Serious Business

This was too long to tweet, so I slapped it in here.

In my opinion (and my opinion counts for a lot, since I have read almost every CS Lewis book, essay, speech, etc. in existence.) this is one of the most beautiful, hopeful, insightful passages from any of Lewis' works.

Take this in, as it a truth freely offered:

"I do not think that the life of Heaven bears any analogy to play or dance in respect of frivolity. I do think that while we are in this ‘valley of tears,’ cursed with labour, hemmed round with necessities, tripped up with frustrations, doomed to perpetual plannings, puzzlings, and anxieties, certain qualities that must belong to the celestial condition have no chance to get through, can project no image of themselves, except in activities which, for us here and now, are frivolous.

For surely we must suppose the life of the blessed to be an end in itself, indeed The End: to be utterly spontaneous; to be the complete reconciliation of boundless freedom with order–with the most delicately adjusted, supple, intricate, and beautiful order?

How can you find any image of this in the ‘serious’ activities either of our natural or of our (present) spiritual life? Either in our precarious and heart-broken affections or in the Way which is always, in some degree, a via crucis?

No, Malcolm. It is only in our ‘hours-off,’ only in our moments of permitted festivity, that we find an analogy. Dance and game are frivolous, unimportant down here; for ‘down here’ is not their natural place. Here, they are a moment’s rest from the life we were place here to live.
But in this world everything is upside down. That which , if it could be prolonged here, would be a truancy, is likest that which in a better country is the End of ends. Joy is the serious business of Heaven.”

C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcom

I am so overwhelmed and humbled by the weight of the cross recently. How this end that Lewis speaks of (and I believe he speaks true) is made possible by the Stength and Determination of Christ's death and, subsequently, His grave-defying resurrection. What could such a compelling Love ever ask of me that I shouldn't freely give? His commitment defies all earthly notions. He's after our Joy. It can seem cruel sometimes to our finite minds when He tells us to give everything up for His Glory, but his delight in our sacrifice and the mutual delight between Creator and created that results from it is so heavy, beautiful, and REAL, that I can't deny all existence is wrapped up in what happened on Calvary. Oh God, thank you for Jesus, the One who beckons me come and die--with the only end being to breathe me into Life.

Punctured.

punctured lungs inexplicably heave deep sighs.
with his sharp knife sadness' slits crush
but enable earth shattering groans.
perhaps the groans are just weight put to words.
sadness' poem is simple, gutteral, beautiful, inescapable,
Until it is lost in numbness or victory.
I fear I will be lost to numbness if left to my own devices.
Victory seems so far away.
Who can cling to it?
oh, punctured lungs. you heave deep sighs...

This is how I think

Yesterday I wrote this on a paper towel at work. It's weird, but it's how I think and I am posting it as an interesting example of what my mind looks like.

I am sitting at a window on the second story looking out over the street below and it's dusty not the kind of dusty that you can mop off but the kind of dusty where you know it has become part of the glass muddling the whole view but also making it more realistic because isn't everything a little bit permanently dusty and I am leaning in in in in in and trying to make out the shapes that I know are clear on the other side but they just aren't coming into focus so maybe I need new glasses or something or maybe just some new perspective because I was told this would be clearer and it's just not. I strain my eyes leaning in in in in and without realizing it was coming I bump my head on the glass so hard because I was trying to make sense of the blurriness and I pull away feeling cold tears down my cheeks because I am so frustrated and I start to laugh too which is always what I do when I cry over something that isn't even that sad and also the knot on my head now smarts and I just cry and laugh because it works right here and sit back in my chair and want to forget the window because who likes a damn dusty window anyway but I know that window is the key to everything and the source of everything and so I lean in in in in as the tears stream and I start over knowing that I am never going to see through the dustiness but that the shapes on the other side are clear...

The Necessary Specificity.

Disclaimer: These are the first words I have read—let alone written—in about a week thanks to the classic cough/cold/flu that only a cold, snowy January could bring. So, if this entry is lacking, or if it tastes of Nyquil and boredom, blame my intellectual muscles recently gone to seed, not me.

That being said, today I feel compelled, in fact I feel pulled (that moment your soul might die if you don’t spit it out), to write about specifics. Specifics, you say? That seems odd. Considering we live in an age that celebrates generalities and scorns “the agenda” like the bubonic plague, how dare I try and give commentary on the frightening necessity of specifics?

Hmm. Honestly, I must talk about them because I myself am frightened of them. I don’t think I have ever realized how scared I am of specifics until pretty recently. This fear is a reality that has been manifesting itself in my thoughts, actions, and mindsets for the last half a year or so, but it has manifested itself quietly and subtly, like any good ailment of the soul worth mentioning.

What do I mean by specifics? And why are they scary? For me, specifics are generalities come alive. This “organic-ness” makes them potent. Only in the specific can there be real life, but there we also must open ourselves up to the fact that there will also be (as with all organic things) death. Let me explain (maybe).

 Let’s start with an “easy specific” like a favorite movie or book. We subconsciously require certain qualities in such forms of entertainment that eventually become evident when we are faced with our own brand of perfection. Since this is my “game” I will use my favorite book, A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. This book has it all for me: delightful, humorous prose; challenging themes; deep, relevant characters (because we are all Scrooge, people); and, most importantly, the call for social change with the presentation of irrefutable and uncomfortable truths. I never really knew exactly what I was looking for in a favorite book, just that when I read this one, I had found it.

However, favorite books can change and should change. Otherwise we would all still be singing the praises of the intellectually stimulating: “Pat the Bunny.”  A more concrete human example would be falling in love. This is a more costly specific. The moment that one realizes that it’s not about a list of qualities or a relationship status, but about a person. Oh man, it is a…formidable…thing when the concept of love becomes person-specific. It’s a wonderful and wounding place to be when one is faced with all the attributes one never even knew one needed in another and is invited to watch those qualities play out in a living, breathing soul. Talk about an unrefined (as in sugar) reality. When we meet this person, if we ever get to, I would imagine most of us never really knew what we were seeking before the meeting, but (as I said earlier) when we had read it, we knew we had found it. An inanimate concept—a mate—becomes an animate reality. I think (judging by the hundreds of sexual conquests I witnessed among people just in my 4 years of college) it’s obvious to all that we squirm away from allowing ourselves to be engulfed by such a specific.

Life purposes are probably the most avoided, especially for young adults today (this is coming from the queen of the non-specific life plan life).  So many of us (or maybe it’s just me) flit from job to job, passion to passion, continent to continent, longing (yes, because that is in us all whether we like it or not) to bring something beautiful and weighty to the world. And I have always been quite safe in this flitting mentality. What have I REALLY committed to in my life? I love skating around causes, people groups, and ideas without ever placing my whole heart into something, because placing your heart into something costs a lot. What if, down the road, my life’s work comes to nothing? If I take the plunge and finally focus on a potential end, mightn’t I be forced to see it die before it comes to fruition? Even in my life of non-committal desire, I have felt the pain of defeated dreams. Why do you think I love WB Yeats’ poetry so much? He knew the bitter taste I speak of. In fact, it is a rare person indeed who has not passed a day lamenting a particular dream that has died. It is an even more unlikely person that, on this day, has not muttered thousands of times “never again…never again will I believe in a dream…no end is worth this pain” God knows that I have. More days than I care to admit, honestly. When we get specific in our prayers and actions, we open ourselves up to unimaginable setbacks. But, and this truth has just recently hit me: what’s the alternative? I would argue that if organic objectives with real cost behind them can (and many times do) end in a painful death, our only alternative is to choose inanimate generalities and ultimately surrender our chance to fully Live. It’s a scary thought, and I think I could be a little bit correct.

So, inevitably, all this points to Jesus. Oh man I have been hit so hard with His specific nature in the last week, and although I believe the influence of Nyquil has helped the bruising, it has hurt like hell because my life (as I am currently living it) hurts Him. Passive voice aside: I have subconsciously been skirting around how precise my life for Him has become, for fear that I am going to get locked into something I can’t get out of.  What if I really bind myself inexorably to Jesus and Jesus alone? Not to the latest cause. Not to a person or people group. Not to the freedom He gives or the desire He fulfills or the longings He satisfies. Just Him. Jesus. Specifically. Undeniably. For His sake, not mine.

 It is a costly destiny. And all of me will be required to die.

We fear specifics. I have feared them the most. Generalities cost very little. But when we fight for something or someone watered down or weak, vague or undefined, what value does it really have? We love generalities as humans, because failure is difficult to prove when we are focused on large, imprecise and indistinguishable ends and inexorable allegiance is almost impossible to prove when we commit our hearts to more than one Person. We delight in the shadows. We have to come out and own up to the Person behind our Organic Lives or forfeit them.

Operating in His vast grace, I must own up to the specificity I am called to as Christ’s follower. Who is with me?

And they all started somewhere.

I bid farewell to the Luddite Movement that I once believed so strongly in and fully commit myself to being a part of the “Twitter Generation” Thanks for having me, guys.

 Aw, here it goes… (Kenan & Kel, anyone?)

One. “Getting My Sea Legs (or should I say Blog Legs? No. sounds creepy): 

A Brief Introduction”

Juliet Capulet once said from a balcony in Verona: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose, 
By any other name would smell as sweet (Romeo & Juliet II, ii, 1-2)…

It’s a classic line, and I get it, what she’s saying. Despite his unfortunate last name, her Love would remain unchanged to her: He would have the same soul, same (assumedly) lovely eyes, the same excellent talent for verse in the English language (especially considering the fact that he was Italian), etc. However, I think, in her tunneled vision, Juliet here has minimized the power of the name, and I must address this fallacy today, since I know this troubles all of you as well : )

This is what my first entry is about: the title of my blog. It might seem lame, but this is totally necessary for me because, you see, I am a believer in names.

The Anglo-Saxons used to name everything. Their swords, their helmets, their armor, their cutlery (can you imagine a world in which you could be found drinking out of your noble coffee mug, “Arabica”?? I certainly can…), their children (an odd habit we continue to carry out to this day)…anything noble or of worth, anything that ensured their survival or enhanced the quality of their survival, was given a name.

What do I have to name?

My iPhone?  Perhaps its name would be “the reason I now tweet in bed.” …That’s lacking something.

My Kindle? Considering mine met its Maker about 2 months ago, the only name it merits is “broken.”

My kitten? Oh wait. I am not allowed to have one…but her name would be Luna Lovegood, and I swear I would cherish her forever…but that’s another entry entirely…

So, when I decided to bite the proverbial bullet and make a blog, I think the thing that excited me the most was giving it a title that characterized me. My journey ended on the title of the poem, somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond, by ee cummings.

It’s an odd, beautiful little poem, probably my third favorite of all time (not sure what the first two are, they are yet to be known to me), and it’s me.

Me:  ……?

That pretty much sums me up in this moment. I had something to write about 2 hours ago, a laundry list of comical/serious aspects of my person, but so much has changed since then. Things seem to change—I seem to change—so quickly I can’t even keep up with myself. This truth is incredibly ironic in that I am in what seems an interminable period of “I don’t know” and wait. I am learning and changing constantly, but my circumstances seem to linger on, persistent and stubborn. They’re not bad, just persistent and stubborn. And they don’t find me exactly where I feel I was made to dwell.

This solidifies my choice of title even more.

The first 2 lines of this poem read,

“somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence”.

 This is actually the only reality I know right now. That my whole existence lies somewhere I have never traveled. My world revolves around the One whose eyes have their silence in this mysterious place I long to be caught up in: First here. then There. But certainly always. (and I forget too often, even now). And I am glad.

Much Love.