiful. It plays right after Fernando on Sunday mornings. Their new record, which I don’t know nearly as well yet, was reviewed in the Rabbit Room here. Jeremy Casella, RCVRY I was so proud of Jeremy when I heard this record. It sounds like he came into his own on this melodic, artful album. Paul Simon, Surprise In the liner notes it says, “Produced by Paul Simon. Sonic Landscape by Brian Eno.” When I read that I rolled my eyes. “What the heck is a ‘sonic landscape’?” I grumbled. But then I listened to the album and had to admit that, well, there was a sonic landscape. I hope I’m making music half this cool and thoughtful when I’m 107 years old. Seriously, though, whether or not you agree with Simon’s take on things, he has made another musically beautiful album full of songs that actually say something. Pink Floyd, A Momentary Lapse of Reason I’m just including this one because I recently found it in a bargain bin and listened to it for the first time since high school. I loved, loved this album–long, beautiful, guitar solos, creepy-cool sounds, and one of the best album covers, ever. I distinctly remember listening to this record while lying on my bed with the shelf speakers on either side of my head, geeking out at the, uh, sonic landscape. Andy Gullahorn, Reinventing the Wheel Of course I have to include the other Captain Courageous. Andy G’s best record to date, with songs that make me seriously consider quitting this whole songwriting sham I have going. Jason Gray, All the Lovely Losers Jason is great at what he does. He tells a whopper of a story, is gentle of spirit and wise, has a great singing voice, and thinks deeply and carefully about his ministry. It has been a thrill seeing my kids singing his music in our house lately, right along with George Harrison and Rich Mullins. If you haven’t yet listened to Jason’s music, be sure and check out his newest record. I’m running out of steam here. But I have to also mention Sara Groves’s huge part in the Christmas tour this year, and how moving her songs were to me every night. The same could be said of Andrew Osenga. Not to mention the great times I had on the road with Michael Card, or playing “The Howling” at the Rich Mullins tribute concert.

Some of the best books I read this year, in no particular order. The Road, Cormac McCarthy I read McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses earlier this year and was wrecked by it, and this was no different. Don’t be thrown by the fact that it’s an Oprah pick–this is no ladies’ luncheon read. It’s apocalyptic, eerie, and almost unbearably sad, but with an ending that more than makes up for it. A Sacred Sorrow, Michael Card Michael has become a good friend, but that’s not why I recommend this. His last album, The Hidden Face of God was a record about lament, and he paid me the biggest honor one songwriter can pay another by recording one of my songs for it (“The Silence of God”). I traveled with Michael several times last year, and each night while he taught the audience about the lost language of lament, I hung on every word. I felt the same way when I read this book. One of my favorite Card quotes: “Nowhere in all of scripture does God ever say, ‘How dare you talk to me like that.'” He can handle our complaints, and our tears are the pathway to worship. Look for this one in the Rabbit Room store later this year (I hope). Gilead, Marilynne Robinson Not just one of my favorite books of the year, but of my life. Thanks to Jonathan Rogers for the hearty recommendation over a cheeseburger at lunch. For a fuller discussion, read the Rabbit Room review here. Devil in the White City, Erik Larson One part fascinating history of one of my favorite cities (Chicago) and one part murder mystery. I have worn the Captains Courageous out talking about this book. I’m a fan of creative nonfiction (books like The Perfect Storm, Into the Wild, Under the Banner of Heaven), and this is one of the best I’ve read. I just finished another Erik Larson book, Thunderstruck, which I also really liked. Window Poems, Wendell Berry I’m not one for poetry. I know I’m supposed to like it, but it usually leaves me wondering what the big deal is. I’m a fan of Tennyson and, of course, the poet laureate of my generation, Shel Silverstein. Because of my affection for his novels, I took to reading Berry’s poems on airplanes, and occasionally on the front porch here at the Warren. I learned that you can’t breeze through a poem and expect to get it. You have to read it aloud, and you have to read it more than once. Better yet, memorize it. Window Poems looks and feels like a book of Wendell Berry poems should. It’s illustrated, the poems aren’t dense or abstruse, so it’s the perfect short book of poems for a person who doesn’t get poetry. Best read in the woods with a pipe. The Father Brown Omnibus, G.K. Chesterton Another gift from Jason Gray. The book is old and is about four inches thick. It smells like a used book store, which next to pot roast is the best smell on earth. If you have a hankering for the crime-ridden, cobbled streets of foggy London, then let the priest/detective Father Brown be your guide. Chesterton spins a great story, and he surprises with glimmers of wisdom that make me feel like the kind old gentleman is winking at me through his monocle. No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, Alexander McCall Smith More detective goodness from Jason Gray. I razzed him about this one because it sounds like another one of those Oprah books. But I read this one and the next one in quick succession. They’re short reads, charming, wholesome, and again, full of wisdom. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling This one has been discussed here too. Rowling’s over-blabbing about the books notwithstanding, I still think this epic story will stand the test of time. I read the first Harry Potter book before it was controversial or cool to read Harry Potter, and I looked eagerly forward to each next episode, wondering all the while what all the fuss from the church was about. Having now written the first of a fantasy series, I’m all the more amazed by Rowling’s gift. It’s not an easy thing to do, writing a book–let alone writing a book knowing that literally millions of people will be reading it, griping about it, scrutinizing it, demonizing it, or over-spiritualizing it. The real feat was that she pulled it off. The last book wasn’t perfect, but the finale was for me extremely satisfying. Read the Rabbit Room discussion here. And you can read the post Outing Dumbledore here. Life of Pi, Yann Martel Another great story. Read the Rabbit Room discussion here. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini I didn’t want to read this one. It was hard for me to get excited about kites in Afghanistan. Needless to say, that’s not what the book was about, really. I hope you find time to read this before you see the movie. I’m doubtful that the story will translate well to film, as I’m doubtful about most such adaptations. The Dangerous Book for Boys, Conn and Hal Iggulden I bought this for my sons, and they have since learned how to make a paper airplane that flies way farther than any of the ones I made out of old church bulletins when I was a kid. They also know how to make real arrows, how to play poker (but don’t tell their mom), and how to build a tree house. I wish I’d had this when I was a kid. Reaching for the Invisible God, Philip Yancey Really good book. I got two song ideas from it for the new record (All Things New and Invisible God). Much obliged, Yancey. Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton I don’t even know what to say about this one. I’m pretty sure I read it last year, but it was so earth-shaking I had to include it. It begs to be read more than once. Not five minutes after I read the last page I started over, partly because the ideas are so rich they need to be read again, and partly because the prose is so stirring. Like The Great Divorce by Lewis, it’s a great book with a lame title. Don’t be thrown off by it. Chesterton and Lewis were both masters at making complex ideas easy for us boneheads.

2008 beckons. For many years I’ve reserved the week between Christmas and New Years Day as a week to think and plan. It’s a time I use for reflection and for measuring life; a time for gathering up the broken pieces of painful choices, unfortunate detours, and missed opportunities. Further and on a more positive note, it’s a time for celebrating the blessings and joys that God has provided, despite the fact that I too often get in the way of His plans. Sitting in my home office last week, up to my eyebrows in constructing goals for the “big” picture of my life, I received a phone call from my son. He sounded slightly out of breath and his tone was urgent. Did he have a lead for new large account? Surely he was calling with an idea for making more money in 2008 than in 2007? Maybe he’s calling to discuss the weight loss and healthy eating plan we are starting in January. (He thinks he’s unacceptably overweight because he gained five pounds this year. At 24, little does he know how good pictures taken now will look in 25 years.) “Why is he interrupting me now?” I thought to myself. “Surely he knows how busy I am.” “Dad,” he said, “You’ve got to see these trees.” Then without allowing time for my response, he proceeded to tell me how awesome the trees looked after the overnight frost, describing in detail how the frost clung to the branches, like a winter wonderland. He gave me detailed instructions on where to find the coolest views. Breathlessly, he told me that the trees were even more beautiful than the pink and orange sunset we saw on the way to Grandma’s the other night. It was time to decide, though there really was no decision to be made. I could patronize my son and shake him from the phone line like a dog shaking off water, returning to my austere goals exercise. Or I could thank him, question him about his discovery, as if he were among the most important people in my life (he is), and thank him for thinking of me, and caring to call and share such a beautiful thing. I don’t always choose correctly, but on this day, I did. Moreover, I left the house–trading the warmth of my office for the biting Nebraska cold–to snap some beautiful pictures, two of which accompany this article. For many years, I’ve had an attractive picture hanging in my office. It features a full moon at dusk, hanging high above the water, shining down on a lonely sailboat. The somewhat trite caption reads, “Success, It’s a Journey, Not a Destination.” As I endeavor to plan for the “big” things, Father God, please let me remember the most important moments in life are the “little things.” There’s More. More here, and more there. Mark L. read this post about the Andrew Peterson/Pierce Pettis song “More” and responded with a link to a creative, thoughtful post he made in his own personal blog. It was posted around the time I received the tree phone call from my son. With his permission I’ve reprinted it here in The Rabbit Room. As Evie Coates suggests in her White Wolf on Wyoming Avenue article, God provides serendipitous links of happenstance in our respective lives that provide us with exactly what we need at a given point in time, be it a picture of frost on the trees, the words of a patron of The Rabbit Room, or maybe both. Sometimes they mesh. I began this article without any knowledge that these random tapestries of life would somehow be stitched together in this piece of writing. Somehow, they have. Mark L. pulled passages from the song “More,” and linked them with quotes taken from a variety of pop culture icons and regular folks. _____________________________________________________________________ “Why do I have three Super Bowl rings and still think there is something greater out there for me? A lot of people would say, ‘This is what it is. I reached my goal, my dream …’ Me, I think, God, it’s got to be more than this. I mean, this isn’t … what it’s all cracked up to be.” – Tom Brady on 60 Minutes This is not the end here at this grave This is just a hole that someone made Every hole was made to fill And every heart can feel it still– Our nature hates a vacuum “It felt big. It felt lonely and big. You’re in a hotel and you’re like, okay well, I’m sitting in this big suite with an Oscar, and I still don’t have a life. What is wrong with me?” – Nicole Kidman reflecting on the night she won her 2003 Best Actress Oscar This is not the hardest part of all This is just the seed that has to fall All our lives we till the ground Until we lay our sorrows down And watch the sky for rain “I try to fill the emptiness deep inside me with Cheetos, but I am still depressed. Only now my fingers are stained orange. I am blue. And I am orange.” – Karen Salmansohn, Author There is more More than all this pain More than all the falling down And the getting up again There is more More than we can see From our tiny vantage point In this vast eternity “I thought to myself, ‘Is that it?'” – Trot Nixon after winning the 2004 World Series A thing resounds when it rings true Ringing all the bells inside of you Like a golden sky on a summer eve Your heart is tugging at your sleeve And you cannot say why There must be more “I am seriously hurting over a recent breakup … I feel empty. I feel sad, and angry. I’m not feeling happy whatsoever. My life is at a very positive point right now. Things are going well for me. But I don’t want to continue to succeed alone. I can’t even think of my interests at this point to even keep me busy, I feel somewhat desperate … any advice?” – Brighteyezinva, Yahoo! Answers post There is more More than we can stand Standing in the glory Of a love that never ends There is more More than we can guess More and more, forever more And not a second less “I tried everything. Parties, women, buying expensive jewelry and gadgets, and nothing helped. There was no peace. I had everything the world has to offer, but no peace, no joy, just emptiness inside.” – Deion “Prime Time” Sanders There is more than what the naked eye can see Clothing all our days with mystery Watching over everything Wilder than our wildest dreams Could ever dream to be There is more… (Words in Italics are lyrics to the song “More” by Andrew Peterson and Pierce Pettis)

This is my first-ever attempt at an end-of-year favorites list. Some of these were actually released prior to 2007, but this is the year I stumbled on them. One of the many blessings of marriage is that it teaches you how to love and understand (or at least try to understand) a person who is very different from yourself. Jamie and I have loads in common, but our brains could hardly have been wired more differently. For example: –I’m a singer/songwriter who could talk about music for hours (and do). –Jamie’s only ever bought one CD in her life, and it was the Titanic soundtrack. –I’m a movie junkie. –Jamie falls asleep with her head on my lap in every movie we watch, even when I rent something girly. If she does stay awake, she forgets everything about the movie within 36 hours. –Not only am I a voracious reader of novels, I have (wonder of wonders) written a book. –Jamie doesn’t like to read. Well, that’s not entirely fair. Before we had kids she read quite a bit. Nowadays, she reads books but they have pictures and are about the Poky Little Puppy or Olivia the pig. Don’t get me wrong–she’s a really smart lady. But different things light her up, like good conversation over a mug of hot chocolate, or kick-boxing classes at the YMCA, or teaching kids to read. She handles the checking account, is so organized her friends have often suggested she go into business, and is the best teacher I could ever ask for my children. Folks are usually surprised to hear that she’s not terribly into music, especially in light of her former career as my background vocalist, but it’s true: she never really wanted to be a singer. She wanted to be a mom and a teacher, and by the grace of God that’s exactly what she is (not to mention a great cook, a great wife, and a great jogging partner). I say all that to say this. Her sensitivity level is much higher than mine when it comes to language, violence, and intensity in movies. So in light of the demographic that surely exists in my listenership, to spare any of you from being exposed to something you might find objectionable, I offer (mainly for movies) the Jamie Rating System: JWAOIW= Jamie Would Approve Of Its Wholesomeness JWEIBIMRHD = Jamie Would Endure It, But It Might Ruin Her Day JWREAC = Jamie Would Rather Eat A Cat After some thought, these have been abbreviated to: JWA = Jamie Would Approve (great for the whole family) JPW = Jamie Probably Wouldn’t (not for kids) MEOW = Jamie Would Rather Eat A Cat (for film aficionados only) Here we go, in no particular order. No Country for Old Men 3:10 to Yuma Bridge to Terabithia Reign Over Me Honorable mention: I Am Legend, Amazing Grace, The Bourne Ultimatum, Michael Clayton Coming up next, the list of favorite books read in 2007… —— Addendum: I just watched Once tonight, and loved it.  It’s set in Ireland, so the language might be a little much for some folks (though the f-word with an Irish accent doesn’t seem so much like a wordy dird, does it?), but the music was great and the story was sweet and sad all at the same time.  I almost wrote “sweet and sad at…once.” But if I had done that someone might have thrown up.

I have in my possession something I am willing to wager no one else reading these words has. My senior year of college, I spent a semester studying in Israel. My group of friends had a three day weekend and no plans, so we decided that we would go camping by the sea. We randomly picked a place along the Mediterranean coast on our travel map: the ancient Persian port city of Dor. We packed three days’ worth of supplies, hopped in a taxi, showed the driver the map, and set off. After three hours of driving on a highway, the driver turned off onto a sandy path (which hardly constituted a road), drove about two miles and stopped, saying, “Here you go.” All around us was deserted beach. No city, no vendors, no nothing. Just beach. We didn’t understand that the Old English typeface labeling Dor on the map meant that it was not an actual city with people in it and stuff, but a ruin. So there we stood, six American students alone on a deserted beach in the middle of Israel. It was awesome. That night we slept in sleeping bags on the beach under a starry sky I can’t even begin to describe. The next morning, a few of us decided to go for a run up the beach. As I was running, a glimmer of light by the water caught my eye. I stopped, and there, half-buried in the sand where the water lapped up on the shore, was a bottle, and in the bottle was a rolled up piece of paper. I had found a genuine message in a bottle! Here’s a picture of the actual one: What is written on a message in a bottle found like that? Maybe a distress call from shipwreck survivors, or a plea for help from a kidnapping victim being carried off by international terrorists. Maybe it contained the map to an otherwise lost treasure. It might have been some desperate person’s last ditch effort to reach the outside world hoping that they might be sought and found. Lives might have hung in the balance! What would you have done? What did I do? Well, I didn’t have a corkscrew, and I certainly didn’t want to ruin my find by shoving the cork into the bottle. So I waited. For two months, I waited. Does this frustrate you? My defense was, “Look, its complicated. I know the message could be important, but isn’t it also important that I get to preserve my souvenir?” The message could’ve changed my life or saved someone else’s, but as far as I was concerned, the sheer luck of finding the bottle itself was enough of a life-change for one day. So I stuffed it away in my pack. I believe that when it comes to worshiping the Lord, this is where many of us are. We’ve been given a “message in a bottle,” a declaration from Christ Himself that we were made for relationship with God, but we hesitate to engage Him because our situation is complicated. Maybe we learn along the way to appreciate, even treasure the outward trappings of worship, but don’t really engage the message contained in it. Maybe we even financially invest in acquiring worship music to listen to. But when it comes to really worshiping God, bowing our hearts and selves in reverence and adoration before Him, we seldom do. All the trappings of religion have complicated things. But Jesus seeks to uncomplicate things and engage our hearts with an invitation to quench a thirst we may not even know we have—thirst for life as it was meant to be. And we find this best in worship. Augustine said, “Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee.” We were created for the presence of God. And His word, like a message in a bottle, tells us of what is to come in the glory we await: “And I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light will the nations walk, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it, and its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there.” Revelation 21:22-25 In glory there will be no temple because the Lord God Himself will be the center of worship. If you are in Christ, you will be there for all eternity. This life is a vapor, and well over 99.999% of your existence as a believer will be in the glorious presence of God, the Lover of your soul. And your reputation will not precede you there. Everything will be as it was always meant to be, and you will know true worship, unfettered by the complications you feel even now. As glorious as that will be, the great news for today is that our God, right here and now, seeks worshipers who will worship Him in Spirit and in truth. To worship the Lord is the invitation to a foretaste of the Glory you will know forever. But it not enough to just possess this message. Engage the message.

Apart from faith it is impossible to please God. Without faith, we cannot please Him. Think of without in the older sense as the opposite of within rather than not having. If I am without my house, I’m outside it. If I’m within a house, I’m inside it. From within faith it is possible to please God. Outside of reliance, faith, trust, it’s impossible to please Him. Think of God as the power outlet, yourself as the machine, and faith as plugging in the power cord. Or faith as turning the key in the ignition. Many Christians spend all their time pushing their Porsche down the freeway. “What are you doing?” “Well, I’m tryin’ to be like Jesus. You should, too. You’re not pushing your Porsche hard enough. It’s not fair.” We need to get in and turn the key. Everything else in the Christian life flows from that. Pushing the Porsche doesn’t please God; it’s way too slow to effectively get where we need to go; we know that, deep down. Exerting that kind of fleshly effort on something that’s completely useless is…well…Hell. Talk about burnout! Turning the key starts the engine of Christ, and the fuel of the Spirit, and the Father says, “Let me show you what this thing can do.” That’s what pleases God – getting in and starting the engine. We can intellectually believe God’s promises and yet never appropriate them, never take hold of them in a personal way. The demons have that kind of belief. They believe God keeps his promises; that’s why they tremble, because He has promised them condos in the lake of fire. Think of our children. If they were afraid of us, and constantly putting on a show of deference and doing whatever we said (and only when we were watching), treating us like fearsome tyrants, it would annoy and sadden us. They would not be operating from within faith; within fear would be more like it. It might make some of their actions look good on the outside, but we’d see the heart of their actions was fear and not faith. From that attitude it would be impossible for them to please us, no matter what they did. What we really want is for them to trust us, to rely on us, to take us at our word. If they do so, their actions will spring from that faith in us. They will obey, not because they’re afraid of punishment, but because they trust us. God blesses us according to that trust attitude. “According to your faith, it shall be done unto you.” When our kids trust us and do as they are asked, we bless them, because we can trust them with blessing. If we rely on God to take care of our needs, we give obediently because we trust – and He blesses us back. God’s design, His plan for each of us, is to soak into all those hard pockets of unbelief in us, to bring us into total reliance on His Word, His power, His Spirit in us. And when we do that, when we walk in total reliance, He manifests Himself through us to others. That, right there, is the entire point of the Christian life. But to get from A to Z, faith is the way. It’s “by faith from first to last. ” The Christ-ian road begins with an act of faith that springs from a recognition of our need. I need a Savior. I make the leap: Jesus, you are my Savior. And so by faith He becomes Savior to me – I appropriate His Blood. The rest of the Christian life is the same. “Did you get the Spirit by works of the Law, or by the hearing of faith?” “As you began in the Spirit, so walk in Him.” Where I see need in myself, He is the supply, because “in Christ I have everything I need for life and godliness.” I appropriate the eternal reality here-and-now by faith, by reliance on God and His Word. He is my indwelling power, my love, my passion, my peace, my purity – right here, right now. All I need to do is rely on Him, to stand in faith that He cannot lie, and soon the muddied trickle of God’s life through me becomes a brook, then a stream, then a river of living water for others. Apart from reliance there can be no pleasing God. 1Cor 3 says that we have to take care to build properly on the foundation that was laid in us. Christ is the foundation, laid by faith – “Jesus, thank you that you are my Savior; forgive my sins and come to live in me.” That’s a faith act. Now, if we go on and build on that with works of our fleshly effort, striving to keep God’s approval by what we do and don’t do, we will make it into heaven, but only as refugees escaping through the flames. Building with works of human effort on top of that initial faith act is like building with wood, hay, and stubble. Those materials can’t withstand the Consuming Fire that is our God. Don’t get me wrong. If we trust God and rely on His Word, He’ll produce His good works through us. We will bear fruit – but it will not be our own fruit. It’ll be the fruit of the Spirit. We will have love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness, humility, faith – and that fruit of the Spirit coming through us will refresh everyone we know who takes and eats of it. But we don’t focus on life change. We put our mind on trusting God. We are transformed by that mind renewal. We can think of the Ten Commandments this way: If I trust God as knowing what’s best and that He has only my good in mind, as a natural outcome of trusting Him I’ll have no other gods before Him. If I trust God as my All in all, that in Him I have everything I need for life and godliness, that reliance will keep me from making idols out of money, my job, my house, my possessions, my wife or kids, my intellect, my talents – or myself. As a natural outflow of trusting God I won’t misrepresent Him or use His name flippantly or in swearing; His name will be too precious to me to do that, because my life depends on His name. If I trust God, who said in Hebrews that I am to cease from my own works and enter into His Rest, then I will learn to rest – not merely on Sunday, but I will cease from all my flesh-effort striving, coping, and trying to make life “work.” I’ll enter into reliance on Him and cease from fleshly striving in an eternal Rest that begins here and now. If I trust God, who is sovereign, I’ll honor my father and mother because I’ll know that God placed me with them for good eternal reasons. If I trust God to be my indwelling Love, that trust will keep me from murder – from taking someone’s life in revenge or passion – because “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.” It will protect me from hating anyone in my heart because I recognize the Holy Spirit’s Love for them as inside me and being my permanent possession, and I rely on that Love. If I’m trusting God to be my indwelling Purity, that reliance will keep me from committing adultery – even in my mind. Trusting Him as my indwelling Purity causes that Purity to flow into my thoughts and attitudes. If I trust God to be my Supply, that reliance will keep me from stealing for any reason whatsoever. If I’m really trusting God to provide all my needs, that reliance will keep me from lying – which includes fudging on my taxes and saying “I was sick” when I wasn’t. If I trust God, that trust will keep me from wishing I had other people’s stuff. I will trust that God has given me exactly everything I really need. It’s the devil’s way to flip all this around backwards. “Prove the reality of your trust by focusing on your behavior. Try to be more like Jesus” (When I say we’re to live by faith, I wish I had ten bucks for every time I’ve heard some variant of “You should at least be trying!”). We end up putting our attention on doing this and not doing that, rather than seeing our behavior as a symptom of what we’re putting our trust in. Change what we’re trusting in, and the doing follows the trust. We will manifest the life of Jesus Christ by the Holy Spirit in us when we trust that He is our wellspring, our Source of living water, our Life, our Love, our All in all.

“Have you seen any good movies lately?” I get that a lot. It seems that people somehow know that film is one of my passions. How about you–have you seen any good movies this year? As 2007 draws to a close, I thought it would be fun to start a Rabbit Room dialog about movies that inspired our respective lives in 2007. Like finding and raising the Titanic, great art must be tenaciously pursued. Finding the great ones doesn’t usually happen without some advance thought. A random appearance at the local multi-screen cinemaplex doesn’t always yield the goods either. With eighteen choices, one might think otherwise. If I’m staying home, I like Netflix. Their selection is without peer and they don’t charge for late returns. The theater is great, but the convenience of home, a big screen, and a pause button if somebody gets chatty–hey, that’s not all bad. More than once I’ve reflexively tried to pause the theater projector. I’m also fortunate that in Omaha we have a couple of theaters that specialize in running indie, foreign, documentary and classic motion pictures; the Dundee, anachronistically sporting only one screen, and the newly opened and constructed Ruth Sokolof Theater, a nonprofit organization featuring presentation and discussion of film as an art form. In July of this year, the two-screen theater was opened. It’s located within the world famous Saddle Creek Records development in downtown Omaha. It’s concurrently serves the passionate cineaste and casual filmgoer . It’s a classic partnership of the public and private sector, including donations and support from famous director Alexander Payne, who’s hometown is Omaha. Several years ago on a test marketing basis, AMC offered a mind boggling deal: All the movies one customer can view for a monthly fee of $18.95. The deal lasted for about one year. It was pretty great. As a consumer, I’m always looking for superb value, and this was surely one of the best I’ve encountered. Honestly–in my case–AMC probably made up their lost movie revenue in buttered popcorn and Diet Coke sales (I know, I know, there is something incongruent about a menu of Diet Coke and buttered popcorn–leave me alone), but I never had to concern myself with getting enough value. After the first two movies, the rest were, uh, popcorn butter. With all of it’s benefits, the deal did have at least one disadvantage. I saw far more clinkers than I ever had before. With such a flat fee arrangement, I didn’t hesitate to venture into movies I otherwise would avoid. And yes, I could always walk out, and did a few times. Still, more often than not, I unconsciously endured the mind numbing flicker of more duds than I should have. Besides, there’s something not quite right about eating buttered popcorn outside of the theater, you see. Having spent what I thought was so much wasted time on innumerable movie miscues, I finally realized that the junk had a purpose: they made me appreciate the great ones all the more. Through the years, I’ve developed a sixth movie selection sense involving a weird mishmash of intuition and cinematic elbow grease to lead me to the great ones. No doubt, you have a method for separating the wheat from the chaff yourself. So without further dawdling, let’s take advantage of our respective perspectives–however developed and wherever utilized–and discuss what we’ve seen in 2007. 1. The Illusionist – Man, this one was fun. It features unbelievably compelling performances from Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti. Giamatti deserves an Oscar for his performance. That guy rocks the freakin’ Casbah. The rest of the cast is solid. Pure and simple, this is just a great story, told really well. The end twist is the best I can recall since The Sixth Sense. You will see one hundred movies before you notice cinematography this good. The textures and colors are stunning. It’s the kind of movie that you’ll want to pause the movement just to admire the still frame. 2. Pan’s Labyrinth (El Laberinto del Fauno) – See it! It’s insanely good. It is rated “R” for significant violence and a few cuss words, so if your conscience forbids seeing a movie in that category, please take note. The violence is significant, but I thought was germane to the story. Also note that it’s a Spanish movie with subtitles. If your cinematic tendencies don’t run down that road, beware. But for those that like movies as art and beauty, this one is not likely to disappoint. The movie is faithful to the genre from which it borrows. Fantasy and reality are blended in in a most compelling and unique way. 3. Bridge to Terabithia – It was far better than I expected it to be. The trailers sold the movie as a special effects collage and there is some of that, but I appreciated the way in which the human aspect of the film blended so seamlessly with fantasy elements. Kids’ movies are often filled with things kids would never say or do. This is ostensibly a kids’ movie but will capture the hearts of adults who appreciate beauty, narrative, drama, and imagination. And the dialog is so well-written, you won’t have to roll your eyes when the young actors talk. One of the really great characteristics of the way this movie was made, is the way imagination and fantasy are fused with the tangible events of any given day. As occurs in the hearts and minds of real people, the fantasy elements are often mingled into the nooks and crannies of their real world. When I was a little boy, I was afraid of the devil. I saw and heard him several times. I know I did. I used to conjure up some unbelievably beautiful worlds by something as simple as roughly rubbing my eyes with my fists. Once when I was sick, I dreamed that there were strings attached to my body, reaching out all over the world to others that could make me well. These kinds of things were palpable parts of my childhood. Whether scary or sublime, the fantasy elements of this movie are real without being cartoonish–just like fantasy weaves its way into the lives of real children/people. I have not read the book on which the movie is based, so though I expected a twist, because it is telegraphed in kind of a general way, I was still caught by surprise when what happened, happened. It’s a triple–maybe quad cry movie. Pain, disappointment, fear, sadness, ache, embarrassment are balanced with friendship, love, kindness, forgiveness, and redemption. 4. Amazing Grace – It isn’t as stark and explicit as Amistad which also depicts slavery, but is an unbelievable story of persistence and courage. There were some truly excellent dramatic performances from the actors involved. The standout performance was that of Albert Finney, the same guy that played older Ed Bloom in Big Fish, another great movie. Finney plays John Newton, the one time slave ship master who converted to Christianity, became an Anglican minister, and of course wrote the hymn “Amazing Grace.” In trying to recall, I think Amistad is the better of the two by a fair margin, but both projects are good. Amistad was the more obscure story of the two and probably more historically accurate in terms of the story, as I understand it. While Amazing Grace graphically describes the slave trade inhumanity, Amistad graphically shows it. By the way, after seeing Amazing Grace and reading a few reviews, I learned that one of the producers of this film is actress Patricia Heaton, better known for her role on Everybody Loves Raymond, one of my favorite sitcoms. Like another actor who’s work I appreciate, Jim Caviezel, she has been involved in a variety of projects–in entertainment and otherwise–supportive of causes that benefit children, the poor, and other causes often endorsed by believers. Heaton says, “I was raised Catholic and I’m Presbyterian now, but I’ve always been a Christian regardless of denomination. I believe that Jesus is the way.” 5. Blood Diamond – Leo D. is no Harrison Ford, but he continues to surprise me with his ability to play prototypically macho characters believably. There are good performances all around. I appreciate Leo’s talent in spite of myself. It’s a little embarrassing to say that I admire his work, but I do. In a movie that purposes to expose the atrocities of exploitation, it sure seems like the extras providing the movie violence were being, uh, exploited. Certainly not to the extent of the blood diamond buyers, but exploited nonetheless. Good narrative, redemptive plot, a little too neat and tidy for my taste, but a blockbuster is not an indie film, so we take what we would expect from a blockbuster and be thankful for the little surprises that one wouldn’t expect to observe in a blockbuster. 6. Opal Dream – I loved this movie. I was hard-pressed to find a reviewer that agreed with me because most of them were uncomplimentary, but unfairly, I thought. Yes, the director was a bit literal in his interpretation of the material. It was a narrative that was told in a pretty straightforward way without ambiguity or allusion. I have no problem with that. If there’s a great story to be told, sometimes that’s all that’s necessary. Faith and hope were highlighted, but I was particularly moved–whether it was intended or not–by the implication that we all have an intense need to have those we love believe in us, despite our sometimes outlandish and unusual quirks. And when one has the compassion to have faith (like the brother, for one) in another, even when it isn’t warranted or deserved–it can be profoundly moving (talk about a wonderful human reflection of divine grace). My tear ducts were opened three times during this film. 7. Copying Beethoven – This movie is probably closer to fiction than the truth, but I loved it anyway. Ed Harris was great as was Diane Kruger. And though the director may have mixed up historical fact, I’d like to believe that Ed Harris nailed Beethoven’s twisted, passionate personality dead-on. Some of Beethoven’s dialogue nearly made we want to stand and cheer: The vibrations on the air are the breath of God speaking to man’s soul. Music is the language of God. We musicians are as close to God as man can be. We hear his voice, we read his lips, we give birth to the children of God, who sing his praise. That’s what musicians are. I appreciated and identified with Beethoven as a God-loving and God-fearing man–a man that wanted to please God, but often failed and understood the beauty of grace. 8. Once – I categorize this one as an Irish folk musical. It was filmed in Dublin and received rave reviews at Sundance. It plays as a low-budget indie effort (which it is) and feels more like a movie with good narrative and dialogue than a musical, per se. The music is pretty good. There are some nice tunes, excellent harmony, and decent playing. The movie depicts a struggling singer/songwriter who is given inspiration and courage from a new acquaintance that he meets on the street. Rather than providing a conventional outcome, we are treated to something more bittersweet, which is all the more reason to love indie films–their lack of convention. My only criticism is that I had a hard time understanding all of the words spoken in the Irish brogue dialect. If you pick it up on DVD, I recommend you consider viewing it with English subtitles. 9. The Spirit of the Beehive – It’s a Spanish film from the 70s, some say the best one of that era. It’s an allegory which is filmed beautifully. Though the landscape and architecture of the buildings are stark and old, somehow it is framed in a way that makes it beautiful. Some of the shots last so long, it’s as if the director is lost in the beauty of the moment and wants us, the audience, to see it for just one moment more, so we might linger in the moment of beauty. There’s something almost romantic with the way the director allows the camera to linger rather than rushing headlong into the next shot. 10. My Best Friend – It’s a sad, but warm French movie about a man who discovers that he doesn’t have any friends. Quite unexpectedly–though he is surrounded by many people–he realizes that he is lonely. There’s some goofy, but fun popular culture in this one. I saw this one at the Dundee Theater. 11. 10 Items or Less – This film is another prime example of why I prefer indie films over studio releases. It’s a relationship film without the element of romance per se. I am intrigued, as I think is director/screenwriter Brad Silberling, with the way in which random people connect. I travel some and my lifestyle and job require that I spend time in diverse places meeting diverse people. It can be quite a lonely, solitary life if one doesn’t reach out. On a good day, that’s what I do–I reach out to other folks, which can be a source of great joy, fascination, and serendipity. People, their motivations, ideas, joys and pain provide significant fulfillment. It takes some courage and a little skill to forge a relationship that doesn’t come across as intrusive, yet is sensitive, thoughtful, and meaningful. It’s a challenge to attempt to convert small talk into real talk in what is often such limited time, waiting for a flight at the airport, sitting in the waiting room at the dentist’s office, or standing in a check-out line. Morgan Freeman essentially plays an actor, not unlike himself, though significantly less successful. The plot revolves around his character entertaining the idea of starring in, interestingly enough, an indie movie. In considering this role, Freeman’s character visits an obscure, ethnic grocery store, ostensibly to do character studies and research. In the way indie films usually go, something different happens: He meets Paz Vega’s character, a cashier in a ten-items-or-less line, and forges an intriguing, spontaneous, charming relationship with her. The two end up spending the afternoon together, though not in a romantic or sexual way. A lot happens and nothing happens. The events of the day are somewhat routine, not what I would expect as big screen fodder. Nevertheless, the transformation of the respective main characters’ personas (in the here and now) and lives (down the road) is that which lends spice, vigor, and charm to these otherwise forgettable daily events. Humans sometimes behave in utterly horrible ways in an effort to rebuff the very thing that deep down they crave the most; to be touched by another human being. 12. Into the Wild – Please note The Rabbit Room review. 13. Lars and the Real Girl – Don’t let the fact that this is a movie involving a sex doll scare you away. Crude humor, mean-spirited insults, cheap double-entendres or otherwise ugly human behavior is nowhere to be found in this thoughtful gem of a film. Ryan Gosling stars and it’s not anything like one might expect, despite the doll prop. It’s a decent, sweet, kind-hearted movie with a lot to say. If you aren’t the cynical type or you are willing to put your cynicism on hold for a couple of hours, I highly recommend it. I’m shocked that those involved pulled this difficult concept off with such style and grace. 14. No Country for Old Men – Highly recommended. I’m not usually a fan of movies tinged with western settings, but this one was awesome, a simple but great narrative–and plenty to ponder afterwards. The day after I saw the movie, I bought the book on which the movie was based. Contrary to most successful films made from books, much of the film’s action is taken word for word from Cormac McCarthy’s novel. Further, it occurs in the same order of events. And it works. The dramatic tension in this movie is not to be missed. Jason Gray also enjoyed this film and wrote a review for the Rabbit Room here. 15. The Kid – Charlie Chaplin from 1921–heartbreaking and unbelievably hilarious. At times, I had a hard time catching my breath because I was laughing so hard. I was reminded–once again–why Chaplin has been so esteemed as a classic filmmaker. Great pathos and wonderful belly laughs. 16. Vernon, Florida – I was led to this one by Richard and Gaines from the Andrew Peterson Message Board. At first, I had a hard time locating it. None of my local video stores carried it. So, Netflix to the rescue. It was at my house in a matter of one day. It’s a documentary film that is fun and funny. I’m still laughing at the segment from the couple that thought the sand they collected from White Sands Monument in New Mexico was growing, and the turkey hunter–wow–hilarious stuff. These are ordinary (extraordinary) people living in the sleepy little southern town of Vernon, Florida. I feel somewhat of a kinship with the Director Errol Morris. He is fascinated with people and their stories. In this movie as in most of his others, he proves that “ordinary” people reveal some very bizarre stories when left on camera long enough. The guy is, at best, obsessive. Vernon, Florida was one of his early works (1982). He probably goes a little over the line–sort of like the National Enquirer of film directors–but his work is intriguing nonetheless. Vernon, Florida is ostensibly a documentary and is gently funny. I laughed at its real life characters, not so much because they aren’t very smart (they aren’t), but because they are fully human. In our real lives, we see people like those profiled in this documentary routinely but rarely see them on screen. 17. Everything is Illuminated – It’s offbeat and took me a little time to get into its flow, but I loved it. It’s an unusual film about a young man’s journey into unknown territory in search of a connection to his past. It’s poignant and thoughtful, but also funny at times. Elijah Wood plays shy young man, who travels to the Ukraine to tie some loose ends of his lineage together, and contracts with a twenty something Ukrainian man and his grandfather to serve as his drivers and tour guides. Blending language and culture serves as most of the comedy. Eugene Hutz narrates and plays the interpreter between Wood’s character and his grandfather and he largely steals the show. His Ukranian accented, fractured English is wonderful and too funny. Grandfather says he is blind, but he really isn’t. He wears sunglasses and has a guide dog which he named Sammy Davis, Jr. Jr. Absurd circumstantial dialogue and crazy characters, namely the Ukrainians, make this a very funny movie. I identified with Jonathan (Elijah Wood). He collects things–things to the outside observer that might seem innocuous or meaningless. But to him, they are important because they remind him of life and times that he wishes to remember. I don’t think we should necessarily live in the past, but we often behave as if the past is irrelevant–that places and things that went before don’t matter. To some, maybe they don’t. To me, life’s moments–even those that on the surface might seem innocuous–are often sublime and not to be forgotten. When I was a teenager, I wrote a book which was nothing more than a listing of memories, because I didn’t want to forget. And yes, I still have it. As I’m writing this, I’m suddenly realizing that Grandpa’s “blindness” is a metaphor for the blindness of his own life, which he repressed, until it was forced to the forefront on the road trip he took with his grandson and Jonathan. Wow, now I want to see the movie again to find out what else I missed. It’s a remarkable accomplishment of the film that Grandfather’s epiphany comes completely outside the bounds of dialogue. It’s very clear what is happening but it’s never articulated with words. I feel like I’m groping to try and explain why I like this movie. I guess it’s one that has to be seen to appreciated. It does bog down towards the end and becomes a little muddled and maybe even lasts a little too long. But it’s worth a rental, for sure. Agree or disagree with these choices, I’d love to read your comments. Most of my choices were shown in theaters in 2007, but some are retro, movies I saw after research or recommendation. Feel free to be governed by by the same criteria, that regardless of when the movie was released, if you viewed it this year, it’s a candidate to be discussed. Have you seen any good movies this year? Let the discussion begin.

Last night I saw the movie “No Country For Old Men”, the latest offering from the Coen Brothers, the guys who brought us “O Brother Where Art Thou,” “Fargo,” “The Big Lebowski” and other one of a kind movies. Being a big fan of the Coens, I’ve been waiting with great anticipation to see this, their newest film. I don’t know if I like it as a story (the way I like “Shawshank Redemption” or even a Coen film like “O Brother Where Art Thou”) – I barely cared about any of the characters and the story is pretty dark and unredemptive. And yet, like the wide open spaces of the stark Texan landscape, I found a film I could get lost in. In the end, I think “No Country…” is less interested in telling a story as it is exploring what drives the characters to do what they do. As a story it’s not very satisfying, but as a study of human nature I found it completely engrossing. Before I go much further, let me make clear that this movie is NOT for everyone. It’s violent, it’s dark, and there’s little redemption to be found. But it still feels true. I’m not a movie critic, so I’m reluctant to go into great critical detail of the movie as a whole – plus there’s so much I could talk about it would be hard to know where to begin. Take for instance the nuanced performances that were delicious to watch – every character pitch perfect and delivering rich dialogue at once gritty and romantic. I hung on every word. Josh Brolin’s performance is a revelation and Javier Bardem is a mesmerizing baddie. Tommy Lee Jones, the biggest star, is subtle and authentic. His performance is surprisingly fragile to me. I could talk about the look of the film. Roger Deakins is my favorite cinematographer (yep, I’m one of those film geeks who cares about who the cinematographer is) and his work in this film is poetry for the eyes. The lonesome sweeping landscape of Texas and the way Deakins renders it makes it as much a character as anyone else. Or I could talk about the music. Or lack of it. As far as I can recall, there was a little music at the very beginning and then no more until the credits rolled, leaving you to deal with a tension that builds throughout the film and finds no relief in the amplified quietness. There’s no music to tell you how to feel. You have to feel it for yourself. I could go into great detail about any of those things, but what I’m most interested in sharing is what the movie is getting at. Or at least what I think part of it is getting at. Many people will take “No Country For Old Man” at face value as a linear story of a man on the run with $2,000,000 (that he found when he stumbled upon the grisly scene of a drug deal gone bad) and the villain who is chasing him. But the way it plays out would make it a very disappointing story (in fact, many have complained that they didn’t like the ending). In fact, that storyline wraps up about three quarters in, leaving that last quarter of the movie to make us wonder what the story is really about. I was talking with some friends afterward and we think that the film is about, at least in part, the root of all evil: money. Everywhere money shows up, trouble is hot on it’s heels. This is most obvious in the storyline of Llewelyn Moss (Brolin), the character on the run with the money he recovered from the Texas desert, but it also plays out in more subtle ways throughout. I’m thinking of the villain Anton Chigurh (Bardem) who decides whether or not he will kill someone by the flip of a coin. Those who he is about to kill always tell him, “you don’t have to do this…”, and in a climactic scene towards the end you get the sense almost that he doesn’t necessarily want to kill a certain character, and so he tells them to call the coin: heads or tails. The character refuses to call it, saying that the coin doesn’t make the decision, he does. “You cannot love both God and money,” Jesus says. “You’ll end up hating one and loving the other.” I believe that money is the most seductive idol, a god with a stranglehold on most of us and who demands to call all the shots in our lives.  If God moves on our hearts to do something or to give, how often do we consult our checkbooks first? Money wants to be lord over us, and wants our worship. In Chigurh we have a character who lets a coin, a piece of money, tell him whether he will kill or grant a stay of execution. How many of us let money determine whether we live or die, whether we live out of the reality of the abundant life or whether we live in the smothering death grip of the fear that “maybe God can’t be trusted to meet my needs”? In an even subtler scene at the end of the film, a couple of kids on their bike come upon Chigurh. He’s hurt and gives a kid $100 for his shirt so he can make a sling for his arm. As he walks away, we hear the two kids begin to argue over the money. And so the cycle continues, as though money were possessed. I think it’s truer to say that money wants to possess us. I’m not entirely sure if that’s what the Coens intended to get at, but I think it’s in there. But regardless of whether it is or isn’t, or whether you find anything at all worthwhile in this film, the Coen brothers are two of the most singular and original moviemakers out there and they are at the top of their game. “No Country For Old Men” is one of the most well crafted movies you’re likely to see in a long time – whether you like it or not.

A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters. Hey, the last thing I want is for these comments to sound negative, elitist, or to spark yet another debate about radio or CCM music. Honest. I hope readers and artists associated with The Rabbit Room continue to shun the idea that this web hangout is some esoteric musical cult, where only the select few are allowed. It’s not. But let me go out on a limb; one of the reasons you left-click into our humble abode might be because your spirit thirsts for something deeper; deeper than cliche, deeper than a formula, and deeper than paint-by-number worship. Simple, obtuse, repetitive nursery rhymes might be true, but they also might be truly boring. Hopefully and prayerfully, The Rabbit Room is a place in which you will find recommendations on art that rise above the “truly boring.” Randall Goodgame doesn’t write of generic people, places, and things. His lyrics are peppered with authentic props like Cherry Chapstick, harvest moon, marmalade, and potpourri. His characters are as random as the telephone directory: crazy Gene, Sylvester’s ex-wife (we don’t learn her name), Sweet Aileen, Charlie Robin, and Jesus (another one). These characters frequent the laundromat on Arkadelphia Road, Ruby’s Bar, San Pedro, and a plane headed for Nashville. With unfathomable skill, Goodgame shuffles these random songwriting cards–and like a clever magician–lays the cards down as if they had always been that way. Check that; he lays the cards down like they are supposed to be that way. And because the songwriting trick is performed with nuance and style, we can revisit the songs with fresh wonder and significance upon each new listen. “Sylvester” is my favorite song on this collection. Of all the insightful stories and sentiment contained in this album, this song delivers the most poignancy. It will shred your guts like a vortex of rotating machetes. Without judgment, the narrator shares the story of a sad lady he met on a commercial flight headed to Nashville. Quickly, because it’s related with such warmth and empathy, the song becomes hers and she tells it as if she had written the song herself. Sitting in her seat like “a cat caught up in a tree,” as the narrator gently probes, she begins to describe the story of her ex-husband, crippled by a drunk driver. And rather than fight the good fight, she abandons her husband and child. Since then, “like a worn out piece of tape,” all the men she dates, “never stick around.” The children have long since accepted a new mother and the father a new wife, but despite that, the sad lady is invited to Christmas every year. As she makes good on finally accepting her former family’s holiday invitation–that’s when she she sits down next to the narrator on the plane, who ends up writing her story.  Without explicit references and dronish moralizing, this songwriting showpiece communicates indelibly–about regret, pride, empathy, kindness, tragedy, redemption, humanity, and forgiveness. There isn’t a Randall Goodgame release that isn’t part of my own personal collection. I own them all and I treasure them all. Each one, Randall Goodgame, Arkadelphia, The Hymnal, and War and Peace are filled with compelling, original writing (though it must be noted that The Hymnal, as we might expect, contains some traditional songs). I deliberately avoid using the term “songwriting” because one has the sense that whatever context Goodgame might offer his work–the stage, a book, or yes, on the big screen–that his words would resonate with the refrain of truth. With artistic abandon, Randall Goodgame takes chances with wide ranging musical forays and unresolved narratives, drawing us to the truth–not with didactic exhortations or mind numbing repetition–but with moving pictures, like music in motion.

It is a good thing to wake up feeling healthy after having been ill. I am crawling out from under the terrible anvil of what amounts to either a massive cold, or the flu. Whatever official title the bug wishes to be dubbed, it was no picnic and it managed to cost me, and no doubt my wife, some comfort and income. I canceled the first show I’ve ever had to cancel because of it. For me, occupationally, this time of year is typically as barren as the leafless trees, so to cancel a show is almost like turning down a million bucks (don’t worry, I wasn’t getting paid 1/1,000,000 of a million bucks, I just needed a melodramatic analogy). I am, as they say, living the dream: a dream that consists very little in the way of actually making live music, mostly spent scampering here and there for the nibbles of odds-and-ends work and necessary supplemental income. During this portion of the calendar year, it is foolish to turn down any kind of work, white- or blue-collar; I’ve dabbled in both over the years. As a singer-songwriter whose head may not always sit squarely upon my chipped shoulders, I find myself facing this reality each year: figure out how to survive and pay for the season’s fiduciary demands, strive to live and love for family and other selves, and if I can summon the humility, figure out how to die just a little bit to my own bloated egocentric self. All for the triumph of the Great Emancipation. All for the sake of the muse. All for the sake of having – or finding – something to say under the gray skies of winter. I am a quiet, shy person; painfully and awkwardly so at times (Is there a good sort of shyness?). There are days when I find words to be a burden, an albatross, while others I simply am unable to procure any, even though I wish I could. Even when I want my mind and lips moistened by their horizon-less presence, words rarely come easy. Instead, they hang there so luminous and well-written on the pages – albeit from someone else’s pen. Every so often I revisit some of my own meager word collections, and the humbling experience evinces in me a desire to to take my own hand and slap my own freckled face. I see an amalgam of gross overstatements, mere wanna-be grandeur, and petty, presumptuous thoughts that are so over-the-top narcissistic that I can’t believe anyone else would bother finish reading one sentence, let alone several of them. How regrettably often I manage to neglect the innocent purity of observational thought for the foul stool of complaint, for the ignorant assumption that I am all alone in my “suffering”, that language is my dominion alone. It is an easy train to hitch a ride upon, this self-centeredness. I suppose to an extent we all like hanging our dirty laundry out for others to see so they might take pity on us, express their sympathy in so many ways, and, yes, in my case even procure a few “Oh, that poor guy” CD sales. Oh, good grief, it’s wretched. But it’s the truth. Dirty laundry rarely looks good and it almost certainly never smells so. The ugly truth is better than a clean lie. In looking back, I have, however, managed to utter a few thoughts, either in song or prose, that have left me scratching my own head, not out of confusion, but in astonishment that such a series of solid, relatable, realistic words surely must have originated from somewhere other than my own shallow-as-a-thimble wisdom. They came from Someone much greater than myself because they speak something real, yes even to me. In those moments, though I wish I naturally possessed such indiscriminate Saul-like wisdom, I know full well who bears the brains in the family and I remember who has earned the title of Author and Perfector. I must kneel and praise all small, forgotten miracles. I consider myself somewhat of a rarity in that it is not often that I enter the process knowing ahead of time what I am going to say in a song or an essay. Thoughts, like meandering brambles, creep out and form their own hedge. Sometimes, in effect, they guard the Truth, while others they cling to it so tightly that it’s a wonder the Truth survives at all. So, I ask all you writer-types (as opposed to typewriters): How does one know what to say? Better, if silence is golden, and less is more, then how does one know what to say and when not to say it? From my own experience, I usually sit staring for a few moments at an empty piece of paper or at a blank computer screen. That’s about the time it takes for the voices in the back of my mind to begin their disdainful jeering and proverbial tomato-tossing, “Don’t even kid yourself into thinking you can write something worthwhile”, “You’re a fraud, a poser, and a loser, and you know it.” So, to silence – or at least temporarily muzzle – these doomsday voices, I write. Anything. Anything to put a word, any word, down on the page. A penny for a thought. It may be total bunk, but at least it is a word. The word becomes flesh. Something is nearly always better than nothing when it comes to writing. Even a “shitty first draft” – as writer/memoirist, Anne Lamott, describes the process – is progress on the whole and is a step, however small or cosmic, in a direction away from the inner-wrecking voices. Most times I have no real idea what I have to say until I start hacking away at it and actually start saying it. I guess in many ways, it is a cart before the horse approach, but it is the only way I know to make progress miring along in the knee-deep mud path. You just have to wade hip-high through it and look for the green grass on the other side. This quote by novelist E. M. Forster gives me some hope and fairly sums it up: “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” The word became flesh. And dwelt among us. Maybe that’s just it — writing becomes the substance of thought, the coup of grace, the good treasure of the heart. I don’t always know what is tangled up in my convoluted heart and mind until I, for better or worse, put pen to paper or, in this case, fingers to keyboard. And once I find what is in my heart, there too shall my treasure be discovered. It is, like all things spiritual, hope in the Word made flesh, the fleshing out of good, the rooting out of bad, and the making sense of it all, however slow, dry, humorous, melancholic, exuberant, wise or even foolish. It is the digging away at the sand of our thoughts in hopes of excavating the power of Word that is all ours, and it is all God’s. And it is good.

Drive three hours. Arrive at monastery. Check in. Unpack duffle bag consisting of proper amounts of toiletries, clothes, choice books and journal. Read for ninety minutes. Pack up bag. Drive three hours home. The moment was rather embarrassing although it’s definitely advantageous for my job. As a pastor, part of my weekly duties is to develop some sort of interesting story or analogy to illustrate whatever point is necessary. Therefore it was easy to take my inability to take a sabbatical and turn it into an amusing anecdote. The reality was that I was absolutely ecstatic to have several days to myself to read, write, study, pray and immerse myself into the spiritual world I so easily dismiss with my busy schedule. A concept like Sabbath is so easy to forget about, considering I’m so busy doing God’s work. Pulling into the driveway at the monastery and its campus seemed to be a spiritual dream come true. After all, endless paths through peaceful woods next to an equally placid lake…it’s perfect for such a time as that. But I couldn’t do it. I nervously stood in my window and looked out and realized how much time I had ahead of me. I read for a half hour and journaled for another twenty minutes. Glancing to and fro completed my first hour there and I was already mentally panicking. No internet. No access to the outside world. Just me, a few gathered belongings and my Creator. And I learned it sounds much better than it really is. I got home and made a joke of it. While at the monastery I developed many reasons why this was poor stewardship of my time and how I needed to be present at home. There were articles I needed to write. There were people I needed to meet with. I can’t deny doing God’s work and just relaxing like I am living in my parents’ basement. The moment I got home, I realized what I’d done – wasting this planned moment and coming home to the hustle and bustle that made me want to leave in the first place. So I used it as a story that Sunday morning. People nodded their heads as they understood and it was a nice moment where we all realized that we are just busy and it’s hard to unplug. I felt okay with my illustration – “Ha! That funny Matt. He’s just like me.” And I was going to be fine and forget the whole episode until one friend chastised me. “You failed. And don’t paint it any other way. You were afraid. It’s not a joke and it’s not something to pass off lightly. I’m disappointed in you because I know that you needed this. But you’re afraid of being alone and you left out of fear.” He was right. I’m afraid of what I look like when there’s nobody to impress. I’m afraid of what God might say to me or ask of me when I give him all the time in the world. I’m afraid of being, well, naked and ashamed as humans can tend to be. I don’t think I’m alone in this. I look around and it’s hard to find anyone willing to endure the silence. I am surrounded by a culture refusing to allow stillness to find their soul, to allow themselves to be re-created. Wendell Berry says it best, I believe: “There is indeed a potential terror of [silence]. It asks a man what is the use and what is the worth of his life. It asks him who he thinks he is, and what he thinks he’s doing, and where he thinks he’s going. In it the world and its places and aspects are apt to become present to him, the lives of water and trees and stars surround his life and press their obscure demands. Once it is attended to, admitted into the head one must bear a greater burden of consciousness and knowledge – one must change one’s life. If one has nothing within oneself with which to respond, it would be unbearable. If the silence within the man should be touched by the impenetrable silence that ultimately surrounds him, what might happen to the thin partition of flesh and possessions? “In the face of that silence…no wonder he turns on the radio. No wonder he goes as fast as he can. Pursued into the wilderness by questions he is afraid even to ask, no wonder he finds his comfort – to his bewilderment, surely – in what he thought he wanted to be free of: crowdedness and commotion and hurry and mess.” My thoughts exactly.

At the Florida Sheriffs Boys Ranch we’ve been working hard for the past month to get our float ready for the Christmas parade. To be honest, float-building isn’t something I look forward to but it has been a joy for me to labor through it with the group of boys I work with and to see them in turn take joy from the showing of their hard work. After spending so much time on something that I barely wanted to be involved in to begin with, it feels great to finally be finished. But as always, the something I didn’t really want turned into something I really needed. The night of the Christmas parade I sat in the cab of the truck, the float lit up behind me, idling forward inch by inch as my community, thousands of faces, gathered in the dark to see the procession of light. I heard “Merry Christmas” called out from a hundred voices devoid of self-consciousness, voices of simple joy. I watched children’s faces lift up as parade lights splendored in their eyes and they cried out for treats. I sat in the midst of it and was moved to see this swell of joy in the world and what’s more–what’s most–was that it was Christ that called the hour. Whether they believed or not, whether they meant it or not didn’t matter, they were here and the world was put on hold for an hour in the name of the One. As I towed the float down the road with misty eyes, happy to be a part of the rising, I began to notice a strange thing. People saw our float and recognized our name and they leaped to their feet and cheered. They clapped and smiled and waved at us. As we’d approach I could hear whispers running in the crowd, “It’s the Ranch,” “Here comes the Boys’ Ranch!”, and they’d yell to me “We love you! Keep up the great work!”, “Thanks for all you do!”, or “You guys are doing great things!” I’d smile and wave and be gracious, and I meant it every time. But the thing that left me uneasy was that I don’t once recall being at a parade and seeing any sort of similar reaction to a church float as it passed. There might be an eruption of cheering when the Baptist float passed a large gathering of its members but then those same members would be silent as they watched the Methodist float roll by. No whispers ran of the coming of Christians. No praise for their work well done. That bothered me then, and it bothers me still while I write this. Isn’t the church doing great things in the community? Shouldn’t people stand up and cheer to know that the followers of Christ are on the move? The only conclusion I’ve been able to come to is that when people think of an organization like the Boys Ranch they instantly connect us with service to children and communities but when people think of a church they think of service, not to the community as a whole, but to the church itself. I don’t think this perception is entirely wrong. The church as a whole (I know I’m talking in generalities here) is concerned with bettering itself and its members, not bettering the community it’s a part of. I know that isn’t our intent as Christians but I wonder if that isn’t what is happening. How good would it be if people associated the Church (instantly) with community service, with family services, with helping make the world brighter. Are we doing these things? Yes, I think we are, but I’m not sure it’s high enough on the priority list. I feel at times like the Church is a last resort for people. That’s backwards. We ought to be at the top of the list. I don’t know what the answer is and whatever is at the root of the problem, I’m sure I’m just as much at fault as anyone else. But I do know that a long time ago whispers ran through crowds and cheers filled the air when Jesus came to town. People gathered out of the darkness to see the true Light parade down the street on a donkey. I suspect that in part this was because people, believers and non-believers alike, heard that he cared more about them than he did about himself. They knew that it wasn’t about what he could get, but about what he could give. These days it seems the parades are not so brightly lit, and I’m afraid it’s us blocking out the light.

Andy Gullahorn is funny, but he’s also one of the more serious lyricists I’ve come to enjoy in a while. Listening to Reinventing the Wheel, you come to understand that he is more than a good songwriter. He is a craftsman. He knows what he’s doing, where he’s going, and where he’s taking his hearers.But as I said, people say Andy Gullahorn is funny. They say that, I think, because he makes them laugh. But as for me, I’m calling it nervous laughter. The Holy Flakes sold so well, they couldn’t keep them on the shelfSo they diversifiedSoon there were sacred chips, and Virgin Mary chicken stripsAnd Prince of Peace apple pieIt don’t matter if it has no taste, cause it’s all in the nameSoon they had a one brand town with pantries all the sameAnd it left them with no appetite for stuff that broke the moldAnd a faith that was as shallow as the milk left in the bowl Of Holy Flakes So naturally I felt a bit sorry for the guy behind me hearing it for the first time, laughing along. I thought to myself, “Laugh it up, Chuckles, but this is about to get unfunny in a hurry.”Well, I just acquired Andy’s new CD, Reinventing the Wheel, and there’s a track called “More of a Man”, where he talks about how he killed a deer and rubbed its blood on his face when he was in second grade, but now he watches Dora the Explorer in the morning, and he wonders if he was more of a man back then. And I think to myself, “No way I’m falling for it. This ain’t my first rodeo.”Then he talks of how he used to watch Jean Claude Van Damme on th silver screen, but now he watches Gilmore Girls on DVD. Still, I’m holding my ground, not laughing. See, I’ve been down this road before. He’s going to pull the rug out from under us all and get serious. And guess what? I was so right. He ends this way: So I suck in my protruding gut On our monthly dinner nightYou’re saying something about the kids As I watch these young men pass me byI remember I was just like themI was lonely but I called it independentAnd if lonesome is what manly isBaby, I was more of a man back then Reinventing the Wheel is a rich record. One song that took my breath away is called “How Precious Life Is.” I don’t know the story behind it, buy I take it to include either a miscarriage or something like it. He sings: I thought I knew what pain was, but I really had no proofUntil the hope was disappearingThere was nothing we could doI was too tired to shout in anger, too scared to run and hideI just stared there at your motherThanked God she was aliveWe couldn’t see it til now, you were teaching us then How precious life is. And as sober as this is, he also sings a brilliant and hilarious ode to Andrew Osenga’s toe, which he lost to a lawn mower a couple years back. It’s called “Roast Beef,” and if you think about it, you’ll not only figure out what that title has to do with Andy’s toe, you’ll also figure out which toe it was that he lost. (And especially funny is that Osenga provides percussion for the track by tapping his foot.) I am glad, truly glad, to have come upon the fine work of Andy Gullahorn this year.

Even if you haven’t read Phillip Pullman’s book, The Golden Compass, you probably have heard some of the controversy surrounding it. So with the release of the film I thought I’d provide a few of my own thoughts on the matter. Although I had never heard of the book before, I saw the previews for the film version some months ago and my interest was piqued enough that I decided I wanted to read it before seeing the film. At this point I knew nothing at all about the controversy around it. I was able to read it without any preconceived ideas about its take on religion, Christianity or anything else. So what was my initial reaction to it? I loved it. The book is fabulous…mostly. It follows a young girl named Lyra on her adventure to rescue her friend from the mysterious Gobblers who along with her uncle are wrapped up in a search for a strange sort of Dust that links all human beings together. Those are the basics, but what’s to love is Pullman’s world. It is set in an alternate version of our own world in which technology and culture seem to have halted sometime during the early 19th century. There are zeppelins, and cowboys in hot air balloons, and gypsies (called gyptians) and all sorts of other wonderful flavors. Science calls itself ‘experimental theology’ and Lyra’s uncle happens to be a experimental theologian that’s off to explore the wild north. One of Pullman’s most original and interesting ideas is that in this world, a person’s soul lives outside their body. A person’s daemon, as it is called, is their closest companion and is able to shape-shift into any animal form until adulthood when it settles on a final shape that will reveal the person’s nature. A subservient person might have a dog for a daemon, while soldiers have ravenous wolves. Great stuff. So why do I say it was “almost” fabulous? To begin with, Pullman doesn’t provide any answers, which is odd because a key part of the story is Lyra’s Alethiometer, the Golden Compass, an arcane gadget that is somehow able to tell only the truth—if a person knows how to read it. So here we have a adventure centered around an object that is able to tell the truth and yet the author doesn’t seem to be able to read it himself. Don’t take that to mean that he’s down on religious truth, that’s not what I’m talking about—yet. I mean the story lacks a resolution. None of the questions raised about a person’s soul and what it means to be separated from it, or what it means to possess the knowledge of objective truth are given any answers. The book does have some dramatic closure to it but it’s thematically open-ended, which, while somewhat unsatisfying, left me eager to move on to the final two books in the series. That’s where the trouble starts. The first book, while imperfectly ended, is wonderful, exciting, and fresh to read. I loved every page, right up until the end. The final books in the story though are a meandering mess that are neither exciting, dramatic, nor even very coherent. And what is worse, what began as a magical adventure in “The Golden Compass” is quickly revealed in the following book, “The Subtle Knife”, to be a quest to kill God. Say what? Where did that come from? That’s right, almost out of nowhere Pullman decides that the rest of his trilogy is going to be an essay on his dislike of the Catholic Church, Christianity, and God in general. Great reading material for kids right? What bothered me the most was the deceptive way that he tries to draw readers (kids) into accepting these ideas. As I said, the first book was wonderful, just the kind of book young people would love. It gives them a great character and a fascinating world, it lures them in with what seem to be promising images like an ephemeral city in the sky that may hold the promise of mankind’s future and engaging spiritual themes like the nature of the soul and the importance of innocence and wonder, and then, once that young reader is taken in, they are suddenly led to believe that the Church is the cause of all suffering and men can only be free when they are liberated from the hand of its Authority (the title he often uses for God). And make no mistake, Pullman’s railing against the Church is not merely between the lines, it’s explicit. Here’s a quote from the final book, The Amber Spyglass: “…all the history of human life has been a struggle between wisdom and stupidity…the rebel angels, the followers of wisdom, have always tried to open minds; the Authority and his churches have always tried to keep them closed.” Despite what I think about Pullman’s views though, I might have respected his work had he presented his ideas well, but he doesn’t. In the end he doesn’t even have the guts to do what he’s been aiming to for three entire books; instead of actually killing God, he lets him off easy and allows him to “become one with the universe” on his own. Then of course when all is said and done Pullman apparently realizes that in the absence of God there must be some other source of the Alethiometer’s objective truth and he has to explain that away in addition to dancing around the fact that there might be some other God-like being out there that was the original creator. I can’t even begin to explain the bizarre way he deals with death and the afterlife throughout most of the final book. Truly, the last two books of his trilogy are a complete mess, whether or not you agree with his worldview. In the end Pullman comes off almost like an angry child, yelling at a parent that won’t give him exactly want he wants, in complete denial about what he actually needs. Here’s another quote from The Amber Spyglass: “…it was the sense that the whole universe was alive, and that everything was connected to everything else by threads of meaning. When she’d been a Christian, she had felt connected, too; but when she left the Church, she felt loose and free and light, in a universe without purpose. And then had come the discovery of the Shadows and her journey into another world, and now this vivid night, and it was plain that everything was throbbing with purpose and meaning, but she was cut off from it. And it was impossible to find a connection, because there was no God.” This longing and emptiness the character feels isn’t something Pullman is able to answer to. Reading the book I often had the impression that indeed he knows the truth but refuses to admit it. How ironic. When I finally finished the series I was left feeling almost heartbroken for an author who seems completely unconvinced of his own beliefs. Pullman has said in interviews that he considers this series of books to be an answer to the worldview presented in C.S. Lewis’s Narnia books. He is more right than he knows, I think, and that is to his own detriment artistically and spiritually. So what of the movie? I’m looking forward to seeing it. The first book was very well written and should translate wonderfully to the screen (although early reviews say otherwise). I cannot even imagine, however, how the rest of the series could translate to the screen, it lacks almost any dramatic structure, and once again, the truly troubling thing about it is that if the first film is good, it will entice people to watch the second, which is where it really gets into troubled water. Would I recommend the books or movies to kids? Definitely not. I would recommend them to discerning adults though on the basis of being well-informed during the coming weeks when there are sure to be at least a few picket lines seen on the news. Frankly though, the books aren’t worth the time or energy of the people that are making a stink about them. Good art will rise to the top and it won’t take long for this body of work to settle on the bottom.

Theologian/Oregon State Professor Marcus Borg has written a fascinating, insightful and challenging book titled “Jesus.” It has taken me weeks to write these few paragraphs for the Rabbit Room, possibly because of the uniqueness of the whole experience. Maybe I need to read more books, or maybe I need more friends like the one who sent this book to me. As a whole, reading this book was a joy. I found myself at times comforted, challenged, educated, shocked and disappointed, in total disagreement, and in total agreement with the author. Borg seriously doubts many of Jesus’ miracles. He attributes much of Jesus’ language in the Gospel of John to people other than Jesus. He calls Jesus ignorant of his transcendent role as Son of God. But, Borg’s insightful commentary on Jesus’ experience of his Father brought tears to my eyes. He smartly captures the experiential nature of Spiritual relationship, and for those unfamiliar with that kind of language, those passages may be worth the whole read. His call to political reform is fascinating for both its potency and its vast overreaches. And he consistently regards many of his most controversial assertions as from the “mainline” stream of thought. As you can imagine, this has been a difficult book to review. Marcus Borg has written a book that will make many Christ-followers very nervous, and possibly very angry. And, I expect that most families are well acquainted with those emotions, especially around the holidays. However, I know from my own family experience that the only way to truly experience community together is to pray. We plead with Jesus for abundant measures of His grace so that we may live together, teach and learn together and be the love of Christ for one another. We must agree to disagree, and hold righteousness at a value greater than rightness. As a theological primer, I would not recommend this book. But as a testimony to the breadth and depth of the family of God, I could not recommend it more.

I often hear people talk about how the act of writing helps you understand the thing you’re writing about. That’s true as far as it goes. Sometimes, however, writing isn’t about mastering subject matter, but entering into a mystery that neither the writer nor the reader understands. Wendell Berry speaks of “the storyteller’s need to speak wholeheartedly however partial his understanding.” That’s a remarkable thing to think about: how do you tell the truth about a thing you don’t fully understand? In an essay called “Style and Grace” (it’s in the collection What are People For?) Berry contrasts two fishing stories–Hemingway’s “Big Two-Hearted River” and Norman Maclean’s A River Runs Through It. Berry describes Hemingway’s story as “a triumph of style in its pure or purifying sense: the ability to isolate those parts of experience of which one can confidently take charge.” Hemingway’s descriptions of the open river are truly beautiful. The story mentions that the open river gives way to a dark swamp a few miles downstream; but Hemingway never goes there. According to Berry, it is a “craftsmanly fastidiousness” that keeps the story from going into the swamp. The story “will not relinquish the clarity of its realization of the light and the river and the open-water fishing. It is a fine story, on its terms, but its terms are strait and limiting.” Berry goes on to say, “It deals with what it cannot understand by leaving it out.” A River Runs Through It, on the other hand, is “not so neat and self-contained” as Hemingway’s story. Maclean’s style, as Berry argues, “is a style vulnerable to bewilderment, mystery, and tragedy–and a style, therefore, that is open to grace.” As beautiful as Hemingway’s story is, it represents an attempt to create a world where grace isn’t necessary. It only asks questions to which it has the answers. Maclean’s story is comparatively messy; the narrator doesn’t claim to understand the other characters, or what happens to them. He leaves room for grace to exert itself. To quote Berry again, The story’s fierce triumph of grace over tragedy is possible, the story “springs and sings,” because of what I earlier called its vulnerability. Another way of saying this is that it does not achieve–because it does not attempt–literary purity. Nor does one feel, as one reads, that Mr. Maclean is telling the story out of literary ambition; he tells it, rather, because he takes an unutterable joy in telling it and therefore has to tell it. The story admits grace because it admits mystery. It admits mystery by admitting the artistically unaccountable. It could not have been written if it had demanded to consist only of what was understood or understandable, or what was entirely comprehensible in its terms. There is little room for grace in a story–or a life–that is devoted to mastering the subject matter. Especially when you consider the fact that “mastery,” in our lived experience, is largely a matter of simply leaving out those things we don’t understand. Or to put it in other terms, “mastery” mostly means simplifying the complexities of our experience down to something we can master–but which may not look very much like the world we actually experience. I have always understood writing as a kind of distillation–boiling experience down, simplifying it to something that can be grasped. As I said before, that’s true as far as it goes. But as we create, we’d better not lose touch with the value of the mysterious, the unaccountable.

From the Proprietor: This is an album review from my good friend Ben Shive, whose musical opinion holds a lot of water in my book (a mixed metaphor that is so strange a picture I decided to leave it). I have The Innocence Mission’s hymns record, and it’s in regular rotation on Sunday mornings at the Warren. I haven’t heard this record yet, but Ben makes a compelling case for how I should spend my next ten bucks. All day, since your haircut in the morning You have looked like a painting, even more than usual We are in the wind, planting the maples We meet an older man who seems to know I miss my dad And he smiles through the limbs We talk easily with him Until the rain begins This is the brotherhood of man Waiting at the airport on my suitcase A girl traveling from Spain became my sudden friend Though I did not learn her name And when the subway dimmed a stranger lit my way This is the brotherhood of man I never can say what I mean But you will understand Coming through clouds on the way This is the brotherhood of man It’s all I can do not to print the entire sleeve of the record here*. We Walked In Song is so lyrically picturesque it’s almost a photo album. A treatise on brotherly love, these songs collectively speak a blessing on humanity. As Karen Peris, the band’s front-woman and writer, sings benediction after benediction–to her children, to loved-ones lost, to the brotherhood of man–her voice is the sound of love sweetly bearing grief. All this is couched in melodies and harmonies that radiate warmth, with generally sparse and understated accompaniment. Guitars, piano, harmonium, and touches of percussion are usually all that adorn the lyric. There’s very little drum set on the record, and it’s frequently saved for the end of a song. When the drums finally kick in, however, The Innocence Mission sounds like The Sundays in a rainy-day mood, and that’s a very good thing. This band has been making music for a number of years and I have sadly been unaware of them until now. But from the opening bars of We Walked In Song, I knew that The Innocence mission and I were old friends just meeting. *Here’s a link: http://www.theinnocencemission.com/walked_lyrics.htm

I’m sitting behind the merchandise table backdrop in a gigantic church building, nursing a cold. We just finished soundcheck a few minutes ago, and I have a little pocket of time before I have to go shower and eat dinner before tonight’s concert, so I thought I’d fill you in on what the Christmas tour has been like so far. Let’s see. We have Sara Groves and her husband Troy, along with their three sweet kids, Jamie Rau (road manager and nanny), Jill Phillips and Andy Gullahorn, along with their youngest son Tyler, Dan Brown (sound guy and author of the Da Vinci Code), Andrew Osenga, Marcus Myers, Gabe Scott, Bebo Norman, Cason Cooley, Garett Buell, and Ben Shive. Seventeen people! The rehearsal in Nashville before we left was a sweet (if stressful) time, where we played through the songs at at rehearsal studio while wives chatted over pizza and our many kids ran around jumping over gear cases. Music is a fine thing, partly because it’s a community effort. I remember emailing with a guy named Jef Mallet who writes the comic strip Frazz, which I like. He’s a music fan and we’ve exchanged emails a few times, partly because in my first email to him I asked if he was Bill Watterson in disguise, which would be like him asking me if I was really James Taylor or something; he took it as a high compliment. Anyway, one of his strips joked about how books are usually dedicated to just one person while CDs have paragraphs of thank-you’s in the liner notes. The joke, if I remember correctly, was that musicians are long-winded or something. Can’t remember. The point is, I felt compelled to write him to let him know that (now that I’ve made records and written a book) there’s a huge difference between the two. Book writing, for the most part, is a solitary occupation. You only really get any work done at the expense of social interaction. Sure, you’ll need your manuscript read by people you trust, and their input is invaluable, but the bulk of the work is done alone. Music, on the other hand, is by nature a community effort, and anyone who’s put a record out or played professionally for any amount of time realizes early on that there’s just no way to make this kind of art on your own. (I guess there are exceptions when it comes to solo musicians and folky stuff–Bruce Springsteen did it with Nebraska, but you know what I mean.) I have the feeling that in forty years I’ll look back on these times fondly. I count myself blessed beyond measure to share the stage with songwriters like Osenga, Gullahorn, Groves, Phillips, singers and players like Shive, Norman, Scott, Buell, Cooley, Myers (I had to write each name down in case one of them reads this and thinks I left them out on purpose; we musicians are a fragile lot). I love the way music pulls us together toward a common purpose. I love the way we prepare in an empty auditorium, hoping that each seat in the house is filled, and that each heart who attends will be filled too. We eat together, laugh together (or play Boggle together, which is what they’re probably all doing right now), and then, just before the show, we pray together. The thrill of walking out on a stage to share your gifts with a good audience is like nothing else I know. I went to an artist’s retreat last week at Charlie Peacock’s Art House. The room was filled with musicians and writers of an intimidating caliber, and during the question and answer time I was too sheepish to speak up, though I had definite opinions about what we were talking about. But at some point in the retreat the conversations were sometimes tinged with frustration or discontent. It seemed like many of the artists were wanting the Answer to the question of how to succeed in the music business. I admit that I’ve gone through long periods of frustration, looking for that same Answer. But the Lord has shown me that there is no Answer apart from him. He’s the only place we’ll ever find satisfaction or joy. I don’t know why God has blessed me with being able to play music for a living. He knows I don’t deserve it– —- Just after I wrote that last sentence, I got interrupted. It’s now 11:03 PM, and the show is over. We’ve packed up and are sitting on the bus, about to head to Taco Cabana for a midnight snack (when you’re in Texas, you just have to stop at the Cabana). I re-read what I was writing earlier, and I’m not sure how to wrap it up. I’ll say that the show was a delight. The musicians assembled on this tour are humble, gentle, joyful, and I’m thankful for each of them. It would be easy to idealize this group of people. It’s important that you know that we’re sinful. We talk frankly about the nature of our sins here on the “Guy Bus”. I’ve spoken with the Groves fam and the Gullahorns on the “Family Bus” and I know that the same is true over there. We’re a community of people who have doubts and insecurities, people who are lustful, selfish, greedy. The tour’s been going for not even a week and I’ve probably had to apologize four times already for saying something I shouldn’t have. That sinfulness (and I know this confounds Satan) allows us to love one another better. We can hold one another up only because we are bent low with our own weakness. What a beautiful mystery we find ourselves in. I keep wondering why God allows us to sing these songs, why he fills my life with such goodness. I will keep asking that question, because the answer is so good I love to hear it over and over again. AP