Now Thank We All Our God

Now thank we all our God
With heart and hands and voices,
Who wondrous things hath done,
In Whom the world rejoices;
Who, from our mother's arms,
Hath blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love,
And still is ours today.

-Martin Rinkart

God Loves Jazz

Alright, time to lighten up a bit. Take a load off, take a walk, don't wear tan. The weather this week has been astounding. I love fog and overcast skies in the fall. The trees have been amazingly beautiful this year. The other day I was working and looked out a window to see a leaf storm. The oak trees all decided at the same moment to give up the ghost for the year. It was incredible.

Thursday was positively warm, and Friday started that way too. Thinking it was a trend, I neglected to pack a jacket on Friday. It got down below forty degrees by three. My boss was very happy when I had to work twice as fast to stay warm. In reality he loaned me a jacket.

But there is something about this time of year. Anticipating the holidays, grabbing a coffee for the trip home (yes, it's a trip), and getting to wear sweaters, scarves, and coats. It's jazz weather. It's like everything is preparing to rest. Or feast. I think it is feast and then rest. And yes, when nature prepares for a feast, it dances.

Wuthering Heights, a review

When I began reading Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte, I was under warning from several sources that it wasn't worth reading for a Christian. It's too dark, it glorifies evil, it doesn't have any redeeming factors, etc. On the other hand, the book is a classic, it has stood against , and is a renowned example of good writing. So I read it.

Wuthering Heights is the story of Heathcliff, an orphan gypsy boy brought into a comfortable life, and those whose lives he affects. Upon being adopted he becomes a favorite, to the resentment of his new brother, and sister to a lesser degree. He goes through life getting anything he wants, until the father dies. The the brother's cruelty is unleashed. Heathcliff appears to bear it, until he recieves dissappointment and leaves, bitter and resentful. The rest of the story is seemingly a twisted tale of revenge and vengeance.

In reality, what I read was a story full of grace, though it may not be easy to see. The problem arises when we expect our grace to come in comfortable packages. The idea of darkness and evil are relegated to the devil and his cohorts. We will take our grace with sugar and cream, let the sinners have the vinegar. We lose a lot if we think of pretty things all wrapped in pink bows when Paul admonishes us to meditate on those things which are pure and noble. But, by affirming a disconnect between God and that which we call evil, we deny His soveriegnty over all things.

The Bible is full of dark things that would give us heeby-geebies and nightmares if we tried to understand them, and they are example of God giving grace. The life of King David's family makes Wuthering Heights look like Leave It to Beaver. Job didn't exactly walk through a bed of roses. The crucifiction of Christ was the darkest, most evil event in human history, and the most unfathomable act of grace. If there had been no fall in the garden, there would be no redemption.

Wuthering Heights looks at the effects of both indulgence and vengeance. The characters are all flawed, but somehow that makes it real. It tends to sting because it tends to touch home. It doesn't end in a nice comfortable way. Some don't get redemption like hoped, and some get it where it was unexpected. The book has its flaws, and it may not be for all, but I gained a lot from reading it.

Peace of Christ to You

It saddens me when I find myself defending the importance of the Lord's Supper to other believers. How does the church lose sight of a gift from the Lord Himself for the unity of the body? The more I think and pray about it, the more clearly I see that it is because the church has lost sight of Christ as He is, seated on the throne of Heaven, at the right hand of the Father. Or, put more specifically, the more I study them, the more I see that sacrementology and eschatology are connected. When we partake of the Supper, we partake with Christ enthroned in Heaven ruling now, victorious over death and sin. We are not a huddled band of believers sneaking bites and piering around the corner waiting for the antichrist to kick us out. We are feasting in the midst of our enemies. I would be tempted to mock those nibbling on their crackers and sipping their grape juice once every four months, but I miss them dearly at the table. I urge them to come, not because it makes more sense and works better theologically, but because it offers peace. Peace of Christ to you.

Singing In the Rain

I love the rain. I can even enjoy the mud. But must they both find way into my new truck?

Currently Listening: Stepping Out, by Diana Krall

That Which Stems from Cells

I never thought much on stem-cell research before. However, as it is a big deal on the ballot next month, it has come into the cogwheels known as my mind. There are a whole schlew of moral and ethical problems here. The first is obvious, we are cutting into human life! Of course this can be rationalized. The eggs aren't fertalized, so it isn't life yet; it's just tissue, yada yada. I'll let that slide for now. After that they want to justify it by the surplus of embryos stockpiled from fertility clinics. I have a problem here, that goes beyond the moral/ethical fallacies of fertility clinics. Stockpiled surplusses get depleted. Then what? Then our wives and daughter get coerced into pushing their bodies through a brutal barrage of medical treatments to create and harvest the thousands of embryos required for stem cell research. It becomes as "necessary'' as giving blood, and embryos become a tradable commodity. Womens bodies become production facilities for the goddess Science, and the damnable greater good. After all, it just harvesting tissue from bigger blobs of tissue. I don't think Hitler could have thought up a plan this diabolic, or had it swallowed so easily. The American public is demanding it's right to a haulocost! If your worldview has no standard for morality or ethics, I guess that's okay. But we have a moral standard, we have a God, and He requires us to protect the innocent and fatherless, not to lay their necks on the butcher's block. We cannot prey on the defenseless in order to comfort the dying. I'm all for finding cures, but not at the expense of this sort of false dualism; one life for another. This is not the sort of self-sacrifice that Christ displayed, but a cultural cannibalism. In the height of our intelligence we are self-destructive. It is an amazing judgement that the very hand that slaps the face of God, God will use to plunge a knife into the heart.

Missouri Amendment 2 Initiative

This is to let everyone here from Missouri know about this important topic. There is an Amendment on the ballot for the next election that is one of the most deceptive affronts on the sactity of human life, the ethical treatment of women, and tax ceiling attempted in this state. It is touted as the biggest pro-life battle ever fought in this state, yet very few Christians in the state know that there is even an issue. This is a big deal! If the bill passes, it will open unlimited goverment resources, without accountability, to research facilities and clinics, that will result in the exploitation of women and the desecration of human life (God's creation). For more info visit www.nocloning.com and www.votenotcloning.com. I encourage everyone who is able, get involved, and tell everyone you can about this!

Born. Again. And again. And again.

There seems to be some confusion as to my birthday. I only have one. I just celebrate at multiple, random times throughout the year. Some would think this would result in more presents (more birthday celebrations = more presents). This has not been the case. I will also forgoe multiple celebrations, as it seems to be adding to my percieved age, which has had negative ramifications in the relationship department.

Also, to clear up another misconception, I am not addicted to coffee. I could quit anytime I want. Ironicly I don't want. In fact, I have no desire. Coffee is good. Coffee is very good. Coffee is... oh never mind. Seriously, I will not be controlled by anything other than the Word of God. Coffee is awesome, when used as a means of grace, a blessing from our loving Creator. When used that way, then it follows that it should be made to His glory. May I recomend the french press?

For those of you who didn't know, I am very chic. But, after today, I am really very chic. That's right, I now drink coffee made in a French press (Google it). After spending the last weekend at my good friend Laurence's house, drinking coffee from his french press, black I might add, I knew, deep in my heart of hearts, I needed one. So I got myself one for my birthday (besides being chic, I am also very kind). So far so good. I am now looking forward to a long and hyper hobby of coffee parophenelia collecting.

Besides learning really cool ways to stay up late, I enjoyed the awesome fellowship over the weekend. And the work. There is nothing like working alongside wise men and good friends. Working hard. And eating good.

There was a wedding last weekend too. I think that had something to do with why we traveled 800 miles. Yeah, thats it. Went to VA for a wedding. Visited friends after. Maybe from the beginning....

Good friend, JL invited Donkey Boy and Me to his wedding in Bristol. DB desired to make a trip of it. So we went to the Outer Banks, NC (hence photograph). We went sea kayaking, parasailing, and boogie bording. We hunted seashells, visited gift shops, ate at quaint cafes and century old restraunts, ascended a lighthouse, and drove a lot. We were just two lonely-eyed boys in a pickup truck. We had a great time.

Then the wedding. It was beautiful. (For those who are interested, manly men can be obsessed with beauty.) The problem with weddings is that you don't get to visit with the bride or groom for more than 30 seconds, yet somehow it is worth driving 12 hours for.

We spent the rest of the weekend at Laurence's, including my birthday. There were good conversations, great beers, and sweet memories.

Pop Goes the Easel

Drinking a soda the other day got me to thinking about pop culture (sorry Naddy). And, thinking about pop culture got me to thinking about pop culture in the church. It hit me how, just like the drink in my hand, you can find a fellowship in any flavor. The area I live in is full of churches that have inundated with pop culture. They have the bands, their pastor is professionally good looking, and they have large connectivity groups. Members can go and be entertained, be inspired, and get plugged in. The result that I have seen, though, seems to be socialization, and not fellowship. It becomes a competition of hairdos and shirt styles. You get thousands of Christians all together, and yet communion is still just a personal issue between you and Christ.

But we reformed are so much better. We can hide our shallowness. How tight can we wear our neckties? How somberly can we sing our psalms? In how many parts?

I think one of the greatest problems, for individuals, is that we come to church wondering what we can get out of it. One time a pastor friend of mine through me for a loop when he told me that his session asked prospective members what the they had to offer the church; what gifts did they bring to the table. I was floored. I idea was totally foriegn. But imagine what church would be like if all the members came to it wondering how they could serve. What if we chose our churches based, not on how the worship service made us feel, but on how compatible the congregation is to recieving the gifts we have to offer? That would, of course, mean having time to serve, but I'll leave you to search the scriptures on that one.

All Peoples, Clap Your Hands for Joy, psalm 47

All peoples, clap your hands for joy,
To God in triumph shout;
For awesome is the Lord Most High,
Great King the earth throughout.
He brings the peoples under us
In mastery complete;
And he it is Who nations all
Subdues beneath our feet.

The land of our inheritance
He chooses out for us,
And He to us the glory gives
Of Jacob whom He loves.
God is assembled with a shout,
The Lord with trumpeting.
Sing praises unto God! Sing Praise!
Sing praises to our King!

For God is King of all the earth;
Sing praise with skillfulness.
God rules the nations; God sits on
His throne of holiness.
Assemble men of Abrah'm's God!
Come, people, princes, nigh!
The shields of earth belong to God;
He is exalted High.

You Too?

While the Cinnamon Free Unity Reformed Church consults their moderator (the honorable Dr. Phil), and throw eggs at one another, and the Pakastanian goat herders attend seminars on the effects of paedo-baptism on pre-lapsarian covenental thinking, I sit here wishing for a front porch for the enjoyingment of rest and the Porter in my fridge. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have discovered St. Anne's Public House.

Being Made Real

As I grow older I find that miss one main thing, or envy it, of young people of other times and cultures. Myth. I did not grow up among dryads, fawns, or fairies. All the stories I ever knew were real. Blood ran through the viens of all my heroes. So, too, in time, they all became fallible. They were not big enough. They were real, like me, and so, like me, wer not true. Their virtues were admirable, even attainable. They really climbed the highest peaks, and proved that I need not try. My world got smaller. Then I discovered, among other wonders, elves. Elves are elegant and artistic, and they are craftsmen and warriors. They are immortal, unless they are in battle; they are only vulnerable in acts of bravery or treachoury. Elves are not real, but they are true. I can never fully understand or be an elf, but I can always aspire toward one.

And so I find that there is a constant battle between realism and truth, especially in religion. We find ourselves explaining how Jonah could survive, in not a fish but a whale, for so long. But the point wasn't the realism, it was the truth. Jonah sinned, was cut off, convicted, repented, and used by God. It is not that realism and truth are absolutely opposed. Rather, they are prioritized wrongly. Truth produces reality. If we pursue reality it is like trying to drink an ocean. It is too much for anyone. But to pursue truth is like swimming in the same ocean. You can explore it, be refreshed by it, never exhausting its reachesh, and it will make you real.

Similarly, our faith is one of symbols. Yes, they were and are real, but they are, more importantly, true. There are, in our tale, water, blood,bread, trees, wine, all part of the story of Truth. When we are wasshed in the water, drink the wine, eat the bread, and are faithful to the Truth, we become part of the story. We become part of the Truth. We are made real.

What this looks like fleshed out is always amazing. I have been blessed to know a few men whose lives are flesh and blood testiments to complete dedication to the Truth of Jesus Christ. They are not symbolized by a romantic obsession to some idealism or pragmatic sentimentalism. They are characterized by a whole-hearted, practical dedication to seeing the whole Word of God worked out in their every day lives. The are warriors and poets. They fight dragons by pulling weeds and teaching proberbs to their sons. They woo their fair maidens by dailing laying down their lives, as Christ did for the church, for their wives. They are fiercely ordinary men. They live and die, not for systematics, but for the law of God. It is in their hearts, on their gates, and they teach to their children as they walk in the way. It makes them real.

Running, really, really fast

Sometimes people are induced to do crazy things. And then they love it (even if they fail miserably). And so it is that I joined the CTK softball team. Every monday we valiant few would march bravely onto the diamond, cheered incessantly by our adoring throngs (mostly my sisters). Sure, we could barely catch, and we could barely hit, but that's not the point, is it? Okay, so we got our cute little hinies thrashed, soundly, but we looked good doing it (thank you, exta hold hair gel). I mean... uh... that we had fun. Lots of fun. Plus there was usually lemonade, brownies, gatorade, or watermelon afterwards. I'd spend an hour being utterly humiliated for that, any day. Besides, we won one game (I haven't googled the word "forfeit" yet, but I'll let you know).

On to things I can do. It seems that dancing fever is catching on. I called two dances last month, and I'm getting ready for one next week, all outside my regular social group (church). This next one I'll even be playing some live music (while Donkey Boy calls). I guess I'd better get back to Mel Bay's "First Time Fiddler".

Guess Who's Back

Always one to be on the cutting edge of scandal, I have left you all to wonder for the last months what I have been up to. I have no intentions of enlightening you now. But perhaps I will drop a note here and there to make you all scratch your heads and wonder what goes on inside this little brain of mine.

A day in the life of...

Wow, I haven't blogged in a while. So, while the minion throngs cry for something profound, it may be good to note that while I didn't blog because I didn't have time, now I just don't have much to say.

Reading: Against Christianity by Peter Leithart. Thought provoking. Deals with the heresies involved in the view of Christianity as a strictly religious practice that doesn't effect social or political realms. Essentially, following his arguements, we have lost the "Church" as it should be. I'm in the section, Against Theology, right now. In it he argues for a more "organic" approach to the Christian life (a term I borrow from Doug Wilson). He points out that you cannot find words in theological books like (but not limited to) hair, blood, sweat, entrails, etc. Or, as one friend from church shared, our theologies and creeds should protect our the life within our church, not be that life.

Listening to: James Jordan. What can I say? Better experienced that shared. Good stuff.

Drinking: St. Peter's Creme Stout. Good in two ways. Reminds me of my good buddies up at St. Peter's Pres. Bristol, VA. The other is in the name. If you know what I mean, you know what I mean.

The weather has been marvelous. Last week we textured (uh, trained) six and a half houses (of, uh, pigeons) in five days. I now have a positively scandalous pic of myself one of those days, when the "pigeons'' were particularly, ah, thick. Sorry, probly won't post it. Somethings innocent eyes just shouldn't see. When its hot its hot and you gotta do what you gotta do to get things done.

Go see Pippin The Jedi. He belongs to our new pastor. The whole family's great to have around. Oh,yeah its nice havin' a pastor, too.

Death and Insurrection?

Our good Lord and Savior told us that as the world hated and persecuted Him it would hate and persecute us. Shortly after those whose job it was to protect Him killed Him. There seems to be no little irony in the correspondence between the Easter holiday, and the Federal holiday, Tax Day. There is very little humor. While we prepare to sit and ponder the great gift of God in salvation, we must also ponder the great gift we are to volunarily calculate and donate to the gods of the land. While Uncle Sam probes our pockets, we will sit together and drink of something he can never touch. Eternal life. We can give to Ceasar what is dubiously called his, but he can never touch what our Lord calls His own. One day, perhaps a day you and I may not see, even Uncle Sam will bend his strong arm in adoration and service to the King of kings, presidents, and executioners in suits and ties. Until then we give him a clear example of how it is to be done. We remain faithful to the Lord of the faithful.

For kingship belongs to the LORD, and He rules over the nations.

Finally

For those patient few, who have resisted the temptation to see this same picture at Donkey Boy's blog, here we are the Pella ball.

Mercy Comes Softly

After sorrow, joy.
First the darkness, light.
Mercy comes softly,
Morning proceeds the night;
Wings anticipating flight.

Love, not unrequited,
Sweet sorrow telling,
"My face Will Be Hidden."
Tears, unbidden, welling,
While joy has found a Dwelling.

Covenant colors
Arch across the sky;
Faith unto the faithful,
Blessings upward fly.
Grace found, ever nigh.

Hope, undistaining,
Grief, itself, entombs.
Thriving, love and joy,
Spreading fragrant blooms.
Dispelling fears, mercy softly comes.

Paradise

by George Herbert

I bless thee, Lord, because I grow
Among the trees, which in a row
To thee both fruit and order ow

What open force, or hidden charm
Can blast my fruit, or bring me harm,
While the inclosure is thine arm?

Inclose me still for fear I start;
Be to me rather sharp and tart,
Than let me want they hand and art.

When thou dost greater judgements spare,
And with thy knife but prune and pare,
Even fruitful trees more fruitful are:

Such sharpness shows the sweetest frend,
Such cuttings rather heal than rend,
And such beginnings touch their end.

This poet has so far amazed me with the truthful paradox that shows up in his style. The poem in particular I found inspriring.

Ryme and Rythm

Thanks to Naddy's writings, and the tips from Naddy's Daddy, I've found some great old poetry books. Naturally, I turn right to the bloody, bravery stuff first. Enjoy the enstallment below. Found some great ones by Ben Johnson too, but that's another subject...

For those interested, the Pella ball went marvelously. I will try to post pics eventually. The trip went smoothly. We made some new friends, and found some we already knew. To top it all off we saw America's largest working Dutch windmall, and 2nd smallest Wal-Mart.