Look

"In the name of God, stop a moment, cease your work, look around you." -- Leo Tolstoy

In his spiritual lexicon, "Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC", Frederick Buechner includes an entry in which he discusses the Bible. without going into too much detail (for fear of butchering his well written and insightful entry), Buechner at one point compares reading the text with looking through a dirty window ... there is much to see, though it is hardly clear. it is really easy to get caught up and distracted by the grime and dust ... by the streaks and glare. it requires a different way of looking. by looking through the distractions rather than at them, we see what is meant to be seen. we see the beauty of real life. and i suppose i relate a great deal to his metaphor, not only with looking at the text, but with looking at life.

each of us carry our own burdens and pain ... we carry with us pride that sometimes becomes unruly ... we sometimes carry bitterness ... and these things color the way we see life. if we look at life just as we look through a window, then these aforementioned things are the grime and dust, the streaks and glare that muck up our view. the view becomes complicated and obstructed by these things, much like doctrine and tradition can complicate and obstruct our view of the text. though i would need, perhaps, a different forum to share my story of my "window cleaning" in its entirety, i can safely say that the above quote from Tolstoy was enough to make me think about how concerned i am with petty instances and seemingly trivial events. i realized that i tend to place blame on others and it wasn't really until i started owning my shit, that i began to be able to see a bit more of what is on the other side of the window. it came about in a series of questions that i had never asked myself before ... questions that when articulated, made me see that i, myself, had a great deal of humbling coming my way. there were things in my life that had become way bigger than they had business being, and things that had been shrunken down in size so as to make them easier to swallow, understand, control, etc.

this quote along with this picture (taken in Garden of the Gods in CO) very simply ask, no ... they demand that i look. they demand that we look. they demand that we stop settling in. that we stop being busy for the sake of being busy, and that we begin to really see things around us. i almost hate to once again mention the name of this blog in another post for fear of being too cheesy, but just as Tolstoy tells us to look, and just as the rock formation in the photo seems to be pointing to something greater and bigger than us ... look.

look and see ...

" ... stop a moment, cease your work ...", tolstoy chides.

" ... look around you."

there's treasure everywhere.

new stuff up @ the other journal.

Hey all, I wanted to let you know about some of the new articles up at The Other Journal. The new Education issue is up now, and there is definitely some interesting stuff up, with even more coming soon.

Of particular note are:

Christopher Heuertz (of the Word Made Flesh social advocacy organization) wrote an article called "A Pedagogy of Submission: Reeducating Ourselves to Embody Our Belief in a Good God."

Philosopher Carl Raschke also just posted an new article entitled "From Church to 'Rhizone': Reconfiguring Theological Education for the Postmodern Era."

There is also some beautiful new stuff up in the "Imagination" section of the site.

I highly recommend checking all of it out!

a visit to my old neighborhood

See that boy sitting on the rockery of his front garden, enjoying the cavernous delights of his nostril with an index finger on this temperate, cloud-scented evening, the sun sweeping the suburb like a searchlight?

And the teenagers on Ridgeback BMXs peddling so hard that their bikes wag like metronome needles as they head for the tree-fringed cycle path, the same one with the bridge under which a friend and I, twenty years ago, once placed a copy of Playboy attached to a thread and hid behind a bush and played Fishing for Perverts?

See the girl in the window of that house on the corner of Hodnett Avenue, chewing a pencil and designing a dress to make on her Singer, while her younger brother, looking sheepish but somewhat self-fascinated, stands in front of her with his arms spread, modeling a yellow and peach curtain?

None of these young people will grow up with any haste, not around here.

Like quality cheeses and some if not all turtles, people who grow up in this giant Berkshire development, the biggest of its kind in England, mature at a leisurely pace. Why? Probably because quality of life is high here, and the kind of suffering that matures a person is so rare that you have to go out actively looking for it. Also, the houses are all the same, so wherever you go and whoever you visit you always feel at home, and when you feel at home you relax, and certain things, including growing up, seem less urgent.

And maybe the street layout is a factor. The street layout appears to have been modeled on a design that someone made by flinging cooked spaghetti at a drawing board. As a result, whenever anyone around here looks out of their window, they never see anything so boring as a row of houses - they see up to four roads colliding outside their window, roads zooming uphill and downhill and coming at each other from reckless angles; they see streets looping like barnstormers, houses balancing breathless along their sides like wing-walkers – and when you live not on a road but on a racy convergence of boxed lives, you tend never to feel lonely or isolated, and you avoid the kind of glum introspection that leaves a person wondering where the last three hours or years went. The estate coddles and mothers you; and so it keeps you in perpetual childhood.

Back in 1988 I too was maturing at a comically slow pace. Though I had turned thirteen that year, I still thought of myself as being about nine or ten, and was nowhere near ready to be a teenager. I felt like a Barbie being shipped out of the factory with no eyebrows. At the time it felt like I was trapped in a prolonged spasm of awkwardness; in retrospect, as I walk through my old estate as an adult, it looks rather like a rhapsody. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to go back and experience it all again.

My religion is centered on God’s desire to establish a new heaven and a new earth; but I can’t see how I could love any world more than I suddenly love the world I grew up in. Much as the prospect of endless bliss appeals to me (of course), the thing I’m feeling most right now is vast nostalgia, an appetite for the way things used to be, an appetite for which heaven could not, frankly, cater. An appetite for the ecstasy of fumbling that made up my childhood: for vampire movies, and desperate last-minute homework in front of the television, and trying too hard to impress certain girls, and not trying hard enough to impress other girls, and the smell of floor polish in school assemblies. My fellow Christians can keep their New Jerusalem; I just want to go back to how things were.


Onwards, towards an evening meeting at my old church, which convenes in a primary school hall.

A melodic warm wind carries me past the Asda Superstore. Past its car park, and the new toll-booths in which, these days, otherwise unemployable teenagers are hired to sit and given strict instructions to look confused. Then, crossing the road, I slip into the curious quadrant of the housing development where most of my childhood friends lived. The streets here are straight treeless corridors, all traces of nature erased - not like the rest of the development, which for at least half the year is dripping with green and with berry bushes that exhale clouds of gnats, and in which it is still fashionable to give your house a shaggy skirt of vines that make it look like a hula dancer. Lots of garages around this part of the estate have designs painted on them - Jamaican flags, bullseyes, Tottenham Hotspur Football Club insignias - giving you the impression of walking through a giant tattooist’s studio. The houses themselves are less glamorous, with their peeling pastel-colored wood overlays from the waist-up, and their protruding porches, mostly made of window, containing shoes, cheeseplants, welcome mats.

I reach the gates of the primary school, in the heart of the labyrinth. Enthusiastic rainy vapor is now fizzling through the air’s pores. It’s evening, and the school exerts a simple gravity.

A lit school in the dark is a hypnotic thing, especially when the windows are glowing with religiosity of a familiar flavor. This is the place where I first encountered Christianity; the place where I learned about heaven and how to get there. Back then, heaven was the most exciting idea in the world. I look through the gates, and two nostalgias collide – nostalgia for the world I grew up in, and nostalgia for the way I used to feel about the world to come.

It’s a strange collision - not least because the two nostalgias seem, to my surprise, compatible. And I am comforted by a new suspicion: perhaps every pang of earthly nostalgia is a tiny foretaste of the feeling we’ll get when we look through heaven’s gates: an immense sensation of coming home, of returning to the way things used to be. Perhaps all of the odd delights of earth - even ghost stories and the smell of school corridors in winter - are cryptic hints at delights presently unimaginable.

I go through the gates and the building’s gravity draws me across the car park with its wet indigo gloss, and I pass beneath the porch and am gulped into the school. I’m late, and the singing has already started.

free hugs.

In 2006, Emily and I flew from New York to Seattle for me to take a class in Portland, and for Emily to get a taste of the Pacific Northwest. One gloriously sunny afternoon, much like the one we are enjoying as I re-write this old post, we were wandering around the only 10 block radius in Seattle I actually knew my way around. As we walked past the Westlake Center on the corner of Pine & 4th, we came across some people in the middle of the busiest portion of the sidewalk with big signs that said 'Free Hugs.'

Now, this was before the free hug craze had caught on, before Oprah gave it her considerable clout, so I had no idea what these people were up to. Since I’d seen various street preachers on this portion of sidewalk before I simply assumed it was a church group of some sort, attempting to take a stab at some sort of unconventional evangelism.

As we passed, my first instinct was to avoid eye contact, it really just brought back old memories from Creation Festivals when girls would wear shirts with similar sayings. It was really just a ploy to make contact with cute boys in the name of Jesus... while those of us who watched longingly from a distance had the suspicion that we weren't what these attractive young ladies had in mind when they began decorating their t-shirts with permanent markers. In addition to these memories, I was also wandering the streets of Seattle wearing my Manhattan bred 'city bubble,' (being that bubble of unspoken agreement that I won't pay attention to you if you won't pay attention to me, we will avoid contact at all costs and if by chance incidental contact occurs both of us will politely pretend it never happened). The situation was exacerbated even more due to the fact that earlier that day while Emily and I were passing thru the same section of city we were handed a flyer by a young man in a suit. The flyer told me their church was what I'd been looking for. It then included 5 principles, the first of which was that I should acknowledge I am a sinner, in response to which I made some joke to Emily about that being a great way to start a conversation and kept on walking. The teenage memory/city bubble/crazy Christians combination resulted in me sneaking my way around the first three people with 'Free Hugs' signs.

I thought I'd made it through safely when I noticed one more sign holder. The guy looked to be about 25 or 26, he was dressed normally, he was decent looking; aside from the sign he appeared completely normal. This moment of being taken aback by his normalcy resulted in a break in my stride and accidental eye contact. This was all the prompting he needed. He casually, yet genuinely asked, 'Want a hug?' Again, I wondered why he seemed so normal. Curiosity overcame me and I said 'Sure' in one of those 'why not' tones of voice. This tone of voice was due in part to my attempt to seem as socially casual as he was, and in part to the reality that I couldn't think of a valid reason why I didn't want a hug. Then, sure enough, he hugged me.

It was nothing like I expected. Granted, I had no idea what to expect, but if I had expected something this surely would not have been it. Remarkably, it was a real hug, it was a good hug too. Not an awkward ‘we don't want to look gay’ hug, not a safe 'who the hell is this person' hug, it was the kind of hug you give a close friend when you're glad to see them. It was close and tender and filled with the warmth of home.

After disengaging from his hug with me he then looked at Emily, 'You want one?' Emily responded similarly to me, I think this had a lot to do with the fact that by me hugging the guy she was kind of stuck. He hugged her just like he did me, to be honest we both thought he was better at it than most of our closest friends.

After he hugged Emily I waited for the inevitable ulterior motive to present itself. He was going to tell us the reason he did it was because of Jesus, or Buddha, or Oprah (which was ironic, because it wasn’t long before many were doing this because they saw it on Oprah). I was sure that after sharing his reasoning he would then invite us to church or something similar. Yet, even though we stood there and offered him the necessary pause to launch into a well-rehearsed monologue, nothing came. He just stood there. Finally, curiosity got the best of me and I had to ask, maybe it was one of those post-modern evangelism things where you say nothing so they ask you what you’re all about... then you work in the typical evangelism spiel, but without feeling like you invaded someone’s personal space uninvited.

'Why are you guys doing this?' I asked.
'Because hugs feel good.' Was his only response.

He stated it like it was common sense. Hugs feel good, why wouldn't we give them away for free? Giving hugs to strangers was as obvious to him as avoiding contact with strangers was to me. I felt more undeservedly validated by another human being through that hug than I have ever felt in most church sanctuaries. All I did to receive this grace was walk down the street. Those guys and girls were hugging people because it feels good to embrace, to have contact, to forget pretense and pride and to love people just for being people, for being in the same big mess that we're in. They didn't ask if we believed what they believed, it didn't matter if we were fat or skinny, young or old, republican or democrat, rich or poor. Life sucks, it's hard, it hurts... hugs feel good, so why on earth wouldn’t we hug? For these people, on that busy sidewalk in Seattle, it just added up. A world with free hugs makes more sense than a world with no hugs. Somehow for me the math breaks down in my head and I end up with timidity and fear and pride. This doesn't feel right though, I think the Kingdom has a lot more to do with 'free hugs' than it does with 'city-bubbles.'

I suppose I'm comfortable enough in my sexuality to say that when that guy hugged me, and told me he did it because hugs feel good, I experienced the sacred. The hug was authentic, it was real, it wasn't contrived or dripping with false sentimentality. These people were giving away hugs because they knew that they needed a hug as much as the people walking through the streets of Seattle did.

I tend to talk a lot about finding Jesus in places we wouldn't expect, but in reality it's often just talk. I walk by Him all the time unnoticing. We all walk by Him all the time without so much as a second glance. Maybe He is in more places than we'd notice at first glance. Maybe He still walks among us from time to time. Maybe He is here in America. Maybe He is walking the streets of our cities every day. Maybe He is standing on a street corner in Seattle with a sign that says 'Free Hugs.'

create beauty.

Personally, I can't imagine a better way to create beauty in this world than to offer what we have to help those who cannot help themselves, and who desperately need someone to show them mercy.

That being said, I'd urge everyone to read this, and offer whatever they can.

Brighten my Northern Sky

Nick Drake, for those of you not familiar with the him, was a British folk singer/songwriter/guitarist who lived far too short a life ( June 19, 1948 – November 25, 1974 ). His music is subdued, yet intricate. He is known for this painfully shy demeanor and odd social habits as well as his unique style of playing ( most of his catalog features songs in which the standard guitar tuning of EADGBE was thrown out, and he would tune to an open chord, such as D, DADGDF# ).


As with far too many musicians, Drake ( and this is still debated today ) took his own life via drug overdose, with many saying that he had given up on the world. Drake was a tortured soul. He possessed so much talent, yet he held himself back. During the very few live performances held, he would face away from the audience as he performed because of his extremely shy nature. It is said that Drake didn't have many friends in his life. I listen to his songs and i hear a person inside screaming to come out. His music is breathtakingly beautiful and some songs even full of hope that was not immediately apparent in his life. One such song that is a beautiful example is "Northern Sky".

I like to look at this song as a prayer of sorts. Nick was most probably singing about a friend he had made, and the joy he received from the friendship. But as i look at it and listen to it, a bigger picture reveals itself to me.

The first verse deals with the realization of new feelings and experiences. the way i relate to this is when God opens my eyes to see Him in the mundane of everyday life. I find myself saying, "i never noticed such and such before...", or "holy crap, that is so beautiful that i am without words." Drake here is conveying the same idea in terms of the beauty he sees in this friendship that evaded his vision before. Our eyes are opened and it is as if we've been given new eyes with perfect 20/20 vision. Drake doesn't want his vision to fail him now that he sees this beauty, not just the beauty in the friendship, but the beauty he now sees all around. His northern sky has been illuminated. Once living in a state of perpetual darkness, even at mid day. For the winter and autumn months in the northern hemisphere offer little, if any daylight, yet now, even the night is as day.

/if you would and you could/
/straighten my new mind's eye/

a petition for continued vision ...



/would you love me for my money?/
/would you love me for my head?/
/would you love me through the winter?/
/would you love me 'til I'm dead?/
/oh, if you would and you could/
/come blow your horn on high/

In this section, Drake is asking for confirmation of this love he now feels/sees. In a conditional world, a world where we are judged by our looks first and character last and held to ridiculous Hollywood standards, finding the unconditional love of God is a rapturous event that gives us pause and a heart full of joy, but also of questions and doubt.

"Would you still love me if...

... i wasn't successful?"
... i wasn't good looking/attractive?"
... i mess up continuously and hurt you?"
... i didn't love you back?"

the questions come forth as fast and as furious as the blood being pumped out.
and we don't want our questions to be met with deafening silence, or a wishy washy answer of "maybe" or "that depends". we want a definitive, resounding "Yes!"

we want it whispered in our ears, shouted from the mountaintops. we want to see evidence of it. we want it proclaimed with blasts from the trumpet. we are so insecure, but the only real surety and security we have, both within and without of this world, is God's unconditional love and grace that He is constantly affirming to us. He has spoken loudly throughout history. He has whispered in our ears; breathed on us. He's given us visible symbols of it, both in Creation and the Cross of Christ.

so may He grant us vision and light. may He brighten our dismal northern skies and illuminate to us the evidence of the Love he heaps upon us, whether it be through a friend ( as Nick Drake experienced ) or any of the myriad of other ways God affirms His love. May He, indeed, show us treasure everywhere. Amen.

Free To Be

The other day I randomly came across a video from Free To Be You and Me, a children's record that I used to listen to on tape when I was little. So I started looking up other videos from that record on youtube and I came across this one. I remember it very well, but now watching it as an adult and with all my current religious and philosophical background...it definitely takes on new meaning, and I can see how even that shaped me to become who I am today.

So anyway, here's the story of Dudley Pippin:



The point of view the principal puts forth is something that I think really gets at the heart of reality. Living in genuine truth is so...counter intuitive. It mixes us all up. By being afraid to be a sissy, we become sissies. The very things we do to protect ourselves from being bad or being seen as weak are actually what *make* us weak in the end!

And so when Dudley apologizes for being weak, the principal says that he has nothing to apologize for and that he did that very well! How many times do I in my own life apologize for being weak? All the time. But what makes me weak is my fear of being weak, not being weak itself. And I've hid from others, tried not to show my weaknesses. And now that I'm trying to be more open and vulnerable, I get all mixed up, just like Dudley.

But that's okay. I shouldn't go back around and put myself down for being all mixed up. Why should I be any different from anybody else? We're all all-mixed-up. And that too is a weakness I should admit to having.

And then, the music. The music says something that the principal can't say in words. It's sad *and* joyous. It's...all mixed up, just like life, just like us. But when it's presented through music, it just...makes sense. We grasp it easily, how life can be both at once, and that everything is really okay no matter what.

On a very deep and profound level, everything is alright. We all all connected to life, to truth, to each other, to God. Regardless of what we think we have to struggle with, we're okay. The struggles come because of our fears. It's the fear itself that causes the struggle. And really, all we have to do is let go, and let ourselves be mixed up for a bit. Relax and enjoy the music in all of its brilliant joys and discouraging lows. It's all part of the piece, it's all part of the symphony. That the symphony exists at all is a huge blessing, and at every point, regardless of whether its a happy point or a sad point, the symphony of life is breathtakingly beautiful.


I can't believe I was exposed to this at such a young age. No wonder I am how I am today! I should remember to thank my parents for this. :)