A Tree on a Foggy Winter Day

Its many limbs
Finger the cold sky, rising
Out of the mist on my approach
Till, sharp,
They stand like dancers frozen in a pose,
Arms lifted
In praise of the sun's
Fog-filtered orb - a cold
Ball of silent fury.

Resurrection

It's time to bring it back.

I've been absent from this blog for over a year, and while I've maintained a ministry-focused blog, there's something about the freedom I've had in publishing here that I've missed. I miss the discipline of writing essays and poetry about whatever strikes my fancy, and putting it up for the few who stumble upon it to enjoy or vilify. I've missed being a writer, in other words.

And rather than simply post an announcement that I'm resurrecting a dead blog, some thoughts on resurrection:

The movie Batman Begins centers around the quote recited by multiple characters: "Why do we fall?" "So we can learn to get back up."

Most of the time we think of failures as moments to reject, to throw out onto a scrap heap somewhere and hope the trash collector comes early. We try not to dwell on them, we try our best not to let them weigh on us, and we move on. We'd rather not examine too deeply whether the failure was a result of deficiency within ourselves, or a result of circumstances we can't control. We'd just like to pretend it didn't happen. So we'll file it away, and avoid circumstances as much as we can that might put us in a position to experience the same kind of failure. We don't expose ourselves naturally to situations in which we might fail.

What I'm saying in all this is, resurrection's a miracle any way you cut it.

Let's look at the big example: the dead coming to life. Dead things stay dead - that's the rule by which nature operates, and any of us are hard-pressed to find exceptions to that rule. Death, as much as we resist believing and saying so, and as unsettled by it as we are, is the normal experience. Everything dies, and new life replaces the former. What dies does not revive. Every once in awhile we'll witness resuscitation, where that which was almost dead is restored to health, but this is not resurrection. A man whose lungs are filled with water may be in danger of dying - seconds away, perhaps - but as long as the water is expelled, the man will be fine. He can be resuscitated. The dead cannot. The dead are dead.

But resurrection restores life to what is dead, no matter what died. Resurrection belongs to the divine. Resuscitation is what the mortals do.

We can resuscitate dreams: ones that are wheezing on the scrap heap, clawing for air. We can breathe new life into their lungs and rescue them from death. But when a thing is dead, it takes an act of God to resurrect it.

"Why do we fall?" And what happens if we fall so hard we die? What happens when the Fall kills all of us?

Resurrection.

There's a God who walks among the body-riddled scrap heap of this world, who picks up the broken, lifeless souls and gives them His life, binds their wounds, clothes them with festal garments, and sets them on a path they wouldn't have dared to dream about. Whether we know it or not, we're all dead inside without Him. We need resurrection power from the fall we've suffered - we are broken unto death.

We can't learn to get back up. We are down for the count, because before the count stopped, we stopped breathing. And until we can recognize that, we can't go anywhere. A dead man can't resurrect himself. And a dead dream - for peace, for love, for fulfillment - can't be restored either.

But this universe is ruled by a God who love to restore. He is making All Things New. He is resurrecting men and their dreams alike. He has defeated Death, and will soon vanquish it forever so that it will be nothing but a distant memory.

"Extraordinary Means"

"If we cannot get sinners to Jesus by ordinary means, we must use extraordinary ones. It seems ... that roof tiles had to be removed. That would create dust and cause a measure of danger to those below, but where the case is very urgent, we must be prepared to run some risks and shock some people." --Spurgeon's Morning and Evening, on the paralyzed man lowered from the roof to Jesus

Why is it we do not go to the "extraordinary means" to reach others with the gospel of grace? These friends of the paralyzed man cared so much about giving their friend the opportunity to be healed that they risked displeasing the owner of this house to be able to get the man to Jesus. They counted the cost of paying for a new roof, of upsetting the crowd inside, and decided that it was worth it if their friend could be healed.

What do we do? When we meet or interact with someone who may be lost, do we do whatever it takes to make sure they have heard the gospel? Or seen the love of Christ through our interactions with them? What ridiculously difficult thing are we willing to do to make sure our neighbor or coworker knows that we love them as Christ did. The man who was paralyzed knew the love of Christ before even seeing Him, through the love of his friends who took matters into their hands. What can we do to make that kind of whatever-it-takes love known to the people we interact with? Are we willing to go to the disagreeable neighbor for the fifth time to ask them to turn their music down, and oh, would you like a cookie we just pulled out of the oven? And would you like to come over for dinner? Or do we call the cops and walk by with our head down so we don't have to look them in the eye? (Guess which route I took.)

We are called to a radical, roof-demolishing love of our neighbors. God wishes us to chase down souls, to knock down walls with His love. I pray He fills me continually with the love I need to be able to do this.

Quake

A sudden quake may strike:

Your innards quiver

Turmoil stirs

Your heart may beat

A little

Quicker

And breath may be

Short, shallow

And you - you are weak,

An unanchored mass

Of tectonic uncertainty

Who shifts with the slightest

Change in pressure

Hold: firm. There is One

Whose presence is like

Concrete. He knits

Together

That which shifts, and binds

That which shakes.

Let quaking cease. The One

Holds all.

Reflection

Do not let the gentle

Waves break unheeded

On your heart's shore

Take the time to note

The wake they leave,

The swirling foam's impression

On the sand

And bits of broken

Shells, the detritus

Of eons of the sea's cycle

Washing warm, over your

Tender soul

Fit For Human Consumption

These days I've been extra careful what I write on here.

I'm a judgmental person inwardly, even though that rarely (I hope) comes out outwardly. Next time you interact with me, just know that I'm secretly judging you.

I get angry that we're not all better people. I get angry at myself for not being better than I am, and I get angry at other people for not being better than they are.

Which is stupid. I'll readily admit that.

And my temptation, often, is to write scathing opinion pieces which slam judgment down on the world and the people in it for not being better than they, or to write some self-righteous BS piece that makes me feel good about being better than a lot of other people.

I can't tell you how many half-finished BS pieces of writing are sitting unfinished in my blog, because I wrote it, then read it, and realized that it came off as judgmental and self-righteous and know-it-all, and didn't publish it. It's rather shaming to admit that I contain such poison sometimes.

But until a few days ago, I didn't get what the problem was. I didn't understand that the reason everything I've been writing was coming off sounding like that was because my heart has been judgmental, self-righteous, and know-it-all.

Duh.

What's that verse? "Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks"? Yeah, makes sense.

I want to be different. (Don't we all?) I want to be able to speak with grace, not to shame people into agreeing with me, or push them away in resentment. And while I'd love to make my opinions known, I don't want to do it in a way that makes it seem that anyone who disagrees with me will be thought less of by me. Who among us wants that? I don't want to be thought less of by others for my beliefs or opinions; why, then, would I do that to others? "Whatever you wish others would do to you, do also to them."(ESV translation: I love the way they word this.)

I thank God I haven't posted some of the pieces I've written; that He gave me the discernment to keep from hitting that "publish" button. And may I be given fresh inspiration to encourage, uplift, and exhort in my future writings, rather than judge.

We're Dirty

"There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.”

(Mark 7:15 ESV)

With this one sentence Jesus dismisses the entirety of the ceremonial law. No longer, he says, is it necessary to refrain from eating certain meats or wearing certain clothes; bathing or refraining from bathing makes no difference; you cannot be defiled - made impure - by eating, drinking, washing, not washing. These are simply actions; actions have no bearing. It's the motivation behind the actions which defiles.

I don't think we, as non-Palestinian Jews, fully appreciate the revolutionary power of the statement Jesus makes here. For the Jew, ceremonial law is what kept them apart from the other nations. They defined themselves by it: circumcision and dietary restrictions were part and parcel of what it meant to be the chosen people. For Jesus to tell them that it made no difference what they ate was a slap to the face of their heritage and values.

And yet, what he said made it far more difficult for them: "The things that come out of a person are what defile him." In essence he says, "Do what you want - you are free; but know that if your actions are motivated by self-interest, by hate, by pride or envy or jealousy, then you are defiled, not from the outside, but from the content of your own heart."

He makes it harder, in essence, to keep the law. Rather than just "minding your p's and q's," making sure you stay away from bacon, shrimp, and clams and watch out for poly-blend shirts, you have to examine your heart. And, for those who have ever done such a thing, examining the heart is about as pleasant as cleaning out a sewer drain.

But the principle is true, and the freedom it grants is true. Do what you want - but you are accountable to your heart's attitude in doing it. But in this disposal of the ceremonial law, now suddenly the lines aren't clearly drawn. The most innocuous thing can become sin to you if it stirs your heart to pride or envy, and what before seemed off-limits can suddenly be a source of pure joy to you. For example, if I enjoy playing a computer game, but that game becomes an escape or an addiction, a way to avoid responsibilities or a distraction from spending time with my family, then it has crossed the line from permissible to impermissible. By the same token, I used to think alcohol was off limits, but have experienced some moments of deep fellowship and joy over a bottle of wine with friends.

What Jesus does here, besides obscuring the lines between the permissible and impermissible, is make a relationship with him a necessity. How do we, the easily deceived and swayed, know where our own heart stands? By being close to the Maker of our hearts. If we can't count on following a list of written rules, we have to continually look to him and ask him for wisdom and illumination along the way.

Let me add to this all, though, that the motivation for a relationship with Jesus goes beyond making sure we're following the moral law. Jesus frees us from all restraints, not just from the ceremonial law, but from the consequences of breaking the moral law, too. So even though, in his dismissal of the ceremonial law, he makes it harder for us to keep the moral law, he also frees us from having to keep it by keeping it for us. Whether or not we are able to "do right" is irrelevant. It really, truly, doesn't matter. One bit. If we believe Jesus wiped the slate, we believe He wiped the slate. Whatever failings we do or have, whether before or after we enter into relationship with him, won't affect our standing with him. He sees us and loves as pure, unsullied, lovely creations, without a stain on us.

While in some sense, we still suffer the consequences for our failings and "defilements," the consequences are temporal, limited to this earth. I can get drunk every night and it wouldn't change Jesus' love for me - but it might cause me to lose my job, my wife, and my friends. I can judge and insult others I come in contact with and be generally mean, and while Jesus would still love me, probably not too many people would want to be my friend. I can spend like a mad fool and fill my life with lots of toys, or hoard all my money and never give it to others, and while Jesus would still love me, I wouldn't have much of lasting value or real worth. I can treat my kids like dirt and lord it over my wife, and Jesus would love me, but my kids and wife would resent me and I'd be lonely.

I could go on, but I think I've made my point. Jesus' love doesn't change with our weaknesses and failings. He's paid for them, and he's not going to punish us. We'll reap the natural consequences of what we sow, but he has paid for it before God. His law is there to show us a happy life, and he's freed us to enjoy that life. But his love doesn't change. We are truly free - of both the ceremonial law and the moral law. May we revel in this freedom, and praise the One who gave his life that we could have it.

Northwest Snow Drivers

In light of recent events, I give you the three types of Northwest snow drivers:

1. The speedster: This can be most easily defined as anyone who drives faster than you. The speedster immediately conjures rage in each driver they pass, the spray of ice and snow following in their wake the only rival to the spray of saliva from the mouths of their fellow travelers as they shout words we dare not repeat here. Of course, we all wish the speedsters ended up in the ditch, thus teaching them to no longer be speedsters, but rarely do we receive the satisfaction of seeing them spin out or crash and burn. Speedsters themselves can probably be broken into two subcategories: those who drive fast because they have a 4x4 and can get away with it, and those who are driving something sporty and don't know how to drive slow. Either one is equally annoying, though the reasons they're annoying are, perhaps, slightly different.
2. The creeper: This is the person who seems like the only reason they're driving instead of walking is so they can stay warm and dry, because they're not going any faster than they would if they were pedestrating (pedestrizing? Not sure if there's a verb form of pedestrian, but there should be. Leave a comment with any other suggestions of how to "verb" it). They're almost as maddening as the speedster, and heaven help you if you get behind them going up the hill, because they're bound to lose traction and start sliding backwards into you. These people are usually driving an older model car, often a 90s Pontiac Grand Am or Mercury Tempo, with bad tires. The best way to deal with these people is park your car, walk up to their window (which you can do without much effort, since they'll be driving slower than you on foot), and hand them money for bus fare. They'll get to their destination faster, and you'll have done all the other drivers on the road a huge favor by getting them off of it.
3. You: You are, of course, the quintessential perfect driver. You drive at the perfect rate of speed that the conditions require, neither too fast nor too slow, and leave just enough stopping distance between you and the car in front of you. You are flawless in every way, and while some may judge you as a creeper, you can obviously dismiss them as reckless speedsters, and others may count you as a speedster, their creeper ways of course color their viewpoint. Congratulations on achieving what all other snow drivers strive for: perfection.

Miracle on 34th Street

I’m not generally a big fan of most Christmas movies. I could never get into the old claymation Rudolph; I don’t think I’ve even seen Frosty the Snowman or A Christmas Story; I’ve always despised White Christmas; and most of the less classic tales (Home Alone, Jingle All the Way, the Tim Allen Santa Claus movies, etc.) hold little appeal for me. It’s a Wonderful Life, is of course, an exception to the rule.

That’s why I’m a little surprised at my deep love for the 1994 version of Miracle on 34^th Street. Going in it already has two strikes against it: one, it’s a remake of an older movie I didn’t really like very much (though to be fair, I haven't seen the old one for a very long time), and two, it’s a newer Christmas movie, which almost unfailingly means that it’s going to be either cynical or shallow, its message focused on being nice and feeling connected to family and friends.

But it’s not either cynical or shallow. The characters are surprisingly deep, fleshed out, complex. Dory, Brian, Susan, and Kris Kringle are characters in their own rights, with their own actions and motivations for those actions. Dory Walker cynical, aloof, scarred from a failed marriage, now passing on that cynicism to her daughter in hopes of defending her from life’s disappointments. Brian Bedford is the faithful, caring neighbor who has taken an interest in Dory, and cares about her deeply despite her hesitation to commit to a relationship. He loves Susan and Dory faithfully, and is endlessly patient and optimistic about winning Dory over. Susan is the bright, intelligent young girl who, despite her mother’s attempts to make her an “atheist,” senses that there may be more to the world than what her mother has said.

And then there’s Kris. He’s essentially a theophany – an incarnation of Christ Himself into the story. He makes no pretense of hiding his identity as Santa; from the outset, when he’s seen by the judge and his grandson as he crosses the street before the parade, he tells the boy he is who the boy suspects – Santa Claus. And that claim doesn’t change as the story goes on. While Dory hires him to play “Santa” for the parade and for Cole’s Department Store, Kris agrees, because he’s basically being himself, to a greater degree than they realize. He follows the higher goal of Santa to serve people and share the joy of Christmas by sending customers elsewhere for cheaper gifts, even though his employment by Cole’s would dictate this as bad policy. He plays by a higher law, and influences the company to follow that higher law as well. And in as much as Cole’s puts their faith in Kris as Santa, they are blessed.

But then he is betrayed – by a counterfeit Santa. He willingly goes to trial, purposefully failing a mental competency exam, and is taken to trial for the claims he’s made to be someone that he can’t be – Santa Claus. And then, in a moment of triumph, he’s released through the affirmation of the law that claims he is who he is – the one and only Santa Claus, the genuine article.

The movie isn’t without flaws; there are two that come to mind immediately. One is the competitor storyline, Victor Landbergh and his attempts to ruin Cole’s Christmas. It’s overly hokey, and compared with the genuine feel of the rest of the movie, seems to cheapen the story. It could have been far better executed with a little more effort. The other is the one that nearly ruins the movie for me.

During the trial, Brian Bedford says in his closing argument to the judge something to the effect of, “You have to ask yourself which is better: a truth that draws a tear, or a lie that brings a smile?” This seems to erase the entire impact of the movie. Rather than make it a movie about having faith in the unseen, it seems to suggest that we all know it’s not true, but it makes us feel good, so why not believe it? It contradicts the message the rest of the movie seems to convey, and makes me cringe every time I come to that scene. I have to assess, then, what the rest of the movie means in light of this statement. It’s inconsistent, and saddens me that the writer felt like that was the message they were conveying.

But I can ignore the comment. It’s the one slip-up which seems to reveal more about the person who penned the screenplay than it does about the message of the movie. And there’s nothing like Judge Henry Harper’s impassioned speech at the end of the trial confirming that Kris is indeed Santa to bring a tear to one’s eye. And the rest of the movie is just pure bliss, as Santa, now come into his kingdom, grants the deepest longings of those who have put their trust in him.

The parallels should be glaringly obvious to anyone who watches this movie. It’s the story of Jesus – the one who came down and lived among us, making ridiculous claims of being God Himself until He eventually died for those claims, giving Himself up willingly. Yet He rose again, declaring once and for all that His claims were true. Then He proceeded to restore all that was broken in the fall. And it’s the beauty in which the story parallels this that moves me every time I watch it. I see the people around Kris slowly wake up to who he is, and I think about Jesus touching our lives and causing us to realize who He is. I see Kris fulfilling Susan’s deepest wishes – a home, a father, a brother – and think about how Jesus fulfills those for us, becoming our brother as God the Father adopts us into His family. I see Dory losing her cynicism in light of the genuine love that Kris shows to her and Susan, and think about how that unconditional love is what we all long for, what breaks down all our wall and draws us closer to Him.

So take the time to watch Miracle on 34^th Street this Advent season, and reflect on the ways that, like Kris Kringle in this movie, Jesus came and walked among us undisguised as well. If Santa can bring a family together, how much more can the Creator of the universe do?

Conversations EP

Conversations EP is a recording just completed by Andrew Dempsen, my brother. (Although with 9 tracks averaging a length of 4 and a half minutes it seems like it might fit the LP definition.) The recording's not professional or polished, and the last song, while full of personal meaning, is the roughest recording of the bunch. But the songs themselves are brutal in their honesty, raw in their depiction of struggling with making sense of a friend's suicide and the day-to-day experiences of transitioning into adulthood and figuring out life. Andrew's vocals are slightly remiscent of Ben Kweller and Coner Oberst, though definitely not mimicking them in any way, and his musical style is understated, mostly unaccompanied acoustic guitar or a piano and guitar blend.

The piano-driven "Freeways" expresses a longing for satisfaction that can't be realized here on earth, that elusive search for something you won't probably get and certainly won't find a freeway to. "Is this the way to the freeway home?" the chorus asks, begging the question if there is a freeway home, or if home by its nature can only be reached through struggle.

"Missing Exits" is a simple unaccompanied acoustic-guitar melody dealing with the unavoidable repetitive nature of being human and making the same mistakes. "My reaction time's slow/ I keep missing my exits..." he says, echoing the thoughts of anyone who feels like they'll never get over the besetting sin they wish would just leave.

"Latte Rush" is my personal favorite on the album, more upbeat than any others on the CD and perhaps more hopeful than any others as well. It's a dose of nostalgia mixed with an effort to keep a pace of life that allows for enjoying it. The chorus begins with this:

"I got addicted to the wrong things

trying to be someone I thought I should be

but I lost sight of who was really me

I'll let you know when I find him again"

It strikes true each time I hear it. It's easy to forget who we're meant to be and let the details of life and outside pressures overwhelm us. Pursuing a call can be choked out easily by the cares of the world.

"Grasping" follows much the same theme as "Missing Exits," speaking of the difficulties of getting past issues that seem to plague us as humans. The guitar melody is haunting and doleful, picked slowly at the beginning then building to strumming at the chorus accompanied by piano. "What's it been, five years now?/ Am I still grasping at these straws?/ ... At the end of the day/ You're all that I have." Paul's thorn in the flesh comes to mind. It also features the word creation "conversative." If it wasn't a word before, it should be now.

On its surface "Hey Rockaway" is a tribute to the town of Rockaway Beach, Oregon, but beneath the surface is about the longing for a place to belong.

"You stood on the shore as the sun went down

nothing's felt more like home

your feet are like lead as you head for the door

'cause you're fifteen hours from being alone

... you weep for the day that has already come

and is forcing you now to leave..."

For Andrew, Rockaway Beach is in a real sense a place that feels like home. For me, I've had that sense every time I'm on the Rez. It's where I feel I belong; something about the place and the people there resonate with my soul in a way that makes me never want to leave. There's again, though, a cast of hopelessness to the song, of a dream that won't be realized, which leaves the song a bitter aftertaste.

"Say You Know" features perhaps my favorite lines on the CD, and I think is overall one of the two lyrically strongest songs on the CD as well. "I've got more friends than I know what to do with sometimes / and I've got more skeletons than I've got closet space to hide." The title refers to, I believe, being known and accepted by God, despite His knowledge of who we truly are in the secret places. The song features a folksy melody and the beautiful harmony of some uncredited female singer whom I suspect is Amanda from The Perennials, but I might be wrong. (The Perennials, incidentally, are pretty darn good. Pete's vocals are reminiscent of Johnny Cash and Amanda's of Feist - very interesting blend.)

"Storm Clouds and Sirens" is about the struggle to repent. "I've sold out completely and I know that I don't deserve you / and now I come crawling back, now that I know that I hurt you / but Ii'm not so good at this, at times I'm worse than the faithless / I've severed my nerve endings and all that is good is now tasteless / ... if ever I needed you Jesus it's now I don't want you..." Nothing more, really, to add to that. If you're a believer, you've been there yourself more than once, I'm sure.

"All the King's Horses" is a gut-punch of a song. Completely raw, honest dealings with something that we all knee-jerkedly want to wrap up neatly so we don't have to deal with it. A friend of Andrew's committed suicide two or three months ago, and he wrote this song in the weeks after. The melody and lyrics are paired perfectly, and the tone set by the melody both highlights the theme and slightly softens the blow, and emotions below the surface of the vocals can clearly be perceived. It's a one-sided conversation with his friend of all the things he wished he could say and didn't get a chance to. The chorus line, "If I had the faith of Abraham I don't think I could understand it better /And if I had God's healing hand I don't think I could piece this back together," hits the nail on the head of my own reactions when I hear about suicide, and takes my breath away every time I hear it.

The last song, "Dying For," was written for the friend's memorial service. While it's good, it feels forced in some ways, and while pain-filled and reflective, the honesty of "All the King's Horses" makes it pale by comparison. The recording also feels rushed, the piano melody often out of sync with the guitar, and with a little more polish it could be a stronger way to finish out the CD.

Overall, the CD's a strong effort with a lot of promise of good things to come. I am blessed to be able to claim this artist as my brother. Now, he needs to find a way for all you good folks to get your hands on his music!