Tohu Va Vohu revisited

I woke up with a strange prayer on my lips today. It was a sort of prayer for blankness, a wordless plea to be stripped of all.

I fell asleep last night after a wonderful dinner with Jesse and Amy, and our conversation rang and rang in my head as I slept. We spoke of the provision of God, the timeliness of the comings and goings of his spirit, and the limitless love of his son. Of course, we also talked a lot about dumb things we did growing up and dumb things we plan on doing in the future. There was crass dinner-table regaling of my brother's violent, vomitous reaction to a road-stop ham sandwich between peaking fourteeners in the Rockies, of the uncertain thought processes that led Jesse and I and our roommate, Matt, to venture off on a 4-hour hike into the Appalachians at dusk with a flashlight and a hatchet ("Wow, I didn't see that sheer cliff face inches from the trail when we passed by this way last night...), and brief descriptions of the various media that we each possess which could, in one fell swoop, bring any of our political aspirations to a swift and decisive halt.

And through all of this, it's being revealed to me just what an intimate front-row seat our savior takes for all of these moments. I'm so thankful for all of the wonderful people that have surrounded me since birth. These relationships are proof of the provision of God in my life, even before I knew where to attribute the blessing.

So, today, as I let thoughts flow and invited Christ in, he began to encourage a willingness to purge. It's been a month now since this rapturous Love first seized my heart, reclaiming all of my life and trials. Not a long time, but long enough for God to come in and place a yearning for cleansing, complete and final. I just want every dark corner of my soul exposed. I want every closed door open to Christ's transformational presence. Some things may enter back in to my life and co-habitate with him after he makes his presence complete, but I want nothing there to impede the move-in process.

Through this meditation, the phrase Tohu Va Vohu came back to mind, illuminated in a different way. Heretofore, I've understood the Hebrew phrase as 'shapeless and void,' or 'utter chaos,' as found in the first book of Genesis, where "the earth was tohu va vohu, and the spirit of God hovered of the surface of the deep." I was given a new picture of this scenario - the new, fresh Earth, covered over in water like a peaceful sunrise lake, unconsciously waiting for the presence of God to descend upon it in creative power and take up domain in all it's vastness, filling it with wonders. What a wonderful place to be - empty like a deep exhale before moving the first box into a new apartment. Nothing but potential and excitement, and the knowledge that the good stuff is yet to come. Only all we have to do is wait on God to do the moving. We just have to sit and wait and be Tohu Va Vohu until God is ready to do his thing.

This comes as a stark contrast to the painful, tumultuous place the chaos of formation and transformation can be. What a blessing.

Going to meet Klee for a last breakfast before I ship out. More to come.

A Revolutionary Love.

Ian and Justin and I went to the Belcourt theatre last night to see CHE, a film based on revolutionary Marxist, Ernesto Guevera. Incredible film. It was separated into two parts, which played out very much like two separate films. I've read reviews that Part One was "much better than" Part Two. I disagree. Part Two is a much tougher story, granted. But to say it is inferior is like saying "I like Che's Cuban revolution better than his Bolivian, because it was successful."

These films are well made. Soderbergh's direction is beautiful, and stylized, although not remotely concise (hence the 4.5 hour combined running-time). Benicio Del Toro portrays Guevera as a passionate, altruistic leader - a compelling perspective, opposed by many.

I left struck by one part of the story in particular. In an interview later in his life, Che was asked what it meant to be a revolutionary. He responded:

At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality.

I'm left to ponder his response in light of my coming journeys. Ideologically, Guevera and I part ways in a few clutch areas, namely Marxism, faith, and the concept of redemptive violence. Ergo, I find it very interesting how we can arrive at two very different courses of action while claiming the same impetus. I think that the difference HAS to be faith.

Until recently, I fantasized about the idea of dying with a gun in my hand, in pursuit of some transcendent good, and maybe taking some opposition down with me. Through meditation and prayer I continually find this scenario less appealing. I can only attribute this movement to the grace of God, the work of His Spirit, and the gift of salvation offered by His Son. I can no longer conceive that anyone ever born to this earth is any more or less guilty of greed, hatred, betrayal, scorn, or oppression than myself. I've also seen the radical transformation that can come from forgiveness.

I'm left thinking, even if Faith were hypothetically not a factor, what would be a greater manifestation of Love on this planet: A traitor held accountable for his treason and put do death, or a coward welcomed back into the fold, embraced and forgiven? Both are contagions, but I wager violence begets violence, perpetuating self-righteous scorn and its pitfalls, while forgiveness alone has the capacity for transformation and restoration.

Saul wasn't struck down for his violent persecution of early Christians. He was illuminated by a life-changing encounter with God and transformed, even given a new name. This new creation, Paul, went on to be one of the most radical, world-changing revolutionaries the world has ever seen, showing people one-by-one the Love that brought him home and made him whole, and set the world on fire with this contagious Love. Love and forgiveness this limitless is only possible through our omnipotent Creator.

So I guess that's my goal: to hinder as little as possible the Love that breathes into this life, moment by moment, from my God. It's raging and all-consuming, and with any grace it'll scorch out everything contrary within me. And if I do go out in a blaze of gunfire as my earlier vision depicted, I pray I'm standing on top of the wreckage of our self-righteous bickering, screaming my bloody lungs out of the Love that renders all debts paid-in-full.

*****SPOILER ALERT******

Here's where I'm reminded again of Del Toro's depiction of Che. Before his execution, he's asked what good will come of his efforts when his forces have failed and the people he's fought to free deny and betray him. Steadfast, Che responds.

Maybe our failure will wake them up.

A Surprising Love

I wanted to share a journal entry from last weekend. I'm a little apprehensive, because sometimes when I hear people speak about these things, I think there's a good chance they're crazy. But, when it comes down to it, I believe the spiritual realm is just as real as the physical realm. Probably more real, in many ways. Just tougher to tap into because of the noise of the world.

Before getting into the entry, here's the back-story. With my departure from Nashville, my home of almost 6 years, only a couple weeks away, I've been feeling like my to-do and to-see lists are eating me alive. And as I take these concerns to God, He continually draws me towards letting go of my lists, my worries, and my control, and asks that I just focus on Him. So it has been a struggle to find a balance between tying up loose ends and getting rid of all my stuff before leaving the country, and just resting and being still and listening for the voice that is drawing me to this new life in the first place.

And, if you know me, I'm really not very good and 'shutting off.' Really not good at all. I can't take naps, I can't read if I'm at home, I can't just veg out in front of the tube. I can't even sit still. Especially in the midst of such an all-consuming transition.

So, I took a silent retreat last weekend to the Passionist Convent in Whitesville, KY. I figured the only way to actually get quiet in the midst of my current place in life would be to get out of town and take a vow of silence.

The gist of the Passionist Convent: There's currently 19 'cloistered' nuns, meaning they live their lives in silence, using their voices only in mass for reading scripture, singing hymns (in HEARTBREAKINGLY beautifully puretone, I might add), and prayer. Their entire lives are devoted to contemplating the Passion of Christ, and his birth, life, death, resurrection, and salvation. It sounds pretty wild, but it was such a joy being in their presence, and really made me hunger for the fruit that can only come from lengthy solitude. One of the nuns, Sister Mary, is delegated to speak so that she may perform simple housekeeping and business affairs, and to greet guests. She painted a picture of their life and vocation as so fulfilling and rewarding. Her love was just contagious.

My prayer going into the weekend was that God would make me genuinely aware of his presence, and that the love of Jesus would be impressed upon me in new and compelling ways. This felt like stepping out on limb for me, as I've been hashing so much out concerning Faith vs. the dogma of my youth. But, Jesus has brought me so far down this path, I thought it only fair to 'give him the weekend,' so to speak, just to do with what he would. But I never imagined the staggering ways in which He'd answer my prayer.

I wrote:

I went to afternoon mass, the nuns' mid-afternoon prayer & mercy chaplet. They sang humns in their beautiful puretone unison, followed by a reading from Jeremiah, followed by what became an interesting experience for me. I followed their lead to my knees, and the sisters began a peculiar call and response chant. At first I didn't notice what it was, as I was praying some prayer of my own, concerning my friends who are currently abroad, ministering to the nations.

Through my prayer, the sisters' communal prayer slowly crept through. I don't know how many repetitions it took the prayer to reach my brain, but by the time I knew what was happening I was already moving my lips with their words:
Call: "For the sake of His sorrowful passion . . ."
Response: "Have mercy on us, and on the whole world."

By the twentieth repetition I found myself beseeching God to set the dreams He's given my friends on fire, that the fire would RAGE and ignite their whole lives, their entire being, that the self in these dreams would fall to ashes as the flames grow higher, stoked and fueled by Christ's untameable love.

What? I thought. This doesn't sound like me. Where's the grounded logic? Where's the tethered cynicism and realism? Nonetheless, the words were on my lips.

Another 50 repetitions, and my heart began to race, then to flutter and skip, and then to palpitate. It felt physically on the brink of bursting. I was afraid I was going to pass out, that I would fall to the floor in seizure.

I wondered if Nuns know CPR.

I fleetingly wondered if 'Cloistered' means they can't administer it.

Forget it, give in, said a voice.

"Jesus I invite you into this. I hope it's you, 'cause it's weird as crap, but either way - be here now."

At this, the symptoms grew in intensity. I felt my rips expand, painfully. I could see the crucifix spinning overhead through closed eyes. I was reeling.

Could they have really spoken this a hundred times? Two hundred? How long will this go on?

"For the sake of His sorrowful passion. . ."

"Have mercy on us and on the whole world."

"For the sake of His sorrowful passion. . ."

"Have mercy on us and on the whole world."

How can this frail old voice speak such power?

Heart beating an irregular drum-roll, I lost space and time. When I came to, rocking back and forth on my knees, there were only a handful of nuns still in the chapel: three remained genuflect in prayer, and one was setting up for the next of the hours.

I sat for a bit collecting myself and wiping sweat & tears away, then floated out back, past the holy water and into the arcade, where I began to wonder what work had just been done in me, and whether I would ever even know.

Praise Jesus. What else can you do?

I figured this was somehow the purpose of my weekend, that I was there at the convent to prepare for, have, and reflect on this experience. I discovered within the evening that Jesus had much more in store for me. I added to the above journal entry later in the evening:

So, exhausted from this experience, I collapsed into bed. Some time later I awoke to the sound of the other retreatants shuffling past my door to dinner in silence. I rousted myself, immediately identifying my mood as "grumpy." I'll make it though, I thought, but I'm ready to go. This wasn't fun any more.

As I ate, remembering I'd promised to give Jesus the whole weekend, I relented and invited Jesus into my grumpiness. "Are you ready for this?" I heard. "Ready for what?" I asked. "Son, I just showed you an image of a shadow of the burden of love that I took to the cross." "Oh, I don't know then," I responded as I looked up at a picture of Jesus on the wall. "Take your time," I heard.

As I slowly let this strange invitation sink in, tears began to well up, of empathy or reluctant submission. "If you're there, I'll go." And as I said this, my still aching heart broke under the weight of Christ's love for the world, and I began to weep. We're talking WEEP. And I'm not what you'd call a 'crier.'

Collapsing into my chamber, I melted into a puddle of busted love, for the sake of His sorrowful passion, and wrapped myself in His garment of grace.

The Reason For The Title.

I'm likely going to get a tattoo to inaugurate this season of my life. The concept for my Tat has also inspired this blog. It goes like this:

I'm embarking upon a journey consisting of, but not limited to the following: the giving away of everything I own, the forfeiture of all plans, comforts, and accoutrements of the typical domestic life, and the setting off into the vastness of the created world to encounter God and love His people.

So, my tattoo concept is derived from the story of Creation in Genesis 1:2, which says "The earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters."

The original Hebrew for "formless and empty" is the phrase "tohu va vohu" or actually,

which directly translated is "utter chaos." It was practically a whimsical term, dismissing the subject as incoherent and lacking intrinsic value.

I visited Limpopo, S.
Africa with my family a decade ago, and we took a photo on an ancient baobab tree.

This thing's one of the biggest in the world, 152 ft around, and over 6,000 yrs old.

SOOOOO, my idea is some artistic rendering of this tree growing out of a "void," of sorts, perhaps a trash heap or some visual depiction of dust and ashes, incorporating the Hebrew phrase. It's supposed to represent how I am, and collectively humanity is, just a bunch of rubbish swirling in tumultuous blunder, but that this is the very material that God uses to put together His masterpiece: beautiful Creation as a whole.

So that's it, that's that, this is it, etc. A bookend. The one on the left. Hopefully the bookshelf is stout enough to support whatever tohu va vohu it will collect between now and the next bookend.

Cheers, and we'll see you along the way.

In Bits of String, Suns, and Rocks.

Suggested reading:

The Elegant Universe, by Brian Greene. Spinning, vibrating bits of string: matter's smallest, most fundamental component.
The Singing Sun, from Stanford Solar Center. Massive celestial bodies producing sound 40,000 times below our ability to hear.
Luke 19:37-40, where Jesus states that, even when man ceases in worship, creation continually proclaims.

For whom does existence sing?

From the smallest, most fundamental particle of matter, to the largest bodies in the heavens, all matter is formed into a never-ending, ever-singing orchestra of praise for the creator. Whoa. This one's going to take a minute to digest.

More to come . . ..

Eye Balls

I have experienced a true medical and financial miracle. After living more than half my life with hindered vision, relying as so many of us do on glasses and contacts, and coping with strange and painful ocular migraines for the last two years, I CAN SEE. The eye dude has cut my eyeballs open and he has fixed them. And I awoke from a three or four hour post-surgery nap able to step out onto my balcony, seeing for the first time (in high freaking def) the world that I live in. And, whoa, dudes. God's made this world in pretty magnificent fashion. I mean, trees even have leaves from far away, and I get to see 'em changing and falling. This is CRAZY.

Just thought I'd share.

Ruminations from the Beginning

I told an old friend that I had big things on the horizon. She asked “Where to?”

Two little words that sparked a lot of reflection.

So here’s my response, from which I spared her and opted to craft a cliff’s notes version. I thought it more appropriate to share here.

Funny to hear you speak of selling everything and driving off into the sunrise. That’s about right, and it’s really the result of a slow-burning fire, the kindling of which has been laid over the last few months or even years. The things that have led me to this place are really nothing short of miraculous. These things God has placed in my life to guide my steps are just mind-blowing. Freaking mind-blowing.

Not to oversell the story, or anything. ;)

I mean, I really only started to grasp the whole picture in the last few days, reading through old journals and ruminating on the person I was, not so long ago. I was just in this really dark place, full of doubts that I didn’t feel I should have. I mean, I was small, cynical, confused, and most of all, STUCK. I ‘liked’ my job in theory, but didn’t love it, and was craving more substance. I’d grown tired of catering to the whims of divas and devos and their A&R, management, and producers. And all for music that never really turned me on. I was in a relationship with a great girl, with whom I inexplicably could not move forward. I’d put my own music and craft almost entirely off for years in pursuit of someone else’s dream. And I’d backburned all pursuits of service and community involvement.

All this wasn’t really the problem, it’s that I was fixated on imaginary limitations on myself, my life, my work, my relationships, my finances, my career, and most importantly, my passions.

And slowly, this began to melt away, starting with an epiphany when I landed on a return flight from an epic trip to San Francisco with KJay to visit some dear friends, Megan and Brandon Baker. The plane landed with a jolt, and I pictured my then-girlfriend waiting in the terminal. The strangest thought manifested itself in my head: “Oh shit. I can’t lie to her any more.” This was a strange feeling for a guy who always strove to treat this girl with care, compassion, grace, and honesty. And this was a girl who he truly adored. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that, whatever we had (and it was genuinely great), I just wasn’t in it any more. So I let her go.

Then I began to quit tying myself up with my qualms at work and started getting a kick out of it again. By shifting my view of it to “job” rather than “life’s pursuit, all-consuming endeavor” I quit getting ticked when it wasn’t going well, when I wasn’t getting respect, when I had no time for anything else. The funny part here is that it wasn’t until I quit investing my whole worth in it that I really started kicking ass. I started seeing these label-heads and superstar artists as just people, probably a little less secure than me because of all they stand to lose. And somehow they started responding to me as a person and a friend rather than someone trying to get them to record a little song. I remember the day I realized this and thought, “damn, I should’ve quit obsessing a long time ago.”

I started lobbying for a promotion, ‘cause it seemed like I might as well be getting paid for all the ass I’m beginning to kick. Realizing this was an uphill climb, and not entirely realistic within the framework of our small company, I put in for positions at other places, but kept either not making the cut or for some reason opting out of the race. I finally figured out that none of these gigs were working out because I didn’t really want any of them. That was the moment I knew my time in Nashville had a quickly approaching date of expiration.

That week I stumbled upon this 3-month leadership and bible training program in New Zealand, followed by three months of intense travel in pockets of the third world feeding the hungry, relieving some missionaries to give them a much needed break, and just generally looking high and low for a God that I know, for the first time in a long time, is under every stone, in every set of eyes, flowing through every clean drink of water on thirsty lips.

I only had three reservations with deciding then and there that this was my path: 1) my band has finally gotten some steam and attention, with the record being completed and shows going well, 2)philosophical differences with many or most missions endeavors abroad, and 3) $$$$$$$$$.

1) So I prayed and Prayed and PRAYED for resolution and guidance. That week I more or less told the band I was taking a leave of absence, due to some strange, unrelated circumstances, and found that they weren’t the slightest bit upset, nor did I have any feelings of remorse.

2) I realized scripture doesn’t say “Figure out if you’re joining up with people who are ministering in a culturally low impact way, with a well-organized and efficient game plan, and THEN and ONLY THEN, go.” It just says “GO.” And the only real way of doing this appropriately is going to where GOD ALREADY IS and discovering ourselves already in his presence. Rob Bell had some cool things to say helping to clarify my mindset of missions as “bringing” the Gospel, as if it wasn’t already in effect EVERYWHERE.

3) Somehow, I have never been worried about raising money for missions and travel. I’ve always felt like that’s God’s domain, and he’s always come through before. However, I have some outstanding debt that I’m quite unwilling to leave the country before I get squared away, and I don’t want anyone else paying for my grievances. I did some quick research and math, and figured I could knock close to half of it out by selling all but a Jeepload of my stuff, and living rent-free with my folks for January and February and working my tail off. This still left a pretty significant ‘?’ looming. I kid not, the same DAY I told my family to be praying for guidance, I walked into my office to find a check from the owner of my company in the amount of an entire tenth of my annual salary. A letter revealed it to be a reward for hard work and loyalty, as a commendation for my humour and way with people, and as a celebration of our tenth year in business. I freaked out, jaw-dropped, and hugged him until it was awkward.

And that was pretty much all I needed.

I know I said this before, but now there’s nothing left but the going.