No Direction Home

A friend of mine from college gave me a tape of "Highway 61 Revisited," which has this song as its first track, about a year after we both graduated; he was at University of Chicago, I was at Trinity. It perfectly typified my first year out of college. College, for me, was my last stretch of childhood and my first taste of adulthood in a delicious mix: all my meals were provided for, my program was pretty much laid out for me, my assignments were laid out for me: I just did as I was told and I got along fine. At the same time, I was on my own, and had all day to ponder whatever I wanted to, without the necessity of making money breathing down my back. There were people with PhDs from ivy league schools who would sit and talk with me about whatever I wanted to talk about--who would genuinely pay attention to me. It was great, as college should be.

I had no idea how quickly it would change. (That's the quality of youth, isn't it? You've got nothing to compare it so, so you have no way to anticipate its ending.) My first year of seminary was spent working for my landlady on the weekends when I was already tired, washing windows because I had to (a job that continually made me nervous that I was going to mess something up), being on staff at a deeply dysfunctional and lifeless church that I went to because I had to, although it was so far below what a church should be that it hurt just to be there, and taking classes with way too many other first-year MDiv students who had these bizarre zombie-like smiles on their faces as they talked about how great it was to be in ministry, while all I could see was the hardness of ministry. (It is great to be in ministry, of course, but I think they were mostly still in the honeymoon phase of it, and I definitely wasn't.) I was away from my family, away from the structured environment of college, working jobs I didn't like just to survive, then coming home to an apartment I didn't feel at home in. I had also gotten my heart broken for the first real time in my life, which didn't help (a situation which was soon to change when I met a young counseling student that March). I stayed in Chicagoland for several years afterwards, but every time I drove by my old apartment, the feeling of that first year would come back to me like bitter water at the back of my throat.

And this song, which I played in the Jeep Cherokee my dad gave me, summed up the whole year. "How does it feel to be on your own, a complete unknown, no direction home?" "Now you don't talk so proud, after having to scrounge for your next meal." "Nobody told you how to live out on the street and how you're gonna have to get used to it."

There are a lot of covers of this song, all of which sound more pleasant than Dylan's original; but I put up Dylan's version of it, because I think it most clearly expresses the jagged dislocation of its theme (better singing and more pleasant accompaniment undercut what the song is talking about). The rising chords at the beginning, the jangly, too-loud guitars and drums, the annoying major key it's played in: the song is supposed to be hard to listen to.

I know God was at work in very good ways during that year; indeed, that first dark year out of college was a gift, it was God's way of giving me things and growing me up in ways that would have been impossible otherwise. Couldn't see that then, but I can now. But I can't ever hear this song without that bitter taste forming in the back of my mouth again. Perhaps some of you know what I'm talking about.

How To Give Your Heart Away

Judee Sill was a musician from the 70's, a hippie who sang a lot about religion. She died tragically from a drug overdose in 1979 (she was apparently medicating herself for chronic back pain) after recording two absolutely gorgeous albums that went nowhere. My favorite song of hers is the one above; it sounds as beautiful to me in this version as it does when she recorded it in the studio, singing four parts all recorded on each other with strings. I find this song so overwhelming . . . it's either one of those unusually precient expressions from a non-Christian about divine love, or a hint of God actually working in her heart. I don't know which; her obsession with singing slightly odd songs about Jesus may have been just her own inclination, or may have been something more. I don't know which. I sure hope it was more.

Here are the lyrics:

Love, rising from the mists
Promise me this and only this
Holy breath touching me
Like a wind song
Sweet communion of a kiss

Sun, sifting thru the grey
Enter in, reach me with a ray
Silently swooping down
Just to show me
How to give my heart away

And once a crystal choir
Appeared while I was sleeping and called my name
And when they came down nearer
Saying, "Dying is done",
Then a new song was sung
Until somewhere we breathed as one

Stars, bursting in the sky
Hear the sad nova's dying cry
Shimmering memory
Come and hold me
While you show me how to fly

Sun, sifting thru the grey
Enter in, reach me with a ray
Silently swooping down
Just to show me
How to give my heart away

And lately sparkling hosts
Come fill my dreams descending on fiery beams
I've seen them come clear down
Where our poor bodies lay
Soothe us gently and say,
"Gonna wipe all your tears away"

Love rising from the mists
Promise me this and only this
Holy breath touching me
Like a wind song
Sweet communion of a kiss...

The Joy of the Gospel, All Over Again

Astoundingly good post on the simplicity of the gospel here: http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/the-lawgospel-rant

Go read it.

I'm serious.

Some quotes:

"For one thing, most of us have heard so much law preaching that we’re drowning in it. Most Baptists love it, too, or say they do. “You really told them today, preacher. You let ‘em have it” or my fave as a young preacher-boy “You really stepped on our toes today.” I must not have done it right then, because the law KILLS you, not annoys you, so you can be resurrected, not corrected. . . .

"I could name preachers all day who made their reputations on being law preachers, and they are popular because we love to hear someone preach our congregation or youth group right into the ground. When our people sleep and our youth group doesn’t care, we love to hear someone come in with the big stick and humble those uncaring sheep. Right?

"Law preaching is powerful. It feels powerful. Even when it’s done poorly and just amounts to nagging, it makes the preacher feel like he/she is doing something. That’s one reason it’s so popular- you’re telling them what to do. You’re like Moses hitting the rock. Look what I did, you bunch of stubborn yokels. And joined with invitationalism and revivalism, it works. It fills the altar with crying students. I brings people down to get baptized for the 5th time and really mean it this time.

"The Gospel, on the other hand, takes the power out of your hands. It’s the announcement of what God has done. You aren’t powerful at all. You’re one loser telling a bunch of other losers that they are going to be treated like winners. Bread for the thieves. Pardon for the unquestionably guilty. Love for rebels. You’re announcing that everyone gets paid the same. You’re issuing banquet seats to people who have no right to a ticket because they are dirty and sinful. You’re telling sinners that the lamb of God has paid the bill and it’s not going to appear on their charge anywhere. . . .

"Apparently this must not be very exciting to a lot of preachers, because they just don’t enjoy preaching it (and often enjoy saying why they despise free grace.) I’m not saying they never say “Jesus died for you,” but it’s not a finished salvation given as a gift to sinners with nothing put empty hands. It is, as I usually hear it, something Jesus did that made salvation “possible.” Possible. If salvation is just “possible,” I’m toast. Burned on both sides.

"If I can go to hell, I will. It’s that simple. . . .

"Remember this: Discipleship will put you in despair without the Gospel. . . .

"You can recognize law preaching because it’s always full of references to the Bible being a “handbook for life,” full of principles for a successful life. If your Bible is just a handbook for life, throw it away. . . . Once you have the Gospel right and you know what preaching is all about, then you can read and preach Leviticus or Malachi or whatever you want, as long as Jesus is in his proper place and the message is the Gospel, not the law, or the old covenant, or this week’s good advice. . . .

"Law youth ministry is a waste of your time. If all you’re doing is trying to make kids behave, make good choices and buy into the church as a place to hang out, then by all means, get another job. Or be honest and just say you’re a moralistic therapeutic babysitter carrying out the wishes of the church to not have any kids make bad decisions. . . .

"We’ve got the news that God has declared religion out of business. We’ve got the news that the church has nothing to offer or say except the Gospel, so that should simplify your search for a church. We’ve got the news that at the end of the world, there’s going to be a party for you and me, where we’re going to be embraced, loved and taken to the new heaven and the new earth completely on the free grace of God in Jesus."

OK, I've quoted over half of it, but I doubt I'll get many complaints about something so glorious.

I've been trying to explain the gospel to my five year old daughter a bit more intentionally and aggressively lately. I keep coming on too strong - she tends to close up, because she can tell this really matters to Daddy. But at one point, I was telling her about the prodigal son, and told her, "God actually likes bad people." "That's weird!" she said. Yup. How glorious.

Hiding and Making Fig Leaves

I was giving Erin a break the other day in her room with the door closed. The kids knew they were no supposed to go in there, but Will walked up to the door, sat down with his back to it, and asked me, "Tan you doe away from me?" I was pretty sure I knew why he was asking me this, but just to play along, I said, "Why, Will?" The answer: "Ta-tuz ("because") I don't want you to see me." "Why not?" "Ta-tuz I want to go see Mommy."

We're all still playing out Genesis 3. It's just in our spiritual genes. This is just one of the more humorous examples.

Bono on Grace and Weakness

Bono says that grace is "my favorite word in the lexicon of the English language. It’s a word I’m depending on. The universe operates on karma, we all know that. … There is some atonement built in: an eye for an eye… Then enters Grace and turns that upside down. I love it. … Christ’s ministry really was a lot to do with pointing out how everybody is a screw-up in some shape of form, there’s no way around it. But then He was to say, well, I am going to deal with those sins for you. I will take on Myself all the consequences of sin. Even if you’re not religious I think you’d accept that there are consequences to all the mistakes we make. And so Grace enters the picture to say, ‘I’ll take the blame, I’ll carry your cross.’ It’s a powerful idea” (U2 by U2, p. 300).

“I thank God on a daily basis for my life in U2 because not only did this job put my talents to use, it put my insecurities and weaknesses to use. That’s the miracle for me.”

From the Mockingbird blog (which is absolutely excellent, and well worth your time (mockingbirdnyc.blogspot.com)

Infinite Both Ways

"Infinite hopes--and fears--may both be yours." -Lewis, Till We Have Faces

"She kept on, went on out of sight, journeying always further into death." -ibid.

I have a friend who commented to me recently that he has been thrown out beyond cliche, out beyond any reasonable expectation, into an abyss, and into truth.

It seems to me that the suffering and joy of the Christian are both infinite--both. Our suffering is the furthest thing in the world away from a kind of rational, comprehensible calculus in which each pain is divinely allowed for the sake of some earthly good to which it is directly tied: you break a bone, and during the scan, the doctor discovers cancer in stages early enough to be treated fully. Sure, that does happen, but the quality of suffering is so much more; it simply doesn't fit into any kind of cost-benefit analysis. You can't say, I'll be in the desert long enough to build up my spiritual constitution and only so long, all for the sake of doing big things for God. The desert is infinite, and you have to wander around in it, glare-blind and parched, until you finally give up and die--and somehow keep going, keep walking, even though you're dead. Deeper and deeper in to death, and thus into life, participating in the sufferings of Christ himself.

The joy is infinite too. It is also not reducible to any cost-benefit analysis; it cannot be contained as one part of my perfect little earthly life and all the plans I have for myself. It bursts those old wineskins open.

On a slightly different note, from MacDonald's Lilith:
'Lilith,' said Mara, 'you will not sleep, if you lie there a thousand years, until you have opened your hand and yielded that which is not yours to give or to withhold.'
'I cannot,' she answered, 'I would if I could, for I am weary, and the shadows of death are gathering about me--'
'They will gather and gather, but they cannot infold you while yet your hand remains unopened. You may think you are dead, but it will only be a dream; you may think you have come awake, but it will still be only a dream. Open your hand, and you will sleep indeed, then wake indeed.'
'I am trying hard, but the fingers have grown together and into my palm--' . . .
The princess turned her eyes upon Eve, beseechingly. 'There was a sword I once saw in your husband's hands,' she murmured. 'I fled when I saw it. I heard him who bore it say it would divide whatever was not one and indivisible.' . . .
'Bring it, Adam, and cut me off this hand that I may sleep.'
'I will,' he answered.

O God, lead me deeper and deeper into death, do what you must, and save me.

Mountains, Chinese Culture, Taxes

In Nashville right now after a week in Glacier National Park. I'd really like to describe for everyone what Glacier Park was like, but since we don't have words in English for how gorgeous and dramatic and just plain big those mountains are, and how rich and peaceful the wooded forest paths are, weaving among cracked rocks with pine needles and moss underfoot amidst the shadows, I can't really tell you what it was like. Don't bother looking at pictures, either, because cameras lie. People think cameras are objective, but they aren't; and you can't fit the beauty of Glacier Park into a photograph. You have to go see it for yourself.

We met my wife's best friend and her family there, while staying in a trailer that the family of our friend, Laura Welker, kindly opened up to us. My wife's best friend's husband, Randy, is a very interesting man, and I was particularly struck by two things he said in the ramblings of our conversation:

1) Everyone is talking about global warming, including the President, but there is a good deal which the government could be doing about it but isn't. For instance, Randy told me that a year or so ago GM put out on lease a car called the Volt, a hybrid which was very environmentally friendly. They were incredibly popular but were all recalled after a while, and GM hasn't done anything like it since, even though they doubtless would sell very well. My friend speculated that the reason for this was that the US government makes a lot of money from taxing imported gasoline--and that if the Volt were to really take off, they would lose that income. So probably the government put pressure on GM in a number of covert ways. My friend concluded by reflecting on the corrupt system we have in the US, and I think he's right: there are big ways to damage the environment less, but we won't do them without a financial motivation. As long as it is profitable to do so, we'll happily pollute. A lot of attention is focused--not wrongly--on the President, but, Republican or Democrat, pro-life or pro-abortion, Christian or not, he's part of a much bigger system. (This last is my thought, not Randy's.)

2) My friend lived in Japan for a year and a half, and I asked him why the gospel is doing so well in China but not Japan. Although there are doubtless many reasons for this, my friend reflected that perhaps one was that thinking independently is part of Chinese culture but not part of Japan's: in the latter, your superiors think for you, and you do not think, you work. Achievement and relentless hard work lead to the right results. It's not the friendliest atmosphere for the self-abandonment necessary for faith; Randy told me about a Japanese man who read the Bible for 10 years before finally giving up on himself and throwing himself on God.