I decided to do a Wordle of yesterday’s blog post on my 30 years of marriage. If you just look at it and make random sentences, you still get the idea. My only beef is the word “really” is way too big, which means I used it way too many times. I really have to stop doing that…thanks for reading…
Filed under art, Pop Culture, Writing
Some celebrations are better done in quiet. I don’t mean as in keeping them a secret–I mean as in keeping the voice down, much as you do when you enter a sanctuary. Pasts are sanctuaries of a kind, especially those that contain so much love, so much intimacy, so much shared understanding of our fallen nature, and so much of God.
May 8, 1981, Anjie and I married.
At that moment in time, I never dreamed we would be alternately fulfilled and tested in the ways that were to come. No one can really explain what life is. It can only be lived. Surprise constantly presents itself; cars breaking down, children coming in pairs, money running out, heart quickening–no warning, death brutally intruding, best friends fading, opportunities demanding change, failure nipping at your heels, discovered graces revealed in desperate times. On the down side, temptations of every kind present themselves for your consideration. Communication seems ridiculous, the pride of both parties gets battered, fights can last for five to ten years, and even the sweetest of children can sometimes not be tether enough to hold an unhappy spouse to their vows. Secrets kept, strangenesses ignored, follies forgiven…the ongoing life of marriage enriches sometimes with sweets and sometimes with bitter tincture. On the up side, it’s all attraction, beauty, passionate kisses, the long holding of hands over years, and laughter so abundant that it would fill a thousand stadiums of hilarity. Life in love, with love, and about love is a lot things: sexuality, finance, property acquisition, parent management, career-hopping, child rearing, inspiration, teaching, and even (depending on how you look at it, and depending on what you’re willing to fight for) happily-ever-aftering.
Love is so not what the culture says it is.
The rush of adrenaline and heart rate increase that comes when you encounter your lover is a real and vital part of life under the marriage canopy, but American culture makes such a reductionist move when it fixates on such “passion.” To equate love and sex–an equation the media culture thrusts into our brains and spirits every single day–is to tragically miss the full-bodied nature of love. The word “love” is a poem all in itself, and if we do not lean into the multiple layers of the word (which advertising never does) every time we use it, we tend to get a notion in our brain that somehow love means “the happy feeling you give me”, and in the absence of said “happy feeling”, love is assumed to either absent, a false construct, or worst of all, something that is just not possible between folks who used to have happy feelings and now they don’t. In that case, whatever commitments have made must be somehow flawed, open for discussion and revisiting, and ultimately disqualified. The words of grace and necessity collide, and we keep hoping that vows can really be vows even when we decide they’re really not. What harm is really done when love is abandoned for the great good and peace of my life, we wonder, and we turn backflips psychologically to make it all turn out okay.
And the truth is, we live in a world of grace in which God, does indeed, somehow allow us to land on our feet after all said backflipping, and often times, that “happy feeling you give me” can happen with someone new, and more fulfillment than a person had before drops into place, and we wonder at the craziness of human beings in search of love, companionship, trust, intimacy, a ’til-death-do-us-part life.
I didn’t mean to preach, really. Life is hard, and each day, I trudge again out of the judgment arena. We do what we must to survive, and yet we also know that that is often far less than what we are capable of.
All I really meant to say was how thankful I am that I’ve been saved by love in all its multiple layers of meaning and experience. Anjie and I have been around the block, as they say, and our marriage is long and deep, high and wide, and full of all the stuff that marriage is full of. Our quiet conversations over the weekend reflected on what we’ve discovered after all these years, the ways and means by which we navigate this journey, this country called love and marriage. I once told a young couple that love was a country, its terrain vast and lush, and dry and full of crevasses. Which is all nice and poetic until you land in said crevasse. Our reflection this weekend included ample amounts of humility as we gazed back in wonder over what God has done. We’ve wept plenty; we’ve even, on occasion, thrown a thing or two, fairly harmlessly. For years, we’ve talked over cups of coffee, held our tongues when it was important to do so, said hurtful things when it seemed important to do so (was being hurtful ever important enough to actually do?), and generally stood shoulder to shoulder together facing the world. We pray angels be on the corner of our house and our pathways, and we walk in song with tears ever-ready, knowing that tears are a kind of breath by which new life is gathered.
And we are focused on the future. The decades to come will bring…who knows? Well, we do know, actually. The coming years will bring moments of thrilling achievement, and lonely failure. Death will visit our house, as it does all houses everywhere. We will worship, pursue, struggle, dance, laugh, decide, and on some days, just hold on for all we’re worth. What we’d like to have happen is for our lives and our marriage to somehow grow into a living testament, a lyric poem of whatever God meant when He designed the nature and truth of love, relationship, and at-oneness.
We are one.
I love you, Anjie. The layers cannot be counted or known…
Let the mystery, and the poetry, continue…
Filed under Faith and Art, Daily Life, Beauty, Poetry
“You can’t compare men back then to men today. There’s just no comparison.”
So said one of the more compelling Civil War Reenactors I talked to at the “Battle of Waynesboro” in Waynesboro, Virginia last weekend. What he meant was that there was something that the combat veterans of the American Civil War understood, that they were men that had a qualitatively different understanding of life, manhood, strength, and honor than do men today. And frankly, after my brief, but intense, study of this period of history, I tend to agree. As much as I love the men I know, Grant, Lee, Frederick Douglass, James Longstreet, Joshua Chamberlain, the 54th Massachusetts, and all the men in the trenches that didn’t run, but stayed and fought “with honor” seem to me to demonstrate an approach to life that is, in some ways, far superior to what we do today.
I know they were wrong about things, most specifically about race. These men (Frederick Douglass and the 54th Massachusetts excepted), by and large on both sides of the Mason Dixon, could not wrap their heads around the idea that black people, in their humanity, their worth, their potential, and their value on the planet, were not one iota, not “one drop”, different or less than those of white skin color. Why this is true is beyond me really. But it was true. They had this dead wrong.
So how could I suggest that they were somehow living in a better fashion that we are? Again, let me state categorically, so no one misunderstands, that their lack of understanding about the actual meaning of “all men are created equal”, was at best a gross error, and in the worst cases, a heinous evil. So in the context of that error and evil, what am I suggesting that we should learn from these men?
Here’s the question: when it comes to the men you want to travel with, would you rather be running with people who will abandon you, even though they have the right answers to the biggest, most complicated moral and political questions of the day, or would you rather be depending on men who disagree with you about everything, but (given their honest-to-God understanding of the world) who live lives of integrity, honesty, perseverance, humility, and faithfulness, even if it costs them their personal, day-to-day feelings of “happiness” and “comfort?”
Oddly, we often seem to prefer the ones who agree with us, regardless of their character. My study of the Civil War is a personally convicting one, one that is driving me more and more to an uncomfortable place of examination and repentance for my latent idolatry of “feeling good” as in, “How are you today?”
I ran across a piece of writing yesterday that tried to explain a state of mind we civilians simply can’t understand: the military combat code of Honor (and the way this word functions among the military, it deserves to be capitalized). Simply put, honor means you will not abandon your comrade in arms, no matter what fire you are taking, no matter the odds of death, no matter the chances of survival of the man down in front of you. And frankly, I willingly confess this “battle” state of mind is one I have never experienced, and probably never will. Yet the piece also asserts that living in this state of integrity and commitment is a place of intense life and experience. And it makes perfect sense that that would be the case.
Obviously, the fact that this is all taking place as people are killing each other creates a very real irony, but my point is that men that enter into that kind of compact with each other experience something vastly different that they usual negotiations that take place in relationships among us regular folk. The question is very simple: how often do we break our word?
Frankly, its an embarrassing question. We want to say, “Depends on what you mean.” Yet somewhere in our gut we understand exactly what that means.
Jesus said few would find the road to life.
Strange that it would take the study of the American Civil War to make that clearer to me than its ever been.
Don’t hear me advocate for some American yahoo macho militarism–that’s not what I mean. Anyone who knows me knows immediately that’s not what I mean. But war is an apt metaphor for much of life, though I resist it because it’s so awful and so costly. But make no mistake.
So was the cross.
Christ was, among all the other descriptors, a man of honor.
Why do you call me lord…
Filed under Civil War, Leadership
Here’s an interesting question: what types of ceremonies, rituals, and celebrations are appropriate for remembering the war officially known as “The War Between The States”? (So said Congress in 1948, one reenactor pointed out to me last weekend.) Actually, Wikipedia refutes my friend the reenactor, saying Congress never officially legislated a name for the war. I’ll bet I’ll come across someone soon who will argue the point. Any takers?
Anyway, given the wide range of feelings Americans have about the war, I’m wondering what you think is appropriate. There’s a great article about this over at Civil War Memory. (Tremendous resource, by the way.)
I’m writing a play that began as a rather innocuous attempt to do something timely with Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee, but the more I’ve read about the war, the less inclined I am to do something that simple and that straightforward. The realization that the Civil War, the emancipation of the slaves, and the ongoing struggle of black Americans over the past 150 years, compels me to go deeper, rummaging around in the complexities of culture and skin color relations that still impact many of the simple human exchanges that mark day to day life in America.
Yesterday, I posted a list of things that were on my mind as a result of my reading over the past couple of months. I’m not sure why this topic has seized me by the throat emotionally. Frankly, I have been moved deeply by the stories of suffering, abuse, bravery, loss, compassion, and struggle that were a part of this great American upheaval. I’ve learned about the all too real tension between Federal power and States’ rights. I’ve been reminded again about the power of, well, power, especially economic and political power. No wonder God is on the side of the poor, the weak, and the oppressed…who else is going to be on their side? I’ve been profoundly reminded that evil is out there, and that the actions of a few can turn the tide of history for large groups of people. I’ve been instructed on the intricate dance everyone dances as they try to get it right when talking about race. Offense is always lurking, and I’m pretty sure that over the course of the next couple of years, as I explore this, I’m bound to offend more than my fair share.
I’ve also been challenged to look around me, and see where injustice of this happening right now, today, and how I’m being called to respond to it. I applaud the shift in many Christian cultures (you thought there was just one?) toward social justice and an awareness of serving the whole human being. At the same time, I stumble over the question of Jesus and Paul glossing over the slave culture and torturous capital punishment cultures of their day. They did not rail against Roman civil and military authority, instead going after religious leaders and the problem of the hypocritical heart. The transformed heart, of course, transforms everything.
Anyway, back to the first question: should we celebrate this war? And if we at least commemorate it in some way, how would you suggest we go about it? Will you remember it? Attend any events? And if you do, what are you most interested in commemorating?
Another thing I’ve learned?
Most of us just don’t care that much. I certainly didn’t.
Maybe we should…
Filed under Civil War, Great Stories, Leadership, Pop Culture, Theatre, Writing
“It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped.”
After two months of reading, and a trip to Gettysburg, Washington, D.C., and Virginia, here’s a little of what’s on my mind:
How’s that for a list? There’s more, but that’s a fair start.
There’s got to be a piece of theatre in there somewhere.
In days to come, I’ll riff on some of this stuff, keeping a loose, improv sort of thing going. If I wait to blog until I get all my thoughts straight, I’ll never write. But here’s the thing. There’s so much I don’t know about this stuff. And I must say, it’s far more interesting to pursue writing in areas in which I am passionately curious, knowing that the process of the search is life-changing, conversation changing, and effort changing.
It’s been 150 years…
Filed under Blogging, Civil Rights, Civil War, Reconstruction, Travel
My blogging has dropped off for the past few months, and with the change of job (no longer employed by the Northwest Church, back to the freelance life), I’m going to officially take a vacation from blogging and other online activities for the next two-three months. I’m diving headfirst into a new play that I’m working on, and I’ll give a few updates now and then on the progress of that project as well as small snippets of daily life occasionally.
But over the next several months, I’m going to be considering how best to engage the wide ranging conversation that is our connected world. I’ve got some thoughts about new directions that might make sense, but I’m going to take some time to percolate. Many thanks to those of you who frequent these pages. I hope when I re-emerge in April-May, you will find that the time has been re-energizing and fruitful, and the writing will reflect that energy and renewal. In the meantime, keep nudging your heart and your mind toward joy, toward God, toward love.
As I’ve said for a long time now, grace and peace…
Filed under Faith and Art
After over a decade of teaching an Arts and Culture class at Abilene Christian University, you’d think I’d have it figured out by now. Truth is, I’m in my annual panic.
It’s a bit of ritual, to emerge from the daily privilege of family, work, and more work, to raise my head and try to get a bird’s eye view of what’s happening in our world. It’s always stunning, but this year’s process has been a little unsettling. Maybe it’s the transition from paid ministry to free-lance whatever, but what’s clear to me this time around is that my views on the relationship of culture, art, Christ, and the church are in a state of deep flux. New information on brain studies, the rise of social justice and globalization, my personal dive into the poetry of Csezlaw Milosz, reflections on three years of professional ministry in a local church setting, and my lack of creative writing for those same three years…all of this converges to create new questions, new dilemmas, new challenges, and new calls to work.
As I think about being twenty-something years old in today’s world (both my kids), as these students will be, I wonder what I’d want to hear. What are the stories they are telling themselves about their experience, their faith, their world, their relationships, and their hopes? What do they think reality is? What do understand of how their inner lives are impacted by the sensory input hammering on them hour by hour every day? What do I understand of that? How does “story” get filtered by reason and imagination, so that we can “handle” whatever’s coming at us? What in the world does the Matthew-Mark-Luke-John Christ have to say to a media-saturated, media-mediated culture where every day offers a kaleidoscope of choices on moral, ethical, and aesthetic possibilities? The “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” are coming constantly, whizzing in, arcing toward those regions that lay between spirit and soul where the Spirit of God does his best work. Question is, is he the only surgeon at work in there?
Christ and culture: it’s an old question. Assimilate? Separate? Confront? Transform? How about, hang on for dear life? Some days it feels like that’s the best anyone can do.
But see, brain-o’-mine, I’m on to you now. They say you have a negative bias, so don’t think I’m going to roll over and let you get away with dumping your crap at my house. The “I” behind all that activity of yours is the story-teller, and I’m structuring along a different line. Hang on if you want, but I’m taking transformation. Change the world. Change the cheerleader. Hmmm. When I first typed that, I was making a joke (Heroes). But now, I think I’ll take it.
I know some of what I think. Time to discover some more.
As for the students in my class, I can’t wait to hear the stories they’re telling.
Protagonists pushing back the dark, all of them…
Filed under Daily Life, Faith and Art, Pop Culture, Spirituality
On New Year’s Eve, I glanced over an email from Bill Hybels, the Senior Pastor at Willow Creek Community Church, in which he encouraged everyone to take time to count their blessings. He told the story of his own family, of their New Year’s Eve tradition (if I’m getting this right) of sharing ten great blessings from the year. I didn’t really think about it much at the time, but then when it came time for our family tradition, which is a rather loose process of sharing some goals for the year, the “great blessing” exercise seemed like a good thing to do. While I won’t go into the details of all ours, there were some important themes that emerged, worth remembering.
Oh, yeah, one more.
That last one’s just mine, but I’m thankful for the small things.
Lest you think I’m a gauzy-eyed positive thinker out of touch with reality, I could make a powerful list of the Top One Hundred Crappy Things That Happened. But who wants to dwell on that? Studies show that those kinds of lists bake no bread, seed nothing but foul crops, and generally wreck the hell out of days. I’d just as soon not have 2011 be full of wrecked days. Anybody want to write a song lauding the benefits of counting your crap, naming them one by one?
Not me.
So maybe there’s some spin to the list. But…no. Those are the things that make our hearts swell in love when we stop and look at each other in the eye. And that rising swell of emotion is evidence that the mental and spiritual effort required to tell the story of God’s goodness in the face of hard days, tragedies, and the ever-pressing entropy that would tear our lives apart is worth every bit of the struggle.
Telling the story of God’s grace and goodness is a mountain to climb.
Rope up for the New Year. Find one toe-hold and begin.
Name your blessings in the presence of those with whom you share them.
And don’t forget….
Filed under Beauty, Daily Life
The air is different, surprisingly so. Untethered, I wait for instructions. Czeslaw Milosz meets me each morning in his collected poems, instructing me on what it means to see. The psalmist tells me that plans come to nothing on the day we die, and that those who trust in the Lord are blessed. George MacDonald’s words remind me that humans can create monstrous ideas about who and what God is, and that simple love, care, and concern manifest in human life are often better incarnations of the divine than the highest monarchical theologies.
My family spent an hour on January 1st recounting the blessings of 2010. Tears flowed freely as we shared our thanks–to each other and to God. We spoke of small things and great things, accomplishments and gifts, the mundane and the holy. From time spent in various parts of the world, to daily comforts, to relationships that continue to surprise us with their power and depth, to the hope of all future things.
And we talked of 2011. What is coming? Who can tell, but each day is an opportunity. All of us audition for shots at meaning and happiness, seeking roles to play that fit only us. As I read back through “Getting Things Done”, I know GTD will not determine what meaning and purpose we bring to our hours. Human life must be expressed, incarnated, ideas and dreams and potentials enfleshed, and it is not as simple as goal-setting and first steps getting done. Yet, action is forever, and plans are needed, commitment determines all, and freedom is framed with discipline and work. We make the world again in 2011, and we do it in the name of the Christ, that first Maker of all things.
Writing begins. It’s been three years since I sat so open in front of my computer. As Annie Dillard says, no one cares, really, whether I write or not, and if I were to die today, the world would roll on, and the great sea of time would bring in the tide and my footsteps and ink marks and notes from yesteryear’s journals would be washed away into that nothing the psalmist was telling me about this morning. But the faith is that somehow God takes those small marks and guides them here and there, and they land in singular lives and hearts that only he knows about, that only he understands. And those small marks make more marks, other marks, eternal marks, and so the world and history is written.
So let beginnings come. Let them begin now. Not tomorrow, but today. This is the day my Father has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.
I will…
Filed under Daily Life
Click the coffee for more photographs...
 | julie on Thirty Years of Marriage |
 | Bruce W on My Kid Could Paint That |
| Bruce W on Thirty Years of Marriage |
 | Gerald Hinson on Thirty Years of Marriage |
 | C.P. on Honor |
