"...that age-old practice of man."

The bad guys of the New Testament are interesting characters. Herin are no thugs in ski masks marauding through the streets pillaging and plundering. No cheating money-lenders, no seductive whores... only religious leaders. The "teachers of the law". The former, are all part of the New Testament, that is, minus the ski masks I don't believe they had those. The Kingdom of God was ushered in to a people completely undeserving of grace. The only problem was, there were some who believed they were some how less unworthy than others.

If you want to see Jesus ticked off at anyone, check out His interactions with the Pharisees. Jesus had choice words to these people. But why? Why would those so close to God be so distanced from God incarnate? Who was their god, then? Perhaps, though, it is best not to speculate but to think, in "real time" as it has been dubbed. Do I derive my joy out of serving God or the feeling of accomplishment I enjoy when I see myself serving God? Do I obey out of love to God, or out of the exhilaration of accolades that follow my "self-sacrifice"? Should I like to be seen as pious and respected on the streets by my fellow Christians because of my exterior faith? If so, then it is clear what god I would be serving and what god the Pharisees served. That is the insatiable appetite of the god of self.

Let the pillars be torn down, and the plank taken out. The old wine skins disposed of and the new wine poured into new wine skins. Here there can be no room for the decaying stench of the worship of self, that age old practice of man. Let broken-ness be the aim. Never stop to think "how humble and broken I am becoming!" for then all is lost once more. [This is the summary of a chapter in C.S.Lewis's "The Screwtape Letters" on the subject of Pride] How much is lost, truly, when we come into the House of the LORD to worship and we cannot see beyond our selves? God, my God! May it never be! Break me! Let my cry be uttered with the tax collecter in Luke: "God, have mercy on me... a sinner!" refusing even to look up, but mourning my own pitious state and glorifying in the glory of God's love.

Even when His voice echoes through the fog...

Ach! My wanderlusting bones cannot begin to believe it is already that time of year. When frazled mothers lead their children who've been hypnotized all summer under the flashing lights of television and video games and occupied by sports and games -- now trying to remember how to be civil in public while picking up folders and pencils. That time, has come again. Those words which send chills up my spine: "Back to school".

Chills aside. It's really not that bad. And I'm only half serious when I say "chills". But, it's that time. Time to sit in a classroom and pretend to be learning. Time to put aside community for the sake of a degree. Time for the faithful college student to return to his or her underground existance, lit soley by the light of a computer screen and the occasional sunrise that we see when papers are due... THAT time.

We're one day closer to the future and what we'll "become". One day closer to a future that we envision, as if we can envision the end. As if the "end" were attainable on earth. Every end I've met is only another beginning entering into the next moment of life in this journey. And even when an end leaves me flabbergasted (no?) and perplexed, God's voice still echoes through the fog. He has been faithful. He is faithful. He will continue to be faithful.

This "end", perhaps not just of summer, but of familiarity, of clarity and comfortability - has an end. And this "end" is really only a beginning. It's foggy outside tonight, and my upcoming class scheduel is equally foggy... but it's okay, really. His voice speaks through the fog...

The Quiet Afters...

There's something magical about weddings.
It's almost like Christmas morning. So much time is spent anticipating, preparing, planning; mass collisions of different spheres of friends and family mixing together for one day. Comraderie and songs flow freely amongst the newest of friends. Just for a moment in time, perhaps, we catch a tiny hint at Heaven. The Wedding Feast.
Not surprisingly, on this earth even the most joyful celebration comes to an end. The Bride and Groom waltz off into the sunset on the new path they've struck up together, and the guests leave happy, but heavy hearted. Celebration is over; the music stops playing. We go back to lives full of joy and pain, laughter and crying, life and death.
Like Christmas morning, the celebration -- the joy, it's culminated. There's an end to the celebration; and the old and the new friends go back into their circle of familiarity, feeling so caught up in the joy of the past and the seemingly un-endureable future of waiting another amount of days till the next celebration.
But -- if Jesus compared Heaven to a Wedding Feast, and He will be there. What joy will there be when we won't leave heavy-hearted, because the celebration will never end?

Softly coming, gently changing

Mornings run like clock-work these days. The sun comes up too early and shines through the shade-less windows near the couch where I sleep. The puppy races down and jumps on me, licking my face excitedly wanting to be fed. Mom makes coffee, the familiar grinder whirring away reverbrating in my ears. Morning news, conversation and general chaos ensues. And then I get up.
I always thought I loved routines. Routines aren't always good. People make mistakes routinely, pain routinely follows hurt... and on and on. I wake up to routines, good and bad. We all do, really. I look in the mirror too long, criticizing. Pray. Lose my temper. Read a book to a sibling. Routinely.
The very thought of a break from the tempo of life as I know it is terrifying. This beat follows where I am, it keeps me like I am. That's just the point, I suppose. In order for there to be a new song, a next movement, there needs to be change. It's coming. Softly. Gently. Changing.

Definitely Not Befitting

Red is not your color.
You wear it like your father.
Hold it in place,
Up in your face.

Black does not match,
Brooding and attached,
To that distand look you wear.
Can you really think no one cares?

Gripping your sides,
Bracing in the tide,
Of the ocean of wrath you sail.
You try and you fail. Always fail.

Prisoners of mind,
Everything looks just fine.
Red and torn, your defenses are worn,
Why do you even say you try anymore?

Turning -- turning over,
Rolling, moving over,
Handing it all over.
Releasing and dying.
Giving up and crying.
That's natural. That's befitting.

So Long Me

Poems... Poetry. Words that I speak to hear.
Pictures, photographs. Stills that I pose to see.
Maybe you knew me, maybe you know.
Maybe you heard, maybe you see;
But, all I can say is so long me.
It's all so easy, you see.
There's so much more to reality;
There's alot to be said for self-less community.
Maybe you knew, maybe you know.
Did you hear? Did you see?
All I have to say is so long me.

and so it goes...

it was interesting. i had no intentions of staying up until 4 am watching movies; but somehow that's exactly what happened. what is stranger still, all of the movies centered around one thing: love. without concious effort i proceeded to watch "Pay it forward", "The Notebook" and "Moulin Rouge". now, two of these movies i'm not a big fan of and would probably not reccomend them or watch them again; but it was just strange how three completely different movies could center on the same thing and come to the same conclusion: life is junk, so love. it could be said more eloquently, i know. but each film showed the nitty gritty and filthy side of life; messy human beings who struggle with their own fatal flaws. each film resolved that those things will not change, the problems of life (which, though the movies do not say this, seem to allow for a sin nature in man), but the way to make life bareable - to change the world, is to love people.

in the "Moulin Rouge" a quote that perplexed me was "the greatest thing you can learn is to love and to be loved in return" -- sounds rather "Beauty and the Beast"-esqu, no? it was strange that something should come out of a film rooted in sensual lust that seemed so close to truth that you could feel it. each film, though, resolved that the fleeting moments of pleasure on earth; the love you experienced, were all that a person could look forward to. the embraces, the loving words, the companionship, the sex -- all of that, to Hollywood, is love. it's a warm feeling which transcends all of life. but if that were all that it should take to keep people together for a happily ever after, why is the world so ravaged by broken hearts and divorce? if the feelings were enough to last a liftime, then why don't they?

Questions to ponder...