Thoughts for Remembrance

It

2009-05-26T15:40:00.000-07:00

It does not care that I am busy or need to produce. It only knows strength, an overwhelming weight of loss.

It can not see the day or night, they all seem the same. It only feels now, this time of present pain.

It's drive is wreck-less, its degree is senseless. It won't let up.

Someday it will cease, someday peace, but today for me there is no release.

Protect her, don't dare neglect her. She is so beautiful. I will never forget her.

Oh God, be our comfort, be our shepherd. Be the one you said you are.

Let our dreams, the ones you gave, shine away this dark moment in our lives.

Help us see your hand in all of this.

And help us remember that it will soon pass

They're all around us.

2009-04-28T22:22:00.000-07:00

Everywhere you look, there they are. Every person you walk past in the grocery store looking for snacks in one of them. Every person that moves through your peripheries as you march through traffic. Every person you have ever laid eyes on, every person you have ever ignored, and every person you have never met. They're everywhere, the indescript multitudes of amazing people. Have you ever thought about the fact that every person you encounter on your day has traversed an infinite amount of life experience, emotions, and endeavors? How often do you stop to listen to some one else's story? How often do you pause and stop your endless rat-race to marinate in the minds and imaginations of your fellow humans? If your like me, not often enough.

For the past year I've been grabbing coffee and meals with a man who is a few years my senior. He's the type of guy that often gets overlooked. Normally, if I was to run into him amidst my daily activities I would surely not notice him, but for whatever reason we've developed a friendship and it has been truly life-giving. I've enjoyed hearing his perspective on politics, his stories of childhood, his sentiment about tragedy, and a plethora of other conversation topics. He is beyond words, amazing.

This is my point: You never know who is next to you. He or She could be the most amazing person you ever meet. My hope is that I will never become so rigid, or stuck in my daily patterns that I may overlook a friend like the one I've made this last year. Always be open to the life stories of others and never underestimate anyone, because within each individual human is an infinite wealth of experience and potential worth sacrificing anything for.

Thanks Jim.

Gets up early in the morning

at work again he mopes

thankless for his laboring

he'll be heard soon he hopes

At break he reads and disappears

he thinks about his life

his love for sports and his lonely fears

remembering good times

How he feels like he's all alone

trapped inside this airport

he loads the bags all to be flown

to lands and distant shores

He wonders when he'll catch his break

and his dreams will finally take

We don't see who you are and

we won't know your charm

if we never take the time

to get to know the man

the character inside oh Jim

All he's seen and all he's done

the people that he's met

don't know what they missed out on

the moment that they left

They could not see his greatness

he didn't fit their mold

humble hearts can seem like less

but his is made of gold

He's full of love and so meek

loyalty to stay by your side

until the day you die

don't let him pass you by

We don't see who you are and

we won't know your charm

if we never take the time

to get to know the man

the character inside oh Jim

They day is ending and its time for bed

not a quarter past nine

joyful rest as he lays his head

the love of his divine

Soon he'll wake to another day

this crazy world is blind

we did not know that we walked away

from one of a kind

So may we heed his story

what matters is inside

may we sing his journey

with dignity and pride

Will it always be this way?

2009-04-17T16:44:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I think the human history is like a sea crew fresh from conquest but lost at sea. We travel the open water with blood on our hands and cargo full of treasure. Our journey is a dichotomy of endless consumption and eternal loneliness. Our feasting and consuming makes us feel like we understand what life is about, but only for a moment. Once our prizes wear down we hunger for more. I find in my own life that I often go after the wrong treasure. It leaves me feeling alone, lost at sea. I look back at my spoils and realize that they were all in vein. What is the price of our endeavors and pursuit of self-gain?

The recent flare-up between Somali Pirates and Western sea shipping illustrates this even further. It's an international paradox of worldly desire. On one hand you have the American and European ships transporting goods from our capitalist conquest in the East back home to the West. On the other hand you have an organized crime gang capturing and holding hostages, innocent merchants and seamen. On first glance it seems that the ships crew is absolutely in the right and the pirates are absolutely in the wrong, but if you study the history of Somalia and uncover the plight of her people you may come to understand a much more intricate, heartbreaking story.

In the early 1990's Somalia's government collapsed, leaving a land void of structure, order, and safety. Around the same time Western nations capitalized on the situation and began to dump nuclear waster off the coast, as it was far cheaper to dump in a country with zero regulations than to follow the strict environmental regulations of their own lands. It costs roughly $2.50 cents per ton to dump in the Somali ocean compared to $250 per ton to dispose in nuclear waste plants. To Western companies its a no-brainer; dump in Somalia, who's going to stop us?

This turned tragic in December 2004 when an earthquake in Java measuring over 9.0 on the richter-scale triggered a tsunami that spread completely across the Indian Ocean and devastated dozens of nations including Somalia. To make the catastrophe worse, radio-active material began to wash on shore causing dozens of deaths and numerous sicknesses.

As the Somali people watch the West become wealthier and wealthier they began to feel more and more forgotten and helpless. What more value is Somalia than a place for our ships to travel through, and our companies to dump their garbage? And is it not at the cost of floundering nations like Somalia that we become fat and rich? In no way am I condoning the actions of the pirates, as their tactics are down-right criminal, I am merely drawing attention the the paradox of humanity. We pillage at the expense of others, and what does our pillaging really bring us but a lonely soul and a hunger for more? This is a lesson history has taught generation after generation and we never seem to learn. We still remain lonely. We still long for more. We are like a ship lost at sea, full of booty, but haunted by the ghosts of our conquest.

http://www.voanews.com/english/archive/2005-02/2005-02-23-voa23.cfm

If there were a set of words

That could make this world work

Would you use your voice to free

This thorn from my flesh?

If I could buy you a home

Walls to keep you safe from harm

Would I use my will for you

or Would I steal again

Sorrow is our song chorus

Sing as one voice all people

History bleeds as our Ghosts cry

For more than this life

Our ship has lost its course

And we can't see through the fog

Haunted by the waves below

Silence is our great foe

Was our pillaging worth

All this loneliness here?

We're so scared to drown and

Face the truth of our lust

Some day we will fall into an

Ocean of sovereign seas

Where your love reigns o'er suffering

Come soon, please come soon, heavenly

Before and After Us.

2009-04-11T22:06:00.000-07:00

Today I spent some time with my 96 year old great-grandmother. She was born in 1913. She has seen a lot of life. She's had a front seat to incredible inventions, the birth and death of nations, family growing and changing, and an unending list of life's surprises. We tried to talk with her but she kept complaining about her hearing aid not working. I felt helpless in helping my mothers', mothers', mother. I wish I could make it so she could hear.

Whenever I share space and conversation with her I am humbled by how much more life she has experienced. I sometimes wish that our life lessons were passed down so that memories of wars, lovers, deaths, and births were inherited by each new generation. This fantasy ignited my imagination to wonder about the rest of my family, and how their life journeys' have crafted who I have become.

It is said that to understand the future you most first understand the past. Undoubtedly our world has been shaped by our forefathers and foremothers, and conversely the future of this world will grow into what we make it. This is both exhilarating and burdensome. I hope I can do a good job, as my parents are apart of the baby-boom generation, the generation that has left their mark on earth like none before them. Theirs is a time that democracy thrived, liberty prevailed, prosperity engulfed, and companies, countries, and computers were created. I'm honored to at some point in my future, take the baton and run the proverbial marathon of life. As Richard Parker, grandfather of Spiderman, said, "With great power comes great responsibility."

I don't know who reads this, but take a moment and reflect on who brought you into this world, how their stories created your story. Were there battles fought? What tough choices were made? What risks were taken? Are there heroes? How far back can you go? Organizations envisioned? Sacrificed made, selfless and giving? Migrations? Tragedies? Miracles?

Imagine really cool music to these lyrics:

Break the pulse of love

When Dusk has come

And all will fall

Into the spring of heavenly

This day is ending

She cannot hear

But in her ear the tambourine

A hundred years of life fades

her days are ending

This is my family, I would not trade it in

I am their beloved son, California raised

Grandpa fought a war

Met his wife on Alaskan shores

Where she came so adventurous

My fathers' parents

Grandma met her man in Wyoming

They took the train

Bound for the city by the bay

My mothers' parents

This is my ancestry, Wars and Medicine

I am their beloved son, California raised

Burns, the toughness of

My fathers love

He had it hard

But faithfulness and all he gave

Will measure who he is to me

Warm, the softness of

My mothers love

She puts her faith in God

And prays for us like he hears her words

This is my history, shared over red wine

I am their beloved son, California raised

Waves crash the beach

Nearby where my sister sleeps

She is my only sibling

and I love her so

Spring, today is spring

And I reflect

On all I have

And all I've seen

And all I am

and I am blessed

This is my family, I would not trade it in

I am their beloved son, California raised

Aching for North

2009-04-02T16:59:00.000-07:00

For the past week or so I have seen more Monarch Butterflies than any other time in my life. These frail, winged creatures are on their annual migratory flight pattern back to Canada for the Summer and they just happened to grace the Tri-Valley along the way. At one point the other day I could see dozens of them in every direction, all fleeing from the South pushing on towards the great North. As I marveled at this natural phenomenon I began to wonder and ponder about the all relating factors contributing to these tiny insects' exodus. What is pushing them North and why? Along the journey these Monarchs have transitioned multiple generations of flies as they have reproduced numerous times since their last struggle North. Each generation picks up where the last left off; North in the Spring, South in the Fall. This means that NONE of the butterflies I witnessed have even seen the majestic North, they were only following the call of their ancestral instinct, the relentless hunger for progression.

What does that feel like? I'd imagine it's like having an unquenchable thirst for flight. To feel the air around your wings. It's like an undying urge to follow suit with the countless other Monarchs that are your family on the well traveled path of destiny. I'd imagine it must be a longing like no other, and unyielding urgency to venture to the next location and then the next. It must be such a strong calling that every ounce of your being craves for nothing more than the North. You dream about, think about, and live about it. Here is my question: What massive intrinsic endeavors are we as humans destined to set forth on? What soul longings do we posses? What is our North? What are the things we MUST do with our lives? Purpose, destiny, calling, eternity?

All I know is I want to go North like the monarchs. Before myself multiplied millions of my ancestors explored creation, philosophized theology, established nations, and accomplished incomprehensible feats all with the hopes of finding some sort of worthwhile truth. I want to follow my predecessors in this divinely historic mass migration towards the unknown. I want to feel the flight of mystery. I want to experience the fatigue of endless travel. I want the wind to brush across my face as I soar through the clouds. I don't know what the final destination is, but I imagine that like the great Monarchs, each stop is not the finish, just the beginning of a new adventure.

Inhale love, exhale worries

2009-03-15T21:39:00.000-07:00

The other day I had a moment of release. I've had trouble writing about it because I can't figure out how to put words to something I still don't fully understand. See, I'm the type of person that over-thinks, over-analyzes, and over-worries my life. I have trouble living in the moment and truly celebrating the miraculous joy of the present. Instead I tend to burden myself with always worrying that I'm not as good as I could be, that I'm doing it wrong, or that I'm missing the mark. I always seem to ask myself what I could have done better in every circumstance. While this perspective has its benefits because it forces me to always challenge myself, it paralyzes me from savoring the gift of "here and now", because I'm always obsessed with the future pressure of "what if I'm doing this wrong?".

It was two weeks ago that I visited her and it all changed in an unexpected moment. In the midst of the most personal affection, tenderness, and romance I felt the presence of the Almighty. I began to let go of my cherished fear of screwing up like a deep breath held too long. I looked upon the beauty of my beloved and released my insecurities with a sincere sigh as I took refuge in the shelter of her care. Through the touch of the person who knows me like no one else, I inhaled the spirit of love. Like a wave of cold ocean water, freedom swept over my soul as I released all of my long held doubts, fears, and guilt into the arms and embrace of a human being I don't deserve to know. In truth it was a significant marker in my life that I will not forget anytime soon as I inhaled love and exhaled worries.

I don't write about this to sound deep, intelligent, or profound. I hope I didn't come across that way. I posted this note for my for my own personal record so I will never forget that moment. The moment when my Father gifted me love.

Capitalism and the New Spiritual Warfare

2009-03-04T22:31:00.000-08:00

This last year has been a whirlwind for many of us. Trillions of dollars of wealth, savings, and income have disappeared. Many people speculate that it's just the beginning. Oddly enough, all of the economic turmoil has metamorphosed me into a deeper believer of Spiritual Warfare, but not in the way you think. Spiritual Warfare is typically portrayed as an epic battle of prayer and discipline fought by demons and angels who are controlled and ordered around by our wizard-like religious spells. We pray for, against, and with angelic beings we've never seen or understand beyond metaphors and fables. This is the most traditional and common definition of Spiritual Warfare. While this is valid and mysteriously attractive, I don't know about it, and frankly I have yet to be convinced of the presence of this type of Spiritual reality in our culture but I have, as of late, become increasingly aware of different Spiritual reality within our secular, post religious, capitalist culture that is even more pressing and urgent.

I'll start by explaining the spiritual reality of a middle-schooler. For some reason many kids between about the ages of 12 and 15 come to a life threshold where they must choose between becoming good or bad. No matter how fantastic of a support structure they may have, the complexities of their heart come down to what they find more entertaining and compelling. If a student finds the adrenaline of getting into trouble more magnetic than the fulfillment of doing the right thing often enough kids will go down the road of destructive, negative behavior. It may start with goofing off in class but it potentially leads to damaging activities like deceitfulness, delinquency, and drugs. A youths life direction can often hinge on wether or not they are drawn to the right activities. It all comes down to what their heart longs for and desires to do most. If I, as a youth worker, can convince a student to love making productive, positive, and redemptive choices they will likely lead a life of good rather than bad. What I'm describing is an invisible battle over kids hearts'. It is, in itself, a spiritual battle.

Apply this battle of hearts to adults on a larger scale and you have the modern state of our economy. The current recession was not spawned by a famine, global war, or natural disaster,or any other physical event or movement, but by the very ambiguous direction of mans' heart. You see our capitalist system, which I'm a firm believer in, allows great freedom and liberty. It provides the forum of creativity for people to accomplish historically unprecedented feats like modern medicine, technology, and philosophy while at the same time offers the same freedom for tragically negative movement and trends. Our current economic meltdown was ignited by nothing more than greed, which is a state of man's heart, a state that is in essence spiritual. People exploited one-another over and over until the system broke. It was greed that caused investment bankers to package risky home loans together and greed that caused banks to give loans to people who didn't qualify. As mass community, our national heart was corrupted by the intoxicating temptation of money, power, influence, and success (Don't we learn anything from the past?).

The challenge for us is to change our hearts. The change of hearts is not a physical struggle. Our hearts are invisible, they are spiritual. I've become convinced that our current economic wake-up call is a lesson in Spiritual Warfare, to win over the hearts of men and women for things that are good, not bad, loving, not selfish, and giving, not greedy. The warfare we are being called to engage in is a battle of hearts, a battle that is more spiritual than we may understand. This is a moment of great opportunity as once calloused hearts have become softened to the uncertainty what may come next. Let us begin to wrestle with the very core of the Spiritual reality, a mans' heart.

Sleepless from Seattle

2009-02-16T23:17:00.000-08:00

Here are some pictures from this last weekend in Seattle. They were taken on an iPhone so they're not the best quality, but I like em. I've returned home in a much heavier place than I left. This time around the Emerald city threw me some curve balls, leaving me with more questions than it feels like I can handle. Seattle is a great town and I love almost everything about its' coffee-indie-artsy-outdoorsy-urban personality, I'm just in a state of mourning because I left a piece of my heart up there, in the Northwest.

No matter what the future holds Seattle will forever be a place that has scarred my soul, left marker in my path, and for now taken from me something I hold dear. Now that I'm back home in Dublin, I find my self sleepless from Seattle, tossing, turning, and re-thinking everything.

I have a fascination with cities and their character. Each city is wrapped in a personal history draping it with memories and emotions. What cities signify some sort of meaning to you? What places will you never forget for either their positive or negative sentiment?

The Pay Off.

2009-02-05T17:01:00.001-08:00

It was an intense moment. Our bus was packed full of gleeful children caked in salty-sand leftover from a day at the beach. We were headed down the almost gravel road on our way home through the hazy countryside taking our time to gather water for the parched thirty year old bus engine. What seemed like lifetimes led up to this moment.

I surveyed the interior of the bus and inhaled the breath of humanity all around me. Elderly women crammed uncomfortably three or four where we would normally sit two. Kids packed on plastic chairs in the middle of the aisle. Above me I could hear the metal bend under the pressure of at least ten more kids who rode atop our Burmese caravan. Against my chest lay a young orphan boy we call Sawyer, fast asleep, never knowing of the opportunities that passed him by the moment he was born in this land. Altogether there must have been eighty souls trapped on this heavenly ride all breathing the same air of humanity.

This was one of the greatest moments of my life. To my right sat the guardian sage of the entire city who orchestrated this day and who I am called to bless. He is a Mon born Pastor named Maung Ko Ko. We call him Ako. Further to my right sat a lifelong friend named Kevin who will never know how much I love him, how much he means to me, and how much I believe in him. All around me were lives of children, women, and men who have been forever changed by the touch of an invisible God who made himself flesh to our humanity.

For some strange reason we are allowed to play a part in helping Ako love and shepherd his people. The years leading to this trip left me with dozens of unresolved emotions and broken callings. I was unsure if we were suppose to know Ako and all the people on that Bus. I questioned if we were doing the right thing, following Gods call, and being wise. The questioning of our purpose left me heavy and depressed. We were out of sync. On this day at that moment all of those apprehensions were squelched under the burdensome weight of pure joy. It had been months since I experienced joy. Joy comes from being made aware and thus humbled by presence of God himself. At that moment I knew where to give my life. I knew why I was born.

Our dream is to remain connected to these lives and be a gift to their ministry. I long to see these children for years and years, to see them grow and change and become who they were created to be. I smile thinking about the possibility of sending these kids to college, to give them the opportunity of education. The possibilities are endless and I can't wait to see how the next few years of our friendship with the people on that bus turn out. We will be there for them as much as we can. Some how in all of this I feel like this is what it means to crawl up into my Fathers arms and trust in His provision, grace, goodness, and love just like as young Sawyer did with me when he slept silently my arms. This is the pay off I will endure any hardship, trail, or disaster for. Oh God let me not forget that moment.

Attentiveness

2009-01-17T00:44:00.000-08:00

AT⋅TEN⋅TIVE [uh-ten-tiv]

–adjective

1. characterized by or giving attention; observant: an attentive audience.

I Want to be aware of all that is happening around me. Each moment we breath away another moment of infinite activity. I want to hear, smell, feel, see, taste, understand, and experience as much as I can. Like the immeasurable rate of raindrops that fall in a storm, life is filled with captivating truths at every splash. Some life occurrences are satisfying, others are painful. How intense would it be if we could become more attuned to the events going on in our world and in our consciousness? What if instead of hearing the collective white noise that comes with rain we could hear every single drop? I fear that I'm destined for the callousing that seems to come with age, the type of numbness that loses sensitivity and can't even recognize when drops fall on the thick hardened skin of weathering time.

This week has been a week of many exciting moments. Hitting a bar with my father, standing in front of my young friends and pour out my heart like water, a conversation with a wise mentor, finally seeing some one I love, time spent with the brethren laughing, and the screaming anticipation that comes with standing on the edge of so many things that are so much bigger than I, propels me into deep joy and a sense that I don't want to miss out on the touch of the divine in these days.

Monday I board a flight for Burma and I am genuinely filled with joy. I'm so lucky to live this life, to know these people, to have these talks, to see these things, and to be here now. We'll be carrying with us a very large sum of money that will be donated to some trustworthy people. As I withdrew the cash from my bank and watched the teller count it out on the table in front of me I wondered about the strangeness of this occurrence. No Doubt most of the money that we will be carrying was given away by amazing, generous people, many of whom I've never met, only to be carried half way around the world and given to an obscure Kachin man from Yangoon, Burma. Each dollar was earned and donated, and trusted to me a young-naive white kid to give away. What a bizarre concept. How privileged I am to get to play a role in this exchange. I wonder where the money came from. Americans? Church-goers? College kids? Was it a sacrifice? I wonder what it will be used for. Music equipment? Cyclone relief aid? Feeding orphans? I wonder. Its details like these that I want to be attentive to, the deep divinely connected nature of life. How everything is so improbable yet beautifully orchestrated. I don't want to miss a single drop.

New Years Eve

2008-12-31T12:55:00.000-08:00

New Years Eve is the closest thing to a global fresh start I can think of. By the dropping of a ball or the turning of a clock all of our sins from the year prior are absolved and wiped away. We are free to freely become whoever we want to be from that moment on.

Each year the world looks back and remembers the highs and lows of the previous year. 2008 in particular was a year many can't wait to forget as it was a year filled with war (Iraq, Afghanistan, Georgia, Israel), economic depression (stock market crash, financial market crisis, national bankruptcy, the bursting housing bubble), and natural disasters (China Earthquake killing 70,000, Burmese Cyclone killing 80,000). With all the bleakness of 2008, what will 2009 bring? Will it bring any sort of change? Can a make believe date really give us a clean slate?

Most of us will spend tonight in a room filled with people we sort-of know as we try to avoid awkward conversation waiting for the moment when the click of a clock will bring us into 2009. Usually it means nothing. Usually we remain the same as we were the moment before. I want it to be different this year. As I reflected on all of this I began to ask myself; can I start over, or will my old habits and addictions keep me the same as I was in 2008? If my fate and destiny are truly in my hands then I'm going to try my hardest to be a new person next year. Here are some lyrics written by Five Iron Frenzy that incapsulate my thoughts on New Years Eve.

"It's New Years Eve and I'm full of empty promises, I half pretend to keep this time, just like last year. The band is loud and I'm wandering the shadows, wishing I was never here. I persevere. A crowded room, these whitewashed tombs, they raise their glasses high, they kiss the past goodbye.

This New Years Eve, I'm waiting for tomorrow. My heart is on my sleeve, and yes I still believe, this New Years Eve, will turn out better than before, I'm holding on, still holding out, until they close the door... on me.

It's New Years Eve and I feel my insecurities, are haunting me like ghosts, this sinking quicksand. And then with thunderous praise and lofty adoration, a second passes by, yet nothing changes. I hate my skin, this grave I'm standing in. Another change of years, and I wish I wasn't here.

A year goes by and I'm staring at my watch again, and I dig deep this time, for something greater than I've ever been, life to ancient wineskins. And I was blind but now I see.

This New Years Eve, something must change me inside, I'm crooked and misguided, and tired of being tired. This New Years Eve, I'm waiting for tomorrow. My heart is on my sleeve, and yes I still believe, in You."

Dreaming Pt. 1

2008-12-22T16:57:00.000-08:00

I've got some dreams. They change from day to day and season to season, but they're always there, inside my soul. I'm not talking about the types of dreams you have when your passed out on the couch, I'm talking about the dreams you have when you look at the world, your community, your friends, your family, and yourself and begin imagine how they could be so much better. Often my dreams haunt me like an unresolved song that never made it through the final chorus. I find myself itching to hear the end. Because my dreams aren't reality yet, it feels like I'm stuck in a song that never quite finished. Usually I'm scared to speak about my dreams because I'm unsure how to make them more than dreams. I'm fearful that if I tell some one what's in my dreams I'll be held accountable when they don't become.

I spent yesterday with an old friend named Nick. We drove North a few hours to visit with a student that is very close to both of our hearts. As we conversed and drove through a rainy Northern California day we shared with one another some of our dreams. After the day finished I knew that I needed to dream more. I concluded that I should write some of my dreams out to help. This Blog will probably consist of dozens of updates and parts as my dreams evolve and mutate, and thats ok. If only one or two of these dreams get accomplished in my lifetime, so be it. My hope is to mark my moments of dreaming by writing about them as a way of keeping those moments alive and fusing them into my life. My quest is to reach deep into my soul and draw forth what's internal and imagined and connect it to physical and existing .

Dream #1: Church

I'd like to see church change. Don't hear me wrong, I love church. I love the community, the message, the support, the ministry, the care, the inspiration, and the force for good that the church is in its current form. I just long to see it grow into its FULL potential. To me the church is like an academic, athletic, and artistic genius in high-school that's doing the bare minimum to get by. It gets all the necessary homework done, passes with B and C grades, and obeys the voices of authority as any good student should. This high-school kid's goal is to slip under the radar of the world while always living beneath its full levels of influence. The church has become an institution trying to survive and fit into a world of institutions and organizations while it could be a movement of individuals serving, giving, loving, and enhancing the world.

I dream of a church in such high demand in cities and communities for the redemptive work it engages in that people move to places where churches are whether they are people of faith or not. How refreshing would it be if people said to one another, "I wish there was a church in our city!" or "We really need the help of the church". I dream of a church that is first and foremost known for its work with the poor, oppressed, widowed, downcast, and lowly, not for a backwards agenda of winning more converts.

I dream of a church that isn't focused a program, but people. What if some of the money that was spent on lights, set design, computers, buildings, pamphlets, etc was spent on people and communities? What if we spent more time at homes and in public places and less time in our cement and steal buildings filled with expensive and unnecessary gadgets? What if the world saw a group of people giving on their own accord to a cause worthy of attention like hunger or third world infrastructure instead of projectors or a new sound-system? I absolutely see the value of having a place to meet and gather as a community and don't think that this is wrong, I just think we have put our focus on us and our buildings when it should have been on the broken, hurting, needy world.

I dream of a church that unleashes and awakens people. How awesome would it be if the church was known for people who changed history? What if the most influential musicians, doctors, artists, writers, scientists, teachers, and police officers were birthed by the church? What if this was the goal of the church? Not to get people to attend the service, but to awaken the divinely creative heart inside every individual.

I dream of a church that people take seriously. One of the problems in modern church culture is that people have accepted the state of church. Millions experience church as a place you go on Sunday mornings instead of a counter culture movement to engage in. What if everyone who was connected to the church was personally invested in the vision of being a redemptive force? What if the church valued the contributions of its parishioners instead of just keeping track of attendance? What if each member had a role and a stake in the church? What if church wasn't seen as an hour on Sundays, but as something to be lived out every single day by being transformed and transforming the world?

I could write pages and pages of descriptions of the church in my dreams, but what I really want is for this church to be. I long for us to step out of the mundane average life we have been leading and into the exciting calling of becoming the hands and feet of Jesus on Earth. Basically I dream of a church that can actually give the God of the Bible a name He's worthy of; His hope, compassion, justice, mercy, and abundant love. See I believe the church is the greatest hope in the world, capable of endless healing, reconciliation, and peace-making. We're just not there yet. I find myself often caught up imagining a how it could be and dreaming about when it will be. The question that remains is whether we can reform our current churches, or if we are being called to create a brand new church, the one so many dream of.

Sorrow is True

2008-12-16T22:42:00.000-08:00

Two weeks ago I was seriously distressed by a news story I heard on my favorite A.M. radio talk program. That same evening I came across the same story on the evening news. The headline described a boy from Tracy who had been held against his will and tortured in a quaint neighborhood in his suburban community. At some point, some how, the boy escaped and found his way to a nearby gym, probably the closest place with people. Once inside the fitness center the employees couldn't believe their eyes. They literally thought it was a joke. The boy was shackled, hungry, and weathered. Once workers understood the urgency of the situation, the local authorities were notified and the proper steps were taken to locate the boys' guardians and implement some sort of justice. As I processed this story I reflected on the gravity of the boys mental, phycological, physical, emotional, and overall suffering. Why does this stuff always seem happen? Will he ever be able to fully heal? Will he ever be normal? How could some one do this to some one else? Why does our world suck so bad?

The horrible truth is this: Our world will always be filled with these stories. Humanity in its current frame is a forever long song of sadness sung from the hearts of both widows and thieves. Our relentlessly insecure self worship has written a story through history that is overflowing with regret, shame, and disappointment. And it never ends. Every year countless instances of human pain are documented and cataloged in the annals of infinite suffering that is our legacy.

I bring this up because I'm beginning to sense the depth of our state of sorrow both internally and communally. I feel like my hand has touched the cold surface of an iceberg that stretches miles beneath the surface of the ocean. And in contrast to my last post, I've begun to become joyless in context of my relationships to God, people, and myself. I'm disappointed with the details of life that describe a reality where nothing ever seems to get better. I'm burnt by people who constantly make decisions that lead to deep regret. And I'm often filled with shame when I think of the man I could be and compare it to the man I am. I'm processing what it means to reconcile what my heart says the world could be like and what the world in reality is like.

Part of my questioning and struggling in this issue has been the result of a student I had named Josh. I met Josh when he was in seventh grade. Josh grew up in numerous meth-houses where watching him mom get taken advantage of was a regular occurrence. He was fully accustomed to violence, abuse, and addiction. His school record was marred by expulsions, fights, and failures. His heart was full of unimaginable brokenness and sorrow. I'll never forget dropping him off at a house he shared with his mom and a dozen other druggies. The garage of the house had a large city sign notifying the neighbors of the home being condemned by the police. Josh had it hard. My response as a youth worker was to offer my time, finances, support and love to Josh as much as I could in hopes of easing his sorrow.

After years of endless crisis', prayers, and heartache a solution to Josh's situation seemed to finally present itself to us. A welcoming family offered to take Josh into their home and provide for him the safety, stability, and help he never had. It was nothing short of miracle. It seemed like our hopes were met as he started a new chapter in his life. Unfortunately this solution was short lived. After a few months Josh decided to go back to his mom whom he had admit-tingly described as addicted to drugs and unfit to parent. My attempts to talk him out of going back to his mother were futile. Years of pouring emotion, spirit, time and energy into helping Josh were instantly erased as he chose to throw it away. I was and still am devastated. I don't understand why Josh has had to experience the life he has. I'm saddened that no matter how hard I tried to help I was powerless to make a lasting impact on the iceberg of Josh's situation. I'm filled with sorrow when I think of the pain he still feels and I wish with all my heart that things could be different, but they can't.

I feel that most attempts to explain our state of suffering in theological or philosophical terms as a result of sin, selfishness, or desire are patronizing and fall infinitely short of the infinite truth a person experiences when they are filled with true sorrow. How can you tell a kid who lost his parents that it shouldn't have happened, that it wasn't in Gods plan, or that everything is going to be ok? How can any short and contrite response to suffering every fully address the issue? How can a theological explanation ever actually bring comfort to wounds so deep? In my wrestling I've been reminded that Jesus suffered. He did not avoid it or try to explain it away. He lived in it and experienced it to a depth I never will. Why would God allow his Son to experience such a degree of sorrow? Why does sorrow never end, even in our most noble attempts to bring an end to it? How am I supposed to respond to constant fatigue and an endless uphill battle against this sad reality?

I just don't understand what I'm supposed to do with stories like that boy from Tracy. I'm confused with how I'm called to help people like Josh. I hurt and cry over my depravity and the worlds'. I don't get why people I love have to suffer. I'm constantly horrified by stories of human exploitation from around the world. And I'm terrified of my own inner darkness. I just don't get it. Maybe thats the point.

I think that Sorrow is True. It is inescapable and insurmountable. I think that the sooner we accept it, the sooner we can decide how we will act in leu of this realization. We can either let the storm of sorrow and suffering stop us dead in the water, or we can accept it as the weather conditions of life and do the best we can to navigate home. I don't think I'll see an end to sorrow and suffering in this life, but I don't know what else to do with my time on earth besides trying to chip away at the iceberg. It's just so tiring.

"Sometimes when I lose my grip, I wonder what to make of heaven

All the times I thought to reach up

All the times I had to give

Babies underneath their beds

Hospitals that cannot treat all the wounds that money causes,

All the comforts of cathedrals

All the cries of thirsty children - this is our inheritance

All the rage of watching mothers - this is our greatest offense"

-Dan Haseltine

Middle School Humor

2008-12-08T13:52:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life is way too serious. I love reading and exploring the world of news and international events but on most days headlines are usually filled with an infinite amount of crisis', catastrophes, and collapses. Don't get me wrong, I think its crucially critical to be aware of the stark reality of our world and its inhabitants; I believe we need to know what's wrong in the world so we can engage in finding solutions. I just think that we need some balance. I think the human experience is filled with both depravity and beauty (Eugene Cho), both life and death, and both laughter and sadness. For me I often get too entangled in one side of this emotional spectrum. Thats why I love being around kids. To an early adolescent the worries of todays news headlines mean about as much as what the Prime Minister of Ethiopia (Meles Zanawi) ate for lunch last Thursday (probably some Tibs washed down with some Tej).

This bring me to my point. Whenever I converse with middle schoolers I am reminded of human nature, that at heart we just long to have fun, love, and be loved. Most discussions I have with my students are about current movies, bathroom jokes, sports, and jr. high drama. My immersion in their world balances my strung out, worried-about-everything natural outlook. Today I received an email from my friend Adam, who works with kids too, titled "Middle School Humor". Attatched was the following picture.

I know it may seem silly, but the students in our group would LOVE it if I could pull off getting a tiolet-shaped drinking fountain for them. Lately I've been reminded why I love kids, because within me lives a child who wants life to be simple again. He yearns to spend my days catching reptiles, making fart jokes, and hanging out with friends. It feels great to be brought back into that world every once in a while because it provides us more depth to our endeavors for justice, peace, and advancing the good in the world. When I hang out with kids I am reminded of the redeemable qualities within every human being. That within everyone, no matter how torn and tattered, dwells a young person that just wants to have some innocent fun.

What gives you balance? Are there things or people that can disarm the adult, responsible, worried, and stressed out You and call forth the child, fun loving, simple minded, and care-free You? I think both realities are healthy and full of Truth and my goal is to have a healthy serving of both perspectives. Take time to notice the kid within other as well, and as you do, you may begin to understand that at the core of every individual is the same kid-spirit. Discovering this quality makes loving others, even enemies, much more natural. Celebrating this trait within yourself can excite a fresh thirst for joy.

If you could use a dose of laughter today, watch this video, it gets me every time:

Harmonies, Sound Waves, and Human Emotion.

2008-12-07T20:01:00.000-08:00

(Photos courtesy of Jeremy Hohengarten)

Last night I went to a show. The show was put on by a couple close friends who started a really amazing folk band called Ivory Owl. If I had to sum up the evening and their performance in one word I would call it inspiring. Their music was an artistic expression of harmonies and deeply emotional, captivating stories. It was beautiful.

As I was sitting, enjoying, and listening I got to thinking and questioning. Why does music stir our spirits so incredibly much? Isn't Music just random sound waves flying through the air that follow patterns of vibration resonating with other waves that are faster or slower? Isn't music pretty much just the by-product of things hitting other things? Like a guitar pic hitting the strings or a piano hitting its chords? Who made the rules for this invisible structure of sound waves? Why does it even exist? Why can it pull at my soul like its typing on specific inner buttons intrinsic to all humans. Its like we all have a gears inside of us that can only be powered up and turned when music has awoken them. What is the purpose of this biological response to these invisible matter-less sound waves? And what does their existence imply about life and reality? Music is such a mystery to me.

The songs that were preformed last night told stories of people and characters that were in life moments so epic and profound that endless poetry, literature, and artwork could not fully depict the depth of imagination, emotion, and discourse that was sung about. The only describable way to explain it is by calling it indescribable.

One song told the story of an astronaut husband who was trapped in orbit around Earth and kept alive by his space suit. Josh sang of the mans deep longing to see his wife in the midst of his everlasting state of limbo. Every-time the astronauts orbit passed over North America, specifically California the man would remember his beloved. As his hair grew in front of his face and his will to live faded away his loneliness grew exponentially as the days, months, and years passed by like leaves falling from a tree in the fall. After Josh made the case for the astronaut Erin sung of the women left to her lonesome back home on Earth. If this sounds trite hear me out, the pure raw love belted out in this symphony of acoustic guitar and vocals immersed the audience in a tidal wave of the couples depravity. As Josh and Erin played they brought the astronaut and his wife to life in my heart in a very sincere way. I've only experienced this kind shared emotion through music. And this it my question: Why can some things only be communicated in song?

To me music speaks about the mystery of the eternal, the divine, and the spiritual pursuit. I can think of no other explanation of why music exists other than to give us a language and form of expression from which to communicate the things that are impossible to communicate. I get excited when I hear Heaven described as a place of endless song because to me the most grand and honest moments in life are when I'm captivated by the emotion and revelation of a reality that my soul can only understand in song. Every human being has a sense of real emotions, like the death of a loved one, the joy of a newborn child, and the awe of standing before nature. In my experience I can never do those emotions justice when I'm attempting to verbally communicate them to another. When I try to describe the feelings I've felt when I lost a loved one I've always fallen short. Its like trying to detail for some one the vastness of an ocean when all you have is a cup of water. My everyday language skills are stunted and frustrated when it comes to describing the truths inside my heart of hearts. I think that's where music comes into play. The emotion of certain songs seems to scratch away some the veneer of our souls. Music is a language and its a mystery. I'm beyond thankful to have the privilege of knowing some amazing musicians who can carry me away on the vessel of their art and to have had the experience that I had last night, an inspiring and spiritual session of pure art.

Take time to enjoy and ponder the mystery of music. Ponder the mystery of why certain words put to a certain chords bring joy, reverence, or sentiment. Enjoy the illogical response your body has when a song breaks into the chorus because the things that are being evoked in your soul go beyond words and can awaken the eternal within, the part of humanity than can only be explained as spirituality.

If you want to check out Ivory Owl go here: www.myspace.com/ivoryowlmusic

What do Will Ferrel, Tila Tequila, and Jim Carrey have in common?

2008-11-30T13:28:00.000-08:00

They have all contributed their fame to furthering the cause of the Burmese citizens.

In case you haven't heard about Burma and the plight of its people check out these videos. They are put out by the U.S. Campaign for Burma.

www.youtube.com/user/uscampaignforburma

You need to know. Don't waste time living naively like this stuff isn't happening. As surprising as it may be to our commercially driven-consumeristic-happy-go-lucky society, our world is filled with devastation and suffering. What will we do about this stuff? Will we change anything? Check it out, especially if you have free time. I can't think of a better way to spend 20 minutes than making yourself aware of this crisis.

www.uscampaignforburma.com

My House in Cities

2008-11-27T09:47:00.001-08:00

No matter who you are I'd bet you have some sort of home. I'd also bet that within that home are different rooms that each have their own unique personality, character, and sentimental value. For me the family room, kitchen, front porch, and bedrooms all have different identities that relate to me in specific ways. The Family Room is for entertainment, fun, and gathering. The Study is for contemplation, work, and intellect. My Bedroom symbolizes my personality, hobbies, and history. Each room in a house can describe a different component of who I am. What if we took this metaphor and applied it to larger spaces in the world like cities? Could different cities portray certain elements of my being? Just for fun I'd like to analyze a few of the most important cities to me through the metaphor of a house. See, I've always loved cities for all their historical, cultural, and demographic uniqueness and every time I enter the space of a new population I'm constantly sifting through the atmosphere to better understand the specific personality of that city. This is my attempt to categorize the cities that make up my home.

San Francisco The Front Porch

The city by the bay has always been a place form coming and going. Historically it was the gateway to the west with its grand GoldenGate Bridge beckoning travelers inside like the welcome matt you read as you enter the house. The scenery of The City with its towering buildings, stringed and ornate bridges, and relaxing piers and ports reminds me of a big southern home with a large front patio that calls for me to step under its over-hang and relax in a rocking chair behind the fence and support beams that hold up the second floor.

Along with being the point of embarkment for America, San Francisco is also the place of constant coming and going. I've never been to a city more transient than SF. Immigrants come and go, natives enter for a time to work, and tourists just come to see the bridges, cable cars, and liberalism. San Francisco is in affect is like one big porch that welcomes travelers with romantic history and dramatic scenery but lacks the homeliness of the other parts of a house making it a city of visitors not inhabitants.

Seattle The Study

Few cities posses the coziness that Seattle does. At least that I've been to. Seattle is a town filled with spaces to sit, read, think, and avoid the rain. Coffee shops have made this city famous, but behind the caffeine veil is one the most intellectual cities in America. Over fifty-one percent of residents in the Emerald City have bachelors degrees ranking it the mosteducated major city in the States. Every time I visit this northwestern city I'm so captivated by the bays, bridges, mountains, vegetation, sky, and skyscrapers that I long to sit in a coffee house and ponder the mysteries of humanity while wearing a warm sweatshirt and drinking a mocha. Seattle is the study of my house beckoning me to learn, question, and create.

Berkeley The Kitchen

Every house has a kitchen, a place where ingredients, flavors, and smells mix together. Each recipe is a unique combination of different elements that create an appealing edible masterpiece. Berkeley is the epitome of cultural meshing and mixing. A walk down Telegraph will fill your senses with hundreds of dialects, a tidal wave of different cooking aromas, and a near-uncomfortable level of different ideals. For me Berkley has it all; ethic food, American food, cheap food, not-so-cheap food, great coffee (Peet's), and more than enough restaurants to keep you busy for years. Berkley feels like a comfortable kitchen from which to retrieve a wide range of food and culture. If my house was made up of cities, Berkley would be my kitchen.

The Tri-Valley My Bedroom

For most people their bedroom is a personal sanctuary. Its the space they can not only decorate and make their own, but also it's a space where they can get away from it all. Growing up my rooms have always been a space to reminded me of the events in my life that made me who I am. The Tri-Valley is the place I grew up and the place where I currently rest my head. This humble abode is where the most significant events in my life have shaped and formed me. Its where I met Jesus, where I graduated high-school, where I met most of my close friends, where I hit my first home run in little league, where I learned to play guitar, where I grew close with my family, and where most every other important detail of my live has occurred. The Tri-Valley is like a bedroom that I have personally decorated and adorned with a wealth of stories and friendships. Whenever I go out for coffee or a movie I see friendly faces and recognizable scenery that remind me of meaningful occurrences. The Valley is familiar and comfortable like the first steps taken into a welcoming bedroom after a long and stressful day.

Los Angeles The Family Room

In our culture entertainment seems to be a priority when designing a house. Its almost as if a home is not complete without a sweet entertainment center. If the rooms in my house were made up of cities Los Angeles would undoubtedly be my family room. LA is the home of Hollywood, Disneyland, Universal Studious, Santa Monica, the OC, Huntington Beach, USC, and countless other entertainment options that I have frequented in my lifetime. Family rooms are often the escape-from-reality room of the house. It's in the family room that you can relax, kick back on your lazy boy, forget about the worries of the world and watch a movie with friends. Just like the family room, Los Angeles is the escape-from-reality city.

Everything is facade in LA; the water is shipped in, the palm trees are transplanted, the Chinese food is American (PF Changs), the movies fictional, the people plastic or photoshopped, the theme parks designed and imagined, and the beaches swept clean. I'm not saying LA is evil I'm just describing the reality of the city, that the point of LA is to escape reality by creating a refuge of the perfect west-coast lifestyle. To me the family room is the place to go to get away from it all and if there was one city that had the identical function in my life it would be Los Angeles.

Oakland The garage

If San Francisco is the front porch of the Bay, Oakland is the garage filled with useful but not-so-glamorous buildings and structures. This East Bay metropolis does have it's scenic spots, but for the most part its filled with buildings and neighborhoods designed for industry and practicality not beauty. Oakland is home to the fourth busiest port in America as well as countless other where house based business. Its also home to the Oakland A's, Golden State Warriors, and the Oakland Raiders making it a frequented city for sports fans with a taste for hard-nosed, low cost play. The walk over the cement bridge from Coliseum BART to the Oakland Coliseum is surrounded by aging low-income housing, polluted rivers, barbed wire fencing, abandoned auto lots, and plenty of concrete structures. Oakland reminds me of a garage that the man of the house disappears to when he needs to lift some weights, drink a beer, and listen to the game. Its not a pretty city but its got personality. If Oakland was a room in my house it would absolutely be the garage filled with useful tools, car parts, a weight set, and some professional sports posters.

Yangon, Myanmar Siblings Bedroom

Growing up the one room that was off limits was my sister's room. To me her bedroom seemed like some foreign land I knew little about. What's so interesting is that my sister has impacted my life tremendously, but I didn't know much about her growing up. Sometimes I would sneak in her room while she wasn't home and stand in awe of the bizarre objects that decorated her shelves and walls. Just like my big sisters room was off limits, foreign, and yet incredibly important to me, the city of Yangon, Myanmar is legally restricted, culturally opposite, and crucially meaningful to me. Myanmar is a Buddhist nation that has taken legislative action against my fellow Christian brothers and sisters. Over the past five years I've been privileged to explore this interesting nation and meet some amazing native church leaders. We've connected our church in America to theirs and offer our support as best as we can. As a result my experiences in Myanmar, I have changed as a person tremendously. I find my mind constantly occupied with latest news from Yangon, the capital city, as I eagerly await the time when I get to see my family again. To me Yangon is like my sisters bedroom, it's foreign and off limits but still incredibly close like only family members can be.

So thats my house in cities. From time to time I may add another room or alternate cities depending on their significance at that moment. Whatever city I am in I love exploring it and becoming increasingly aware of it's uniqueness. It makes me appreciate the world and notice details about places I often take for granted. How about you? If your house was made up of cities which city would be your kitchen, your bedroom, your family room and why? What rooms would you add? Make the world your home and explore!

Punk and the Christian ethos

2008-11-25T21:33:00.000-08:00

When I was younger I was involved in the local Bay Area punk scene. I love reminiscing about it now because my behavior, logic, and rationale at the time were so warped. And it was so fun. We drank, smoked, and engaged in lots of other rabble rousing activities expected from teenagers with too much free time, lots of questions about the world, and an upstart-idealistic outlook on life. We even had our own band that played some pretty famous punk venues. Those were fun, good times. Fun, but empty. What started as youth striving to gain a voice in the vast mundane confusion of suburbia quickly evolved into reckless destructive behavior. In the beginning of my immersion into the punk way of life I was concerned with things like injustice in the world, bringing down capitalist greed, lashing out against prejudices and racism, and challenging pretty much everything about the way the world works. By the end of my punk experience my passions shifted to things like getting drunk/high, having the right punk style (hair, pins, clothes, and taste in bands), and being more punk than the hot-topic kids. It was the meaninglessness of these aspirations that were the catalyst for me to drop the leather jackets, charged hair, and F-you attitude. My heart longed for something truly revolutionary, some sort of counter-world explanation of why the world sucks so bad. It was this longing that drew me into the punk ethos, and eventually away from it.

Presently I work with kids at a church and for some reason we tend to attract youth with a similar disposition as I had when I was younger. The disposition I'm talking about is the desire to change the world as we know it, to give the middle-finger to the system and all of its oppressive depravity, to rebel against our societies' injustice. When I come across students with this rebellious inkling part of my heart gets really excited. And I just realized why.

Punk students get me excited because I believe God is punk. I believe when God looks at our world and his church and how we his children are exploiting, raping, murdering, and oppressing one another he gets pissed off. I believe that the idealism and punk spirit that questions our world and its institutions, including the church, is a perspective that resonates closely with Gods heart. Jesus himself has often been called a revolutionary. He up-rooted the very institution of established religion, He spoke out for the poor and marginalized, and He gave his very life for his cause.

When I encounter students who are pissed at the world part of me gets excited because I think God is pissed about many of the same things, and its these thing that sucked me into punk, and later attracted me to Jesus. Jesus' upstart heart was passionate and boldly obsessed about bringing healing to the broken, turning greedy hearts into giving hearts, breaking the chains that hold down the oppressed and enslaved, deploying justice to those trapped in exploitation, and the downfall of pretty much everything else evil. To join in a movement like the one Jesus started a requires a certain boldness and courage. This is boldness and courage I see in punk kids who can't wait to change the world. And its this why I love punk kids, because they have the heart that can really shake things up. If these students realized that they share the same punk heart as God and joined in the counter-culture movement Jesus started they would be an unstoppable force for peace, justice, and love.

Get Uncomfortable

2008-11-25T20:03:00.000-08:00

This is something I wrote about a year ago, and I thought it would be a good way to start my blog.

"If God is a God fully acquainted with suffering than it is in the lives of the hurting and broken that he exists the most. If we want to know who God is than we must take on his nature an be in the lives of the suffering too. God is not in our deep conversations and mundane suburban days. God is in the starving of Africa, oppressed of Asia, and broken of the West. True searching is not a conversation but an action.

I think most of us Christians came to belief in God because some one exhibited love to us and shared His story with us. It made sense, it felt right, and we believed. After that I see many of us slipping away once our faith requires something of us. We end up spending our days in living where God is not, in comfort. To maintain relationship with the divine I think we have to be where God is. And He is in the lives of others, mainly the suffering. I think most of us have spent our days trying to pass time with our best entertainment options instead of with those who may be suffering. Please be warned that Jesus will be found in the trenches of life bleeding for the people around him. This is where he will be found because this is who he is. We can talk about, celebrate, and explain his truths at church, the mall, in our homes, or on the net, but I am convinced Jesus is not understood, found, or truly known unless we live our days for the lives of others..."