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In this week’s edition of Rabbit Trails, Doug McKelvey remains singularly focused on owls. Click here to visit Jonny Jimison’s website.

In this week’s edition of Rabbit Trails, Hutchmoot: Homebound suddenly becomes fiercely competitive. Click here to visit Jonny Jimison’s website.

Jonny Jimison is back with Rabbit Trails #24, wherein Sauron himself is brought low by an unstable internet connection. Click here to visit Jonny Jimison’s website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Jonny Jimison is back with Rabbit Trails! Click through for this week’s edition. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

We have exciting news: tickets for this year’s spring season of the Local Show are officially on sale. This season’s shows will take place on February 18th, March 3rd, March 17th, March 31st, April 14th, and April 28th. Click through to purchase tickets. Click here to purchase tickets to the Local Show. We’d like to thank Ronald Blue Trust for supporting this season of the show. They believe in helping Christians become financially free to use their funds for the Kingdom, and we’re grateful that they resonate with the work we’re doing at the Local Show. If you’re interested in sponsoring the Local Show, please contact us. We’d love to talk with you.

The much-beloved Jonny Jimison is back with his Rabbit Trails comic, just in time to celebrate Christmas. You can continue to be delighted by Jonny’s creative humor and whimsy by visiting his website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

I wrote this post before starting to read Mark Meynell’s book A Wilderness of Mirrors. Now I wish I had another six months to process what I’m learning so that I could integrate his wisdom here. After reading his first few chapters, I had to hit pause, then go back to see when it was published: 2015. This blew me away, as I could hardly believe that Meynell had predicted so much of what was about to happen in America. If you have any interest in cultural dynamics and how faith fits into where we stand in time, I hope that you’ll read his book. Below I’ve included some simple thoughts on why the framework of Ephesians 3 is super relevant to the struggles of living in a time such as ours—but Meynell’s ability to speak on these matters exceeds mine a thousandfold. Post-evangelicals seem to use the word deconstruction a lot these days. From what I can tell, they are describing a painful evaluation process—a season of looking back on their early years of cultural Christianity, ripping those experiences to bits, and trying to find out what (if anything) remains. Maybe it’s the Kondo approach to finding Real Jesus. Pull everything out of your God-stuff closet and throw it on the bed. Donate three quarters of it to Goodwill (or to social media rants). I understand why this concept has an appeal—especially for those who have been abused by distortions of what church was supposed to be. However, at least in the world of literary criticism, the word deconstruction has an interesting history. And knowing this backstory might help make the process of soul-sifting a little more efficient. (By the way, if you’re already familiar with Derrida and Deconstruction, you can skip down to the section titled “Deconstructing Evangelicalism.”) Deconstruction as a Philosophical and Literary Movement In the 1960s, French philosopher Jaques Derrida (and a few others) developed deconstructionism as a groove of philosophical and literary analysis. Literary criticism can have a reputation for being pedantic and boring, but it’s actually more practical than cerebral. All of us have an innate approach to interpreting books—defaults we apply to every text we read—so understanding formal interpretation is a lot like understanding the Myers-Briggs personality types or the Enneagram. Understanding certain categories can help us know our tendencies, our strengths, and our vulnerabilities. Derrida was a bit of a radical among literary critics. Instead of simply looking inside the text like a Formalist or looking at the culture surrounding a text like a New Historicist, Derrida challenged the fundamental “oppositions” of Western thought by breaking down language. He got down beneath the surface of sentences and started splitting atoms. Derrida claimed human thought processes run on binaries (opposites) embedded deep in our culture. For example, you know “hot vs. cold,” “light vs. dark,” “male vs. female.” A deconstructionist would not only recognize these opposites but also point out one binary as primary (or dominant). Then, he would challenge this dominance. So, here’s an oversimplified deconstructionist process: 1. Name the Binaries: Genesis begins with male vs. female. 2. Recognize the Dominant in the Pair: Adam was the source of Eve. Male is primary. 3. Challenge the Assumption: How has this fundamental starting point of male primacy damaged women in our culture? Imagine this process applied a million times over, to everything you think you know. Why do we assume light is better than darkness? Why is culture respected more than primitive existence? Why is democracy trusted more than monarchy? It’s the great unraveling. See? No landmarks are safe. In the process of deconstruction, every grand metanarrative becomes suspect. (A metanarrative is a comprehensive, fundamental story that attempts to make sense of the whole of the world. For example, Marxism is a metanarrative. Trust in universal reason is a metanarrative. Christianity is a metanarrative.) So, a deconstructionist isn’t just interested in little, isolated binaries—he also wants to go deeper, wrapping iron chains around any foundational element of culture, dragging it out from under the buildings it supports, and examining it clinically. Every prime assumption about “how the world works” is mistrusted, challenged, and busted apart. Deconstruction Hits Everyday Culture Over the 70s and 80s, this concept spread through other disciplines, impacting the social sciences and humanities. Postmodern thinkers ripped many traditional assumptions apart with their bare hands, some of them believing they were ripping down the walls of prisons. Perhaps some were. By the 90s and early 2000s, deconstruction had trickled into pop culture. Take a movie like Shrek. The delicate little princess is a B.A. with ninja skills before she turns ugly—then, ugly is okay. The handsome prince is named—well, Farquaad. He has a big, phallic tower and a little stature. Up is down. Down is up. Good is bad. Bad is good. And, most of us laughed about it. We laughed because Shrek deconstructed the fairy tale—as irreverent and daring as a fart in church. In some ways, in some circles, maybe this was healing. Even a rusty saw can cut off a leg infected with gangrene. But sadly, deconstructionist surgery is sometimes conducted by intellectuals with a “hold-my-beer!” swagger. Regardless of risks, regardless of consequences, they just rush in, tearing things apart like shirtless guys on YouTube lighting explosives. Too often deconstruction is muddied up with personal anger, disappointment, and loneliness. It can be frustrated, reactionary, reckless. It can blow up with no plan or resources to build back again. And because of this, many dangers of deconstructionism are missed by the hungry and the hurting. Deconstructing Evangelicalism But how might all this apply to disillusioned evangelicals? And how does it relate to Ephesians? For several decades, evangelicalism has been commandeered by political forces, systematized by CEOs, rolled out, and shrink wrapped into twelve-point concepts. Supra-textual binaries have been pumped through organized religion like saline through Thanksgiving turkeys. (You already know these opposing forces. “X political party is on God’s side. Y political party is on Satan’s side.” “Growing children God’s way vs. Satan’s way.”) And while Scripture does contain some definite binaries, many of the simplified extremes promoted in corporate Christianity in the 90s and early 2000s were not fairly derived from Scripture. They were eisegetical—pumped into the faith by men with earthly strategies and plans. Simplicity sells, even when it’s harmful and goofy. Soul thirst is lucrative business, and (as we’ve seen) heads of ministries are not above collecting expensive motorcycles and making $800K salaries while taking money from little old ladies on limited incomes. So, when a disillusioned thirty-something evangelical says, “I am deconstructing my faith,” she usually means she’s trying to shake off all these add-ons—hoping to find out if a core remains. And I get that. There’s a benefit to walking back through the past and removing the propaganda and the clutter. But I’ve also seen too much of secular deconstructionism to trust it entirely. A wrecking ball can be a helpful tool, but you need to swing it with care. Where Deconstruction Deconstructs In Fathers and Sons, a cocky young college graduate is determined to deconstruct everything while feeling nothing; however, his idealism is shaken by overwhelming attraction to a delicious young woman. When speaking to his friend about her allure, he says she is a fine biological specimen and that he would love to dissect her on the examination table. Turgenev is giving us a lesson here. There is a time to dissect with the mind, and there is a time to get married and make love. In Chapter Six of Alistair McGrath’s bio of C. S. Lewis, several pages describe thinkers of the English Literary Renaissance of the 1920s—men who were already wrestling with the philosophical ancestors of deconstructionists like Derrida. During this time, artists were trying to make art without being confined to the Christian metanarrative, but problems were arising. This is the metanarrative, and we don't need to deconstruct this one—we need to embrace it so that we won't 'lose heart.' Rebecca Reynolds Graham Greene watched godless modernists like Virginia Woolf and E. M. Forster attempt to create characters that failed to come alive but “‘wandered like cardboard symbols through a world that was paper-thin.’” Evelyn Waugh came to a similar conclusion, writing, “‘You can only leave God out by making your characters pure abstractions’” (133). These writers found that metanarrative is a fundamental human need. So, while manipulative metanarratives need to be challenged, the desire to divorce ourselves completely from the essential Story leads to more than just bad art. It can bring us to despair even more than to enlightenment. Simply put? There must be a way to ditch the Gothardites (and kissing dating goodbye, and militant infant sleep schedules, and whatever unfair thing it was that devastated us) without throwing the baby Jesus out with the bath water. Ephesians 3: A Map You Can Trust Ephesians 3 helps us do that. It helps us click on the map icon in Zelda, Twilight Princess to see the big picture amid a culture that has convinced us there is no big picture. Ephesians 3 says, “This is how today fits inside everything and forever.” This context is relatively new information on planet earth. Paul says it “was not made known to the sons of men in other generations as it has now been revealed to his holy apostles and prophets by the Spirit.” He also answers some key questions: 1. What is the big picture? God has busted the microcosm wide open. He’s not just telling his redemption story through a dusty desert people now; it’s an offer to all. 2. Where has the mystery has been hidden? Inside of the “God who created all things.” 3. Why is it being revealed now? So that the manifold (multi-colored, kaleidoscopic) “wisdom of God might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.” Um, go back and read #3 again. It’s a killer. #3 means what’s happening down here is sending a cosmic telegram (dot-dot-dash-dash) to the metaphysical realm. God chose us (the church) to be his newsreel to an audience we cannot see with human eyes. The stuff of earth moves the gears of heaven. I’m not just one little hobbit trying to overcome an addiction. The choices of my tiny heart can knock down a domino train with consequences that impact all of Middle Earth. Tall order, right? Does it make your stomach drop a little? It does mine. Paul says this has been the plan from the beginning. The author built this duality into the foundations of his novel. This has always been the “eternal purpose” that was realized in Christ Jesus our Lord. And because we have access to him and his resources, we can be bold and confident as we wander inside of a narrative that would otherwise be entirely overwhelming. This is the metanarrative, and we don’t need to deconstruct this one—we need to embrace it so that we won’t “lose heart.” We need this fundamental story in a world that feels meaningless and chaotic. The Orchestrating God We need to see that “the orchestrating God” (hold that epithet) is agile enough to be working the past, the present, and the future all at once—and not only this, but he also can work the visible “here” alongside the “somewhere out there.” He’s had the resources you need ready since before this play hit the stage. Now, click out of the Zelda map page, and click on the utilities page to see what weapons you have. You don’t have to fight the boss alone. 1. Christ is going to dwell in your hearts through faith. 2. You get planted down in love so unshakable that it grows your ability to understand tending others at a level you can’t even comprehend quite yet. 3. You’re going to get filled with the fullness of God. 4. And while we are hooked up to this divine cyborg relationship (part me, part God), we are able to power up—SHAZAAM!—leaning on his superpowers to do more than we can ask or think. That’s the context. That’s the big story. That’s the zoom-out. Take a look at the author and see how you fit in the plot. It’s big enough to make you stop tearing everything apart for a minute. This one holds, folks. No wonder Paul took a good look at it all and paused for a minute to simply worship. Artwork by Andrew Holder

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

“Most of us have two lives: the life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands Resistance.” —Stephen Pressfield, The War of Art Several years ago, I was given a copy of the above-quoted book, and I’ve given away several copies in the ensuing years. It’s meant so much to me over the course of multiple readings for its ability to do one thing well: to name the forces at work in my life. If you’ve read it, you likely feel the same way. For the last twenty years, I’ve held a total of two jobs—pastor and journalist—and I’ve been driven by the same belief in both avenues of work. Namely, I believe that each person has something unique to offer to the world and that there are forces at work to both nurture and negate that work. Various people of varying beliefs have varied labels for these forces, but I’m not threatened enough to worry about who uses which term. Resistance sounds just fine to me. In fact, it fits quite well. I should know. I feel it all the time. Whether as a church planter and pastor or as a journalist, I’ve gotten quite good at diving into the conversational deep end, so to speak. Both jobs require the ability to dig deep, to unearth the real elements at work in someone’s story, and it’s a real privilege when someone honors you with their story in a meaningful way. Even after twenty years, I’ve never taken that for granted. What I love most about this work, and why I never tire of it, is that I’m constantly finding myself in the stories I write. At this point, I’ve interviewed well over two thousand artists and authors, directors and actors about their craft and in the majority of those conversations, I walk away with as much insight into my own work as their own. As they detail their resistance, I learn about my own. As they describe their struggles, their pressures, their fears, all of my own come to the surface. If they are able to push on in the face of such resistance, then maybe I’m able to do the same. I'm constantly finding myself in the stories I write. Matt Conner For the last few years, I’ve had the idea to launch a podcast, call it The Resistance, and center it around this very idea. I wanted to go in-depth with substantive artists and have them discuss their relationship with the resistance in honest and meaningful ways. I’ve put it off all this time because I’ve felt my own resistance. I’ve been afraid for every reason you can conjure—fear of failure, fear that no one will care, fear of not knowing what to do. Even after I finally decided to physically start this process, I’ve mentally quit a few more times. This work is terrifying. That’s how I know it’s what I’m supposed to do. Right now, we are officially live with the Series Trailer at all normal podcast outlets (Apple, Spotify, Stitcher, etc.) and the first few episodes are coming very soon. We’ve got conversations in the pipeline with Glen Phillips (Toad the Wet Sprocket), Drew Holcomb, Stephen Kellogg, Denison Witmer, Tokyo Police Club, Lowland Hum, and a host of others. I can tell you that these discussions are rich and filled with the sorts of struggles we all face. They’re powerful and personal. It’s the Resistance and we all face it. My honest prayer and hope with all of this work is that the power of a shared story does what I know it can do. I hope that at least one person listens to each episode and feels a little less alone, a bit more hopeful, a tad more motivated to move forward and bridge that gap between the life we live and the unlived life within us. Right now it feels like one of those dreams where you go to school in your underwear. Vulnerable. Afraid. Exposed. I’m pretty sure that means I’m in the right place. Listen to The Resistance Series Trailer below. Visit The Resistance Website to learn more about Matt Conner’s exciting new project. The Resistance will be hosted on the Rabbit Room Podcast Network. Keep your eye out for it!

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails, featuring original poetry by Lisa Eldred. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails, featuring original poetry by Lisa Eldred. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

When I was a child, it was so much easier to answer if a grown-up asked, “What do you want for Christmas?” I’m old enough to remember when there was no event like getting the Sears Wish Book in the mail and spending hours poring through the pages, my sister and I circling our desires in the thin, glossy pages, staged photo shoots of broadly smiling children and the coveted toys of the moment. Growing up complicates things. If you believe the ad industry, a grown-up Christmas list is more likely to show off diamond rings, the latest smartphone, a Lexus with a giant red bow. But what if the things we want are mostly signposts aimed at our desires? Do we want the ring, or the rock-solid assurance that someone loves us? Do we want the phone, or something to signal how productive, competent, and needed we are? Do we want the car, or the status symbol, the independence to go anywhere? Do we want the things, or do we want to fill up some lack, to find something wrong in our lives and make it right? It feels a little cliche to say that the things we want most can’t be wrapped up and left under the tree, and yet the older I get, the more true it feels. Imagine me, asking you, “Seriously…what do you want for Christmas?” For a loved one with depression to feel joy again? For the cancer diagnosis to be reversed? A guarantee that you’ll make the rent this month, or scrape together enough money and time off to go home, or just to look at the news one day without feeling hopeless, to end one old year with the satisfaction that it was, indeed, for the whole world, a good year? No more let sins and sorrows grow Nor thorns infest the ground Take heart, because the memory of Paradise sustains us, and the hope for renewal leads the way from winter's bitter sting to spring's gentle rain. The reversal has begun, and with heaven and nature we can sing. Jen Yokel Here we are, at the end of Advent. We have spent the last four weeks gathering our hope, lighting a new candle each Sunday, singing in the face of the longest nights of the year. We celebrate this season of remembering every year, because even though the Christ child came—yes, he came, in a fragile body like ours to show us what God is like, and that is no small miracle—even for all the things Jesus has made right, we are still well aware that we’re living in the wait. Every year, I find myself resonating more and more with the sometimes forgotten third verse of “Joy to the World.” I suppose thoughts of sorrow, thorns, and curses don’t exactly drum up holiday cheer, but something in me resonates when I hear those words. They capture the soul of Advent, the waiting, the intense anticipation for reversal. They hint at a story too good to be true. Jesus has come to make many things right. I believe he did. I believe he still is and that we’re invited to be part of it. But in another Advent season, the wait can be so hard sometimes. He comes to make his blessings flow Far as the curse is found Far as the curse is found. Maybe farther. Hope, renewal, joy, flooding across the nearly-dead earth to drown the weeds. Sometimes, I can almost feel it. The first great curse is that we toil, surviving by sweat and tears and waging battle against thorns and drought and disease. Of course the beauty is there, but our joys and sustenance are tempered by futility, the sense that we can never do enough, or be enough, or win. But take heart, because the memory of Paradise sustains us, and the hope for renewal leads the way from winter’s bitter sting to spring’s gentle rain. The reversal has begun, and with heaven and nature we can sing. Joy to the weary, broken, beautiful world.

On this Christmas Day of 2018, Jonny Jimison presents Rabbit Trails: Holiday Edition, Volume 2. Click through for some high-quality Christmas shenanigans. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

Jonny Jimison presents Rabbit Trails: Holiday Edition, Volume 1. Click through for some high-quality Christmas shenanigans. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.

We have just the thing to pep you up this Monday morning. It’s a new music video from Slugs & Bugs telling the story of the fifth chapter of John’s gospel. It features Propaganda and a bunch of talented, energetic children from Nashville’s New Hope Academy, St. Paul Christian Academy, and Granbery Elementary. Click through to behold the goodness for yourself. We have some more news for you, too. Today only, the Under Where? CD will be 30% off on the Slugs & Bugs website. This sale will end tonight at midnight. Also, beginning today, Sing the Bible, Vol. 3 is 20% off on the Slugs & Bugs website. For each of the links above, your discount will automatically appear on the checkout page. In addition, all domestic orders over $35 receive free shipping. So get up and get yourself some Slugs & Bugs! Disclaimer: These Slugs & Bugs sales are not happening at the Rabbit Room Store. They are exclusive to the Slugs & Bugs web store. If your discount does not appear automatically at checkout, then type in the code “mexicanrhapsody” for the Under Where? CD and “getup” for Sing the Bible Vol. 3. Video produced and directed by Allan Spiers Choir Direction by Harmonie Reddick

The fifth episode of our new podcast, The Second Muse is now available for listening. In this episode, Drew Miller is joined by his bandmate Janie Townsend and engineer Evan Redwine to discuss the making of The Orchardist’s album People, People—specifically the song “Drink It Down.” Janie and Drew are both founding members and leading songwriters of The Orchardist, whose folk songs are often dressed up in playful chamber arrangements inspired by artists like The Punch Brothers and Sufjan Stevens. Evan is a gifted engineer who excels in finding the very best sounds possible (and will stop at nothing to get them) and gives the song exactly what it needs even when his own opinion is at stake. Former understudy of Shane Wilson and Andrew Osenga, Evan brings unmatched energy and passion to every day in the studio. If you’re new to The Second Muse, here’s the podcast in a nutshell: the title is taken from a Wendell Berry quote in which he references two distinct muses—the Muse of Inspiration, “who gives us inarticulate visions and desires,” and the Muse of Realization, “who returns again and again to say, ‘It is yet more difficult than you thought.'” It is this second Muse of Realization with which we concern ourselves in The Second Muse, specifically in the context of songwriting and record producing. In each episode, Drew interviews a different artist along with their producer about a song that gave them a great deal of trouble, whether in the writing or recording process or both. The song is then explored from the inside out, breaking down the components of the mix and how each element works towards making the song effective as a whole. You can listen to this newest episode of The Second Muse here. Check out The Second Muse on Apple Podcasts here. And click here to visit the Rabbit Room Podcast Network.

A few weeks ago, we asked a handful of our blog contributors and artists in our community to pass along a song that captures the spirit of Advent for them, but in a somewhat unconventional way. The result is The Rabbit Room’s very first Spotify playlist on our brand-new Spotify account—we hope it can provide a useful, imaginative entry point into the remaining days of Advent. Click through to see the choices made by various members of our community, along with their reasons for choosing as they did. Click here to listen to our Advent playlist on Spotify. “I Heard The Bells” by Beta Radio Then in despair I hung my head There is no peace on earth I said For hate is strong and marks the song Of ‘peace on earth, goodwill to men That’s the world we live in today, that’s the world Longfellow wrote his poem in during the Civil War, and that’s the world God’s people waited in at the time of Jesus’ birth. —Chris Yokel “The Trumpet Child” by Over The Rhine Not only is the song an epic about advent and the coming of the Kingdom, but it likens the work of the New Creation to jazz. That’s just awesome. —Pete Peterson “All My Days” by Alexi Murdoch Music and lyrics that give voice to the ache of unfulfilled longing while declaring, as if certain from the start, that the conclusion is worth the wait. —Janie Townsend “River” by Joni Mitchell I relate to the struggle and tension between the cheerfulness of the holiday season and the brokenness of the world and our own hearts. —Hetty White “Everything” by Taylor Leonhardt This song reminds me that time and change are not just great thieves of life, waiting to steal the seasons we love out from under us. Time and change allow us to receive the great gifts of God, even the gift of Himself. —Kelsey Miller “December Days” by Ellery To me, this is Andrew’s Light for the Lost Boy album as sung by the Ghost of Christmas Past. —Jonny Jimison “I Will Find A Way” by Jason Gray & Andy Gullahorn This song reminds me that God doesn’t kick down the doors of my heart or worm his way in through the cracks; He does not deceive or violate, but He finds a way in all the same. —Helena Sorensen “Ravens” by Mount Eerie “Ravens,” the third track on Phil Elverum’s album about the loss of his wife to cancer, provides a desperately honest reminder of the depth of our need and Jesus’ willingness—even eagerness—to descend to those depths to be with us. —Andrew Russell “Sigur 3 (Untitled)” by Sigur Rós The slow build of this instrumental piece encapsulates the feeling of hopeful waiting and yearning for a new beginning. Even as the song crescendos to its climax, it remains gentle: a beautiful picture of the advent of our hope—inspiring Savior as a gentle baby. —Chris Thiessen “Justice Delivers Its Death” by Sufjan Stevens Stevens turns the original Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer song “Silver and Gold” into a song of lament for the commercialization of Christmas and longing for the return of Christ. While he has only added a few new lines, the original lyrics betray themselves when set to a new mournful melody. —Chris Slaten “She Waits” by The Gray Havens This song puts words to the longing, lament, and centuries of holding out hope for God to remember His covenant. —Rob Wheeler “33 GOD” by Bon Iver You don’t comprehend Bon Iver songs with your logical brain, and I have no idea what it’s actually about. But somehow this makes me feel the ache for rescue, the beautiful chaos of waiting, and the spirit of the first dark nights of Advent. (Notice the Psalmist’s cry at the end: “Why are you so far from saving me?”) —Jen Yokel “Hourglass” by Sandra McCracken This song hits several major Advent themes: briskness and urgency (“running on the hillside” in the song’s first line), the sting of longing, and the beatific vision of every good thing restored. —David Mitchel “That Was The Worst Christmas Ever!” by Sufjan Stevens I would not say this is the song that most captures the spirit of Advent to me, but in many ways it symbolizes waiting and being in liminal space. I love the haunting vocals and the juxtaposition between the sad reality for this family at Christmas time and the line, “In time the Lord will rise.” I am always drawn to music that holds the light against the dark. —Jill Phillips “Bristlecone” by The New Empires The bristlecone pine is one of the oldest species of trees still living on the earth. This song enters into the imagined memory of this tree, supposing that it watched all the major developments of the human story. I love that with all this tree has seen, it somehow manages to conclude, “I’ve seen proof that all is not lost.” —Drew Miller Click here to listen to our Advent playlist on Spotify. Have any songs jumped to your mind as you’ve read? Please share in the comments!

Click through for this week’s edition of Jonny Jimison’s Rabbit Trails. Click here to check out more of Jonny Jimison’s work at his website.