Rolland Hein wrote: Myths are, first of all, stories: stories which confront us with something transcendent and eternal (Christian Mythmakers, p. 3). The fundamental assumption of the fairy tale philosopher is that there is more to this world than what the five physical senses can perceive.  Ask us for scientific evidence of this, and we can’t and won’t provide it.  We’ll only tell you that we reject the assumption that the scientific method can accomplish the task of knowing all things. Many Christian apologists point to the many things science can’t explain – including the origin of anything to begin with – to point to the need for an “unmoved mover,” or a “first cause.” The scientific fatalist rejects this “god of the gaps” method of explaining the unknown mysteries of the world. They claim that all religion does is to fill in the stuff science hasn’t figured out – but will! – with “God.” When science figures it out, we’ll be able to remove “god” from that realm, too. The fairy tale philosopher embraces neither, believing that in all things (not just in the gaps) there is mystery and wonder – that even the stuff the scientists have figured out and described with a scientific law of some kind has a greater meaning and existence than the law describes. We do not reject science; we reject science-alone. We are not anti-science, we are more-than-science. That is why the story is necessary – imaginative stories, like myth, and our own stories of when we knew heaven and earth were close, and we were lucky enough to be nearby when it happened. This is why the faith needs to be explained and defended as much in terms of mythic thinking as evidential defense. I remember sitting with a young Muslim college student; I was speaking at an InterVarsity retreat weekend. After some conversation, the young man, who was under great threat from family members never to convert from Islam to Christ, told me that he just needed some proof, some evidence. I launched into a defense of the historical reliability of the biblical text. His eyes glazed over. He told me that was not the kind of evidence he was looking for. I had no idea what to do in response. I prayed, of course. The next day, as everyone was piling into vans and getting ready for the drive home, I approached him one more time, this time equipped not with rationalistic evidence, but a story of mythic proportions: I know that what you’re going through is tough, and you’ve said that you’re looking for God, and just need to be sure that the Christian God is really God. I want to tell you something my dad said at his baptism. He said, “I spent years and years looking for God.” [He had. He had read the texts of many different religions.] “But when it came right down to it, God found me.” That’s a mythic story. No scientific evidence or rationalistic argument. Just a God who actively searches. The young man said, “Thank you. Thank you so much for telling me that. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” He needed a mythic story of a God who would come and find him. We all need mythic stories, because we are more than what our five physical senses can perceive.

Pierce Pettis’s new album officially releases today. He’s been selling it at his concerts for the last few months, so many of us can attest to its grooviness. As on every Pettis album that I’m aware of, he opens with a cover of a Mark Heard song. That, friends, is not just extremely humble, it is the finest way I can imagine for one songwriter to honor another. I’ve listened to the album enough to know Pierce has once again delivered excellence, but I haven’t had the time to dig in just yet.  The title track alone is worth the price of admission, though.  At the Ryman Christmas concert last year, Pierce played “That Kind of Love” and leveled us all.  I had a live recording of it from the show, but my computer died last year and I’m just now realizing that’s one of the things that was lost.  Instead, please enjoy the album version, then go buy it, either at his website or on iTunes. (Note from the Proprietor: As of 1:27 am on Tuesday morning, the song samples on iTunes strangely aren’t Pierce Pettis songs.  Not sure what to make of that.) This is the title track: That Kind of Love (Pierce Pettis) Slapfight Songs (ASCAP), admin. by Bug Music Can’t be bought or sold or faked That kind of love Always gives itself away That kind of love Wiser than the wisest sage It’s innocence makes me ashamed Til I’m not sure I can take That kind of love Pride and hatred cannot stand That kind of love Greater love hath no man Than that kind of love Won’t be kept unto itself Spreads it’s charm, casts it’s spell No one’s safe this side of hell From that kind of love Love rejected and ignored Held in chains, behind closed doors Stuff of legend and of songs Deep down everybody longs (for) That kind of love . . . oh, that kind of love Some people never know That kind of love Though it only takes a child to show That kind of love Widows smile and strong men weep Little ones play at it’s feet Deaf can hear and blind can see That kind of love Love triumphant, love on fire Love that humbles and inspires Love that does not hesitate No conditions, no restraints That kind of love . . . oh, that kind of love How could anyone deny That kind of love Every heart is measured by That kind of love Even stars fall from the sky Everything will fall in time Except those things that cannot die That kind of love Oh, may you be remembered by That kind of love Also, Paste Magazine is streaming the entire record on its website, which is pretty cool.

Two years ago I had a chance to sit under the instruction of one of my favorite fictional authors, Orson Scott Card. Well, he isn’t fictional, his books are. Except the non-fiction ones –which is pretty self-explanatory. (Now exiting the vehicle is My Brevity -wave to the camera.) OSC is the author of Ender’s Game, an outstanding book in the speculative fiction genre. While his religious views are far from orthodox (he is a Mormon) his angle on the art of writing is compelling. Among the myriad of helpful impartations about the craft of writing he shared, I’d like to share one which challenged my thinking about the author and his work. OK, here I go…sharing. Card made the case that the writer should be invisible. He explained that when we are reading a story the last thing we want is to be distracted by superfluous prose, or convoluted description. If you have read Ender’s Game you’ll notice that very few scenes are described in detail, but a significant depth of penetration in the mind of the point-of-view character, along with dialogue and action, carries the story. He wants the plot, the story itself, to be the focus of the reader -without the reader stopping every few sentences to utter breathless praise for the style and prowess of the writer. The story is the thing. He spoke about how many authors write scenes cinematically. That is, they see the scene like a movie, and then describe the scene from the outside, trying to help the reader see what the author sees. In contrast, Card’s view is that the novelist has a few advantages over the filmmaker and one of them is the chance to go into a character’s mind, in deep penetration, and let us see the story from the inside. Movies don’t often do that very well. Consequently many modern authors, raised on cinema, try to duplicate that cinematic feel, nullifying one of the few advantages of a novelist. I, for one, tire quickly of extravagant language in a novel. I want to be given enough to stir my imagination, but not overrun it. Let me participate as a reader, I want my mind to fill in the images based on clues, not be busy trying to get the details of the author’s endless description just right. I balance this thinking (of the invisible author) against my experience of books where the writer is very much apparent, and almost a character in the story. One example is the great P.G. Wodehouse, creator of guffaw-inducing yarns about the declining British aristocracy (with his Bertie Wooster and Jeeves characters) and the golden age of Hollywood. Brilliant stuff. In those stories, Wodehouse’s voice and descriptive genius are probably the principle draw of the books. The plot is interesting, but mostly as an avenue for comedy. The stories become a way for Wodehouse to express his irrepressible humor. But they are not great stories -at least not as stories alone. So, I’m not sure what the conclusion of the matter is. I have a working hypothesis that when the story is the thing, the writer’s gifts are used best when he is more or less invisible and the story isn’t interrupted by frequent, insistent demonstrations of his great use of language that ultimately is distracting. However, in comedic stories, the writer has more opportunity to “show himself,” especially since it’s not just about the plot, but about a comedic flow. After all, we mostly notice authors when something is written poorly, it stands out when standing out is not desired. It distracts. So I call this the Invisible Hand Dilemma. How much do we want to be aware of the author’s presence – and I mean actively? The author is always there, of course, but how visible is his hand? Some authors in some books seem to straddle the line amazingly well. One is a book none of you have ever heard of called On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness, by the popular, European, petty-coat and scarf tycoon Andrew Peterson. When I began the book, I thought it was very funny, but was pretty convinced that it would have no room for gravity, or a compelling story. I was wrong. Andrew’s voice was there all along, with his signature humor aplenty, but somehow I still managed to get lost in the story. As for the Invisible Hand Dilemma, I don’t know the answer. I am a very inexperienced writer and my own first novel is certain to fail most tests of excellence, even my own. So I write this partly to steal advice from wiser writers -and readers. Help me out. It seems like the tastes for books from the Rabbit Room crowd is more toward literary fiction than my own tastes are inclined. Maybe that signals a lack of refinement on my part (I actually did grow up in a “holler” in West Virginia). More likely it’s just that these people are a bunch of snobs. They wouldn’t know a good book if’n a polecat come up and bit ’em on their high horses. Snobs or not, any thoughts are welcome. Help me out here.

Today I bought my first Beach Boys album: Pet Sounds. For the past year or so, Ben Shive and I have been having an ongoing conversation about the virtues of the seminal 80’s new wave band The Talking Heads (and have been threatening to make time to watch their classic concert film together, “Stop Making Sense,” but to no avail – yet).  During one of our conversations where we were comparing notes on artists and bands that have meant something to us, he extolled the virtues of The Beach Boys and even made me a sampler to help whet my appetite (which I misplaced hours after he gave it to me…) But I was starting to suspect that there was more to this supergroup than I was accounting for and that I should give them another chance. So when they came across my radar the other night when I happened to catch their song “God Only Knows” playing over the opening credits to HBO’s “Big Love” – a series about polygamy – it caught my attention and with one song I became a fan. I downloaded Pet Sounds from iTunes that very moment.  I laugh at what an unlikely catalyst (a tv show about polygamy that was playing in the background!) finally pushed me into the Beach Boys camp, but sometimes you just have to the moment, however it presents itself, lead you.  And so here I am, late to the party, but finding myself a beach boys fan at last.  On my flight today, I’ve already listened to the album all the way through 4 times, and so here I am writing about it. I’m no expert on the subject, so rather than me try to get up to speed, I thought I’d invite you to eavesdrop on a conversation I’ll have with Ben about why this music represents so much more than just a day at the beach. JG:  Why did you think I would and should enjoy the beach boys? BS: First of all, thanks for doing this. I’ve been working on an essay called “How to Smile; the fine art of loving Brian Wilson” for some time now, but it’s been difficult to finish, so this seems like a less daunting opportunity for me to vent about my love for the Beach Boys. Second, I want to make a distinction between Pet Sounds and the Beach Boys. Pet Sounds is a Beach Boys record, but barely. It’s really Brian Wilson’s record. It marks the moment when Brian broke from the stifling “cars, girls, and surfing” gimmick that the band was notorious for and set out to make a great record. The CD I gave you (thanks for losing that, by the way) had highlights from Pet Sounds as well as some gems from the original 1967 Smile sessions. So, though I hope you like the Beach Boys’ earlier recordings (“Don’t Worry Baby” is one of my favorite songs ever), it’s Pet Sounds that I was hoping you’d really dig in to. That said, I actually wasn’t sure that you’d like Pet Sounds. It’s an odd record and can be pretty tough to get a handle on. I think of you as an avid listener, though, so I knew your curiosity would eventually lead you there and I wanted the credit for turning you on to it. Then you’d owe me. That’s how I operate. JG:  I love how you used my love of music for your own gain.  But before we talk about what I owe you (and I do owe you), let me just say that this little interview doesn’t let you off the hook for writing “How To Smile.”  I can’t wait to read that and hope you’ll finish it.  But on to the next question: I’ve always loved the Beatles – their sense of melody and chord structure that always sounds surprising and yet inevitable – and I’ve also loved most music that was influenced by the Beatles as well as most Brit-rock/pop in general.  But upon listening to Pet Sounds, which I remember being referred to as America’s Beatles, I was surprised to hear that much of the music I love right now, including Brit-pop like Keane and even neo-folkies like Sufjan Stevens (who has hinted that his next album may be about the beach boy’s own California), seems to my ear to have more in common with the Beach Boys’ melodic and musical sensibilities perhaps than they do with the Beatles. The Beatles have left a big musical footprint.  What do you think the Beach Boys’ legacy is and what kind of influence have they had on popular music in general and your own music in particular. BS: Well, I think Brian Wilson’s melodies are pretty well unmatched in pop music. They have this breathtaking, transcendent quality and they effortlessly pull these mind-blowing chord progressions around with them. For example, “Wonderful,” one of the songs from Smile (I’ll say more about Smile in a minute), changes keys THREE TIMES over the course of its eight bar form. But you don’t even notice the modulations because the melody moves so gracefully through them. And “God Only Knows,” which you mentioned earlier, has these moments of counterpoint (multiple melodies happening at the same time) that are just euphoric. So I think a great melody writer–like a Rufus Wainwright, or an Elliot Smith–simply has to stand in awe of Brian Wilson. As for influencing my music, I think you can hear the blatant Beach Boys reference on “Do You Remember.” “Nothing For The Ache” is probably the closest thing to a Pet Sounds song on the album. But I actually didn’t REALLY get into Pet Sounds or Smile until after I had finished writing for The Ill-Tempered Klavier. Since then I’ve been kind of obsessed and have learned a handful of Brian’s more serious songs on the piano. I wish I could convey to you the amazement I felt as I figured out those chord progressions and learned to sing the melodies. Cason Cooley (producer for Derek Webb, Jill Phillips, etc.) walked by me when I was learning “Surf’s Up” (a particularly complex Smile song) and he saw me throw my hands up involuntarily when I figured out this one really amazing bit of the chord progression. So the songs I’m writing now are definitely reaching for the kind of inventiveness I find in Brian’s melodies. JG: I was mostly only exposed to the seemingly trivial songs of teenage love and frivolity by the Beach Boys, but as I listen to them now–though those elements are still present–I also hear a melancholy and depth that I didn’t notice before.  I also hear a self-awareness as well as a firm grasp on the human condition in these songs all deceptively couched in these gorgeous and bright melodies.  What in your mind is the strength of Brian Wilson’s lyric writing? BS: Well, Brian wasn’t really confident as a lyricist on his own. He collaborated with a jingle writer named Tony Asher to write Pet Sounds. But his soul really shines through the songs. Pet Sounds captures this youthful idealism that Brian felt, and there could hardly be a better voice to convey that kind of emotion. “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” “God Only Knows,” “Don’t Talk,” and “I’m Waiting For The Day” all portray the purity and optimism of young love, while “Caroline No” laments the loss of those same qualities. “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times” (my second favorite song on the record), and “I Know There’s An Answer,” seem to be about Brian’s frustration with all the negative and cynical people surrounding him, presumably his father and his own bandmates. People often use the word “spiritual” when they talk about Wilson’s writing. He certainly thought of it that way. He called Smile a “teenage symphony to God,” and hoped that people would someday pray to his songs. And I think Brian may have been very “spiritual,” but in an eastern sense of the word, having more to do with personal enlightenment and much less to do with peace with God by grace through faith. So as a Christian I’m not really bowled over by a sense of spirituality in Brian’s writing. He does, however, pour out his heart and soul on Pet Sounds, and I think that’s very beautiful. JG: Many call Pet Sounds the greatest rock record of its era (some go so far as to say ever).  What do you think it is about this record that has earned it this status? BS: Well, I think the gorgeous melodies and Brian’s soul coming through in the lyrics are at the center of it, as I’ve said. But also, the sound is so unique. It’s really the first and only animal of its species–so singular that it can be hard to get a hold of at first. I think that people initially relate to new music by making correlations to something more familiar. When I first heard the Weepies, for example, I compared them to Shawn Colvin and Patty Griffin. Those correlations seem kind of vulgar to me now, but they helped me get my foot in the door until I could understand the music on its own terms. But it’s really difficult to do that with Pet Sounds, because it simply doesn’t sound like anything else. To my knowledge, nobody has ever really emulated the sound of it well. Maybe nobody can or maybe nobody wants to! It’s truly strange-sounding music. The rhythms are unconventional, with barely a hint of the standard rock and roll backbeat. There’s more harpsichord than piano and as much bass harmonica as electric guitar. It’s definitely a kitchen sink record, complete with bass clarinet, people beating on water bottles, and a theremin solo (tannerin actually, just in case there are any nerds reading). I’d say the arrangements don’t have the same kind of poise and refinement as George Martin’s work (“Eleanor Rigby,” for example). Rather, they’re beautifully ungraceful and exuberant, like an awkward teenager. Like Brian Wilson! And of course, the Beach Boys’ harmonies are truly amazing on this record. By the way, you can buy a version of the album with just the vocals soloed and drool. I think there might be a bit of “I know something you don’t know” snobbery in calling Pet Sounds the greatest album of all time, but you can’t blame people for being a bit indignant that it’s so generally unknown. When the album released in ’66 (I think) it was hailed by critics but shunned by Beach Boys fans. Heck, it was shunned by the Beach Boys! It never sold well. I read somewhere that it still hasn’t gone gold, though I’m not sure if that’s true any longer. I think if Brian had finished Smile, the intended follow-up album, the Beach Boys might have been recognized as the Beatles’ worthy opponents and Pet Sounds would have taken hold retroactively. But when Smile was shelved in mid-production due to Brian’s illness, the window closed and the Boys all but vanished. So maybe people are probably overcompensating for its obscurity by calling it the greatest album ever, and maybe I’m not sure it’s the greatest album ever, but it certainly deserves a little reverence. You gotta give it that. JG: What’s your favorite beach boys song and why? BS: Am I allowed to not have a favorite? Let me give you six, in chronological order. Don’t Worry Baby God Only Knows (from Pet Sounds) I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times (from Pet Sounds) Surf’s Up (from Smile) Wonderful (from Smile) Cabinessence (from Smile) Note: You can hear all the Smile songs I’ve mentioned here on the second disc of the Good Vibrations box set (tracks 18 through 28). And speaking of Smile: as I said, I’m working on an essay about the album, and it’s mostly a guide to help people appreciate the drama surrounding it and to know how to approach the available recordings. All I’ll say about it here is that I advise you not to listen to the 2004 release of Smile until you’ve heard the original recordings, if at all. The 2004 release was “finished” and re-recorded by Brian and his current touring band, and I like it but I don’t love it. Smile will always be an unfinished album, in my opinion. No offense to his band, either. Those guys are insanely talented and I think the way they support him is a beautiful story in itself. Well, Jason, thanks again for doing this. It’s been fun and I hope I’ve said something that’ll help you appreciate what’s great about this music.

Some twenty-years ago a friend gave me a book called The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.  It’s a lushly written tale about man involuntarily damned to an eternity outside salvation and his struggle to define his own morality in a world he believes is beyond the reach of God.  He’s a rebel, a braggart, and a murderer but he’s also a man in search of his soul, a monster grieving his lost humanity, a sinner longing for an absolution he knows he doesn’t deserve and is convinced that no one can ever provide. To this day it’s a book that shapes the way I write and the way I think about story and character and despite Anne Rice’s public façade as an atheist and staunch opponent of the Church, I’ve always felt that there was more to her story than she led the world to believe. A few years ago, I was startled to discover her book Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt in a bookstore.  My first reaction was, “Ah-HAH!  I knew it!”  But I never read it, in part because I was afraid I’d find out it was just a gimmicky way for her to capitalize on some controversial new idea. Since then that book has received a sequel called Christ the Lord: Road to Cana, and I’ve heard here and there that she’s accepted Christianity.  As much as I wanted to believe it, I was still very much a skeptic.  Such was my mindset when I cracked open her ‘spiritual memoir’ Called Out of Darkness. I am a skeptic no more.   Her memoir is equally a confession, an explanation, and a proclamation.   Her own words describe it best: “What I must do here is convey to the general reader—the member of the mainstream who is my brother or sister in the mainstream—how the Incarnation has become the central overwhelming and sustaining mystery of my life. “ Such an about face of worldview surely came as a shock to some fans her vampire mythology and there is a sense that she wants to lay out the pieces of the puzzle to provide insight for those to whom the final image was a surprise.  She also aims to lay to rest the suspicions of those that may think her conversion is flighty, shallow, or spur of the moment. It’s a rare pleasure to hear an author whose work you’ve loved talk about her life and career as she looks back on it from the wisdom of her years.  She recounts memories from her childhood as a Catholic in an edenic New Orleans and her eventual falling away as a young woman.  Anyone familiar with her writing will be thrilled to see how the events, people, and places of her formative years have shaped her stories for three decades.  Not only did I gain a wealth of understanding about why she wrote her books but I found myself thinking, “Of course she wrote these books, how she could have done anything else?” And all the musings I’ve had over the years about the questions and longings bound up in her stories, about the struggle of her characters, finally found an answer: “These books transparently reflect a journey through atheism and back to God.  It is impossible not to see this.  They reflect an attempt to determine what is good and what is evil in an atheistic world.  They are about the struggle of brothers and sisters in a world without credible fathers and mothers.  They reflect an obsession with the possibility of a new and enlightened moral order. Did I know this when I wrote them? No.” What a joy to hear her tell the world how she came to the realization that her entire life and work were pointing toward Christ, and better yet, to hear how she has embraced the challenge of the cross and is proclaiming it to the world.  Truly, this is a rare thing in popular culture. There are certainly points where I disagree with her but she is a woman of fierce intellect and much like C.S. Lewis she has come to Christ after years of scholarship and critical thought.  In the years before her conversion she says that she was hounded and even “haunted by Christ.”  She makes clear in her writing that her faith is something she has accepted with the utmost sincerity and seriousness.  There is no lightness in her undertaking and she makes a point of rejecting any form of ‘prosperity gospel’. What drew her finally to Christ was, I think, the story: the sense that God is the Author and Christ the eternal hero.  In the loving of that great, universal, and infinitely personal narrative she has committed herself to using her own sub-creative gifts in the service of the Creator.  She intends to write for Christ, and only for Christ, and the outpouring of that commitment is the Christ the Lord series, a realistic narrative of the life of Christ.  There is no gimmickry involved and no scandal.  She intends her books to be absolutely faithful to the Gospel in word, deed, and doctrine. I have not read these books yet but reading Called Out of Darkness has convinced me that I must.  If you are a longtime fan of Rice’s work you owe it to yourself to read the memoir and if you have never read a word of her writing, I suggest that it may well be a fine place to start. Anne Rice’s books and characters often fail to find the answers they seek, their stories are invariably tragic and full of longing, grief, and brokeness, they often refuse to resolve in a way that is comforting to the reader.  In that context it is incredibly moving to me that those tattered threads seem to have at last found resolution, not in the arc of the story, but in the life of the author.

I’m a one guitar man.  Have been from the beginning.  And I’ve secretly been suspicious of those who have numerous guitars as one would have steeds in a stable.  I’m faithful to one woman, and I’m faithful to one guitar.   At least that’s what I’ve always told myself since I couldn’t really afford a second guitar. But lately I’ve been hoping and praying to add at least one more steed to my stable.  I’ve written a lot of new material in alternate tunings and have resorted to borrowing spare guitars from the worship leader at whatever church I’d be playing so that I wouldn’t have to take as much time tuning during my performance. Such was the case for my first performance of 2009 with my good friends at His Place Community Church in Washington.  His Place is one of my favorite places to play because the people there are crazy enough to have adopted me for some reason and it’s one of the few places where the people make me feel kind of like a rock star (which is good since it’s in the same city as my in-laws and it casts me in a pretty good light). His Place is full of good people led by an exceptionally sharp staff. My friend Ken Beane is the worship leader there and he kindly obliged me by loaning me his black Martin acoustic guitar for the morning that I took the services.  It looks like something that Johnny Cash would have played and has a deep, rich tone, and when I made a percussion loop with it, something about the placement of the internal mic gave it a really cool and unique sound – very vibey.  It was my favorite loaner guitar that I’ve played and was a perfect compliment to my Taylor 714CE. That morning was tricky because I decided that my friends at His Place deserved something special, so I decided to only play my brand new material that I’ve been working on for my next record (coming soon, by the way :-).  I played songs that I had never played for people before and spent the whole weekend agonizing over whether these songs were ready to be unveiled yet and whether I was ready to play them!  It was like cramming for finals, but when the first service started I began to share the stories and songs that will shape the next season of my ministry and had one of the funnest times I’ve had playing music in a long time.  It was a gift to me to have a place where I could risk something like this and the people graciously allowed me to fumble through these baby songs that still hadn’t learned how to walk yet, let alone crawl. At the end of the service as I was packing up to hit the road for a concert in Renton, WA that night, Ken asked me if I would like to use his guitar for the next show.  I said that would be great, but unfortunately I wouldn’t be coming back this way and therefore wouldn’t be able to return it to him.  He simply said, “I know, that’s okay” and then just asked me if I wanted the guitar.  I can’t really recall the specifics of what was said after that since everything kind of went white for awhile as he told me that he wanted me to have this guitar.  For keeps. I was speechless!  Ken is one of the most affable and kind men I’ve met, but I also know he’s not necessarily wealthy, and though this is exactly the kind of thing you might expect Ken to do, a part of me was concerned about how he would replace this guitar that he was parting with.  I lamely protested for lack of knowing what else to do, but in the end accepted his offer with a mixture of shock and profound gratitude. I packed up the rest of my gear, my guitar, and then packed up his guitar that was now mine.  Still uncomfortable with the whole thing, I told him that I would be the keeper of the guitar for as long as he liked, but that if he ever needed it back, I would be happy to get it back to him.  In retrospect I think I said this because I couldn’t bear this kindness and it was some strange kind of self-defense.  Then I loaded it in my car and tried to clear out of the church as fast as I could.  I noted my discomfort with the whole thing and my increased urgency to vacate the premises.  I just had to hurry up and get out of there. From WA I met up with Taya in Nashville where we participated in a writer’s retreat and marriage conference.  Every day was packed with the kind of insight and wisdom that opens up the world to you and puts you back in touch with your own life, and frankly by the end of day two our heads and hearts were full to the rafters.  The best part of the week was the marriage conference with Dan Allander – an incredibly wise, and gentle man with a forceful intellect and deep reservoirs of insight.  I could write pages and pages of what we experienced and learned from this man, but for now I just want to share one thought he shared which was this: in relationships it isn’t really rejection that we are afraid of, but rather love. Taya and I talked afterward about how rejection is much easier for us to manage.  We know how to deal with rejection and have a thousand different modes we go into when we encounter it: anger, depression, self-righteousness, retreat, tears, the martyr complex, etc.  Rejection sets into motion an emotional machine we keep well oiled to counter it.  So though rejection isn’t any fun, it’s relatively safe and predictable.  We know what to do to defend ourselves. Extravagant love, however, is another matter altogether and is a force so upsetting and unpredictable that it renders us defenseless against it.  We have no idea what to do, it’s chaos to us and it leaves us disarmed and feeling naked.  When it comes to us we feel awkward, uncomfortable, self-conscious, and we don’t know what to do with ourselves.   The well-oiled machine we use to protect ourselves breaks down before extravagant love. It’s why most of us prefer God’s rejection over his love.  It’s why we choose legalism over grace.  Obeying God’s law puts us back in the driver’s seat where we can imagine that we’re in control.  We have our list of obligations to check off, and though we know we can’t meet all of the Law’s demands, we still like to feel like the ball is in our court.  When we fail, we know what to do: pay our penance by feeling the requisite amount of shame and then vow to try harder the next time.  Grace is terrifying because it is completely beyond our control and our efforts to manage it. I’ve always had a hard time receiving gifts from people, and I always thought it had to do with my fear of feeling indebted – if someone helps I feel like I owe them something.  But as Taya and I talked about all this, I thought of Ken’s kindness to me and realized that I didn’t feel one bit of indebtedness to him.  In fact he eased the blow when he said “it feels weird, doesn’t it?  I know,” implying that someone had given him a guitar (maybe this very one) and he was now paying it forward.  Whatever I was feeling when I felt like I had to hurry up and get away from the church and Ken’s presence, it had nothing to do with indebtedness. I think it was extravagant love that I was fleeing from.  As usual.  And it occurs to me that this is the human story and has been for as long as memory.  Starving for love, we seek it out – more often than not in all the wrong places – and then when we find it (or rather it finds us), we are terrified at how naked it makes us feel, how vulnerable – disarmed of our best self-preservation mechanisms.  And so we flee. But it keeps finding us.  Thank God.

a piece on the discipline of brevity, and it was a ton of fun to hear your responses.  So today I’m sitting here tucked away in the corner of a coffee shop with free wi-fi, thinking about 2008, and wanted to bring an exercise to the Rabbit Room table.  What would it be like if we joined the discipline of brevity with the art of confession.  This post is an all-skate.  In other words, we’re going to write this one together. Here’s the assignment.  In two inches of text or less, tell us about something you have learned over the course of the past year.  If you can, try and stay in that 12 month time frame.  It can be something you learned in an instant or over the span of months.  It can be funny, scientific, theological, relational, tragic–whatever.  It can even by something you “unlearned”–something you thought you were certain of until 2008. I’d especially like to hear from all the Rabbit Room Contributors and also from first time posters.  I know you’re out there.  Come on in and pull up a chair.  The fire’s roaring, the beverages are flowing and the table is set.  What’s on your mind? Oh, one more thing.  For the sake of the purpose of this particular post, let’s limit our comments to 2008 Epiphanies only, and just hear from each other.  I’ll post mine as a comment below too.

Yesterday afternoon, I loaded up the tour bus (i.e., minivan) with guitars, gear, iPod and a cello. Genial cellist and all-around cordial gentleman, Hitoshi Yamaguchi, offered to tag along with me for a show I had in Pinson, AL last night. As I’ve grown weary of the long, lonely hours of solo trips, I was all too thankful for not only the company, but the musical sonic glue as well. For this trip, however, I would not require the person sitting in the so-called navigator’s chair to actually do any navigating thanks in large part to this year’s Christmas present from my wife, a GPS unit. This particular GPS has several vocal options available, anything from one very sterile, digitized voice, a clear and concise male voice, or that of a British woman. I chose the latter. Can you blame me? What shall I say, I’m a fan of the Brits. It is hard to imagine that a mere 150-200 years ago, this fledgling America and the British Empire, from whence we parted ways, wickedly and violently despised one another and were sworn enemies, which is too bad. Time heals. I must confess that I absolutely love my mobile GPS. I also confess that I have a crush on the woman – or at least her voice – inside the GPS who, with tonal silk in her throat, guides me to destinations both near and far. The world is a strange place, yes? My new British navigator – I hereby dub thee, Genevieve – has been a delight. On this particular trip she calmly, but firmly, proceeded to guide Hitoshi and myself down narrow, pothole-riddled Alabama minifares I never would have suspected existed, but Lady Genevieve delivered us safe and sound both to the venue and back to my front door again without error or blemish. Though I had my moments of doubt (“You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Turn here?”), as compared with the online directions I printed out just in case (which would have added an additional half-hour to our drive, I might add), Genevieve surely, in my mind’s eye, is some sort of robed, gilded queen seated and fed like royalty upon her digital throne exalted inside the sealed confines of my GPS. If not, she sure ought to be. I’m glad we Yanks are close allies with our English kinsmen today, and can enjoy their wonderful accents and inflections. It’s good to be kin. And it’s good to be playing music again. Cheerio.

Myth is scoffed at because reason has disproved it, so they say. It’s interesting as far as sociocultural studies go, but where’s the evidence? If there’s no real, empirical, demonstrable data that shows there are such things as gods, supernatural heroes, fairies, elves, and the like, then how can one possibly believe in the supernatural? If we’re on the quest for truth, and there’s no evidence for the reality of myth, isn’t it subversive to the quest? Shouldn’t we put Tolkien on the shelf and pick up an apologetics book? This only works if humanity is only physical. If we’re seeking truth, and there is truth that can only be perceived in a spiritual-mythic realm, then Imaginative Story has its justification – indeed, its necessity in our truth-quest. Empirical evidence usually can’t prove the supernatural. And even when something supernatural stares an empiricist in the face, they often deny it because of the assumption that empirical evidence has already disproved the supernatural.  Now, an empiricist need not be this way but the fact of the matter is, if there is supernatural involvement in the world, if humanity really is “fundamentally mythic” (Kilby, “What Is Myth?“), then empirical evidence, logic, rationalism, etc., are incapable of attaining this knowledge alone. Faith, myth, fairy tales, etc. are a part of grasping what it means to be human. Clyde S. Kilby writes: “Myth is necessary because reality is so much larger than rationality. Not that myth is irrational, but that it easily accommodates the rational while rising above it.“ Or, as G.K. Chesterton put it: “My first and last philosophy, that which I believe in with unbroken certainty, I learnt in the nursery. I generally learnt it from a nurse; that is, from the solemn and star-appointed priestess at once of democracy and tradition. The things I believed most then, the things I believe most now, are the things called fairy tales. They seem to me to be the entirely reasonable things. They are not fantasies; compared with them other things are fantastic.“ Unsatisfied with the explanations? That’s as it should be. If humanity is “fundamentally mythic,” then the truth-criteria of the scientific fatalist will always find mythic explanations unsatisfying. But the scientific fatalist’s truth-criteria is painfully limited because it can only discover the physical aspects of earth, not the mythic dimensions of heaven.  Learn to think mythically, and you will have a more human – which is to say, more complete – experience of the True Myth. References:  Clyde S. Kilby, “What is Myth?” in Rolland Hein, Christian Mythmakers.  G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, Chapter IV.

I don’t watch the evening news. The white noise of so many busy-body blabbermouths saying the same things over and over again usually lacks luster for me. I’d rather have quiet or music. This evening when I got home, mom called and said, “Evie, I know you don’t watch the news, but you have got to turn on the TV and watch some of what happened today.” She proceeded to give me the Cliffs Notes version of the crash of US Airways Flight 1549 out of LaGuardia. “What?!!” I said with a breathless smile on my face. Since the larger part of the American population actually do watch news and own computers, I will spare you my version of this incredible story. But do you know how relatively narrow the Hudson River is?? Or how close the plane came to the George Washington Bridge as it flew overhead? Or that the plane was at just the perfect angle to avoid an end-over-end catastrophe? Or that it’s possible for geese to take down an entire aircraft? Or that there were business men in their nice suits aiding the people in quickly escaping the frigid water? I find myself straining to comprehend the thrill in the hearts, the lumps in the throats and the cries of relief of the survivors’ family members and loved ones. It’s truly a miracle that occurred today — the fact that all 155 passengers made it out alive, and mostly healthy — and the life of the heroic pilot Chesley Sullenberger will never be the same. Now this is the kind of news I want to hear — the kind that moves me to happy tears and gives me hope for the way human beings treat one another with kindness, empathy and love. There are hundreds of photos already flooding the internet and the news programs. A few of them show the survivors standing knee-deep in water on the wings of the submerged plane, waiting calmly for rescue. Although I know the physical truth of the matter and I know that there’s an explanation for how they appear there, reflecting in the surface of the shimmering, icy river,  I can’t help but smile at the sweet irony of that imagery — God’s trusting children walking on water.

Yellow onions, garlic and fresh ginger are sfubzling away over a low heat on the stove. (Sfubzling: (the “s” is silent) a little-known culinary term, used only by cooks with their ears truly to the ground, describing the noise which emanates from the cooking vessel and seems much like a mix of sizzling, bubbling, and fizzing. It’s a delightful and promising noise. Good smells most usually accompany.) I cue the music, step into the kitchen, light a candle in the window, sharpen my knives, crank up the stove, pour a glass of “Prosperity Merlot” and place my brand new, shiny-sunny yellow Le Creuset soup pot on the front burner. It was a Christmas gift from my sister and brother-in-law and I can only dream of all of the hundreds of wonder-full soups, stews and braises it will hold in its belly as it goes through this life with me. A few glugs of olive oil and I’m off and running. I chop, chop, chop with my sharp knife (an immeasurable pleasure), hum along with the groovy Nat King Cole tune, sip my wine, and in a hair’s-breadth of a minute, I am revived — brought home to myself — by a pretty soup pot and a prayer. For somewhere in the neighborhood of the last three months, I have not felt quite like myself. The curious, creative and industrious wedge of the Evie Pie, which is usually the predominant, has not been so active. She has been wandering off blindly into traffic while chasing illusory butterflies, whistling out of tune, distracted by shiny things in the underbrush, picking useless weeds, picking her nose…. Wha….?, you ask? That’s just it. I don’t know how to make much sense out of where the buzzing, artistic side of me has been for the last quarter of a year. I know, this seems a little silly since I’m am ART teacher for heaven’s sake, but that hardly gets me out of this conundrum. I mean, sure, I did a nice job of gift-wrapping my Christmas presents. That qualifies as “creative.” But largely, I’ve seemed to be on the outside looking in on that lovely, blessed bubble of creative and divine inspiration. This happens to me from time to time, and I find all sorts of things to blame it on. I complain about my cramped, un-feng-shui studio situation and how the kids just wore me out at school, I need to go to the grocery store, I have to catch up on my DVR’d shows so that I can free up space (have to be considerate to the housemate, you know), I must update my Netflix queue, there are magazines to be perused. Oh, it just takes so much brain power to sit down and write. I will, I will find anything and everything to cloud the instinct and urge to create. I, I…I….I am a lazy wretch. So I just found a two-month-old sweet potato (similarly wretched) in the bin under the sink, and I’m not ashamed to say I peeled it and threw it in with the previously sfubzling ingredients. Also added a can each of chickpeas and petite diced tomatoes. (You see, I’m working with the dregs of the cupboard tonight. Call me Mother Hubbard. I over-spent, over-ate, over-did pretty much everything I could have possibly over-done over Christmas holiday and I sure had a fun time over-doing it.) And now I have added the holy trinity of spices: chili powder, cumin and cinnamon, then a hefty pinch or two of red pepper flakes for heat, a few springs of fresh rosemary from my winter-hardy herb bed by the front door, and it continues to sfubzle happily. It looks to be turning into something worthwhile. Perhaps it’s three rounds of strep throat (Merry Christmas to me!) that have taken me on this ride through unfamiliar-feeling territory. Perhaps it was the busy-ness of the holidays and not enough time spent focusing on the very true Center of the holiday. Perhaps it’s that I haven’t been to church in a month of Sundays (quite literally, I’m sad to say) and I haven’t seen any of the people — God’s gifts to me — who encourage me, hold me up and keep me corralled and headed in the right direction. Perhaps it’s my detached, denying heart to which I have been comfortably applying a numbing salve. There are too many reasons I could name; so many questions about how and why I endlessly repeat this particular dim and lonely cycle. But all of these reasons and questions bleach of color and lose their nagging voices when held up to the light of our Good God who says gently, “My dearest, I love you. I created this yearning in your chest to tell my story in your own voice. Listen to it. Get up. Try again.” And so I am beginning with soup. (I guess you could call it a Moroccan Peasant Stew of Sorts?…) Because, for this artist, cooking leads to dreaming, dreaming to writing, writing to drawing….it’s a pretty lovely cycle I go through. The final ingredients have been tossed into the glossy pot with the cheerful, sunshine-colored enamel: quartered artichoke hearts, chopped kalamata olives, and orange zest. An unlikely list of ingredients, I know, but I have a feeling it’s going to work nicely. A final tasting for salt and then it’s suppertime.

I have an aversion to anything that’s the subject of too much hype or popularity.  Such things are suspect and regarded with narrowed-eyes for a long time before I feel comfortable giving them any objective consideration.  Sometimes this hesitation serves me well, The DaVinci Code for example—groundbreaking and controversial, right?  The real story: old news and eye-rolling piffle.  It’s a defense mechanism, you see, and generally it serves me well.  Another case in point is Cheerios–lots of hype for something that’s really just tasteless cardboard byproduct floating in your 2%. So as I sit here, I find myself again outdone.  A few years ago when these Coldplay fellows showed up on my radar, I listened, I kind of liked, I raised one eyebrow and then read or heard someone say that they were the next U2 and I wrote them off.  “Clocks” playing thirty-eight times a day on every station down the FM spectrum didn’t endear them either. This summer I was at the movie theater and danged if one of the previews before the movie wasn’t a giant advertisement for their new album.  What’s not to hate about a movie-sized ad for some English pop record?  Imagine my distress when I discovered myself thinking that the music in the ad was really quite good.   I gave in to the hype and bought the Viva La Vida album.  I’m happy to admit when I’m wrong (mostly), so here goes: by Jove, this album cannot be done without. It’s rare for me to like an entire album of songs, and even rarer that I like an album enough that I don’t want to listen to one song without hearing the rest and in the correct order.  Any good record is put together in a deliberate sequence but I contend that part of the greatness of Viva La Vida is that it’s built in such a way that it tells a story, and can only be understood as the sum of its parts.  This is certainly true for other albums but it is such an essential part of this one that I think it bears special mention.  It had to grow on me though. I bought it and ran it through a couple of times, somewhat interested, though only mildly impressed.  I kept coming back to it though and each time I did, I listened to it a little closer, I heard something I hadn’t before, I understood something I didn’t before.  It’s been a couple of months now and I still keep going back.  There’s more every time.  It’s beautiful.  And every time it’s over I feel like I’m a little bit closer to figuring out what the band is trying to say. The album sounds amazing, full of light, but I’ll leave discussions of its musical merit to others.  What interests me about it is the way each song works together within the album to tell a story.  I get the definite sense that the work begins in uncertainty, with questions and struggles, and ends somewhere else.  The songs often answer each other.  They develop a dialogue amongst themselves and when the final notes of the album fade I feel like the writer (Chris Martin) has found answers of some sort.  Even though he might not tell us what those answers are explicitly, I’m impressed musically, and lyrically with the idea that something has been found, a destination has been reached. I’ve seen various interpretations of the album on the internet and in print and theories range from religious enlightenment to claims that its about the life and times of Louis VIII (and I mean the entire album, not just particular songs).  There’s certainly an abstract quality to it that leaves it open to interpretation.  I love that. Last month the band released a companion EP to the album called Prospekt’s March that has made me fall even further in love with it.  Some of the new songs on the EP are your basic B-side remixes but the new original songs line up perfectly with the Viva La Vida album and even shed more light on its themes.  One of the motifs from the full album, that of floating, or flying, or ascending is the words “my feet won’t touch the ground” and it’s carried on in the new songs beautifully.  The EP is a fantastic coda to what is becoming one of my favorite albums of all time. If you haven’t experienced this album, you need to.  And you need to spend some time alone with it, listening to it as a whole, without distractions.  The next U2?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  I’ve gone back and listened to Coldplay’s other albums since discovering Viva la Vida and I get the feeling that this might be their Achtung Baby, the album that took a lot of what was already very, very good, and reassembled it into something stellar, something off the charts, something that no one saw coming.  But don’t listen to me and don’t listen to the hype.  Listen to the music.

I have been a contributor here for a very little while now and I notice that some of these other blokes ask questions and then some very clever people answer them in the comments and elaborate upon their thoughts and it’s a kind of thing like what bespectacled scientists in lab coats call “interaction,” or “communication,” or “the brotherhood of man.” So here’s my question: If you were single, and you weren’t you, would you date yourself? OK, that’s not my real question, but it’s something worth considering in light of the fact that you probably want someone special to date you. Or court you. Or take you on a date to court. Date yourself? It’s the kind of question that might puzzle a person, but later they would understand. I read once where Rich Mullins said that if he wasn’t Rich Mullins he would be a Rich Mullins fan. Perhaps that is a good question for artists and thoughtful singles to consider. Also, there’s those on-line dating services which, if the commercials are true, are excellent places for male models and female models to get together for a lasting love where you never have to say “I’m sorry,” or “I’m not good-looking.” Personally I hope the Rabbit Room spins off into an on-line dating service focused on 3 dimensions of compatibility: 1. Are you OK with being discipled by Ron Block? 2. There are two kinds of people in this world, people who love Eric Peters’ music, and people who haven’t listened to it long enough yet. Which are you? Andrew Peterson a father-figure, a brother-figure, or an action-figure kind of influence in your life? By the way, have you seen Andrew’s new book? It’s the first in The Chronicles of the “Kill” Saga Trilogy. The second book is called Second to Kill and third is called, uh, um…I can’t remember. Third…something. But it’s going to be so amazing. Check the Rabbit Room Store now. If it’s not there, buy something else. But I digress (who else hates it when people say “But I digress?” When is it ever OK to say that?). My real question is this: Tell us one thing that you do (or wish you did) to foster creativity in your life? Example: Everyday I take a walk and soak in the inspiration of creation. Then I build birdhouses. Or: Everyday I talk to my soulmate whom I met on Rabbit Room Singles dot com. Then I tip my head backwards and laugh enthusiastically while a voice-over sells a product. Fill us in. Or, in keeping with AP’s astute perspective on Art as light in darkness, enlighten us. Help us ordinary people uncover the beauty ready to break over the surface of the still lake of our lives.

One of the foremost thinkers concerning the topic of Christians in the arts must be Steve Turner, author of the pivotal work Imagine: A Vision for Christians in the Arts. It was a work that moved me greatly and I’ve read it a few times to cement the truths found inside. Steve has also written several other books, ranging in subjects from The Beatles to Jack Kerouac and some poetry in between. Still the topic was the arts and the Christian engagement within them that we discussed the most in our conversation a while back. Matt Conner: To begin with, what would you say is the single greatest tension for the Christian artist today? Steve Turner: The biggest problem is knowing how to integrate the Christian view of the world. Christians often develop a Christian view of, say, prayer and scripture but don`t think of having a Christian view of the normal stuff of everyday life. If they do not have a Christian worldview, they will inevitably just take the dominant view of the culture they live in. In the West, this tends to be some form of humanistic materialism. So the most important preparation is the development of a Biblical world view. Matt: Would you say that not enough Christians involved in the arts have a Christian worldview? Why or why not? Steve: Christians have been used to dealing in ‘messages’ because preaching has been their main model of communication. This has prepared them to understand propaganda more than art. Having a view of the world is more subtle and complex. However, if you look at the work of The Beatles, they rarely indulged in propaganda. Maybe they did on songs like “All You Need Is Love” but they largely communicated what they believed by touching on a whole range of human issues and adding a spin that came from their way of seeing things. So they wrote about sleep and love and sunshine and doctors and taxmen, but in doing so they built up a picture that defined their viewpoint. Too often Christians know the Christian view on the Bible and prayer – in other words, on the overtly religious – but not on the things that take up our everyday lives. I think that has happened because Christians haven’t been encouraged to think Christianly. They think Christianly about worship on Sundays but switch to a normal, secular frequency during the rest of the week. Matt: You recently wrote a book entitled The Gospel According to The Beatles. Why write this and what can we learn from them? Steve: I spent my teenage years listening to the Beatles. The very first article I ever wrote was on the Beatles for their fan magazine The Beatles Monthly. I’ve always found them exciting and interesting so it’s a great pleasure to be able to investigate them in more depth. As a Christian I’ve always been interested in the way they fused their changing beliefs with their music and how the music in turn affected a whole generation. So this is what the book investigates and hopefully people will learn about the Beatles, the Sixties and how they affected each other. Matt: How did you go about writing the book? You mentioned investigating them in more depth… Steve: First I try to read everything available, not just in books but in papers and magazines. I’m obviously especially keen to find all old interviews with The Beatles. Then I set about interviewing people who were part of their lives. Then there are archive searches where you might find previously unknown material. Writing a book like this you can’t afford to just repeat all the old stories. You have to check them out to test whether they are true and, hopefully, to build a fuller picture. Matt: What exactly is the gospel according to The Beatles? Steve: The book goes into their changing beliefs starting with their upbringing in different churches and ending with what they believed before they died (in the case of John and George) and what they seem to believe today (in the case of Paul and Ringo). I explain their gospel as one of expanded consciousness. They identified the problam in a song like “Nowhere Man” (“He’s as blind as he can be…“). All the answers they came up with, whether it was drugs or eastern spirituial practices, had expanded consciousness as their goal. They believed that a child naturally has this consciousness and yet we lose it as we grow older. If we regain it, we see everything with a greater degree of clarity and are able to enjoy the present momenet rather than get hung up either on the past or the future. Matt: What did you personally take from your research in the book? How does their gospel affect you? Steve: It just gives me a deeper understanding of their view and how it did affect and continues to affect society. People who are now in important decision-making positions are people who grew up on The Beatles. I’ve just come back from India because I was able to do a travel story on The Beatles India. I went to Rishikesh where the Beatles studied meditation. I had previously read a lot about Hindu beliefs but nothing can quite match sitting and talking to many different people. I think it strengthens my Christian faith when I confront other belief systems. I’m not persuaded by The Beatles’ gospel but I hope that I understand it well enough to present it fairly. Matt: You mention trying to understand their gospel well enough to present it fairly. Going back to what we were talking about before with Christians in the arts, who do you think is presenting the Christian gospel well enough to present it fairly? Steve: I wasn’t meaning that The Beatles presented their gospel fairly but that I could understand it and then explain it to the public in a way that was fair to the beliefs of The Beatles. In other words, if Paul McCartney was to read the book, I would hope that he would think that I hadn’t twisted what they said to serve my own purposes but had presented a balanced and thorough picture. As to the Christian gospel, the best example is what U2 has done. I think the gospel impinges on all that Bono writes. I think he presents us with a picture of the whole of life as he experiences it and because he is a believer we get to see life in the 21st century [in the] West as experienced by a believer. Matt: But very few artists today are creating art that is truly holistic in nature. You mentioned before that it’s a worldview problem. Is that true of the lack of holistic art? And what do you even mean by that? Steve: I’m not sure what you mean by holistic. Worldview literally means having a view of the world and everyone has a worldview. Very often, people’s worldview is conditioned by their environment and so they’re not even aware of where it comes from. I am suggesting that Christians tend to have a Biblically informed view of, for example, prayer but not of economics, leisure, fashion, health, etc. Therefore, their views on everyday matters – that area of life they probably view as “secular” – are just borrowed from the surrounding culture. Reklama internete Eugenijaus Mockaičio Profesionalios SEO paslaugos gera kaina, el parduotuvių kūrimas, pardavimų skatinimas bei investavimas į bitkoinus https://seopaslaugos.com Eugenijaus Mockaičio Profesionalios SEO paslaugos gera kaina, el parduotuvių kūrimas, pardavimų skatinimas bei investavimas į bitkoinus. If you take an artist like Beyonce, she appears to have a Christian view of Bible reading, church and prayer (from what I’ve read) and yet her performance, rather than challenging the predominant culture, is a reflection of its current demands. There was a program about Britney Spears on TV and writer Chuck Klosterman was saying that when he interviewed her some years ago he asked her whether she thought her (then) defense of chastity before marriage was at odds with her stage shows and videos where she tended to dress in school girl uniforms and act the temptress. He said that it was one of the strangest moments he’d ever experienced in an interview because she was just dumbfounded. He said it was as if the thought had never occurred to her. Matt: OK, then I would say that Christian art tends to only reflect a Biblical view of very few aspects of life. For example, the Christian tends to completely avoid writing, painting, commenting, or sculpting anything to do with sex. Yet, sex is definitely a dominant part of our culture, therefore our worldview. How do you speak to Christians regarding this disconnection from the whole of life? Steve: I could only say to them what I have already said. Having said that, things are an awful lot better now than they were 30 or 60 years ago. There are now so many books that examine different areas of life from a Christian perspective. There is far more involvement in politics, both from the left and the right. In my book Imagine I trace this split back to Plato who thought that our aim was to connect to the spiritual world through our spirits and saw our bodies as an impediment to this. We often reflect this split by thinking that we’re most pleasing to God when we’re praying, witnessing or praising and least close to him when we’re doing something purely physical like running, eating, dancing or love making. We’ve tended to treat ‘the world’ as an interference, something that we have to put up with on our way to heaven. Matt: While you said things are a lot better now, what are some of the directions that you still think we need to take? Are there some immediate, tangible steps that we are missing? Steve: I think it has affected groups of thinking Christians, possibly mostly those in the major cities. I don’t think it has persolated down to the grassroots. It certainly hasn’t affected the fundamentalists. American “Christian” TV is a huge enemy of this worldview thinking, and possibly a huge enemy of Christianity. The CCM industry also stifles it by creating a genre of music where it’s possible for Christians to sing to Christians about Christian things in a Christian language. We have just developed a very narrow idea of what “Christian” is. I saw an entry in a directory for Christian artists where someone had advertised themselves as writing “poetry both Christian and non Christian.” I think he meant poetry that was specifically religious and poetry that was about everday life but he had unconsciously betrayed the fact that, when he wrote asbout ordinary events in his life, he thought of these things as somehow outside his experience as a Christian. As though God is not interested in us walking, eating, fishing, playing ball, shopping, etc. Matt: Can you speak on this further? This idea of God being just as interested in those last things you mentioned. I think this idea might even be new or at least uncommon to some of our readers and I would love to have you expand on it rather than assume people believe or know certain things. Steve: We have to remember that God made us as humans, not Christians. He created the human race and the environment of the world and was pleased with what he had created. He imagined us enjoying our lives in this space He had created. The actor playing the athlete Eric Lidell in the film Chariots of Fire is made to say, “When I run, I feel God’s pleasure.” That is a good doctrine of creation. When we do human things in the world God made for us, God gets pleasure. The need to be Christian entered with the fall. We needed to be redeemed. But, far from wiping out God’s orininal intentions, it confirms them. To be Christian is to be on our way to being fully human. Hank Rookmaaker the Dutch art historian used to say, “Christ didn’t die in order that we could go to more prayer meetings.” People would gasp at this. Then he would add, “Christ died to make us fully human.” That’s right. He didn’t die to make us religious, but to make us human. In our fallen state, we lack the completeness of our humanity. The monastic tradition makes the mistake of thinking that God is best pleased with us when we cut ourselves off from the world, deny ourselves pleasure, refrain from marriage and devote ourselves totally to religious activities. This almost assumes that God made a mistake in putting us in a world of pleasure, culture, art, nature, work, companionship, etc. Fundamentalists would hate to be compared with medieval monks but, in many ways, they suffer from the same split. Matt: So what is the responsibility of the artist in light of this? Steve: The main responsibility of an artist is to his/her own talent and to the art form they are working in. You can’t be responsible for how people interpret your art. First, you have to discover and then nurture your own talent. Don’t squander it. Learn all you can about what has gone before. Serve an apprenticeship. Secondly, you should try to make sure that your art form is kept healthy. Christians have so often ‘used’ an art form sinply to put over a ‘message,’ but have had no love for the art form. They haven’t wanted to leave film or the novel in a better state because they were there. But because these things are good and are pleasing to God, we should make sure that we tend and look after them. The arts help to preserve and invigorate language. They sharpen our vision. They make us notice things. They bring greater understanding between people. We have to respect them. Matt: What are some tangible things that other artists who understand this responsibility can do to nurture this growth and understanding in other artists? In other words, you mention apprenticeship and my mind goes to mature artists helping to mentor younger ones or experienced artists helping those who need to explore their craft. Steve: Those of us who have not only been thinking about these isues for years but have had opportunities to put them into pratice in the arts and media can pass on our expertise to the next generation. What often happens is the older people leave the big cities and find themselves overwhelmed with work and family so that they’re no longer at hand to share. I’ve had the privilege recently of being able to share with groups of artists not only in America and the UK but in Germany, Sweden and France. My book Imagine has been translated into many diferent languages including Chinese, Portugese and Spanish. There is a lot happening around the world and people are hungry to know how to proceed. I’m glad to be both a theoretician and a practitioner because they feed each other. If I just had the theories but had never been involved in the arts I would lack confidence. If I had just worked in the arts but hadn’t developed any theories I would feel that I hadn’t been faithful in my calling.

The Church is being ripped off. There’s a roaring lion out there seeking whom he may devour, but we’ve spent years promoting the half-gospel of “Jesus died to pay your sin debt” and have downplayed the total lordship, power, and authority of Christ over our lives (me in Christ) and His power in and through us (Christ in me) that is free for the taking. Really, we’ve let ourselves be ripped off. Like many of you, I read a lot. Sometimes that just involves standing in the bookstore and skimming books I don’t want to buy, especially anti- or substitute gospels. I continually see powerful Christian principles being marketed in success literature. I saw one the other day in a Franklin-Covey store that was about taking our thoughts captive, not allowing negative, fearful, or anxious thoughts into our consciousness. Of course, it wasn’t “taking our thoughts captive to the obedience of Christ.” But the principle was there, minus Jesus. Another principle I’ve seen is “act as if.” C.S. Lewis talked about this in Mere Christianity. “Very often the only way to get a quality in reality is to start behaving as if you had it already.” He then distinguishes between the bad kind, where pretense is there instead of the real thing, and the good kind, where the pretense leads up to the real thing. So Lewis says we are to “dress up as Christ,” which is a totally Biblical principle. And in so doing, he continues, we immediately begin to see ways in which we are not being our real self. Christ is there “at that moment beginning to turn your pretence into a reality.” The success book mirrors this: “One of the great strategies for success is to act as if you are already where you want to be.” This ripping-off has been going on for years. New agers like Blavatsky talk about developing “the Christ-consciousness,” that constant awareness of our true identity. But of course without coming through the Cross, dying in Christ and resurrecting in Him and being implanted by the new life, they are merely exalting the old, false, satanic life of Eph 2:2. I said to a fellow Christian in that Franklin-Covey store, “You can be successful all the way through life right into Hell.” Of course most of these books I’ve looked at and read talk about doing good, giving to charities, and all that, but that’s just a sugar-coated second death. Most of these success principles and many of the new age books are just a thick coating of truths hiding a big lie to keep people from entering the Kingdom of God. Now, there will likely be those who take me wrongly, but I’m not saying success literature is bad. There are several great books that have helped me change bad, disorganized habits into good ones. But that’s another story. As Christians, we have been given an ancient Power. This power is greater than “he that is in the world.” Should our lives not reflect and resound with this ancient power? Shouldn’t miraculous life change, victory, and the overcoming life of Christ within us be the norm? If this isn’t our experience, we must ask ourselves, “Why not?” A powerless church, a mere-forgiveness church, allows the devil to rip us off, letting him sugar coat his big lie with wonderful truths because the world doesn’t see us living from our true selves in Christ. We have mistakenly thought we have to live the Christian life – by our effort and programs and techniques. We’ve grumbled and complained, and been unbelieving about this powerful, conquering Holy Spirit that lives in us. This Overcomer, Christ Himself, lives inside each of us, and if we just begin to let Him do His work by trusting in Him it will change everything. The Hebrews could have entered the promised land and taken it over years sooner if they’d just trusted the God who wanted to be powerful on their behalf. Life change doesn’t have to take a long time. “He that abideth in Him sinneth not.” If we are abiding, we’ll love God and love people. We’ll be bold, strong, true-hearted. It’s not a works-trip, or a prompt to more effort. It’s a fact: it is impossible to abide in Christ and at the same moment be sinning. Simple, childlike abiding in Christ by faith will give the life change we – and the world – are looking for.

“A mistake constantly made by those who should know better is to judge people of the past by our standards rather than their own. The only way men or women can be judged is against the canvas of their own time.” –Louis L’Amour I don’t know what exactly happened to good old-fashioned Westerns, or why over the past 20 years they have been seen as somehow less erudite than the other tales we tell.  Maybe it’s because the stories are so familiar, even predictable.  Maybe it’s because the answers they give are too easy, what with the white hats and the black hats.  Maybe its because we don’t believe life could be as simple as all that. But what if things were just that simple?  What if we insist on complicating things that really aren’t that complicated?  What if this life was something where a good horse, being able to tell right from wrong, knowledge of where a man could find fresh water and how to handle yourself in a fight were among the most important things you could know, and you took everything else as it came?  Is there such a story to tell anymore? How many stories are there to tell, really?  Sure, I know the details change, as do the characters, places, customs and all.  But in the end, are they really all that different from each other? Louis L’Amour (1908-1988) wrote westerns–pure and simple westerns.  And he knew what he was writing about.  He grew up in rural North Dakota at the turn of the 20th century, a place and time where the wild west still held some claim in that part of the country.  Over the span of his eighty plus years, he had been a farmhand, cowboy, miner, lumberjack, professional boxer, hobo, merchant seaman and soldier.  If you are a boy, think about that list for a minute.  Not bad. Eventually L’Amour made his way to Los Angeles where he wrote over 100 short novels—most of which were tales of the old west.  I have a friend who said he used to keep a list of the Louis L’Amour stories he’d read, but somewhere in the seventies, he stopped counting.  The thing about Louis L’Amour is that he really only tells one story, more or less, but in a hundred different ways.  It’s the story of the just confronting the unjust, the right taking on the wrong, the strong serving the weak. As you spend time with L’Amour’s stories, you meet people—familiar people, simple people.  Most of his characters are “types” of people, generally lacking in subtleties, but still rich with personality, charm, courage, wit and moral fiber (or the conspicuous lack of it).  While his characters are “types,” L’Amour still manages to avoid type-casting the traditional cowboys and Indians routine.  Sometimes the Indians are hostile, but often they are the only wise ones around, and thus the only hope of rescue. His stories are straightforward.  L’Amour believed, “A good beginning makes a good end.”  Often, his heroes find themselves nose to nose with trouble, and have every reason and recourse to walk away, were it not for the pretty lady in distress or the young mother left alone in Indian country minding her farm with no one to help her but her eight-year-old son.  And while the hero could go on his way, it wouldn’t be right.  It’s just that simple.  So he stays, come what may. And do you know what always comes?  Trouble. And do you know what the hero does when trouble comes?  Neither does he until he’s pinned against the canyon wall staring down the barrel of trouble’s gun. L’Amour uses the trappings of the cowboy life to take us into another place and time where a man doesn’t simply ride a horse.  He rides a strawberry roan.  He drinks coffee out of a tin cup from a kettle of spring water brought to a boil over a mesquite fire.  He knows the difference between his Colt and his Winchester.  His knife is sharp and within reach.  He knows where the water is, or how to find it, and how much he has left and how long it has to last him. The landscape itself is another crucial piece of L’Amour’s stories, a character in itself.  At the beginning of his novel Sackett, L’Amour writes: It was getting close to sundown when I fetched through a keyhole pass into a high mountain valley without growth of any kind. Bleak and lonely under the sky, it was like a granite dish, streaked here and there with snow or ice that lay in the cracks. Timberline was a thousand feet below me, and I was close under the night-coming sky, with a shivering wind, scarcely more than a breath for strength, blowing along the valley. All I could hear was the sound of my horse’s hoofs and the creak of my saddle. Off to the left lay a sheet of ghost water, a high cold lake fed by melting snow, scarcely stirred by that breath of wind. It lay flat and still. Can you see it?  I can. In L’Amour’s world, winters are cold, deserts are hot, night skies are starlit and sunsets are colorful affairs.  Values are clearly delineated and the good guys always win.  The weak are served by the strong.  Liars are found out, thieves are shown for what they are and murderers never get away with it.  The problems of the moment don’t color or define the entire identities or the rest of the lives of those bearing up under them. Call his writing escapist if you want.  Say things aren’t that simple, that cut and dried.  But what if they are?  What if this is the promise of how the story we’re all in will turn out one day?  When I get to the end of L’Amour’s collection, I suspect I’ll just start again from the beginning until my story ends.  And I suspect it won’t be that different from Sackett’s, minus perhaps a little gunfire.

Sorry I’ve been AWOL here in the Rabbit Room for awhile – When I haven’t been hunkered down writing for a new record, I’ve been cloistered away from the world to spend time with my family.  But what is it that could call me out of my hiding?  A new Jill Phillips record. So you can imagine my delight when Andy & Jill gave me a copy of Jill’s new record, The Good Things, two and a half months before it’s release date.  I was like a kid in a candy shop, as the equivalent of salivary glands in my ears began to tingle. So I guess you could say that when Andy handed me the disc, my ears began to water in anticipation of the delectable sounds they would soon be treated to (please accept my apologies for that ridiculous word picture). At any rate, The Good Things has been in regular rotation ever since. I was a fan of Jill’s for years and her album Writing On The Wall is one of my favorite records of all time.  Nobody’s Got it All Together didn’t disappoint either, but as I started to anticipate the next record, I secretly hoped to hear Jill break some new ground musically and lyrically, which is what I think she’s done on The Good Things.  This is unmistakably a Jill Phillips record, but there is a sense of adventure, of something being risked.  It’s not the kind of showy, in-your-face bombastic experimentation, but rather the risks she takes here are more subtle, nuanced, and intimate as she reaches for new levels of self-disclosure. The Good Things is an adventure of the heart, and the new production value supports this.  It’s still very organic and acoustic like her past efforts, but producer Cason Cooley (Derek Webb) brings his signature vibe that adds a depth and ambiance to these tracks.  Cooley is a fan of Daniel Lanois (Producer for U2, Peter Gabriel, Bob Dylan, etc.) and even worked under Lanois’s right hand man Malcolm Burns when Burns produced a record for Cooley’s former band The Normals.  I think he brings a similar production sensibility to Jill’s record here and the songs benefit from Cooley’s musicality – especially the opener “Your Usual Response” – drenched with the kind of ethereal vibe that feels like a warm sonic bath. As a side note, and this is subjective so it may not be the case at all, but for me, I felt a lot of these tracks were defined by the drum tone and the personality of the snare.  I geek out over sounds and I love the way the drums sound on this record – they feel organic, fat, and vibey and as soon as they would come in they cued me about what this song would be about musically.  But I obsess over these kinds of things, so I’ll step out of geek mode now and get back to the heart of the matter. Because really, the heart is the matter for this record.  There’s a lot I could say about each song, but I’ll focus on three that to my mind represent what I love most about this record.  Many of these songs are deeply personal and explore the tension between remaining open hearted versus shutting your heart down to protect yourself from shame (“Your Usual Response”), relational hurt (“Any Other Way”), or the biggest heart killer of all – disappointment with God (“Resurrection”). “Your Usual Response” opens the record and was my immediate favorite.  Cooley’s production takes a great song and makes it even better.  This is the vibiest track on the record, and I hope that it signals more to come in future Jill Phillips installments. “Resurrection” is a declaration of faith at it’s most convincing because it is a quiet, humble hope without bravado.  It is hope that looks at the worst that we see – different facets of the senselessness of death and suffering explored in each verse – and still proclaims: “I believe Though it’s hard sometimes You are the Resurrection and the Life.” But the gem of the record for me is possibly the most personal.  “Any Other Way” explores a difficult time in their marriage and the blessing that came in seeing it through.  I can imagine this song being a great encouragement to other couples in the throws of relational hardship.  The lyric is honest, direct, and blessedly devoid of  poetic self-indulgence.  We know that both Andy and Jill are exceptionally competent writers (lyrical ninjas as I like to call them), but the lyric that exemplified what I respect most about their songcraft comes from the bridge: “When we first met, love was a feeling Making it last, that’s a decision A good decision”http://bashful-building.flywheelsites.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/AnyOtherWay.mp3 I imagine as a writer myself that there is a part of me that would resist writing a line like this because it’s a sentiment that many of us may have heard before.  I would be tempted to write something more clever or “songwriterly”.  But of course it’s exactly what needs to be said, and so Andy & Jill are brave enough to say it.  They demonstrate here that they are less interested in impressing me with the clever lyricism they are clearly capable of than they are with telling me the truth and helping me.  To love your listener enough to speak plainly is a great virtue that is sometime overlooked in songcraft.  Sometimes you just need to say the thing, and knowing when that is is one of the marks of a great writer. The rest of the song is brilliant and very intimate, as it expresses in detail what this season of life felt like for them – talk of moving away to a different city, the feeling of having the rug pulled out from under your feet, the courage of taking the first steps back to trust, and the gratitude that comes in the end when all is said and done and you’ve found the grace to do the hard work of marriage and come out better for it on the other side. But it’s not just the lyric that reveals an eagerness to risk a deeper sense of intimacy and self-disclosure, it is Jill’s voice, too.  Any one who’s heard her sing knows she could sing the phone book and it would make you cry, but there’s something different this time around that I can only describe as a profound sense of vulnerability. Some of these songs come to us like a whisper of Grace, and whispers always make you lean in, quietly, to listen more intently.  It’s like a relaxed conversation with a trusted friend, a conversation that leaves you feeling more human, alive, and more in touch with the holiness that ties all the good things in our lives together and gives them meaning and a sense that God has taken note of us, we are not alone, He knows our name and is intimately involved in all the details that make up the story of our lives.

Last week was J.R.R. Tolkien’s 117th birthday.  I give you some excerpts from his excellent work, “On Fairy-Stories,” on art, fairy tales, eucatastrophe, and the Gospel: In its fairy-tale or other world setting, [eucatastrophe] is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief. Children are capable, of course, of literary belief, when the story-maker’s art is good enough to produce it. That state of mind has been called “willing suspension of disbelief.” But this does not seem to me a good description of what happens. What really happens is that the story-maker proves a successful “sub-creator.” He makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is “true”: it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it, while you are, as it were, inside. Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed. Disgraced he may be, yet is not dethroned, and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned: Man, Subcreator, the refracted Light through whom is splintered from a single White to many hues, and endlessly combined in living shapes that move from mind to mind. Though all the crannies of the world we filled with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build Gods and their houses out of dark and light, and sowed the seed of dragons – ’twas our right (used or misused). That right has not decayed: we make still by the law in which we’re made. Fantasy is a natural human activity. But the “consolation” of fairy-tales has another aspect than the imaginative satisfaction of ancient desires. Far more important is the Consolation of the Happy Ending. Almost I would venture to assert that all complete fairy-stories must have it. At least I would say that Tragedy is the true form of Drama, its highest function; but the opposite is true of Fairy-story. Since we do not appear to possess a word that expresses this opposite-I will call it Eucatastrophe. The Eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function. The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy ending: or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous “turn” (for there is no true end to any fairy-tale). I would venture to say that approaching the Christian Story from this direction, it has long been my feeling (a joyous feeling) that God redeemed the corrupt making-creatures, men, in a way fitting to this aspect, as to others, of their strange nature. The Gospels contain a fairy-story, or a story of a larger kind which embraces all the essence of fairy-stories. They contain many marvels-peculiarly artistic, beautiful, and moving: “mythical” in their perfect, self-contained significance; and among the marvels is the greatest and most complete conceivable eucatastrophe. But this story has entered History and the primary world; the desire and aspiration of sub-creation has been raised to the fulfillment of Creation. The Birth of Christ is the eucatastrophe of Man’s history. The Resurrection is the eucatastrophe of the story of the Incarnation. This story begins and ends in joy. It has preeminently the “inner consistency of reality.” There is no tale ever told that men would rather find was true, and none which so many sceptical men have accepted as true on its own merits. For the Art of it has the supremely convincing tone of Primary Art, that is, of Creation. To reject it leads either to sadness or to wrath.

While browsing at a used bookstore earlier this week with a friend, I came across a book by H. Richard Niebuhr, The Meaning of Revelation. I read his brother’s first book a couple months ago, Reinhold Niebuhr’s Leaves from the Notebook of a Tamed Cynic, and absolutely loved it, so I figured this would be worth reading, not to mention that it is on a topic which holds a lot of interest for me at the moment. Before heading over to a friends’ house to watch (read: wrestle with) their kids while they went to a New Year’s Eve party, I read the preface to The Meaning of Revelation. The paragraph outlining the convictions underlying the study begged to be read several times. Seems like these are good convictions to affirm as we stand at the threshold of another year. Among the convictions which in part appear explicitly in this study and in part underlie the argument even where they do not become explicit, three seem to be of fundamental importance, though I may presuppose others of which I am less aware. kansas Fake IDs. The first is the conviction that self-defense is the most prevalent source of error in all thinking and perhaps especially in theology and ethics. I cannot hope to have avoided this error in my effort to state Christian ideas in confessional terms only, but I have at least tried to guard against it. The second idea is that the great source of evil in life is the absolutizing of the relative, which in Christianity takes the form of substituting religion, revelation, church or Christian morality for God. The third conviction, which becomes most explicit in the latter part of this essay but underlies the former part, is that Christianity is “permanent revolution” or metanoia which does not come to an end in this world, this life, or this time. Positively stated these three convictions are that man is justified by grace, that God is sovereign, and that there is an eternal life.

What better song could usher us into the new year than Ben Shive’s “New Year”, from The Ill-Tempered Klavier? New Year This year I’m gonna love you better than last year I’m through repeating the past crimes Learned my lesson the last time And you say You need more than a new day I know I never had a true heart But love is gonna give us a new start It’s a new year, a new day It’s a new scene in an old play And I finally decided Love is alive in the choice you make To give it away In a new year, a new dawn It’s a new line in an old song And I finally believe it Love is the reason the past is gone And the world turns on Sometime You gotta make up your mind If all you really want is more love You gotta give her your love So you say a prayer and catch your breath (Dear God, won’t you help her to see) And you’re so alive and so scared to death (That I’m not the man I used to be) And you say what you mean, not what you meant to (Believe me, baby, please) She just smiles like, “what has got into you?” It’s a new year, a new day It’s a new scene in an old play And I finally decided Love is alive in the choice you make To give it away In a new year, a new dawn It’s a new line in an old song And I finally believe it Love is the reason the past is gone And the world turns on It’s gonna happen sometime You’re gonna make up your mind If all you want is more love You gotta give her your love So you’re saying your prayers And you’re so scared But I believe that the past is gone And that’s the reason the world turns on

Luke 4:7 jumped into my mind today. Not the words themselves, but just the chapter and verse number. My mind was beginning to center in the wrong direction. Someone I know thought they could read my mind, and spoke their own erroneous thought to someone else. When I heard, I was taken by surprise. What they said was wrong and unjust. But I forgave, and trusted Christ in me to live through me, and He did. But this morning – the soul-storm began to spin, slowly at first. The mind started mulling it over again, that forgiven thing. Suddenly, this: Luke 4:7. When I looked it up it turned out to be Satan offering Jesus the kingdoms of this world. “It’s all Yours if only You will fall down and worship me.” That’s what we’re doing when we fixate on something other than God, when we fear that thing, that person, that circumstance. A soul-hurricane begins to spin around that false center. Fall down and worship me. I can give you power. The skies turn dark; high winds start whipping up the spin factor. I’ve been there many times, too many, and I’m finally learning the lesson: Stop it before it starts. Boot out the lie, drop the flesh weapons, and stand. Stand in who I am. Stand in that new creation reality of Christ living in me, through me, as me. Stand in the Spirit by faith. For I am dead, and my life is now hidden with Christ in God. I am a new creation. Christ lives in me.Otherwise I get caught up in the soul-winds and the flying debris within myself, begin judging others in that unclarity of mind, and soon, POW, I’m living and acting from the flesh, judging from appearances, and acting out from the devil’s way of thinking. Been there, done that. To lose our power all we need to do is hand it over to another person, a situation or circumstance, or to our emotions. We put that lie in the center of “I.” To keep our power, we’ve got to recognize Christ as our real center – not the lie, that circumstance or person. We recognize that we have no power of our own, that all power in us comes from Christ, and His power in us is unassailable. Immovable. Unshakable. Eternal, and utterly, completely real. More real than storms. More real than other people’s flesh trips. More real than our own flesh trips. Christ in me, through me, as me. When we stand there by faith, that’s worship. “You are Lord. You are strong. You are love Himself.” And we can connect ourselves to that power: “You are Lord in me. You are strong in me. I am love because You are love in me.” We can love and forgive the other person, because Jesus Christ is forgiveness Himself. We move back to Center and stand until the storm has passed, and – no sin happens, because “Every one who is remaining in him does not sin” (1John 3:6, YLT). We trust. He lives. We give away our power to shadows and idols, and it comes back at us full force because the only power anything has over us is the power we have given to it. We worship at the wrong altar when we ascribe power to anything or anyone other than God. I’m thankful there is such a hiding place for us, such a strong tower and source of real strength, and I’m thankful to God for the temptations He allows in my life that push me to recognize and utilize that holy Place.

I have to begin this review of Twilight with a disclaimer. I have only read the first book in the series. That’s important and counts as an initial strike against my review, because I happen to agree with James W. Thomas, lit scholar at Pepperdine and author of the forthcoming book Repotting Harry Potter that there are far too many people who have written off J.K. Rowling without reading all 4100 pages of J.K. Rowling. I’d hate to be one of those people who are missing the greatness of one particular series of books because I haven’t experienced them in full. Still, two things lead me to proceed with this review. One, if the literature is great, it can be shown to be great – or at least have a few inklings of future greatness – in the first portion of the series. Two, if the series is any good, the first book should at the very least keep me reading, wondering what will become of these characters. Even “page-turners” and “penny dreadfuls,” after all, make you want to get to the next page. And in the case of Twilight, current editions have page one of the second book readily available for the reader after the epilogue. But I closed the book, not caring one bit about the sneak-peek into New Moon. I might also add that, in stark contrast to Harry Potter, Twilight has not inspired volumes of academic analysis and college courses exploring its literary merits. There are many who enjoyed Twilight, and I do not want to disparage their experiences. Everyone loves an exciting story, and I have no gripe against occasional mindless fun. While I found this book neither fun nor exciting, your mileage may vary. But when considering Twilight’s artistic merits, it fails miserably. By the time I was halfway through this book, it seemed to me that the wisest course of action would have been to put down the book and begin actually looking for Bella. It would have saved my boredom, and perhaps her life. In a few hundred pages, her heart sped up and stopped so many times, it’s cause for serious concern. I work in cardiology in my real life, and I think she needs to come into our lab and get a defibrillator implanted. Therein lies one of the many artistic problems with Twilight. The same default words, expressions, and phrases are over and over, and if ever the cliche, “beating a dead horse” were poignant, this is it. Bella’s clumsy and gets faint around Edward, who is perfect. And dangerous. And if you forget either of those things, never fear: these two characters will remind you on every page of the book. So, no – I was not “dazzled” by Edward’s “perfect/glorious/godlike/angel face” and his “dark/golden/ocher eyes,” nor did my heart go into weird rhythms and stop when meeting any of the female vampires. Andrew Osenga’s review got this right. Remove this incessant, uncreative motif, and you lose the majority of the book. Meyer cannot pass up an opportunity to glory in the beauty of Edward, and it gets nauseating as Bella nearly faints – and momentarily faints once! – and goes into frequent bouts of tachycardia. Very little happens for 400 pages, until we get a jet-tour through an utterly predictable ending which I’m guessing most readers saw coming. Not only the plot, but any poignant theme in this book is not just blurry, but non-existent. In great literature, one finds great themes: self-sacrificial love, mercy, forgiveness, good vs. evil, etc. But in Twilight, a bunch of stuff happens, and that’s about it. We are taken through the melodramatic thoughts of a 16-year old girl who intends to give up her entire life for an infatuation with a creepy, 100 year old vampire who is obsessed with Bella for no other reason than that she smells yummy. There is zero depth to any these characters. On top of the fact that vampires – vampires – bored me to tears, none of the book’s characters has a unique voice. There is no change in speaking style from one character to the next. To make this even more painful, it’s written in first person of Bella – which means the entire story is a “voice,” and everyone talks exactly like Bella thinks. You’d think that with characters well over 300 years old, there’d be a few interesting voices, that something in the way they speak would indicate that there’s something more to the character. Alas, we find no such thing. And there’s no subtlety in the character development. We don’t come to know characters by their unique actions or their singular voices, but by the same tired descriptions. I do not care about the characters of Twilight. When I first met Raskolnikov (Crime and Punishment), I was immediately compelled by his tortured psyche. When I first met Charles Wallace (A Wrinkle in Time), I knew I wanted to learn everything about this amazing little boy. When I first met Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter), I knew I’d be fascinated by this enigma for seven full books. When I first met Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights), I knew I’d encountered an intriguing, disturbing character. But there is nothing compelling about any of Twilight’s characters. Is there any redemptive value to the story? It’s hard to say for sure. In the first place, I’d argue that the artistic excellence of any work of art contributes significantly to its redemptive value. The work itself must be beautiful – and calling one vampire “beautiful” 37,000 times in 500 pages doesn’t count. We could argue that there is a battle with sinful nature, depicted in the Gothic vampires. The world of the Gothic is a vivid portrayal of fallen humanity (think Jeckyll/Hyde, Frankenstein, etc.), and with a small number of vampires are fighting their desire for human blood, you could say this holds true for Twilight as well. But the struggle against sinful nature in the world of the Gothic has been done so many times before, and so much better, it’s hard to justify the poor artistry of Twilight for that reason alone. If this theme can be found in the stories, it is heavily, heavily muted by the drama of teenage infatuation. In fact, the fundamental problem I see here is that the sappy romance completely overrides anything mysterious, anything that would hint of an encounter with Faerie, a journey through the Perilous Realm. Unless I missed it because I was too distracted by all the beautiful vampires, the novel operates at no deeper level than the surface story. There is no “journey toward gestures, pictures, images, rhythms, metaphor, symbol, and at the peak of all, myth” (Clyde S. Kilby, Forward to Christian Mythmakers). It seems devoid of much apart from a romance that involves the perfect-looking undead. I’m sure the story gets more exciting in the sequels. There’s bound to be more revelation about the history of the vampiric subculture, and I’m guessing there’s some conflict ahead with those werewolves. I’ll never know, because I’ve no intention of reading the next volume. We should call Twilight what it is: the first successful campaign by a publishing company to market a book as “the next Harry Potter.” But successful marketing is all there is to it.

I grew up with Full Moon Fever.  Songs like “Freefallin’”, “I Won’t Back Down”, “Runnin’ Down a Dream”, and “Yer So Bad” could easily be the sound track to my coming of age in rural Florida.  I came from a town too small to have a theater, an arcade, or population of girls that hadn’t already told me to get lost, so I did most of my running around twenty-four miles away in the “big city” of Gainesville, home of the Gators, the University, a good number of unfortunate Volvos, and another awkward country boy named Tom Petty.  I didn’t like the Gators, but I took a strange pride in being from the same backwoods that gave rise to a rock and roll icon and his Heartbreakers. My memories of MTV’s heyday (you know the next line), back when it still played music, are indelibly marked with the image of Tom Petty dressed as the mad hatter, sipping his tea and singing, “Don’t Come Around Here No More.”  Even before that, mixed in with memories of “Photograph”, and “Electric Avenue”, and “Dancing with Myself”, is the scene of a bunch of cool looking guys climbing out of some kind of future car in the desert and stumbling onto a tent full of TVs to sing “You Got Lucky”.  I was amazed that those guys, looking so tough with their boots and their leather, cigarettes dangling, huge pilot-style sunglasses flashing in desert heat were somehow led by the goofy one with the overbite and the weird voice.  The one from Gainesville, just down the road from me.  Maybe anything is possible. For those of us that grew up on his songs and, better yet, for those that don’t realize just how far-reaching and influential his body of work is, Peter Bogdanovich’s documentary, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Runnin’ Down a Dream is a treasure on film.  Put together with a wealth of footage from the earliest days of Mudcrutch and The Epics, the entire history of the band is miraculously documented.  I was giddy to see footage of the bar where the band played its first paying gigs, a place called Dubbs that I used to use my fake ID to get into in order to see the likes of Warrant or Quiet Riot. Throughout the four hour running time, the film is never less than fascinating.  It chronicles such things as Petty’s bankruptcy and landmark legal battles with the music industry and his friendships with legends like Bob Dylan, Stevie Nicks, Johnny Cash, George Harrison, Ringo Star, and Roy Orbison, there’s even an attempted assassination. It’s hard not to root for Tom, the underdog, while you watch him growing as an artist and see the record company trying to take his songs away from him.  When he’s victorious, we share in his victory and we get to see how that affects his growth and his writing and his relationships.  Petty’s story is sprawling and iconic and the film reflects that. Bogdanovich captures insight into Petty’s creative process as a writer, a recording artist, and a performer that any student of music or the arts should appreciate. It’s good stuff.  Particularly interesting is how the viewer is able, over the course of the film, to see and hear the thirty-year metamorphosis of his work as it changes from the perspective of a teenager to that of a grown man, filled with experience, heartache and the scars and lessons of life. Fueled by a fantastic American narrative, tons of rarely seen live performances, interviews with sources ranging from Johnny Depp to Jackson Browne, and, most of all, by Tom Petty’s own unique impact on rock and roll, Runnin’ On A Dream is documentary film-making at its peak.  It reminds us that great things can come from small places, even from the town down the road, even from the kid with the overbite.  It reminds us that, indeed, anything is possible.

It has been unintentional, but on several occasions here in the Rabbit Room we’ve discussed the use and power of words, and eventually someone (often this guy) steers the conversation to musing about the difficulty and discipline of brevity– using fewer words for greater impact.  Clearly, I’m only talking a good game here.  Still, I’m fascinated by the discipline of forcing myself to be selective with the words I use.  Here are a few fun links which are committed to the discipline of brevity. Twentytwowords.com— This is Abraham Piper’s blog. (John’s son)  He calls it an “experiment in getting to the point.”  Each entry is exactly twenty two words long.  The others I’m listing here are ones he listed on his site which I think are super cool. coolthingsinrandomplaces.com– Just what it sounds like.  (Laura P, commenting below, indicated this link may carry with it some viral badness.  So I took the link down, but the site is still cool.  Thanks for the head’s up, Laura.) The Big Picture— News, events and oddities from around the world told mainly through images.  Right now you can find one entry dealing with the International Space Station and another dealing with super-microscopic images.  Check them both out and tell me if they both don’t leave you feeling dwarfed by God’s handiwork.  There’s one image of an ice crystal that I can’t get over. (Also, they have a Hubble Space Telescope Advent Calendar where each day leading to Christmas they post a new image from deep space.) And last, onesentence.org— true stories told in one sentence.  This is sometimes heart-warming, sometimes incredibly sad, sometimes hilarious, and sometimes a bit, um, PG-13 (but nothing too rough.)  You’ll find moving little gems like: “I had never thought about the importance of my uterus until I was told it had to be removed.”  And this one that made me nod as one who understood perfectly: “During a romantic dinner away from the kids, I looked down at my hand and saw that there was poop on my diamond.”  Okay, one more. “The day my Mother accidentally left my little brother at the dog pound gave me the only self-esteem boost I would ever need.” Enjoy.

Here in these weeks leading up to Christmas, we have been posting a series of meditations focused on the story of Jesus’ birth from the Gospels.  For more on what Advent means and why many Christains observe it, here’s a short introduction.  Now we come to the last entry of our virtual advent wreath– the meditation that accompanies the white candle– the Christ Candle, for those playing along at home.   The text for this final Christmas Day reflection comes from Matthew 1:18-25.  Merry Christmas, everyone. 18Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. 19And her husband Joseph, being a just man and unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly. 20But as he considered these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. 21She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” 22All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: 23″Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us). 24When Joseph woke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him: he took his wife, 25but knew her not until she had given birth to a son. And he called his name Jesus.     —Matthew 1:18-25 (ESV) Joseph was a decent man.  When all this began and his bride to be turned up expecting a baby, he wasn’t sure what to do.  He didn’t want to shame her, though he could have.  Should he just cut his losses and let her go?  His world was spinning. This burden weighed heavy on him, flooding both his every waking thought and his every dream. One night, as he tossed and turned over the situation one more time, an angel of the Lord appeared to tell him this baby was not forming in Mary’s belly because of anything she had done, but because of something God had done. “She will bear a son, conceived of the Holy Spirit, and you, Joseph, will name him Jesus, because He will save His people from their sins.” It was just as the prophet had said.  That prophet—the one who said the virgin would conceive and have a son who would be called Immanuel—that was the prophet Isaiah. Do you remember Isaiah? He had a tough job.  God had called him to relay the news of the Lord’s coming judgment of his people, Israel.  God had dispatched Assyria to come and carry them out of their homes and into foreign lands.  Babylon would follow suit. But laced throughout Isaiah’s words from God was a magnificent description of His plan to save and redeem this people who failed Him over and over again. What would this look like?  Did the people’s idea of that salvation bear any resemblance to the salvation God meant to give? Through Isaiah, the Lord clarified something for those trying to imagine it: “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”  (Isa 53:8) As the heavens are higher than the earth?  That much higher?  Really? Oh, the paradox of salvation!  The people desperate for a savior have an idea of what they think they need?  So what child is this that God has sent?  Is he what they imagined? While God’s people look to the east for their King to arrive in majesty, God quietly sends His angel to a poor teenage girl in the no-account town of Nazareth. God’s people expect His Messiah to be known by all upon His arrival, but God brings Him under the cover of darkness—under the shelter of a cave doubling this night as a stable and a maternity ward. God’s people anticipate strength, but are delivered a fragile, tiny baby. They seek inspiration they can follow, but they are given one who would be countless times rejected. They long for their suffering and oppression to end with His coming.  Yet He came to suffer—to live a life of affliction. They look for impenetrable strength in His person, and yet He would take upon Himself the wounds of us all and die under the weight of them. To all of this God tells us His ways are higher than our ways.  And for this, we should be eternally grateful.  After all, what did we really know?  We did not know what we needed. When we thought we needed a figurehead, God gave us a sacrificial Lamb. When we thought we needed inspiration, God gave us a man of sorrows.  When we thought we needed strength to overcome persecution, God gave us One who would become subject to it, even unto death.  When we thought we were healthy, He took up our infirmities.  When we thought we were righteous, our iniquity was laid upon Him.  When we thought our own righteousness would save us, by His wounds we were healed.  When we thought we were safely “in the fold,” never transgressing God, He was counted among the transgressors for us.  He bore the sins of many and makes intersession for the transgressors. His thoughts are not like our thoughts. This is more than a comparison of intellect, as though he is just smarter. His thoughts transcend time and space.  He sees through the perfectly formed lens of history.  His eye pierces through all the veils, known and unknown, we hang around our hearts.  He sees through the smoke and shadows we throw out to camouflage our true selves. What has God prepared?  Isaiah would describe Mary and Joseph’s baby, our Savior Jesus Christ, this way: “He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.  He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.  Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.  But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.  We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all… Therefore I will give him a portion among the great, and he will divide the spoils with the strong, because he poured out his life unto death, and was numbered with the transgressors. For he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.”  (Isaiah 53:2-6, 12) This is not the account of some heavenly being who came to hover over us.  Nor is it a picture of one who figured out how to work around us.  This is the image of a Savior who is burrowed deep in the messes and details of our lives.  This is a description of Immanuel, God with us. Before He was even born, he was already burrowed deep into the messes and details Joseph’s life.  Joseph awoke from his dream, and for the first time in a while felt like a man who knew what he was supposed to do.  He was supposed to love Mary, to take care of her and keep her as safe and secure as he could. He married that girl and took her to his hometown to register them as a family.  While they were there, she gave birth to a son.  And in that private moment, to us a child was born and to us a son was given.  Joseph stepped forward and said, “His name will be Jesus,” because as the angel said, “He will save his people from their sins.” And though Joseph could not have known what this would entail, we know.  We see Christmas through the lens of Easter and find in this baby, whose birth we celebrate on Christmas, one who has saved His people from their sins.  On Christmas, here is what we remember.  Here is what we anticipate.  Here is what we celebrate. “The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.”  (John 1:9-14) The light of the world has come.  May your celebration of Christmas be marked by your worship of Jesus.