Travels 2015: Notes from the Hornby Island Festival

Travels 2015 is a series of updates I originally posted on Facebook while on vacation. What started as a quick update and a couple photos transformed into a series of mini-essays that I would have posted on this website had it been up and running at the time. This one was written on August 4th, 2015.

 

Hornby is home to a thriving and varied community of artists, and one manifestation of this influence is the annual Hornby Island Festival. Despite the small size of the island and the family feel to the festival, the event has become a bit of a legend in the world, classical, and folk music scenes, having featured world-renowned artists. I'll never forget Colin Carr's two night performance of the complete Bach's cello suites several years ago.

This year all of the performances I attended were at The Farm, which is first seen at the bottom of winding road that begins high above on a steep escarpment. One then follow’s the road down, onto a gravel driveway decked with colourful flags. The farm's fields roll towards the ocean and are scattered with ancient oak, arbutus, and chestnut trees. The evening sun illuminates two giant maple trees, reminiscent of Bilbo's "party tree", under which the stage and seating are set up and from which giant spotlights are hung.

Only my parents and I attended the first event, a symphony orchestra. My grandfather bought the tickets but made the uncharacteristic decision not to come. "I refuse to attend outdoor symphony events. The symphony belongs indoors" he declared. That was a mistake, for he would have become best friends with the little spirited Irish conductor, who has taught and performed around the world and received a medal of honour from the Queen. (Both he and my grandpapa remind me of Bilbo Baggins in their age, stature, charm, and significance.)

After several satisfactory Mozart and Hyden pieces, the evening proceeded with a performance of Vaughan Williams 'The Lark Ascending’. It is a performance I will never forget. I was introduced to the piece through a David Crowder album, but until now have never heard it live. The sun was setting, the moon was rising, and the soloist, a lovely 20 year old fiddle protégé named Ceilidh Briscoe, stepped onto the stage.

To try describe the music that followed would be futile. Instead I'll just quote the poem that accompanies the music. Imagine music that supersedes these words in grace, poignancy, and tenderness.

He rises and begins to round,
He drops the silver chain of sound,
Of many links without a break,
In chirrup, whistle, slur and shake.
For singing till his heaven fills,
‘Tis love of earth that he instils,
And ever winging up and up,
Our valley is his golden cup
And he the wine which overflows
to lift us with him as he goes.
Till lost on his aerial rings
In light, and then the fancy sings.

My dad is not one given to displays of emotion, but the moment she finished playing he leapt to his feat, applauding, something I've never seen him do before. Both Mum and I joined him on our feet immediately after, followed by the rest of the audience. Dad told Ceilidh later that it had been a long, long time since he's heard that piece performed with such justice. (The composer, it turns out, was good friends with my dad's grandmother and composed a piece for her family to perform in Trinity College, Cambridge.)

The black and white photos are from last night's family fiddle dance. It featured one of the best fiddlers in the world, Pierre Schryer, joined by a first class Irish uilleann pipe player. It was such a treat watching the two of them perform together, effortlessly passing their ideas back and forth with joy and humour. Then the chairs were cleared away, the evening light was replaced with the light of the lamps that hung in the trees, and all the families, couples, strangers, and friends joined together for several hours of called English dances. Such rare fun. It brought everyone together. Imagine your dancing partner being, in turn, your sister, your mum, your auntie (who's teaching you the moves as you dance), a lady who could well be your grandmother (whom my mum dragged in from off the sidelines to join our family), and finally a little twelve year old girl who's shyness blossomed into a big smile as I give her a surprise twirl as we dance our waltz under the trees.

Travels 2015: Shellfish Food Poisoning Is a Horror.

Travels 2015 is a series of updates I originally posted on Facebook while on vacation. What started as a quick update and a couple photos transformed into a series of mini-essays that I would have posted on this website had it been up and running at the time. This one was written on August 1st, 2015.

 

Since Grampie wasn't going to help me finish those remaining two dozen oysters, I thought had better get cracking and slurping. But were they still good to eat? "Check with Mum" was the advice given; after all, one doesn't cook for 30 people on a cross-Pacific-tropical-voyage-sans-refrigeration without developing a certain authority in these matters. She sniffed and felt the beasts and gave her okay, but just to be on the safe side I opted for frying them instead of eating them raw.

So I shucked the beauties (lots of work), and then made homemade breadcrumbs (more work), then breaded them (ahem, work, work, work), and waited for them to chill (an evening swim at the beach killed the time). My family watched the whole process, with cautious comments, while eating their leftover roast beef. Smart family.

They didn't quite taste right. Slightly bitter. And they looked a bit like fried chicken embryos. So after eating a couple I tossed the rest. Good thing it was before my agèd grandfather arrived in the kitchen hoping to give them a taste.

For all that wretched evening I slept very little, otherwise occupied in depositing every bit of food and liquid from my digestive track into the toilet bowl. I moaned and groaned, trying to match my melody with the beat of my twisting stomach (which was trying to replicate the stormy waters of the Sea of Galilee). Any drop of water I dared swallow was rejected with a vehemence, until my mum was calling the island nurse and speaking words like “intravenous tubes".

But the stomach relaxed after the food gave way and no rides to the mainland were needed. I slept all the next day, and all the next evening, and read in a hammock all the day following. While I was grieved to give up my precious holiday, I did ask myself "are there worse places to read than under an Arbutus tree, refreshed by the sea breeze?" And I remembered my pastor Gavin's story from his recent vacation and knew that I too was learning to trust and give up control. My rest is not my god.

P.S. Because my sleep cycle is now null, I spent last evening listing to Wendell Berry on audio book before finally walking down after midnight to the full-moon-lit-sandy-beach. I don't do this every night, folks. Just once in a blue moon.

Travels 2015: The Coffee Saga

Travels 2015 is a series of updates I originally posted on Facebook while on vacation. What started as a quick update and a couple photos transformed into a series of mini-essays that I would have posted on this website had it been up and running at the time. This one was written on July 28th, 2015.

 

As a lover of delicately brewed coffee, I bought an Areopress and two bags of favourite roasts to the island. The night I arrived I realized halfway through making the first cup that I was missing the Areopress's filter cap, which locks the pressure in place during the brewing (essential to the procedure, as my messy improvising soon proved.)

I spent far too much time that night anxiously Googling "Areopress filter cap substitutions," "using Areopress without filter cap," and "Areopress filter cap replacement shipping times", as well as scouring the pantry for possible substitutions. No dice. I went to bed concocting replacement coffee brewing schemes and reminding myself that worry over the small things betrayed a lack of trust in Him who rules even those details.

The next day I headed to the one store on the island, a locally run CO-OP. In the basement, next to the hardware and plumbing aisles and Tupperware shelf was a bare coffee appliance section. The French Press was too expensive and too large to transport home, but the stovetop espresso machine looked familiar. I almost bought it in the moment, but decided researching its merits might justify its cost.

I texted my friend and local coffee advisor, Jesse Graham, having remembered seeing one in his kitchen. He gave it his hearty approval and I began to grow excited about the purchase. "All is right with the world again" I told myself. Coffee and personal equanimity would be restored.
A small voice asked if this consolation of all material goods was where my happiness was rooted. "It looks like all is well, but would you still be happy if your plans of purchasing were thwarted? Which could happen, although only if that one item were sold to someone else." I took note of that thought, but felt confident that my plan would work just fine.

It's a bit of a trip to the CO-OP so I planned a visit when I was near the area, which ended up towards the end of a busy day (filled cycling, reading, sun, and splashing). I finally made the long walk to the store, headed down into the basement, found the shelf and stood there in shock. The shelf was empty. Sold out.

"If we look to created things to us the meaning, hope & happiness that only God himself can give, it will eventually break our hearts" says Tim Keller and my happiness that evening was ruptured. And as I reflected on my day, I realized that so much of this entire vacation's planned happiness was built around my plans of ordered happiness - having the perfect books, music, clothes, and coffee equipment purchased in time. This attitude needed to be confessed to the Lord, who orders all things, even that one other islander who purchases that one other espresso pot before I did.

"For the inward mind and heart of a man are deep.
But God shoots his arrow at them;
they are wounded suddenly.” 

~Psalm 64:6-7

So, I had to continue to improvise the coffee making process. Pictured is the cloth-napkin-pour-over. It brings out some great coffee flavour, I'm happy to report, but it also adds some pretty nasty old cloth napkin subtleties. Still, it's better than the 20-year old drip machine.

P.S. Oyster update: Grampie announced that although he very much enjoyed our feast yesterday, it did not agree with his stomach during the night. So now I have the task of single-handedly finishing the just over 24 oysters sitting on melting ice in the fridge.

Coffee

Travels 2015: In Which My Grandfather and I Traverse the Island

Travels 2015 is a series of updates I originally posted on Facebook while on vacation. What started as a quick update and a couple photos transformed into a series of mini-essays that I would have posted on this website had it been up and running at the time. This one was written on July 27th, 2015.

 

I've spent the last three days "adventuring" with my 92 year old grandfather and now have an arsenal of memories to share with my grandkids someday. Such as: 

  • Getting almost-scolded by the owner of Charcut for, a). standing on the rooftop balcony (my grandfather, to better catch the view) and b). bringing in outside coffee (me, because they didn't have decaf).
  • Together doing a $700 grocery shop for 7 people before desperately catching two island ferries lest we miss the last ferry ride.
  • Discovering that there is a Hyden string quartet concert beginning in 15 minutes and racing across the island to catch it.

And.... OYSTERS!!!!

I recently discovered these delicacies only to be told that my grandfather would catch them by hand in Cape Breton and eat them, alone, to the chagrin of his family. So I bought us 4 dozen and we ate half of them together, after learning how to shuck them (from the man at the COOP hardware store, where my grandfather bought lemons and heavy duty gloves). This was all done in view of the family, who watched us with chagrin through a glass window as they ate their boiled potatoes. (We offered them samples, many times, but each family member refused.)

So yes, vacation has been fun so far.

Fasting Through Black and White

For another year I have taken an unusual Lent fast: a fast from colour. In the weeks leading up to Easter I have applied a greyscale filter to my iPhone’s camera. Everyday, except for Sunday,  I chose one of these photos and pair it with a passage from the Scripture readings from that day. Photos are then edited in VSCO Cam.

Why Lent? As someone whose convictions are firmly evangelical and reformed, I formally scoffed at the practice. It wasn’t until I began to study works from outside the narrow slice of evangelism I was raised him,  that realized the rich history of the church calendar throughout church history, including the Reformed and Anglican streams. I recalled how my annual observance of Advent prepared my heart for the celebration of Christmas. In contrast, Easter tends to sneak up on me and leave far too quickly, without much observance of its impact on my heart and my world. 

Someone coming out of Roman Catholicism might benefit from abstaining from Lent, focusing solely on disciplines ordained by God in his Word. But I have benefited from time set aside to sombrely reflect on this world and its disappointments, my sins, and the hope we are preparing to celebrate at Easter. The dull and sometimes gloomy tones of the black and white filter emphasis this, but they also showcase a complexity of pattern and texture that suggests something deeper at work. And the brilliant contrast to the full colours on display following Easter remind us of the unending implications of the Resurrection here and now, amongst us. 

Now that this project is completed you can enjoy the gallery below. (Please click on an image to open it in full screen and hover on the photo to view the matching passage of Scripture; an essential part of the experience.) You can also enjoy my posts from 2014, which were posted here. 

Advent and Christmastide

The poetic potential of the advent and Christmas seasons is limitless. The painters, wordsmiths, musicians, and speakers of our faith have mined it for millennium and have yet to finish. The yearning of every heart is for the coming of our King. This season is about setting time aside to prepare for his coming and celebrating his arrival and the implications it brings.

For the month of Advent and the two weeks since Christmas I have been mediating upon these truths, marinating on them my prayers, listening to music that examines them, sitting under teaching on the subject in church, and celebrating the season with family and friends. So when it came to write about Christmas here, I felt inadequate. I wondered where to begin and upon what to limit the boundary of my discussion. 

I came back to the Scripture readings that I daily reflected upon during this season. These are what inspired the pictures I daily posted during both Advent (the days leading up to Christmas) and Christmastide (the “12 Days of Christmas” following the 25th). These portions of the Bible are what tell of the One Who created and sustains everything, Who stepped into our world to redeem it, and Who will come again.

Enjoy the gallery and mediate with me on the words. Christmas may be over but its implications never end.

Bach and the Joy of Work

I am already out of town by the time I realize what music my sister is playing as she drives me. James Ehnes is performing the final movement of Bach’s Sonata No. 3 in C for Solo Violin and the notes come fast.  They tumble and tangle, cascading into breathless arpeggios. Rolling and echoing, distinct and quick, they are like the details of a complex mosaic. I could stare at the details, marvel only at their perfection, and miss the greater masterpiece that they bear witness to. And what a masterpiece! Listening to the intricate arpeggios is like ridding a strong and sensitive stallion up a mountain, or directing a sailboat into crest after crest of wave, water, and wind. This music should peak, I think. There is no way it could reach a pinnacle higher than the one it just reached. But then it does and I am overcome with joy.

The video starts with photographs but after that you can see Milstein´s performance. Nathan Milstein plays, at age 82, Bach´s Sonata for Violin Solo No.3 in C, Allegro assai. This was his last concert.

I’m simply listening and yet I’m experiencing such pleasure. I am not playing this music, mastering it, coaxing it off the written page and into reality. Nor am I Bach writing this music, taking simple chords, scales, and turning them into something new.

And yet a trace of joy that is chipped from the same vein is witnessed when I am doing my work well. When I am using my skills, my knowledge, my personality, and my abilities to help someone, it is like every string in my instrument is tuned to the perfect pitch, making music. What satisfaction and what pleasure! I experience it too in hobbies; the rare occasions that my film review clicks into place and explains a truth, or when the composition and lighting of my photograph have gathered together to convey a visual idea.

When I do this I worship; I glorify God to the best of my abilities, using his gifts to their fullness in order to accomplish what he has set before me. As Dorothy Sayers wrote, “Work is not, primarily, a thing one does to live, but the thing one lives to do. It is, or should be, the full expression of the worker’s faculties… the medium in which he offers himself to God.” Or in the more blunt terms of Eric Liddle: “'God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.”

But how rare are these moments! So often I come close to that satisfaction, yet miss it, brushing past its greatness instead of meeting it head on. Something gets in the way. Often it is my own inadequacies and my self-centredness. Sometimes it is someone else’s failures. Maybe I get bored, tired or lazy. Oh the frustration of corruptly bearing God’s image amongst his tainted world!

Now think; if work is worship, what than should we expect from our worship in Heaven?  What would be possible without the limits of our own finitude, our own and others sinfulness, and the fallenness of our earth? With God Himself before us and in our midst, think of the masterpieces I will photograph, the endless beauty and complexity of the films we will create (and review), the redeemed people we will call our colleagues, and the music that Bach and his friends will compose and perform. All for the pleasure of our King!

For this King is making all things new. And I am called to join him. Until that day when my sinfulness and this world’s fallenness is eradicated, may the hope and reality of his redemption have me return to this fallen ground, spade in hand, tilling for my Master.

Joy of Work2

Overcoming Thanksgiving Cynicism

I noticed that I’ve been subtly avoiding the posture of thanksgiving this weekend. Odd, don’t you think? Especially coming from someone found of the phrase “thankful hearts offered here.” I suppose I’ve been burned by the marketing techniques of the retail culture I’ve worked in these last three years. Thanksgiving seems a suitable excuse for every high-priced clothing boutique in the mall to offer yet another sale. I’m also miffed at the way our secular age has replaced almost all of the sacred feasts with municipal holidays. According to the ‘Canadian Holidays’ calendar I and the rest of my country subscribe to, this second weekend of October is when we are to have thankfulness forced down our thoughts through yet another pumpkin and cranberry adorned turkey. (Next year it will be a different, random weekend. And your American cousins? They have to wait until November to “raise their song of harvest home.”)

Truth be told, it is easier to be thankful when my heart is full to bursting, surrounded by many joys and successes. And lately it hasn’t been. Contentment and satisfaction have avoided me this month like circling blackbirds avoiding their roost. As I realize this I ask the question: when do I offer thanks? When my circumstances alone dictate it? “Count your blessings, name them one by one” my sister sings to herself as she cooks. But if I rely on that attitude, what happens when every blessing is removed? A friend sits alone in a foreign city this Thanksgiving, recently abandoned by his until-now fiancée. Another dreads the weekend because the wounds of his divorce are still too fresh and the lack of family on a such a holiday bring the pain surging back. Yet another fights both the discouragement and the effects that a debilitating Lupus diagnostics brings. A 100 Days of Happy campaign might teach you to enjoy simple pleasures, but it will not bring the hope that devastation has removed. “Count your blessings, every doubt will fly. And you will be singing when the days go by?” Try saying that when your friend is like Job on the ash heap and wait for broken pottery to be thrown in your face.  

image.jpg

So where is the root of my thanksgiving? A passing comment in St. Paul’s letter to the Romans provides a clue. “I thank my God through Christ Jesus for all of you, that your faith is proclaimed in all the world.” John Calvin, in his commentary on that verse, offered some words that made me think. “All our blessings are gifts of God. We should accustom ourselves to such forms of expression as may ever rouse us more keenly to acknowledge God as the bestower of all good things. And if it is right to do this in little blessings, how much more out we to do so in regard to faith, which is neither a commonplace nor a indiscriminate gift of God?”

And that’s the key. My thanks should not be based solely on my blessings which are plenty - Americanos on brisk autumn days, golden light falling on my richly shelved bookcase, Wes Anderson films and corduroy pants paired with woollen sweaters - but in the character of their Giver. Then, when the gifts themselves are gone, or removed, or forsaken, or taken, or shown to be false, the Giver himself will prove sure. For He does not change like the circumstances. His character is constant and our only hope. 

So I will keep my eyes rooted to him and his character and marvel at how the Gospel reveals it in its fullness. This will be my primary thanksgiving, but I will praise him also for all blessings that flow from him, “good gifts from above…coming down from the father of lights with whom there is no variation of shadow due to change” (James 1:17). With such a focus I will enjoy what he gives, thus making everyday, the hard ones included, a Thanksgiving Day.

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Seamus Heaney - "Making Strange"

I stood between them,
the one with his traveled intelligence
and tawny containment,
his speech like the twang of a bowstring,

and another, unshorn and bewildered
in the tubs of his wellingtons,
smiling at me for help,
faced with this stranger I’d brought him.

Then a cunning middle voice
came out of the field across the road
saying, ‘Be adept and be dialect,
tell of this wind coming past the zinc hut,

call me sweetbriar after the rain
or snowberries cooled in the fog.
But love the cut of this travelled one
and call me also the cornfield of Boaz.

Go beyond what’s reliable
in all that keeps pleading and pleading,
these eyes and puddles and stones,
and recollect how bold you were

when I visited you first
with departures you cannot go back on.’
A chaffinch flicked from an ash and next thing
I found myself driving the stranger

through my own country, adept
at dialect, reciting my pride
in all that I knew, that began to make strange
at the same recitation.

–Seamus Heaney 'Making Strange'

"Call me also the cornfields of Boaz"

"Call me also the cornfields of Boaz"

This poem struck me with force the first time I read it. It captured my imagination as I reread it again and again and shared it with my often bewildered but sometimes appreciative friends. Those friends who were bewildered asked for an explanation, so let me try my hand at explaining it. 

The narrator stands between two men, one traveled, intelligent, and blunt in his strength, the other plain, bewildered, and pleading for assistance. The narrator has a responsiblity (it is implied that he brought the first stranger upon the second) and is at a loss for what to do. 

Direction arrives from a third voice, distant and distinct. This Someone confronts: "Be adept and dialect! Tell of something great coming, a wind that will sweep this ragged land. Love these people of flesh. For I was there when Boaz showed mercy to another stranger, in another field, many centuries ago. Go beyond what you see in the obvious - sticks and hair, boots and bones. And remember: I visited you too when you were also a stranger. I took you away and now you cannot return."

A bird on a branch brings the narrator back to present. When we leave him, he is driving the stranger through his own land, introducing the stranger to a landscape familiar and now freshly foreign.

In this poem, I see the call for us to love the bewildered strangers in our midst with a gospel love. We too may be at a loss for how to respond to them, and we too need to hear the voice of the One who called and redeemed us, recalling how His guidance then is the same guidance now. Moving forward, adepting our dialect, He will move through our actions too. 

 

 

Evan Koons and For the Life of the World

A capstone experience in my young life was the summer I was invited by my church to write and teach the Bible curriculum for our summer Vacation Bible School (VBS) program. We were unhappy with the quality of the provided materials and my task was to create a teaching that walked the kids through the story of Joseph. The outcome included transforming one classroom into a filthy prison (complete with a costume that I aged by leaving in the mud for one week) and another into an elaborate throne room, enlisting my youth pastor and a church grandfather as fellow actors, and writing a script that both captivated the kids and taught them about God and our response to Him. God’s blessing was on the efforts and the result was unlike anything I have ever done.

A quick snapshot of me in costume as Joseph.

A quick snapshot of me in costume as Joseph.

So I’ve always been excited by the possibilities of combining creativity, performance, and impactful teaching. A tour of the workshops of GoodSeed International was one example, my recent introduction to the online video series The Bible Project is another. And this summer I have come across a third: For the Life of the World: Letters to Exiles.

This video series is created and narrated by Evan Koons, an charmingly awkward young man who sits in a large house in the middle of a forest and ponders big questions like “What is our salvation for?” Seven short episodes explore the implications of these questions. Topics include the place of Christians in the world, the reason of our work, the meaning of love and family, and the place for creativity and order in the world.

FLOW1

The series is outstanding for its cohesive use of creativity and imagination. Every episode features at least one visual illustration that later becomes an analogy for the teaching. A Rube Goldberg machine that attempts to cook Evan’s breakfast backfires and become an example of the banality of utilitarian work. A ruined paper lantern that lands in Evan’s front yard later is later used as a moving visual illustration of how our lives in the world are offered up to God as a prayer. A punk motorcyclist arrives on Evan’s front porch and uses puppets to tell a illustrating the importance of a believers call to hospitality. While on paper these come across as trite and cheesy, they are subtly woven into the fabric of the video’s narration, beautifully shot, and scored by new music from Jars of Clay.

And yet Evan is not a sage on a stage preaching to his viewers. He is himself perplexed by these issues and so he brings his questions to a recurring cast of teachers, including Stephen Grabill from the Acton Institute and artist Makoto Fujimura. Their advice, illustrations, and wisdom clearly cause Evan and his audience to respond to truths through the way that they live. Evan is one of our peer on this journey, inviting us to join him in a greater understanding of the implications of God’s redemptive work for the world.

FLOW2

And these implications are life changing. In the church we often focus on the gospel’s private spirituality, but seldom on how it influence on our day-to-day life. What are the repercussions of the gospel on the mundanity of work, the meaning and purpose of knowledge and creativity, or the day-to-day actions of service and sacrifice in the life of a family and the life of a church? This theology is necessary to integrate the truths of Christianity into the life of the world. Anyone who watches the series will be introduced or reminded of these doctrines, but Evan is not content to let such truths sit dormant on the view’s mental shelf. He brings them home by closing every episode with a “letter to exiles”, a hand written monologue. In these letters encourages us with the reminder that we carry these truths into our lives as the redeemed children of God, not through our own power but through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So I recommend For the Life of the World: Letters to Exiles to you and commend Evan Koons and his team for producing such a work. May we be stirred by it and, out of that stirring, create similar works of beauty and truth. It is available as a DVD/ BlueRay set, a digital download, and an online rental. 

A Found Poem from the Book of Second Chronicles

I've been reading through Second Chronicles this month and was struck by the banality of evil in the face of the righteousness of the few. Listed are the so many evil kings who forsook the Lord, but they are spoken of and forgotten, the writer focusing instead on the deeds of those who sought the Lord. And amongst the many names and years, the drudgery and repeatedness of our lives, comes the constant nature of our Lord. 

Recently I came across a found poem that used lines extracted from a Focus on the Family movie review. I thought it would be an interesting challenge to create a found poem using only phrases found in 2 Chronicles. I hope it captures a bit of what I described above. 

And he did evil and abandoned the law of the Lord,
Crushed
             Burned
                        Detestable whoredom
                                                  Complete destruction 
                                                                           He made them an object of horror 
For a long time.
He did what was evil in the sight of the Lord. 

He reigned for three years in Jerusalem. 
The Lord struck him down
So he died and they buried him. 
He reigned and they buried him. 
The Lord stuck him down and he died.

 

He did what was good and right in the Lord
The spirit of God came upon him.
And they set their hearts to seek the Lord
That the Lord had chosen.

The noise of the people praising the king, for they listened to the word of the Lord.
He sought the Lord
They humbled themselves
The word of the Lord came.

 

The word of the Lord came. 
The word of the Lord came.
The Lord is righteous 
The Lord had chosen
And the land had rest for ten years.

For the Lord.

                                       For the Lord.

                                                                                    For the Lord. 

New York Morning

A friend recently introduced me to the English band Elbow, who took the name after hearing a character on a BBC show describe it as the loveliest word in the English language. Imagine if Coldplay didn’t care about radio play, spent their evenings with Irish whiskey and watching black and white films, and dealt with breakups by drinking that whiskey alone in basements and writing poetry. Elbow’s music is dark, profane, poetic, and full of humanity. 

One song off their recent album, The Takeoff and Landing of Everything has me particularly thrilled. Not only is it some of the finest songwriting you will hear this year but it also perfectly illustrates the role of the city in the Christian worldview. Click play on the video and I’ll walk you through what I mean.

The song opens with quiet chords, sneaking in like the first light of morning. The lead singer, Guy Garvey, begins by describing the power of ideas and “how there is a big one round the corner.” Right on cue the drums enter like a beam of sunrise. The city of New York is waking up. It’s towers are described in a rapidly rising crescendo, “each pillar post, and painted line, every batter ladder building in this town” singing “a life of proud endeavour and the best that man can be.” Garvey has just described the ambition that is the heart of New York and every urban Rome.

And his crescendo is not over. He continues, without pausing, describing the “million voices” of people that are “planning, drilling, welding, carrying their fingers to the nub.” “Why?” he asks as the musical line meets its ernest and earned peak. “Because they can, they did and do…” Such is the reason for our endeavouring, our modern babel of enterprise, our kingdom building.

But the line doesn’t end here, for if there was just ambition, we humans would be smothered under our own terror. The city holds something greater than achievement and the climax of this line ends by describing it. “Why? Because they can, they did and do so you and I could live together.” The heart and purpose of the city are right here, in home, in family, in love.

The lyrics in the song break as the bass and the piano wind themselves into a melody represent ing the towers “reaching down into the ground” and “stretching up into the sky.” The song than twists the three ideas it has introduced together as the voices and melodies overlap. “Everybody owns the great ideas”, “the desire of the patchwork symphony”, and the striving that is “for love, having come for me”.

The song opened with the morning light and pinnacled in afternoon ambition. It than winds to a restful end, revealing its foundation. “The way [the day] ends depends on if your home. For every soul a pillow and a window please.” In just over five minutes it has perfectly captures what we love and hate about the city but also why we must cherish our urban centres. Here is humanity. Here is the potential for home. And here is grace, family, and people, where the gospel takes root and proves its worth.

I can think of several examples. My first solo trip to London, were the city large, foreign, and exhausting. Yet I stayed with a group of Christian urban monks and because of their fellowship never felt alone. Or just last night, visiting a young couple who recently moved downtown. A car accident on Sunday left them shaken and debilitated so I went to keep them company and was joined by the her younger siblings. These kids live on an acreage and were visibly awed by the dark hot streets towering with cranes, the apartment, ancient and decrepit, and the stories of crime and homelessness surrounding the building. And yet in that home was warmth and sacrifice, family and protection. The heartbeat of life itself. 

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These Losses Spark Longing

This week a dear friend left town, returning to school in the States. Last week, another close friend left Calgary to enter ministry in Vancouver. When these beloved gems of my life leave, it is like I am experiencing their death in miniature, for although their departures are not permanent, their loss is still felt. A funeral dirge, however dim, is still heard.

These partings can spark longing. Both friends left to pursue things that I also yearn for, school and West Coast culture. But my season for such things has not yet arrived, so I press on, shaking off any burdens of attachment, relieved to be allowed to focus on the pilgrimage. My hand is to my staff and, like Frodo, I move forward on my quest.

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But almost as these words leave my mind, I pause to reconsider the analogy. “Hand to the staff” is not the phrase from scripture. “Hand to the plough” is. “I will follow you, Lord” said the man in Luke 9, “but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” It was then that Jesus said “No one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

I see that my imagery need realigning. A plough is different than a staff.
A plough does not ignore the barren ground, but revitalizes it, digging deep into the earth. The ploughman’s hands bare their tool with blisters, skin always broken and always healing. He is not content to pass by hardship, but turns and circles back, digging up the rocks and boulders, grappling, wrestling with the land given him.

And so there is work before me. Sweat will be required and weariness will be worn like a honoured weapon. But the ground needs breaking before it can be sown. The land is not mine, yet here I will dwell, readying it for the farmer’s seed and praying for harvest rain.

Reflections on my Parent's 25th Wedding Anniversary

 

Watching archival footage through the eye of a home camera, they were young and handsome. Witty and joyful. Pleased and expectant. Their commitment was pure and radiant were their faces. I have hardly seen a happier and handsomer couple.

“In sickness and in health” says the liturgy and sickness did indeed mark the majority of his days, hampering his academics, his social life, his ministry to the church. But ours is a home of hard-won happiness and their sacrifices were sacrifices of peace.

And so we stand now on the flip side of 25 years, years composed of days and marked by careful steps, regarded conduct, and content with quite contemplation. Their quiver, this side of the battle, is not marked by successes to boast in, yet it is full none the less.

We, their four, still live in a home built by “exhaustions nominating peace.” We are marked by the fall that grinds way at them too. But greater is the joy, a joy that ripples off the mountain valleys like laughter. For we are an offspring of sacrifice and the Spirit. This is His doing, and it is marvellous to behold.

Happy 25th Anniversary Mum and Dad.

Lenten 2014: A Photo Journey

I did not grow up celebrating Lent. Advent, yes, but Lent had Catholic connotations wrapped up in it. And while I think it would be healthy for someone coming out of Catholicism to abstain from Lent, for evangelicals unaccustomed to such discipline it can be a sobering exercise, preparing one's heart for the coming Resurrection.

This year I decided to do something unusual. I would fast from using colour in my images. Switching my iPhone's camera from colour to black and white was easy with iOS 7. Finding a photo to post (almost) everyday was the greater challenge. Although the discipline made me aware of the shadows and forms everywhere in our world, it was easy to become repetitive.

Another challenge was finding texts to match the images. Malcolm Guite's beautiful series of sonnets for the church year provided much inspiration, as did BIOLA University's Center for Christianity, Culture, and the Arts Lent Project. Of course, scripture was a constant guide and I used a stripped down version of the seven last words of Jesus for one week. (Click on the images below and then hover over them to view the words.)

The effect on my feed and my heart was one of subtle sadness, a weariness and watching that suited life in a fallen world. But as the days went on there grew a steady, constant hope. The Resurrection was coming. All things (including colour) would be, and will be, restored. 

Noah (2014)

This review was originally published in March 2014. The images are from the film and are not my own.

One of my earliest memories is my dad reading to me from Ken Taylor's Bible in Pictures. The images seared in my early memory were far different than the cartoon images in other children's Bibles. They were vivid and realistic, men with muscle and woman with grace. These images were my earliest encounter with the Noah account and one particular image stood out as I watched Darren Aronofsky’s Noah. It was of a wooden ark, tightly sealed, mounted on jagged, painful rocks. Water poured from the sky and gushed off the these stones while desperate men and woman clung on for life while others slipped into the encroaching waves.

Any time Hollywood takes a beloved story and illustrates it on the big screen, scores of angry fans of the book will tear apart any time the adaptation commits infidelity to the text. But if such is the case for a work of fiction, the response is intensified when someone tries to adapt the Bible. It's disappointing that there is such backlash from Christians who have historically had a close relationship with the arts, especially religious art. So it's no wonder recent adaptations safeguard themselves from such response by creating tame and boring films of biblical texts, like the recent Son of God.

So I was rather intrigued when it was announced that Darren Aronofsky was directing a large budget version of this beloved story. Aronofsky is first and foremost an artist who is bound to use his greatest gift, his imagination, in telling this story. And, contrary to what many devote Christians are raving against it, Aronofsky is treating the text with great seriousness, both in details, like the measurements of the ark, and the human themes contained in the account.

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Immediately apparent is a distinct visual style. The antediluvian world is depicted as far different than our own. Barren, expansive landscapes are paired with crude ancient clothing, architecture, and artifacts. Of course Aronofsky gives us the expected stunning visual moments that draw us, the audience, in with anticipation - animals surging towards the ark, water springing from the ground and pouring across the earth. Less expected but equally appreciated were the small imaginative details like stop motion flow of time passing while the creator creates and the reoccurring figure of Cain killing Abel as a symbol for man's propensity to violence.

But these broad brush strokes also lumbered, much like the ridiculous and unnecessary fallen angels turned rock giants. Part of the challenge is that this story is so familiar and linear that the director almost has to add extra drama, drama that ultimately weighed down the flow of the film.

Aronofsky’s is deeply concerned with the humans that are at the centre of this story, particularly Noah and his call to obey a God he doesn't understand and isn't quite sure he hears. This was a clear departure from the text in scripture, where God’s message to Noah is explicit and allows many opportunities for the rest of mankind to repent and take refuge in the ark. But this departure results in a fascinating dilemma to materialize. Man is pictured in this film as fallen to his very core, both in his actions and the intent of his heart. It accurately depicts the root of the Fall as wanting to be like God and refusing to allow His word to rule.

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At one point, Noah, having seen the extent of human evil in the hoards that surround the ark, comes to realization that this same fallen nature is rooted in him too. His wife insists that he and his children are good, listing off their attributes until Noah interrupts her. “If their lives were at stake , wouldn't you kill others for them?” In coming to this honest realization of his personal propensity to evil, Noah (and his screenwriter) have been more accurate as to the state of humanity then many other recent films.

Noah is left with an intense internal dilemma. Why has God chosen him and his family to continue to live? What has made them so special when the Fall as ruined them too? Don’t they and their innocent offspring deserve death, the same death brought upon their neighbours by the waters around them?

Aronofsky is creating this movie from the perspective of a Jew-turned-athiest, and he doesn’t give an answer. He hints at a possibility through a drunken, naked, and broken Noah on a beach, restoration and reconciliation through new life, and the unspoken promise of a rainbow pulsating from above.

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But it is through redeemed eyes that we look back on the story of Noah, seeing grace from judgement offered through one man. We see a God who himself shut the door of the ark, giving many plenty of time to get onboard. We see a family, themselves just as broken as their neighbours, offered mercy through a second chance but we also see a means for this grace to appear. Noah is allowed to live, but his wickedness did not go unpunished. “By faith Noah…” says the writer of the New Testament book of Hebrews. By faith he trusted in the God who saved him and by faith the punishment that he deserved was passed on to another, an innocent man, the God-man made flesh, Jesus Christ. That is my answer to the very important dilemma put forth in the film.

So is this movie perfect? Far from it. Is it an artistic accomplishment? Absolutely. It engages an age-old text, raising serious questions that will result in fascinating discussions; therefore it deserves be seen.

Job: Reflections on a Suffering Servant

This post was originally written in February 2014. 

I just finished reading through Job, a chunk of scripture found towards the middle of the Bible. Job is fascinating from a literary perspective. Forty chapters of rambling Hebrew poetry sandwiched between two chapters of sparse narrative. It's an unusual context. Job, an ancient Middle Eastern patriarch, was 'blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil" (1:1) and God blessed him with offspring, livestock, possessions, and respect from his community. He was utterly exemplary in his behaviour but in verse six the curtain to the heavens is pulled back and we, the audience, are given a rare glimpse into the heavenly courts. "The sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came among them." Satan, ever the accuser, challenges Job's exemplary behaviour. "Stretch out your hand" he says to the Lord "and touch all that he has and he will curse you to your face."  God gives Satan permission to do this and in swift, relentless strokes, Job is stripped of his servants, oxen, donkeys, sheep, and camels (struck down by Sabeans, fire from heaven, and Chaldeans respectively). But before the news-bearer has finished giving a report of this to Job, another runs up announcing that Job's children, having gathered together in celebration, were killed when the house they were in collapsed. Soon after, Job's health falls apart, his wife urges him to curse God, and he is left covered "head to toe" in sores in an ash heap and scraping himself with broken pottery. But "in all this Job did not sin with his lips."

The narrative portion of the book ends when Job's three friends come to weep over him. After a weak of weeping, "for his suffering was very great," Job opens his mouth and forty chapters of poetic dialogue begin. The contrast is immediately apparent. Gone are the swift strokes of storytelling and the heavenly perspective. What follows is verbal violence and mud-slinging between the grieving Job, who upholds the claim that he did not sin and that's God's actions towards him are unjust, and his friends, who maintain that God is just and Job is guilty of sin.

The fact is, both these human opinions are incorrect. Job is not being punished for his sin (we know this from the prologue) and yet God's actions are always just. Endless chapters of back and forth dialogue, in which these opinions are hashed and re-hashed, end when God Himself answers Job "from the whirlwind,” accosting Job's understanding. "Where were you when

I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding" is the thrust of his argument. God uses examples of his awesome and intricate power demonstrated in his creation that literally leaves Job with his hand over his mouth. In the face of such intimate and transcendent power and knowledge and such management of the world of nature, what response can Job give? In two short speeches he demonstrates repentance and humility. 

There is plenty to learn from the book of Job and many of written on Job's response to both suffering and the character of God. But there were two aspects of the book that really stood out to me this time through. 

The first was how the frustrating and messy dialogue between Job and his friends, despite the many wrong ideas and outspoken temper, still resulted in progress in Job's thinking. Much of what Job says is wrong. But through it all, he makes more and more statements that are humble instead of arrogant and express humility and faith in God's fairness. He begins to become aware, especially in chapter 28, that he himself cannot solve his problem through his own reasoning but rather "the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom."

The takeaway for us? Conversations with friends over important issues are worth having, even if wrongheaded ideas are frequently spouted. Working through these issues may grow and mature our understanding, but nothing like the perspective of God himself. 

Yet there is a second thread running through the book that gives even more hope to the reader who notices it. Hidden between the long and often arrogant speeches are phrases that sound extra familiar to our ears, none of which are as explicate as 19:25-36 when Job declares "I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God." 

These are hints and foretastes (especially chapter 22) of the Redeemer that Job does not see and yet will one day sanctify him. Christ is the one who suffered unjustly far more then Job did, for Job was still conceived in sin and Christ was not. And it is Christ's suffering that makes ours bearable. In the words of George Macdonald "the Son of God suffered unto death, not that men might not suffer, but that their sufferings might be like His." 

Not only is God's wisdom so much higher then ours, but his empathy is routed in the suffering that Christ himself received on our behalf. And if we can learn this from an ancient book of Hebrew poetry, reading it is worth our time indeed. 

Books of Influence in 2013

This post was originally published in January 2014. Images are from the books and are not my own.

It’s that time of year, where bloggers everywhere turn to their logbooks of entertainment from the previous year and offer up their favoirtes. As one who loves lists, I too offer my selections. Today we will discuss books, with films to follow. 

First, a word on “the best of 2013”. I think I read three or four books this year that were actually published in 2013, so if I stuck to that categorization, this would be a short and easy list. But of the 38 books I read this year, I’m bound to be influenced by much more then just the passing fancies of our age. It’s perhaps slightly unfair, since I could just read a stack of classics and accurately call them the “best” books I read that year. But nevertheless, in chronological order, I offer the books that most shaped me this past year, followed by list of honourable mentions.

Christian Imagination

A hefty 500 page anthology, The Christian Imagination: The Practice of Faith in Literature and Imagination features contributions, both short and long, from 50 authors, living and dead, assembled by the venerable authorty of the topic, Leland Ryken. It set a trajectory and was a travelguide for what would become a year of art exploration. The book explores, from many angles, the “realationship between imagination, belief, and words” and taught me to demand a quality in writing that reflects the author’s Creator, to confront the “aesthetic poverty of evangelicalism”, and to recognize the worldview of an author while learning from the way that author represents it.

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Children of Men

A Good Man is Hard To Find and The Children of Men were read shortly after or at the same time as the previous volume. They both illustrated the principles Ryken’s book set out. Here are two Christian women who write well and by their writing challenge both believers and the world at large. Flannery O’Conner’s work particularly stands out for its dark short stories depiciting ordinary characters in a weary world, in which you can almost feel the eternal weight of their desicions. Much has been said about how Ms. O’Conner used violence to shock her characters and her sleepy audience into the realization of eternal truths. I find her short stores a cousin of sorts to the music of Sufjan Stevens.

Every Good Endeavour

The moment I heard about Every Good Endeavor: Connecting Your Work to God’s Work I knew it was for me. It was so helpful I plan on rereading it every year that I find myself in the workforce. Unlike so many other evangelical perspectives on the working world, this is a wholestic, hopeful, biblical, and practical look at the culture of the workforce and how it interesects with the Christian’s calling. I want to buy a box of copies and hand them to friends and colleagues.

Planet Narnia

Seldom have I enjoyed a book more than Planet Narnia. Like a real life literary detective novel, this book adds so much to the beloved series I grew up with and to the study of Lewis. Not only is it an example of how a Christian should bring both literary and theological depth to his writing, but it also opened my eyes to the the world of Lewis scholarship  something I am now itching to one day contribute to.

I slowly worked my way through The Four Holy Gospels, savouring the way the depth of its images paired to the eternal depth of its words. My Name is Asher Lev painted with words the way the author sees the world along with his internal struggle. Death By Living was enjoyable and moving, well written and entertaining. The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert was an encouraging reminder to never give up on the unlikely people God throws in your path. Finally, Winter’s Tale, although convoluted at times and prehaps too long, was a book full of wisdom and beauty and is the work of fiction which I have underlined the most.

Stay tuned! Next I’ll be posting my favourite films from 2013.

Fretting and Resting in 2014

This post was originally written in January 2014.

My friend posted a video on his blog detailing his plans for 2014. Not New Year’s resolutions, (which he labelled as) “bullshit”, but a list of goals he would like to accomplish. They includes things like finishing his book of modern day fairy tales, increasing his average YouTube vieo view count to 300, and shooting a short film. All of them significant yet all of them achievable. And were he to achieve half of these goals, his year will be more influential then my past three.

The end of a year is a time to take stock of the last one and make plans for the next. My goals are less ambitious then Kyle’s. Over the weekend I made a list of books I would like to read in 2014. And looking back over 2013, certain value statements can be made about how I used my time. For example, I read 39 books (three more then what I read last year, 63 less then 2011), watched 72 movies (31 more movies then books), and posted 188 photos to Instagram (leaving 177 days when I posted nothing).

When I stare at these numbers my year looks pretty useless. To hide my guilt  I try to congratulate myself on the difficult course I completed with success, the advancements I achieved in my career, and the new friendships I have formed. But there were friendships left stagment too, time that could have been better spent completing more courses, and money better saved.

Such is time. Regret and loss. Achievement and possibility. I suppose trite lists like the books I have read say little and the lists that I used to keep -highlighting memories savoured and graces given - speak more accurately to time's passing.

Today one of our pastors preached on Matthew 11:25-30. He paused on the opening phrase “At that time, Jesus…” At that time.

The incarnation that we celebrate at Christmas was a space and time event. Again and again in the gospels we are reminded of the particularity of the events they record, events in space and time that reverberate to this day.

So in that context it is interesting to note the last couple verses of that passage. “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Our pastor emphasized that this rest is not exactly a rest from our work in this world and our labours against sin, but a rest from our own efforts to achieve salvation.

This salvation is salvation from sin and judgment, but it also includes salvation from our self-worth being bound up in how we spend our time. How fitting it is that we celebrate the space-time event of the the Incarnation (Christmas), which brought about our rest, just before the dawn of a new year.

The rest that has been achieved for us does not mean we rest from our efforts to set goals, to read well, and achieve in 2014 things that give God glory. Yet it does mean that we do all this knowing that our efforts in our space and time are ordained by the same One Who established our salvation in past time and space. And it means that looking back over 2013 we can have peace that what happened happened well. As our pastor said, “Look back on 2013 with rest. Look ahead with rest. Strive to enter this rest and rest in His, our King’s, great work.”