a tribute

Happy Dad!

(photo taken in anticipation of this day; NYC - 02.20.06)

ketchup

4 films
4 days
3 different Alamos

Monday taught us of how the Jamaican Soundsystem had a great deal to do with spurring on Hip-Hop. Thanks Cool Herc. Then, across the sea to Nigeria where Fela Kuti attempted a tribal/ musical revolution. Quite a character, that genius level that more than borders on insanity. Nonetheless, an interesting film from the year of my birth.

Wednesday. Franciscan monks can be Luchadors. A buddy film with fat and skinny guys with waning accents who save an orphanage. Entertaining, but probably a renter for most. Great sets.

Thurday’s matinee: An Inconvenient Truth. Can’t recommend this film enough. Global warming spoken about in plain terms by a passionate man. Not sensational or overly sentimental. Simply an issue that must be addressed. Side note: Al, I’ll vote for you (again) in ’08.

Perhaps another film this afternoon. Tis nice to feel at least a little caught up.

"...long obedience in the same direction... something which has made life worth living." Nietzsche

A statement regarding the Oaken vows:

“I heard that, but I don’t really understand it,”

After praying the Celtic morning prayer for two years now, I’m having a deeper understanding of myself and why I need prayer and structure to remind me of God’s faithfulness, both to me and this world. The power of words as the frame for our life’s deeds mirrors the beautiful portrait of the incarnational spirit of the Scriptures – life-breathing words repeated throughout generations.

There’s times like now that I know I won’t want to get up in the morning. I know that lying in bed tomorrow I’ll be forced with the choice of whether or not I want to get up early to pray or just stay asleep.

There’s times like yesterday when I wanted to pray, but knew not what to say… until the scriptures were read. My heart was filled with the imagery of God’s faithfulness to the Israelites in the form of cloud and fire and my prayers followed those images on into the work place.

Perhaps our vows are similar to liturgy. Though the grasp of what it says or why people want to say it (sometimes over and over) may not always be there, the commitment to a discipline of “long obedience in the same direction” continues to lead us despite the lack of personal wherewithal. Though not necessarily easier in community, this commitment gains mass “in the same direction” and propels us along the Way when we’re willing to be in this for good, together.

Sometimes vows can only be lived, not fully understood. Marriage. Christ’s flock. We’re just trying to love one another.

sound - sight - symbol

Caedmon's Call has resurrected on Mel & my playlist over the last couple of months. The acoustic pop stylings caught my ear at a young age and though I liked the words then, various lines have come to new life. This one in particular resounds in my soul. It's actually a Rich Mullins lyric, sung acapella by CC:

I will sing for the meek
For those who pray with their very lives for peace
Though they're in chains for a higher call
Their mourning will change, into laughter
when the nations fall.

The Western goes down under. I saw the Australian pic The Proposition last Friday. Twas a gritty, small cast on a big dirty canvas with a simple plot. Much like a Clint Eastwood picture, a few characters become increasingly intertwined in a bloody saga that ends abruptly. My favorite theme to emerge from this film and the Western in general revolves around man's hypocrisy - the willingness to both condemn and participate in various stages of evils. Not for everyone, but a good one for the big screen.

Captain Stanley: Now, suppose I told you there was a way to save your little brother Mikey from the noose. Suppose I gave you a horse and a gun. Suppose, Mr. Burns, I was to give both you and your young brother Mikey, here, a pardon. Suppose I said that I could give you the chance to expunge the guilt beneath which you so clearly labour. Suppose I gave you till Christmas. Now, suppose you tell me what it is I want from you.
Charlie Burns: You want me to kill me brother.
Captain Stanley: I want you to kill your brother.

Binding the Strong Man, my current reading on Mark's potrayal of Jesus is slow, convoluted and highly enjoyable. Seeing as I could talk about this book for quite some time (and I've only read 33% of it), I'll just quote this bit regarding Jesus healings and exorcisms found in the first half of Mark:

Obviously any interpretation that stresses the biomedical definition of "wholeness" excludes the physically disabled from the good news. If, however, we focus upon the broader socio-symbolic meaning of illness and healing, the stories address us all equally. After all, in Mark the true impediments to discipleship have nothing to do with phsyical impairment, but with spiritual and idealogical disorders: "Having eyes can you not see? Having ears can you not hear?" (8:18)... the problem is that [interpreters] 'unquestioningly accept biomedicine as the only legitimate view of reality.'

of vows and saints

Tonight Mel and I will take our Oaken vows. These are commitments we feel it is appropriate to make in front of “The Sacred Trinity and Christ’s flock” (lines from the vows) as a somewhat specific definition of who we are in Christ and how that identity affects our world. The vows stand on the Hebraic imagery of these four legs:

shema - hear and obey
anawim – the lowly or groaning ones
shalom – welcoming, blessing
yobel – horn proclamation of atonement

Both exciting and daunting, in no way do I claim mastery over these areas. I am a mere foal in the flock, looking for the guidance to greener pastures from shepherd and herd, while standing on these fresh legs. This oath represents a almost two year’s worth of challenge and construction as we have planned to build new structures upon foundational beginnings laid (what seems like) long ago.

Part of our vow-taking consists of choosing different “saints” as our “patrons.” We’re doing this that we might feel an increased kinship with and inspiration from the wealth of history found within “Christ’s flock.”

My saint – though not Catholic, dead or recognized in any “official” way – is Bruce Olson. His life’s mission revolved around a call at the age of 19 to go to South America’s Motilone Indian tribe. He was the first non-indigenous person to live among, learn from and eventually help teach the tribe. His patient life allowed for the storytelling (or interpreting), which helped his Indian friends come to know Jesus as a Motilone. Bruchko tells the story in far more intriguing detail.

Hats off to you, Bruchko. Your faith challenges me. Your dedication dares me. Your tender and tangible love overflows like that of Christ. We will more than likely never meet, but know that your life is a fantastic testimony to God’s faithfulness, Christ’s mercy, and the Spirit’s power.

Grace and Peace to you and to the Motilones.

a long week & several writers: i still struggle with depression, but maybe it isn't just me

Everything is meaningless. Under this hot freakin’ sun, everything is meaningless. The toil of work, the accumulation of stuff, the folly is in full force.

Ecclesiastes seems to describe the way America makes me want to vomit these days. I walk through the mall (what I might refer to now as the jungle) and see tigers made of brand names, poisonous thorns of cheap labor, children running wild in the economy of familial extraction in the name of consumerism.

I don’t know how much more I can take. It weighs on my soul Lord. For some reason, my heart remains heavy for a country I increasingly see as devoid of compassion, integrity, and light - as the black hole of self-indulgent fantasy numbs people into its ever increasing mass.
I don’t know what to do when people say, “whats wrong – you look down.” I’m not trying to be depressed. But simply looking around around at those I know and love just shows on my face because I refuse to hide the emotional toll the country takes on this not-knowing-what-to-do soul. What should I tell these lost creatures of habit whose “unexamined life isn’t worth living?” Since I don’t think they’ll take kindly to my laundry list of Austin-American-Western-Worldwide woes or the fact that a God loves them and sent Jesus as proof, I keep them to myself and try to comment on the weather or their well-groomed appearance.

I don’t know anything else to do besides take in as much as I can bear and attempt a shot at something at least a little bit better. Better than the isolationist sophistication of today’s modern man. Better than the church’s offering plate as a means to an end. Better than the sad excuse for marriage or even love that passes as entertainment. Better than relying on the technology that drives this machine of a country to GDP-bottom-dollared sense. Better than the politic of peace that bombs bring – ring the final bell on freedom, Mr. Bush.

I don’t know what I’m even saying because I’m part of my own disgust. Wrapped up in a house that seeks to be a home for friend, foe and weary traveler alike, I myself am American… but myself I even dislike. The hardest part of being me is perhaps that I’m no freakin’ Trinity and screw up all the time, just like the people who seem so canna-ballistically unruly.

Confession: The soul of this man remains meaningless, aside from God’s peace.

I don’t know what my role in this mess is. I’m burdened, that’s for sure. I’m praying. I’m doing what seems right. But now I just write. Write to help me defeat the worry, at least for this night.