advent

In a Nazi prison in 1945, shortly before he was in hanged as a traitor for opposition of Hitler, Jesuit priest Father Alfred Delp penned these words.

There is perhaps nothing we modern people need more than to be genuinely shaken up. Where life is firm we need to sense its firmness; and where it is unstable and has no basis, no foundation, we need to know this too and endure it.

We may ask why God has sent us into this time, why he has sent a whirlwind over the earth, why he keeps us in this chaos, where all appears hopeless and dark and why there seems to be no end to this in sight.... Perhaps we were living on earth in an utterly false and counterfeit security... We have stood on this earth in false pathos, in false security; in our spiritual insanity we really believed we could, with the power of our own hand and arm, bring the stars down from heaven and kindle flames of eternity in the world. We believed that with our own forces we could avert the dangers and banish the night, switch off and halt the internal quaking of the universe. We believed we could harness everything and fit it into a final order that would stand.

Here is the message of Advent: faced with him who is the Last, the world will begin to shake... The Advent message comes out of an encounter of man with the absolute, the final, the gospel. The fact that then the Son of man shall come is more than a historic prophesy; it is also a decree, that God's coming and the shaking up of humanity are somehow connected.
from Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas, emphasis added

Perhaps it was purplish-black clouds glowing behind the full moon, garish and beautiful all at once. Hazy as an impressionist painting. Perhaps, the rich choral arrangement of Still, Still, Still echoing in my head as I drove home from my friends' Christmas concert. At this time of year, all the world seems to teeter between madness and peace. Everything seems pregnant with immediacy... delicate and solid all at once, "the absolute, the final" wrapped in less than ten pounds of soft skin and and squinty eyes.

Happy Thanksgiving

I've been sick again the past few weeks (buy stock in Nyquil, people, seriously). Looking forward to some rest... to shared food and conversations over the next few days. I will be here in Birmingham for Thanksgiving. Strange to be 500 miles from family. I am thankful for friends who are welcoming me into their home tomorrow. Looking forward to a visit from a fellow ruf-intern whose family is also far away.

I have been waiting for a chance to make canned apple butter (thanks, Miranda, for the delicious recipe) and bake this bread. Today was the day. Spent the afternoon adventuring in the kitchen... truly enjoyed a little measure-mix-mash action. Don't forget the taste-lick-sample action. Lest you be deceived, I em no June Cleaver juggling life's balls while decked out in apron and pearls. Rather, today I follow a recipe because the chaos of life is too much to follow. I can apple butter because I cannot bottle tears. I revel in dough that rises in only a few hours, in fresh crumbly bread pulled from the blazing oven. Most day I want out of the oven. Be still, my soul.

the place where Jesus dwells

Have been thinking a lot about heaven and the coming Kingdom and things of that nature the past couple of months. Recently rediscovered this hymn which helped me flesh out some of what has been bothering, challenging, encouraging me about my picture of the coming Kingdom.... hope you'll bear with me.

The sands of time are sinking, the dawn of heaven breaks
The summer morn I've sighed for, the fair sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark had been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand
And glory, glory dwelleth in Emmanuel's land.

The King there in His beauty without a veil is seen
It were a well-spent journey, though seven deaths lay between
The Lamb with His fair army doth on Mount Zion stand
And glory, glory dwelleth in Emmanuel's land

O Christ, he is the fountain, the deep, sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I've tasted, ore deep I'll drink above
There to an ocean fullness, His mercy doth expand
And glory, glory dwelleth in Emmanuel's land

The bride eyes not her garment, but her dear bridegroom's face
I will not gaze at glory, but on my King of grace.
Not at the crown he giveth but on His pierced hand
The Lamb is all the glory in Emmanuel's land

O I am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is mine
He brings a poor, vile sinner into His house of wine
I stand upon His merit - I know no other stand
Not e'en where glory dwelleth, in Emmanuel's land.

This hymn unfolds a picture of heaven that rattles me. When I think of the coming Kingdom I tend to revel in the effects of glorification just as I stew and wallow in the effects of the fall. Someday, I say, all will be made new. No more tears, no more thousand-ton-bricks-of-sorrow on my chest, no more weeping with friends who bury fathers, mothers, brothers, husbands, sons.... no more children kidnapped and dumped in landfills, no more girls raped, no more empty marriages, no more depression and anorexia and addictions.... no more fear of people, warring with self and guilt and dis-integrated soul, no more unrealized creativity, dying dreams, frustrated talent... no more cancer and diabetes and aids, no more miscarriages and infertility and prodigal children, no more distant fathers and overbearing mothers, no more over-scheduled under-nurtured children, no more gorgeous yet hopeless homes.... no more hunger and bounced checks and card-board-box huts... no more red light districts and chains and painted lips and groping hands...

And, yes, the undoing of all this horror is true but rarely do I sit in revel in the source of all redemptive transformation. Jesus Christ. I am a chronic garment-staring, crown-eyeing, glory-hungry follower (see verse 4). I want what Jesus offers - wholeness, beauty, truth, fullness, hope, justice - but do I want him? When all is said and done, to live in the tangible reality that I am my Beloved's and my Beloved is mine - to see him unveiled and live daily in his presence - shall be the highest pleasure, the fullest joy. Do I dream of that day?

The final verse ungrounds me: I stand upon His merit, I know no other stand, not e'en where glory dwelleth in Emmanuel's land. Even when the Kingdom comes, when Jesus returns, when all that is sad comes untrue, still we will stand on Christ's merit. Even in glory we know no other stand.

If I am honest, most days I want the Kingdom to come because it will bring removal of all the scorching, soul-refining, sin-exposing fire. Most days I long for heaven because I do not want to need Jesus. And, yes, the mess that shoves me to the foot of the cross, all that shows me my need for Jesus, all that breaks my heart for the plight of others will be resolved. But even then I shall have nothing to boast in besides Jesus, nothing to glory in save the Lamb. And in Him, everything. The climactic promise of the coming Kingdom is not of escape to comfort and ease but rather of our glorious dwelling with Jesus.

I wonder if we will will talk often of these days? Remember, we will ask each other, the injustice? Remember our sin? Remember our whoring, faithlessness, our wandering hearts? Remember sickness and the prick of pain? What mercy, what terrifying goodness! Who is like the Lamb who has brought Shalom? we shall say, as we walk with Jesus(!) by crystal streams. I pray for that day to come, but I pray that the certainty of its approach will absolutely color the way I live today. and tomorrow. and the day after that...

Calling All Curators

Heard a quote last summer which has recently, for one reason or another, made itself at home in my head:
The great need of this generation is for art curators (Kevin Twit).

We are bombarded by art these days... music, movies, books, advertisements, fashion, paintings, photography, architecture, etc, etc, etc. Though I do not propose (nor did Twit) that we everyday folks should stop stretching our creative muscles, I do wonder what it would look like to see more individuals investing great time and energy not in the creation of art but rather in its study and exploration. A sort of altruistic artistic immersion in order to help others think about, enjoy, and judge what is truly good art. I fear our generation is overstimulated and undereducated about what we see, hear, and experience. We know only what we like but have little to no vocabulary or knowledge to serve as a context for our own personal tastes.

Is art good because I like it? Or do I like it because it is good? Is it possible for me to like something that is "bad" art from a technical perspective? How exactly do we define excellence of craft? I am not saying that we have to tell people what to like, but is it not imperative to think about what is going on in art, both in technical aspects, as well as in the rather grey realm of meaning. After all, art tends to ask more questions than it ever answers. But then again, most days we do not realize the practical questions we are asking about life, truth, God, relationships, and reality. Art helps us put color and texture and sound to the questions intrinsic to the human condition. We cannot begin to find true answers until we know what we are asking. Obviously, the discussion of art's function and place in a culture is a HUGE topic. I do not pretend to even toss a drop in the proverbial bucket here.

On that note, this NY Times article is an interesting review of the movie Where the Wild Things Are which I saw a few weeks ago. Thoughtful social and cultural dissection.

And, if you are really interested in these issues, I highly recommend Kevin Twit's 4-part podcast series on Christianity and the Arts (source of the quote above). I heard him give it live this summer at RUF Summer Conference but you can listen to the whole thing (plus access the handouts) here. Just scroll down until you see the links.

In the words of Andrew from the artistic masterpiece (in my opinion) Garden State, Good luck exploring the infinite abyss.

Happy Halloween

A few pics from the on-campus Halloween festival last week. All the student organizations have booths with games and candy for kids of the community. For one night the dorm quad is transformed into a colorful, costumed sea of kids! We are located in a rough part of town where it wouldn't be safe for these kids to trick-or-treat.

Alice in Wonderland, Where's Waldo, the Wendy's girl, Minnie Mouse

an old lady, Nancy Drew, cowgirl, an acrobat

Thrift

-verb
1. To adventure through a dusty haze on a quest for treasure, sort through mounds of clothes, search for potential among all things out-dated and weary.

usage examples: This afternoon I thrifted with a couple students. When I thrift I feel like a detective and an artist all at once. Thrifting is a fun and cheap way to find great clothes and houseware items. (ok grammar nazi's, so the last example "thrifting" is used in a noun form)

I recently discovered the Birmingham thrift storm scene. Let me tell you, there are some real gems. My recovering-from-20plus-years-of-Florida-living wardrobe is happily more winter friendly these days thanks to these thrift stores. Found some great items I've been needing. And a couple Saturdays ago, I thrifted alone and found a beautiful window leaning in a corner with a $4 price tag slapped on the corner. This window has now found a home on my wall. I enjoy finding new and pretty ways use to use the old discarded items.

the little things

Glimpses of a few fun-filled days with my dear friend, Allison:



My favorite B'ham coffee shop - Urban Standard Delicious, STRONG, local, french press coffee. Fresh goat cheese salads, autumn-ish soups (apple, squash, etc), flavorful paninies, and (the deal-clincher) gooey moist cupcakes (confession: I regularly crave the red velvet wonderfulness)



Peevine Falls. 5 miles round trip hike at Oak Mountain State Park. A beautiful jaunt up the mountain. Time to just walk and listen to whispering breeze, a chance to talk about life and families, moments to laugh at each other as we slipped on leaves and tripped over roots. I'd hiked to this waterfall a couple months ago and it was literally a dribble over a cliff. But after all the rain I have complained about, the trickle was transformed into a coursing, roaring, misty force.



Orange cranberry scone and jasmine green tea from the The Continental Bakery



Soaking up the atmosphere of this cute bakery on my birthday. These are the moments that our little girl selves dreamed about...



Today I am thankful for real touch, rolling laughter, shared food, raw questions, a lovely few days of honesty and craziness.