Greetings from the Mecca

I think it's fair to say that summer feels more like summer now: I have made my way to Montreat, North Carolina.

For those of you who don't know, Montreat is what some call the "Presbyterian Mecca." It's one of three national conference centers operated by the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), and it's situated next to Black Mountain, NC - close to Asheville.

I'm here to lead recreation for two weeks of Montreat Youth Conference, where each week one thousand high school youth will converge on this little place to enjoy one another's company, take some time away from "the world," and explore their faiths and their relationships with God. At least, that's officially why I'm here.

Frankly, I consider the fact that I'm here to be providential. Doing leadership for these conferences is something about which I have daydreamed ever since I began attending these conferences. And this is a place I have visited, for one reason or another, each of the last five years. This, the sixth year, was going to be the first summer in which I had no reason to visit Montreat. Too old to go to Youth Conference, too young to be a small group leader. College Conference isn't happening until January. And then, as I told in an earlier post, I was asked to fill in for someone who could no longer lead recreation for weeks three and four. Amazing.

I am optimistically and hopefully taking this course of events as a whispering from God. And somewhere, in the midst of staying up late and leading energizers and going crazy and singing and feeling the energy, I'm hoping to find the space and the method for whispering back to God: it's been a while since the two of us had a good talk.

I feel pretty certain that Montreat is a special and holy place, set apart from the rest of creation, from the business of life. My hopes for what I find here are high. Thanks be for Montreat.

For reflection's sake

Here is something that I wrote more than two years ago. I re-posted it for the first time about a year ago, and now I want to revisit it once more.

i think the happiest people are the ones who manage to live comfortably dynamic lives. somewhere, it seems, there is a balance between holding on to the established and embracing the new that seems to satisfy.

life is somewhat like unfolding origami. our connections to one another are part of a delicate and intricate pattern, and as one unfolds a piece of origami, some faces are folded out of sight, some faces are shown the light, and in all circumstances, the same life - the same sheet of paper - is differently folded and redefined. there are also, however, the central creases and points...the parts of the intricate artistic folding that remain present through the unfolding...and it takes turning the life upside down to hide them from the light.

some of this old community i have established for myself - that is, some of you - are already being folded away from the light. some of you are being revealed. and others of you are without a doubt the people i need to be the central creases and points, the people whose faces i hope to never cease seeing.

true to my origami form, i am being redefined as my story is unfolded. thank you, each of you - old or new to me, loyal or unpredictable, seemingly genuine or seemingly not, for your place in the intricate folding pattern of my pattern of my life. though i can feel some of you falling away, i am glad to have had the time i have had with you. and as new ones of you enter, i smile with excitement. and thankfully, there are the ones of you who can't escape me. i look forward to our lives together.

I'm not really feeling much like expounding upon it. I just wanted to put it up here for reflection's sake.

Thoughts on well-timed country songs

What a nutty few days. Struggles with responsibility, struggles with identity, struggles with confidence. Struggles with the political fates of entire nations and churches. One of those times where you think you probably should be getting more sleep, but somehow you know that more sleep would only go so far. Weight of a thrillingly wonderful and yet impossibly confusing (sometimes) world on your shoulders.

I'm not one for projecting God onto situations which are really quite normal (or just lucky). But what notable good timing when I got in the car in the midst of a day that had already presented serious frustrations and the country station was playing "Jesus, Take the Wheel."

I am always involved in an ever-continuing quest for authenticity in faith. God should be far more than an imaginary friend for adults or a cute, powerful name to give to sheer coincidence. And listening to cheap American Idol country music on Nashville's Big 98 may or may not be a terribly poetic and appropriate moment for finding God. But for me, everything lies with the mystery of life - say, for example, those moments when the weight of the world really is on your shoulders and you truly understand that you can't go it alone. Is it possible that Carrie Underwood's big country hit is revelatory and profound?

I'm inclined to say yes. Crazy.

In other news, I am committing myself to letting go of some my frustration about the PC(USA) moderator election, and I am grateful to Apostle John for his calm wisdom. Good to electronically meet you, John. Perhaps even GA is a "Jesus, Take the Wheel" situation. Perhaps we presbynerds could use a lesson in letting go.

Pardon me for brain-dumping, but one reflection more. I am super into (at least one side of) Ben Harper's most recent album, "Both Sides of the Gun." Particularly the song "Better Way." Goodness, how wonderful.

It's a hot day in Nashville. Hillsboro Village looks lively and wonderful as ever. Perfect day for enjoying some coffee, turning off (or at least turning down) my brain and relinquishing my hold of the wheel.

The New Moderator

I know there are plenty of non-Presbyterians who read this; my profoundest apologies.

I must confess to a desire to know it all, to be the informed and wise party on every issue and kick serious ass in the process. That being said, I must also confess that I know little about the candidates for moderator for the 217th General Assembly of the PC(USA), but I am going to have some things to say anyway.

The elected moderator is Joan Gray.

My new year's resolution was to love everybody, and Gray is not at all outside the sentiment of this resolution. But I wish to state my sadness that everyone keeps clamoring for centrism in this world. Sure, the polarization of beliefs in this country is frightening, but I hold mine strongly because I truly believe them! I am convinced that God's love is not exclusively given to straight individuals. I am convinced that a generous and just Church will only exist when we open our minds and our doors and our ordination standards.

Joan Gray said she felt homosexuality wasn't God's intention for our lives. I want to know what reason she has. But even if she had good reason, I would want to know if she thought it was God's intention for us to tell white lies. Perhaps anyone who has ever told (or continues to tell) white lies should be barred from ordination.

I will be loving and fair and in prayer for Joan Gray. And not the kind of prayer that is "please change her mind, God." I am excited and hopeful for new leadership in PC(USA). But this argument will continue to go around and around and I am hurt and I am worried.

Reflections on Winnie the Pooh Day

Today was yet another annual Winnie the Pooh Day in Jim Smith's AP Calculus class at Williams High School.

Of course, it's been two years since my Winnie the Pooh Day, as I graduated in 2004, but today was my brother's Winnie the Pooh Day, and so I have been inspired to reflect on mine.

What is Winnie the Pooh Day, then? Each year, on the last day of classes at Williams High School, when the AP Calculus class meets for the last time, Mr. Smith (who is famous around these parts for his relentless nature, his odd sense of humor, and his bow ties) teaches each calculus class the last lesson, in which he commends them to the world on the other side of the bridge. Graduation is a week and a half away still, but this last day of classes is what truly marks the moment in which he must let go of the students (most of whom he has had for two years) so they can continue. And the primary source material for this last chapter in his educational relationship with these students is, fittingly, the last chapter of A.A. Milne's "Winnie the Pooh." It is an emotional occasion: thoughts about growing up, Mr. Smith (who hereunto had seemed like such an ice man) typically cries, the graduating AP Calculus students present Mr. Smith with a picture of their class to hang on the wall next to all the other students he's shepherded.

It's an odd tradition, isn't it? A calculus teacher hanging pictures of his of classes on the wall and crying when they leave? Perhaps we would expect this from drama and music and dance teachers, growing emotional as an artistic relationship must go in a different direction, hanging pictures on the wall from concerts and stage productions. But a calculus teacher? Furthermore, I'm a music major. I owe so much of where I have been able to get in my career thus far to the musicians who have shaped me and loved me and taught me, but here I am on this day reflecting on the wisdom of my calculus teacher. And I hardly remember a blessed things about calculus.

How strange it is to mark the passing of time. How strange to hear my brother speak of Winnie the Pooh Day and to be floored by the fact that already two years have passed since I occcupied his proverbial shoes. How frightening to watch things be born and grow and fade so quickly. And how compelling that the feelings of my Winnie the Pooh Day, now two years ago, are so well etched in my memory that writing this post makes my heart turn in a way that is both something of the past and something so familiar.

I've always been a complete wimp in so many ways. Mr. Holland's Opus pretty consistently brings tears to my eyes; so does at least every other church service I attend; so does that scene in Almost Famous where a spontaneous sing-along of "Tiny Dancer" brings reconciliation when nothing else could. But I find more and more, lately, that things are so intense (and often so beautiful) that tears form in the corners of my eyes - and I am often so embarrassed! I nearly cried at an NPR story about piano lessons one time! Come on!

But as I sit here today and reflect on Winnie the Pooh Day, I think about how the end of each year finds a few tears in the eyes of the famous Mr. Smith, the calculus teacher who pushed us so hard, who made us so angry, who intimidated us so powerfully. And I laugh at myself for being such a baby, but I wonder if these tears are revelatory in the truest and most powerful sense of the word. I wonder if they aren't the perfect way to help us keep track of time.

I wish that I had written "On Reason and Imagination." It was cool.

For the record, the subject has little to do with what I intend to write. But seriously, I remember reading "On Reason and Imagination" in Mr. Bennett's class and it was so...well...neat.

First and foremost, the reason I actually decided to write something is because i'm in the middle (well, not at all to the middle yet, but you catch my drift) of reading Donald Miller's Searching for God Knows What, partly because I liked Blue Like Jazz quite a bit (we don't agree about everything, but it's a fantastic book), and partly because Donald Miller will be the keynote speaker for Montreat Collegiate Conference 2007, and as a member of the planning team, I feel somewhat responsible to fairly well-versed in Mr. Miller's work, especially as I believe we are naming the conference "Searching for God Knows What," after Don Miller's book.

That being said, there's a part I want to quote. It's very insightful:

...I had always suspected language was quite limited in its ability to communicate the intricate mysteries of truth. By that I mean if you have to describle loneliness or how beautiful your sweetheart is or the way a rainstorm smells in the summer, you most likely have to use poetry because these things are not technical, they are more romantic, and yet they exist and we interact and exchange these commodities with one another in a kind of dance.

Don Miller's words actually remind me of another instance that had me wanting to reflect in this blog. I can't remember exactly what song was playing, but it's incredible to me how much emotion we (or, at least, I) wrap up into the music to which I listen. I mean, they say smell is most closely tied to memory (and I buy it: Montreat has a particular smell, for example), but surely music has to run a fairly close second, especially for some of us. I mean, put on some old school Vertical Horizon ("He's everything you want, he's everything you need..."), and immediately I will think of my strange friendship wih Megan Williams in eighth grade. Or play Ani's "Angry Anymore" and I will certainly think of Montreat and other elements of the summer after my freshman year. I can pretty clearly recall the intense emotional state I entered when we sang "In the Beginning" in the final performance of You Can't Stop the Beat! (our original musical revue) my senior year. Strange, isn't it? And beautiful, too? I think so.

Let me also record one more quick reflection. It's a good thing that not many people read this blog, because I honestly don't want this next thing to be a huge deal, but I do want to spend some time with it. You see, this past week, something made me think of Montreat – a youth newsletter or something – and it finally occured to me that I was too old to hang out at youth conference, there would be no college conference this summer (I had been blessed to be on the leadership team for that last year), and I am too young to be a small group leader at youth conference. So after five straight summers of spending at least some time at Montreat, it occured to me that I had no reason to do that this summer (though I would probably stop in on the drive back to Nashville, just to look around and feel God's presence in that place). Not forty-eight hours later (read: very soon after), I received an e-mail from one of the co-leaders of recreation at youth conference weeks three and four, and she told me that her partner in crime had needed to drop out and that my name had been passed along when she was looking for a replacement – all this to say that I will be co-leading recreation at Montreat Youth Conference weeks three and four and I am ecstatic! It's just so funny how all that worked out. Amazing.

I think perhaps my normal elevated tone is a bit absent from this post. And I am afraid I have said nothing profound. But it surely is nice to write about life, even if only one person will read it. Even if that one person is me.

Nuestro Himno

How about a little question and answer?

Q: Does the United States have an official national language?

A: No. Just as we have no official religion, we have no language.

That being said, let us consider the following:

We Americans are a unique nation of immigrants united by a common language and a belief in principles expressed in our Declaration of Independence and our Constitution, not by our race, ancestry or country of origin. That is why the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag, the Oath of Allegiance for new citizens, and the National Anthem – all important symbols of our national unity – were written in, and should be said or sung in, our common language, English.

These are the words of yet another frightened-of-immigrants Republican, Tennessee Senator Lamar Alexander. Alexander, along with fellow Tennessee Senator and Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist, introduced a resolution on the Senate floor proclaiming that the national anthem should always be sung in English. Here's what I'm going to wager: folks like Lamar Alexander are not as opposed in principle to the idea of a Spanish translation of the National Anthem as they are scared of being caught in a situation when that version might be sung and they might prove the ignorant ones.

The reason that our national documents are in English is because that's what was spoken. If things should change, so be it. In my view, the singing of the National Anthem in Spanish is a testament to the beauty of the idea of America: just imagine, we could be singing the National Anthem alongside one another, in a million different languages, and all know that we mean the same thing. That, you frightened Republicans, would be more powerful than you'll ever hope to be.

You people and your red state of mind are ruining my country. Stop, please.

Connection and Continuity

Usually, I take a moment each day to read some blogs. I have a few personal friends and acquaintances who keep them, there are the more-famous ones (dailykos.com for liberal junkies, the blog of the moderator of the Presbyterian Church in the USA), and there is a great blogring for Presbyterian Bloggers (pcusablog.blogspot.com). I find it so amazing to read the lives of people I do and do not know and to discover what things are, to them, worth writing down.

Sometimes, I wonder if it's creepy. I imagine most of us do. We have our ways of explaining the practice away: it's an act of personal expression to blog - if you don't want strangers reading about your life, don't write about your life on the internet. But even if we have accepted that this is a twenty-first century bourgeois media concept that we really dig, it can feel a little odd for us.

But here is why I truly believe in things like blogging, like the Facebook, like myspace: I believe that connection and continuity are so important in this world. You see, we're all made of dust and we'll all be dust again in only a matter of time. And we are faced with a world full of mystery and challenge and hope and revelation and wonder. Even those of us who spend entire lives searching for the answers never find all of them - only some of them. And they tend to answer questions like who, how, where, when, what - but few of them get very close to that big capital-W "Why?". Sure, you've proven to me that evolution is entirely possible - but why? Maybe you explain away God by saying that we are genetically programmed to seek something higher. Why?! Why is there morality? Why is there a need for art? Why do I so love the sound of a thunderstorm?

There are clues. Even the wonder itself has an answer-like quality to it: there is the empowerment of not knowing. There are, for religious folk like myself, things like the Bible, which I don't believe to be the inerrant word of God but instead a powerful testimony to something that happened on this earth that seems unavoidably other-wordly. And there are connection and continuity. Why do we study history? Some say it's because we don't want to repeat our shameful pasts. I say maybe so - but I think the more important thing is that we desire continuity. We have a sense that, from Jesus to George Washington to Bela Bartok, we're somehow all in one boat that's headed somewhere. And even if we don't know where that is, we're fairly certain we'd like to make it. And things like the Facebook, like blogging, like myspace help us to connect to one another while we're here, so we can at least feel empowered by wondering at life together.

Nothing terribly triumphant or groundbreaking in these thoughts, I'm afraid; just something to put on the table.

Blessings to you all (all two of you who read me).

The V-Day Report

Some thoughts on Valentine's Day 2006:

• Not bitter like last year.
• I believe so strongly in love. Please see "My New Year's Resolution" below for elaboration.
• I wish, very much, that my love had a real, live object. At this point, Jesus is my valentine this year.
• "My Funny Valentine" is one of the best songs ever.
• In the end, things work out just fine.

I wish you Valentine's Days which are richly blessed and devoid of anxiety. Love, love, love.

Happy Valentine's Day. All of you.

Some Words to Share

Just wanted to share a hymn verse that I adore:

For the harvests of the Spirit,thanks be to God.
For the good we all inherit,thanks be to God.
For the wonders that astound us,
for the truths that still confound us,
most of all that love has found us,
thanks be to God.

- Fred Pat Green


Have a great day, all.

Traitor!

So, I'm in here at Fido (as usual) and I had to take a picture of this guy because he should be charged with high treason. So here's the evidence of our culprit at Fido (I snagged the photo with my phone), and you may notice that his coffee cup is white like most coffee cups are, but then it's also fairly easy to see that the lid of said cup is white and that the brown hand-protector-thingy has a green circle in the middle.

GASP!

I know, right? Who has the audacity to come to Fido to get some breakfast (he was eating eggs or something) and bring Starbucks coffee with him? Sir, I hope you stumble across this blog so you can see that you are being exposed for being the infidel that you are. TREASON! A move like that takes some serious gumption - and not the kind that I admire.

Elegy and Reflection

In many ways, I really adore the mornings when I get up and go to John Paul II High School: there I am, coat and tie, coffee in hand, getting in the Volkswagen and turning on the NPR. It is truly exciting to really feel that I am getting closer and closer to the day when I can say that I am, in fact, a music teacher - not just someone who dreams of being one, or even a student studying to be one. Yes, somewhere between the caffeine and the public radio these mornings just make me feel alive.

This morning was a little different. Don't worry - the usual suspects were all in order: the tie was tied (and the outfit was appropriately Stuartish), the Volkswagen was tearing up the road and the NPR was as reliable as ever, except that this time it brought some bad news.

This morning, they announced, Coretta Scott King passed away unexpectedly.

Let me be honest for a moment and say that I don't know a lot about Coretta Scott King, and I wasn't any particular fan of hers. Admittedly, my reaction was not the same as if I had woken up this morning to hear that Ani DiFranco, Frederick Buechner, or Peter Sagal was dead. But Mrs. King was the other half to a man who has his own holiday in this country. And together they embodied the very spirit of a movement that is at once far away and finished and yet seems to continue on, unfinished as ever. Our most tangible connections to the soul of Dr. King, one of our country's most incredible heroes, are fading away quicky.

Lately I have been so struck by mortality and by the ways of progress in this world. I think of how our grandparents are becoming some of the only people left who were alive to hear about the tragedy at Pearl Harbor. And I am so overwhelmed by the notion that I one day will be explaining September 11, 2001, to grandchildren who know little of the day's details or implications. And I am worried about the day when I leave this world and soon, the tangible connections to my soul and history fade away just as quickly as I did.

As a Christian kind of guy, I think this is why it is so key that Jesus preached the love that he did. Love is what causes us to live respectfully and connectionaly, empowers us to feel connected to those we've never met and never will - at least on this side.

Interesting, isn't it? Maybe living life isn't about standing and being a warrior for what you believe. Maybe it's the subtle confidence and the quiet fight of love.

Here are two new sets of lyrics of mine.


O Love with Arms that Wrap Around
(Words by Stuart Hill, to the folk tune O Waly Waly)

O Love with arms that wrap around
Us as we stand on hallowed ground,
O Word of Life, O Spirit True,
O let us bind our hearts to You.

Teach us the beauty of this world,
That we may see Your Truth unfurled,
The music in a world of sound,
The hope that in the dark is found.

As we step forth into the night,
O may we carry forth Your light
In word and deed, in faith and prayer,
That we may meet Your presence there.


Whole Again
(words and music by Stuart Hill)

Lord, as the night takes the day,
We gather in and we pray
For strength and the courage to carry on in this way.
We come as people inspired,
We come with hearts that are tired
Of doubt and frustration and all that gets in the way.

Here we are, O Helper and Friend,
Weighted down by worry and sin,
So we come to the waters to be made whole again.

Teach us to make our amends
When like foes we treat our friends;
Teach us the patience to come and sit down and sup.
In our hearts let it be known -
The grace that we know to be shown
In bread being broken and wine poured into a cup.

Here we are, O Helper and Friend,
Weighted down by worry and sin,
So we come to the table to be made whole again.

Humbled we are by Your gifts,
Moved by the Spirit that lifts
Our words into prayer and our thoughts into quiet praise.

Here we are, O Helper and Friend,
Weighted down by worry and sin,
So we come now to worship and be made whole again.

Cheers for Wi-Fi

I just want to say that I am en route to Nashville, I have stopped in Black Mountain, NC, for coffee, and I wrote this entry with my Palm Tungsten TX. That's all - ciao.

Back to Nashville

So, today I'm headed back home-away-from-home to Nashville - any of you that read this, keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I travel, please!

Also, an incidental thanks to those of you who have been reading and commenting on this blog. I look forward to writing more about my life's adventures when I'm back in Nashville.

Thank You, God, for yesterday.
Thank You, God, for today.
Thank You, God, for tomorrow:
May I learn to walk in Your way.

My New Year's Resolution

So I told you about my new thing for respect and how it would be best to resolve to show a whole lot of respect.

It was a great NPR essay, I think, but for the moment I'm casting it to the wind. My new thing is showing love. My New Year's Resolution is to love more and better.

Love is the trickiest art out there, without doubt. It's really at the center of most things we do; that is, being happy is loving your job, being in a good loving relationship, showing love to your kids (even when it means punishing them), loving God if you're religious, maybe loving Ideas if you're not. Love is the primary subject matter on the radio (even in the guise of promiscuous sex - trust me, man does not live by nookie alone). Love infects our films. Love saturates our stories. Love changes us - and that's heavy.

Even the Apostle Paul knew it - and I think he's somebody that many of us trust. Love, he says, is the greatest thing among some pretty great things: the competition is fierce when you're up against Hope and Faith. But Love is, for Paul, the one that wins out. And I think he's right. And I think God agrees.

I also like what Don Miller has to say about love in Blue Like Jazz: that too many of us use love like currency. Give as a reward, withhold as punishment. Smile at the people you like, thumb your nose at the people you don't. Draw a line in the sand. Scorn the other side. I want to take it further: using love to divide happens even by using its conceptual entity as a divider. I must confess to loving that bumper sticker that says "When Jesus said to love people, I think he meant don't kill them." I even think that this is a message we should champion and put out there - but maybe the bumper sticker method isn't the best approach: comedian Demetri Martin suggests that bumper stickers are a sort of a shortcut, a quick way of saying "Hey - let's never hang out." Love? Maybe not.

Don Miller also says that he thinks Jesus calls us to make love a true, selfless gift - not currency. Jesus calls us to love one another without condition. That means, if necessary, loving contrary to pre-conceived notion. That means, if necessary, putting aside political differences (!). That means loving everybody and meaning the every part. Tricky, tricky. Trickier than Faith or Hope.

So here's what I say. I love you. I think that having this blog enables me to say that to a lot of people without enduring the awkwardness that would come with professing my love in person. And maybe that's a cop-out. But the truth of the matter is I'm not going to tell everybody that I love them.

I'm going to show them; at least, I'm going to try.

So, that gay-bashing, economy-worshipping, Bush-believing idiot over there? Love her/him. That contemporary church that keeps stealing our members? Love 'em. Every one. That unbelievably stupid, worthless, frustrating teacher? Love her/him. That jackass "friend" who gets every ounce of my effort and returns none of the niceties? Love her/him. I've got to do it; at least, I've got to try. It's what makes the most sense, even though it's tricky. Trickier than Faith or Hope.

I also want to point out why I began this entry by speaking a bit negatively about my respect post: Respect is not enough. Anne Lamott says you can love someone and not have any particular desire to meet him/her for lunch. We have to LOVE everyone. We can't love the people we want and respect the people we don't: that would be awfully civil and really rather admirable. But we must strive for more.

You can love someone without wanting to go to lunch with them - God, I love Anne Lamott.

Come to think of it, I love you too. God bless you.

Some Reasons to Believe in God

1. Nat King Cole
2. This picture I have of the sunset in Moyobamba
3. Bob, Ami, Patrick, Anna Hill
4. Ben Harper and the Blind Boys of Alabama
5. That deep longing in the soul for something more
6. The mystery of it all: just when you think you've figured it all out, there's an unanswered "why?"
7. That passage in Isaiah about springs in the desert
8. Music, of course

That's all for now. Happy New Year.

NPR Essay Attempt

There's a series on NPR called "This I Believe," in which celebrities and average NPR listeners alike share three-to-five-minute essays about their personal beliefs. Anyone is welcome to submit an essay, so I've been wanting to submit one. I'll probably write several before I actually send one, but here's one I wrote today.

As a college student, my public school days are not so far behind me; thus, I remember well the rite that was the first day of school: finding classrooms, seeing who changed most since we last walked the halls, coming to terms with the very real end of that heaven called summer. I also remember well one particular tradition: the reading of the classroom rules. And it seems to me that every teacher – in whatever subject – had a rule that went something like this: “Show appropriate respect towards yourself and others.” There were other rules, naturally: don’t talk out of turn, don’t throw things at the teacher, no yo-yos. But I recall many a teacher saying that, in an ideal world, they would only have one rule: the respect rule. And then, some clown (I’m sure it was me more than once) would do an awful impression of Aretha Franklin. And I would think to myself that my one rule in an ideal world would be Don’t be stupid, and feel proud of myself.

But I have to say that I get it now. And I believe that respect is more than just a fluffy concept that our teachers and employers and pastors and saviors throw at us for the sake of sounding moral and heroic. I believe that, in a world that needs saving, respect is just right for the job.

I don’t know what I believe about what happens when we die, but for C.S. Lewis, the key to understanding the meaning of the universe was this innate sense of right and wrong we humans display. Respect, you might call it. And I wonder if, long before I decipher the universe’s grand meaning, I might just find that respect is key to understanding the people that surround me. Whatever happens after I’m gone, I think understanding my company on this journey is a worthwhile goal while I’m here.

It’s hard to know what to believe about the environment. I always land somewhere in between supporting animal rights and thinking that they must be made out of meat for a reason. But I have climbed mountains and walked by streams; I have swum in oceans and picked blueberries near waterfalls. And I can’t help but feel Mother Nature is someone who deserves my respect.

Let me confess that I’m easily the worst among any of us. I say much more than what I mean, I jump to conclusions about people. I litter, I drive a fossil-fueled car, I find that the garbage can, being much closer to my chair than the recycling bin, proves a better place for my used aluminum can. But as I write this, December is drawing to a close and a new year is approaching, resolutions and all. I will make my usual laundry list: write letters to people, get better grades.

But this I believe: the best resolution I can make this year is to respect my friends, my family, my earth, my soul. As it turns out, my career of choice is teaching. Maybe my classroom will only have one rule.

O Come, Let Us Adore Him

I would first like to say that it is now 2:18am on December 26 (no matter what time it says I published this post), and Christmas has only begun. We will be turning on our Christmas lights for several nights to come.

Secondly, a word on "the Christmas spirit." I was worried that this spirit had forsaken me this Christmas: about half of my December was full of academia and exams and meetings and so forth, and the week I had at home before Christmas was awfully busy for those around me - the Nutcracker, the ending days of school, cotillion, etc. Yet I say to you early this morning after the first day of Christmas proper, that I have never in my life felt such wonder and awe at this holiday. I feel extremely blessed and wonderfully soulful.

The business sped all the way into Christmas Eve, which I spent doing last minute shopping, baking bread for Christmas dinner, answering the door and receiving presents from the neighbors, etc. Even as we approached the day we have marked to begin our celebration, the business spun us around. Finally, I found myself in Salisbury, NC, at the Hubbard Christmas Party - a party held by my dad's family which was a tradition for many years, was on hiatus, and was renewed this year. All the hints of the season were there: wassail, family, the "Chinese auction." But I was frustrated with the energy required to reintroduce myself to family who hadn't seen me recently enough to remember, to tell yet another person where I was in school and what I was doing, to make small talk of large subjects. But I think my Christmas spirit began a bit with the Chinese auction, and here's how that works: each person that plays brings a gift (which may be nice or funny), wrapped in some fashion. All the gifts are put in a pile in the middle of the room, and numbers are drawn. Beginning with he/she that draws number one, each person gets to choose a present, either from the pile or - beginning with number 2 - from a person who has already drawn. If one's present is stolen after one draws, one may choose another present from the pile. Basically, it's best to have the highest number (my sister, Anna, won with number 19) because you have the option of choosing the last gift left in the pile or choosing from any of the gifts that have already been opened. Many of the gifts are gag gifts - my great aunt Ann received an Austin Powers baseball cap that says "Why must I be surrounded by frickin' idiots?" - and it was in the laughing and joking that I first felt the Spirit of the season.

We were a bit late to choir practice for the 11pm Christmas Eve service, but we made it back with enough time, anyway. And the service this year was beautiful. I have learned, recently, that music just makes me cry, and that's that. There's usually one hymn each Sunday that gets me going. And Silent Night did, indeed, get me going. And I could feel all of us standing still and feeling peaceful and waiting in wonder as the Spirit moved over us. And I could feel the Spirit in my tears. And I swear there was divine intervention in the fact that I didn't smack a certain church member who complained, during a very holy moment, that we were sitting when we were supposed to be standing. It was truly beautiful.

This morning was beautiful, too, in a strange way. I actually became very frustrated with my family on the way to church, when I felt that I had been prematurely chastised for being late. But the first hymn this morning was O Come, All Ye Faithful, and by the end I was crying again and didn't really know how to be mad at anyone. And it was a beautiful service - the choir sang a piece called Gesu Bambino which was once a classic of our Service of Nine Lessons and Carols, and a soloist sang Sweet Little Jesus Boy for the introit, and it was simply lovely. Hanging around the house after church was fun, and after a while we went to the movies (the annual Hill family Christmas Day tradition) to see The Family Stone, which was a wonderful movie. It contributed another set of tears to my holiday season. We ate a really great supper together, we drove around and looked at Christmas lights. I reveled in it all.

I have, of course, been in somewhat of a spiritual quandary lately: youth and intellectualism mix to make believing awfully difficult sometimes. And Christmas makes believing in Things Unseen easier, but it hasn't fixed everything. What has been so amazing to me, in the beginnings of this season, is the peace and fullness of soul I have felt, along with the overwhelming conviction that the universe has purpose and that earthly life is not the only life - and yet, an overwhelming conviction that the universe is full of mystery and I surrender that I do not know it all and never will. And I am thankful that the Lord of my tradition sent a son to save us all, to free us from the darkness of mystery and to free us, to invite us, to live in that same mystery's wondrous light.

Anyway, I have written all this to say that I am very blessed and humbled by what I have experienced so far. The company of my family, the friends I have gotten to see (Otto's house, despite being rather random, was completely soul-feeding), the joy of the season, the stillness - all has found me at a strange peace for which I am very thankful. I am going to do my best to keep this spirit alive for the just-over-two-weeks that remain of my break. And I hope that, when the break is over, I will feel freed to walk forward into the norm, seeing it in the new light cast on it by a holiday full soulful joy and spirit-led peace.

Thanks be to God.

An Open Letter to God and Whoever Else Is Listening

Recently, someone told me that it sounded like part of me had died.

I wonder, with fear and trembling, if they're right. A certain veil has been lifted from my eyes and reality won't leave me alone. So I'd like to tell you (that is, God and whoever else is listening) what kinds of reality I've been facing.

Believing in God is an awfully hard thing to do. You're raised with all these crazy ideas and you accept and confirm them with some degree of blindness and then one day you wonder if maybe your belief really boils down to a bunch of people who, like you, are afraid to die and thusly conjure an Imaginary Friend who guides their lives, teaches them lessons, and saves them from death by having a big party in the sky when it's all over. I know I may seemingly be stepping on toes here, but please understand that I'm stepping on my own toes as well when I say we believe something ridiculous, and that makes it hard. Have you ever thought about finitude? Heavens, what a scary thing. Religion surely eases the pain.

I want to believe in God, and I am pretty sure I do. But we all face those moments of doubt. I think what's most difficult about it is that there will never, ever be anything rational about it. There have, of course, been plenty of attempts to make belief an easier, rational thing: consider, for example, the theory of the First Mover: everything is set in motion (beautiful motion, I might editorially add), so there must have been a first mover. Maybe the world operates on its own today, but one day in the past, Somebody said, "Go." I like that theory; it's comforting. But I don't know how much it helps. There's also that philosophical work called The Wager, which essentially asserts that without God, life is pretty pointless and there's death without redemption at the end, so you might as well believe and hope for meaning. Sensible, right? But believing becomes no easier.

I'm reading Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. It's my latest literary soul food to keep me going in my little dark doubt corner. I like it a lot, though he talks about Satan a little much for my Presbyterian mindset (chuckle, chuckle). But it frustrates me, just like Anne Lamott frustrated me with Traveling Mercies, when someone is so good at saying "I believe in Jesus Christ." Donald Miller emphasizes that something inside him causes him to believe. I'm searching for that something, but I keep looking for it in books on theology and in my own clever musings, both herein and in the songs I write. Thus far, the search proves not as fruitful as I hoped and more frustrating than I would like. But I haven't given up my hope for Hope. I think God's just waiting for me to come around.

I am convinced that there are things in this world which transcend human scientific truth. I feel pretty strongly that the finality of death is less a grand scientific end and more a Grand Beginning. But I'm still looking for the confidence to shout it from the mountaintop. And I will wait, God (and everyone else). I will tell myself to be quiet and I will wait.

Here I raise my Ebenezer; hither by Thine help I'm come,
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger, wand'ring from the fold of God:
He, to rescue me from danger, interposed His precious blood.

Thanks be to God.


P.S. I intend this new blog (which I hope will have a new audience which will make new comments, ahem) to be a place different from my LiveJournal. The narratives of my life will work their ways in, I'm sure, but this is less an online journal and more a irregularly-published column. My apologies to any non-religious who may have found themselves frustrated with the fact that my musings, once artistic and political, have recently been zealous and God-filled. I still have ideas about other things; but These Things keep screaming really loudly for attention, and I find it exceedingly difficult to turn away.

The Latest Lyrics (edited 12.12)

[There is, of course, music that accompanies these two songs, which I am planning to record over Christmas Break and hopefully publish soon thereafter. Enjoy.]

Things Unseen

Pearly gates, pearly gates,
Won't you come, come to me?
Pearly gates, pearly gates,
Won't you come, come to me?
'Cause I want to see my Granny again,
And I want to find every long lost friend;
I want to sing with Nat King Cole -
Pearly gates,
Guard my soul.

Crystal river, cover me:
Let your water wash me clean.
Crystal river, cover me:
Let your water wash me clean.
'Cause I know there must be a prayer in my heart,
But sometimes it's hard just to know where to start,
And I get so jaded by the things I've seen -
Crystal river,
Wash me clean.

With sweetest sunrise to light my days,
And sweetest hymn-tunes to sing Your praise,
And sweetest faces, all is divine,
And, in the end, we will be just fine.
'Cause there ain't no devils hiding under my bed,
And I know the Darkness is only in my head;
I'll walk through this life, hamming up each scene,
and keep on believing
in Things Unseen.


Believe

A land of endless joy - who are you kidding?
The streets are paved with gold up there? Yeah, right.
And God and Jesus Christ are right there sitting
At the dinner table with you every night?
Well, I don't know 'bout you,
But all that I can do
Is say that's hard to believe.

The skies are always blue and mostly sunny -
A couple clouds to keep the balance right.
You may have laughed before but you don't know funny
Until you've heard the jokes God tells night after night.
Well, I don't know 'bout you,
But I find it so hard to
Know just what to believe.

I'm here - right here, O God, with all these questions:
I'm asking for answers or maybe just a sign.
I haven't lost my faith, O God, I promise -
But it seems sometimes my faith is on the line.
And I don't know 'bout you,
But, Lord, all I can do
Is hope I always believe.