Musical Fusion

I think music is one of the most fascinating aspects of life in our neat little world. Genesis never says anything about God creating sound, but as we know scientifically sound is a direct reaction of vibrations traveling through an atmosphere. Don't get me wrong here, I do believe that sound was an intentional part of creation. But, it's organization into music is something far more than natural. Looking at the world around us, there are lots of creatures who grunt, trumpet, or squawk to communicate with each other. Some bird calls may be called singing, but they're nothing like that in fact, God just made their means of communication beautiful and pleasing to hear.
Music is different, it's man's harnessing of the natural world around us. Our participation in the great motion of the spheres. When musicians tune to a 440A what they're actually doing is tuning themselves to the note that the earth itself makes while it spins. How's that for organic? All this to say, I love playing music, I love hearing a song and adding my two cents to it, letting it grow into it's own entity and statement. I love talking to my fellow band mates through my instrument. Using something so raw and natural instead of words seems to cut through the fog of the "that's good for you, but it's not for me" kind of world. Instead appealing to some intellectual defense, it pulls at the essence of man. Wrenches his gut, lifts his soul, and strikes like a sanctifying hammer when the song rings true. Sadly these days, "music" is made on the assembly line in Los Angeles, and most of it says nothing. But art is always like that. The popular media acts as the opiate of the soul, numbing it into hiding, and lulling it to sleep. But, there are still those artists out there whose work, through the spirit, stirs my spirit out of slumber and touches the eternity that I've been given.

Go and be soul full

What Are We Afraid Of?

More often than not I find myself in a position of struggling between love and hate for the corporate church. For those who may not be used to that term, it means the visible church. The one that meets on Sunday morning and gossips about who raised their hands in worship that day....or who didn't depending on which side of the coin your church is. Church provides a really necessary service in the lives of us sojourners here on Earth, but if you're like me at all, you've noticed that there's a lot missing. The experience of God's fullness seems almost nowhere to be found, I've spoken with people who claim to dwell in this fullness in an experiential way, but I'm suspicious. And should my suspicions be unfounded, well then...I'm downright jealous.
The more I ponder on the "experience of God" the more it seems to travel into my head instead of my nerves and limbs. I'm unsure as of yet whether this is good or not. But one thing is for sure, I do not get ruffled easy these days. I know that God loves me, and I know that he's saying it in every circumstance of my life. Every chance encounter (even the bad ones). I've met pastors, and seen churches where this experience of God is the driving force behind their services....no communion mind you...just laughter and shaking. Or some guy laying on the ground screaming "Freedom!!!" like he's William Wallace. My suspicions don't just arise at that point...they erupt, and most of the time I have to leave before I start laughing at people. If I don't leave....I just tell people that God is showing me his sense of humor....through them. God really is funny though.
My church is into communion, liturgy and acting as if we believe what we read. Every Sunday is a massive injection of orthodox biblical Christianity. And that's the way we all want it. But, despite the soundness of my Pastors preaching, there is no missions effort, and very little evangelism from Joe Schmoe in our church. Alas, when the doors shut to keep in the air conditioning, they trap in a lot more than that. Sadly, though I see the problem, I do little to change it. But on the other hand, I am not here to fix the church...not now, not ever. I'm hear to defend the teaching of scripture and worship Jesus Christ (and those things I will do ferociously), all else amounts to the trifles of a mind with too little to do. Jesus is coming back after all, none of this stuff was ever meant to be perfect by it's own accord, but to be transformed into perfection when this dirty globe turns to chaff and burns away. Christ's righteousness is far from experiential most of the time, but it's still here, and still attributed to those who believe. So, stop trying to wash your own robes, and start asking Jesus to give you new ones.

"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. " ~John the Evangelist

The Pleasant Taste Of Dust

The Bible tells us that God uses all things for the good of those who believe in him, I believe that with all my heart. Most of the time I find myself holding on to that notion like Linus clings to his blanket in the Peanuts cartoons. I've come to realize that the good that is mentioned in that passage is the conforming of our sinful identity into the image of Christ. All of these trials we face are meant to transform us in the spirit into that very transcendent person who bought our redemption so long ago. And in the midst of these troubling experiences is a choice; a core decision with eternal implications. All that being said, it doesn't really make any of these experiences easier to go through. I don't really think Job spent his time looking for a silver lining to his boils or his destroyed home and family. So here is where we all sit. Here in the midst of this burning earth and the broken pottery shards while the best of human reasoning blows around us like a storm of dust clouding our eyes. We know the questions we ask "What is God saying?", "Did I do something wrong?", "Has he forgotten?". I can't answer any of those, nor can anybody else for that matter. They aren't bad question either, and don't let anybody tell you any different. These are the thoughts of those who relate to God, those who know him face to face. The truth is that we are pilgrims passing through the veil of this world, living in two places at once. For us, peace and suffering hold hands while they walk down the street. Each spurring the other forward to new depths and testing the new richness of each experience.

"Two paths diverged in a wood; I took the one less traveled, and it made all the difference."

"For the gate is narrow, and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few."

"There will be an answer. Let it be."

Morning Thoughts

My bag of tricks is small and dusty, worn thin and stretched by use. But it's all I've got, so I keep reaching in trying to stir some glorious thing out of the dust, and occasionally it works. So I keep reaching in and getting my fingers dirty hoping for something interesting to appear in my hands. Sometimes I pull out nothing but dirt, and the wind scatters it from my hands.

More chaff gone out into the wind.

But gone isn't gone, my bag still holds dust, and my fingers are still dirty. But life is funny like that I guess. Outside of the eternal perspective it's hard to see that eternity lies behind a thin veil. A thin dusty veil that is.

Interviews and Ontology

Okay, so some of you know that I've been searching for a job, and for those of you who know me, or have met me. I've had facial hair since I was about sixteen years old, and long hair since I was 18. I'm 24 now, so you can do the math. Normally I try to search for jobs that fit my personality, jobs that fit my personality and understand that how I look is a part of that. But when one really needs a job, what can you do? Beggars can't be choosers, and although most employers of my generation have come to the understanding that how we present ourselves to the world is a reflection of who we are on the inside. There is a value to how we look that goes much deeper than your normal first impression value. It's a reflection of our ontology (a reflection of who we are). Some people my age take it too far with surgical implants, full body tattoos, and piercings, but they are still representing their value system. Reflecting their uniqueness in all of creation. For instance, I have two tattoos that nobody else will ever have they reflect who I am in Christ, and my membership of the universal church. They could be copied later on....but it's not very likely.
Yesterday, I was panic stricken while trying to find employment. I had applied for over 10 places of business and not one of them called me back. So I went to a grocery store, I've worked in one before, and was over-qualified for the job, but there were two problems. My goatee and ponytail. The manager asked if "I was attached to those", and for a second I didn't know how to answer. The idea that a woman with long hair could work there with impunity while I was forced to change my appearance based upon my gender seemed biased and dishonoring. But even moreso, fifty years ago a man with a beard could probably work anywhere (save for those jobs where facial hair is a hazard. Like fire-fighting or something), but this job wasn't hazardous at all. Look at the picture above...that man's appearance wont ever stand out in a crowd (I don't know him by the way), or draw attention to his characteristics. He has a military hair-cut, and a militarily close shave. He fits in to the ideal, and that's great if that's what he going for. But what about the rest of us? Like I said before, I was over-qualified for the job, and I would've "blended in" if I had to...thank God I didn't. But what value was being exerted on me?

Afternoons Over Coffee

Allow me to open this posting by saying that, I have nothing important to say whatsoever at the moment. I'm actually just sitting in a coffee shop, which is awkwardly playing a CD I'm on, enjoying my anonymity. My wife and good friend are at a work meeting, and I'm sitting here, on a rather uncomfortable bench typing this message. There is a girl sitting on a red cushioned chair flipping pages in a magazine on the end of the room , a glamour rag no doubt, and listening to her headphones. Listening to her headphones rather than the CD (the one that I play bass on). She's not paying attention to me, actually she's completely unaware that I'm even here in the room typing about her. She'll never know. Although my wife and I frequent this particular cafe, and my wife even works here. I knew nothing about the girl working behind the counter. She doesn't work here much anymore, trying to get a job at a hospital as some sort of physician's something or other. Just like the girl on the other side of the room, she doesn't know that I'm telling you all about her. She knows my friend who works here, the friend who wrote the songs on the album that I played bass on, the album that is playing right now. It's interesting to me that three people can sit in a room and not even say so much as a word to each other. In fact, we'll all walk away without even paying deference to each other. I wont say anything to end-of-the-room girl at all, not even a casual goodbye. I'll probably smile discretely and wave to behind-the-counter-aspiringphysician'ssomethingorother when I leave. But I wont wonder about her life tomorrow, she'll leave my reality and that's pretty much the end on it. It's odd to sit around and do apparently nothing at all, but underneath the surface of it all is a wild and pulsating life of thought and essence. Although none of us have even talked to each other save for the mild pleasantries of commerce, there lies a myriad blanket of thought and intention weaving around all of us like one gigantic, and growing cobweb. And in the midst of that huge cobweb is the Spirit running frantically down the strands that are dusted with the very truths of God.
It's interesting to me that three people can sit in a room and not even say so much as a word to each other. In fact, we'll all walk away without even paying deference to each other. But what seems to be some sort of exercise in isolation is not that all. The things that connect man to man are not things that can be defined or improved upon. They simply are. We are all connected, all involved in this quiet afternoon over coffee, all playing dramatic, and interlocking roles. Weaving back and forth between each other through observation and thought, interpretation and conclusion. All serving a purpose beyond the tangibles that we can see, my friend's CD is singing truth out, bouncing it off the exposed brick walls and into our ears. Stirring sonic truth down to where it counts. Behind-the-counter-aspiringphysician'ssomethingorother is chatting it up with some guy about getting a different job, end-of-the-room girl is studying diligently across the room. I don't know what the subject is, but after spending that much time on her work I'd say that she should pass, but of course, she'll lose some crucial points on a pointless rote learning question that has no reflection on her study skills. Me? I'm just the photographer. None of these people had any idea that they would be the subject in an essay this afternoon, but I had no idea that I would be writing it either. Life is a lot like a Picasso painting, at first it looks like a bunch of bright scribbled lines, but when you step back it's all one canvas. All one afternoon over coffee.

For Carl

Carl was a man who let his words run,
& run they did.
Wild & free.
They saw the smiling harvest,
and winking cities.
They saw the iron workers and railroads in their ore-clad marches.
They saw the fog settle down with tiny cat's feet,
& cows staring carelessly at the moon
in milk pails.
Carl was a man who let his words run,
and they sure ran fast!
They ran with Van Gogh's brush,
and Debussy's impressions.
Running wild and free.
Wild and Free