Leaving

"Would you like to invite me in when you are left alone?
Or would you rather be left alone in your aloneness?

The real loss will never be whether or not she leaves.
It is in your refusal to come to me when she does."
- God

So spacious is he...

"He was supreme in the beginning and leading the resurrection parade he is supreme in the end. From beginning to end he's there, towering far above everything, everyone. So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe, people and things, animals and atoms - get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the cross."
The Message - 1 Colossians 18-20









Can our screams return in harmony?
Is there a place for all our rage?

So spacious are You
Even the cacophony will echo in praise

Carolina 08

Some pictures and comments from the 4th spent in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina...

Another overnight flight on the way out, this time in the middle seat. Thank God for the little flaps that came out of the head rest. At 4 in the morning the body gets desperate and is willing to do anything and at that point it was going to be my neighbor's shoulder if not for the head rest.

The river was really low so no tubing this time, but fishin and chillin was good enough. The highlight was Ira, the 7 year old girl who was staying with my sister Beth for 6 weeks. She didn't speak English but more than learned to get by on non-verbal communication and laughing. A great fiery spirit can be translated from any human being to another and that is what she brought us. Every glance her way brought perspective, of life in america, of what life is like in Belarus, of a spirit that knew what it meant to have 6 abscessed teeth (and to have that no longer!), of a spirit that would eat a whole watermelon if we let her, of a spirit that would turn keep-away into tackle football, of a spirit so excited about a digital camera she would capture every angle of every one of our faces (along with the closet, stove, fan...). It was blessed, holy foolishness.

I love the Smoky Mountains. While it's pretty cool to come back home to mountains here in Seattle, I miss the soft, misty fullness the Smokies offer. Like the humidity, they hug you, keep you close. They got me a long time ago, the West didn't have a chance.

Can I Be Known

In the confessional cry
In the repenting proclamation

That I have nothing without you
That I am nothing without you
That I am nothing
Nothing

I am
No
Thing
Without you

I am suddenly opened up
To the fullness
Of everything
The world comes alive
And with new eyes
I see everything

With new eyes
I see the fullness of
Every
Living
Thing

When we meet
Face to face
When you see me
And I do not to look away
And I choose

Nothing

No illusion
No vanity
No comfort
To cover my countenance

When I choose your searching of me

My beginning and end

When I choose
No
Thing
But you

When I choose
You

This world does not diminish
Instead

This world pulses

It breathes
It speaks
It reveals
It proclaims
It glorifies

It lives in the fullness
Of seeing face to face
It lives in the fullness
Of being fully known

“Now we see but a poor reflection in the mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” 1 Cor 13:12

The kingdom is here. Our bodies are screaming to be known.

Spirit

"The Spirit is like the wind, it blows as it pleases, it cannot be controlled."

Reading a book for class awhile ago on the Spirit, I was reminded again of its unpredictability, its tremendously passionate way of refusing to be kept locked up and controlled. To those who like control (me) this carries with it a reckless intimidation.

"The future really is unknowable. Otherwise it is a play of the past."

I am a master of prediction. I calculate what will happen. I measure the ins and outs of the day, the conversation, the meals, the places, the sleep. Because I don't want to let go of the past. And because I don't want to let go of it, I don't allow the future. To live not knowing the next move, to live with my hands open instead of in a fist, to live embracing instead of bracing - that is reckless.

That is life with the Spirit. The reckless Spirit that moves in unbounded freedom, in imagination run wild.

I think of a dog that gets abused by its keeper. It gets hit enough times, the dog will turn skittish, scared to death at the slightest motion of the owner. It's been taught, and it has learned well, to be wary, to keep an eye out, to watch for any movement, any sign, to always be ready. Don’t let your guard down, or you’re done. Stop for a moment and your ass is beat. Any motion and the dog flinches, ready for the blow. The dog's reality of the world has been shaped by the past. Its future is set. Its future is clinched.

I think of my past, the past that has shaped my reality. The past that has shaped my future. The past that has set my future. That past that has clinched my future. If I continue to live in these paradigms, these realities that appear way too real, my future is set. It will be what it was. What was always will be.

What was always will be. That just sucks. That is so boring. That is like the weather always being the same. Not just the same, but always cloudy. A calm, safe, 50 degree cloudy day over and over. There is no waiting, no hope, no looking forward, just the same. What was always will be. There’s no need to think. There’s no need to wonder. Just the same damn thing.

Unless. Unless there was something that was not bound by any single reality. Unless there was something that named its own reality, a reality that said it could never be owned by any single reality, that it would never be bound by any stifling, dogmatic system to keep it in line, to keep it under wraps, to keep it from being to much of a hassle, to keep things safe. Unless there was something whose very nature held freedom, gave freely, whose very nature was to live into and engage the unknowing. Unless there was something whose very nature did not seek to control power, but to enable, to empower, to bring intimacy instead of exclusion. Unless there was something that did not coerce you into some conformed pattern, but instead joyed in your uniquely spontaneous humanity, that allowed you to express and feel and fail beautifully.

Unless there was something whose very touch upon you stopped you in your tracks. A Spirit that made you take a step back. A Spirit that made you think. Not in the sense of a mind racing a mile a minute, but a mind that could be still, and really think. A mind that said, wait, does it really have to be this way? Why do I live in such fear? Why do these things still have such a hold on me? What am I so afraid of? What if I didn't have to be looking around, waiting to get hit? What if I didn't have to flinch at the slightest motion? What if I could sit? What if I could close my eyes? What if I could still my body? What if I could actually engage the moment, without the static of the past, without the worry of the future?

I believe that when these questions are met with the imagination of the Spirit, the fear and shame that have bound us with their rules are scared shitless. They don't know what to do. They are being engaged by the Spirit that that knows no confining paradigm, that dreams without limits, that is bound by no past.

The ever-present Spirit leading, senses engaged, mind stilled. The only place where true beauty can be known and experienced, where one is still enough to sway in awe of the haunting cadence of life, where the rhythm of the Spirit meets the rhythm of the human story. I believe it is in these moments, in this stillness, where the only sound one can hear is heaven crashing into earth.

Beard Man

Yep, I got a beard. I think it's pretty cool. It just crept up on me, no plan, just took it day by day, and each day said I would give it another. And there ya go.

Not gonna lie though, its starting to drive me nuts. Definitely not used to this much hair on my face. I may break down soon.

But we'll see, I mean I do enjoy it and feel old, a distinguished old, like I know what I'm talking about kind of old, not a beer belly old.

Ok enough beard talk. If I end up working just the stash for a day I will post that look for sure.


....Updates!

Cat

An interesting Cat Power show last night at the Showbox. Interesting holding deeper connotations, with the descriptor used most after the show being 'disturbing.' I agreed, and at the same time I can't help adding the word enchanting to the list of my experiences of this woman. But as for the disturbing consensus...it was obvious we were dealing with a very complex, mysterious woman to say the least. I think what we all wanted the most was for her to just stop moving up on stage, put the mic on the stand, center herself and just play the song the way we know it so well.

Instead, she was all over the place, each intonation in the song met by an erratic movement with her hands, arms, entire body. Some of this was enjoyable, I mean I was happy to see that she was trying, but I think the internal disturbance we all felt was our reaction to this woman who was trying so deeply hard that it hurt. It climaxed near the end of the show when she started apologizing, first about some of the minor sound mishaps, and then just apologizing for no reason. Then saying "fuck I just want to have a good show, that's all I want." Knowing any bit of her story is to know her rocky history with severe stage fright, ending shows early, some due to alcohol, some due to her self-perception that she was simply not playing well enough.

At the same time disturbing does in no way meet my full experience of her. Somehow she was also amazing. She provoked such a deep wonder, enchantment, beauty in bearing so deeply the marks of a woman. A woman so caught up in the struggle, you see it, right there, in her wanting to just have a good show, to not mess up, to sing out of this angelic voice of hers that embodies beauty. In a sense I feel like I get all the spoils, I get the music, the beautiful voice and music and lyrics that comes out of her pains, her longings, what she bears as a woman. I don't doubt that is one of the main reasons I love her music. Her brokenness is tragic, saddening, and at the same time, so alluring, so captivating.

A Good Friday One Year Ago

I quickly rushed to church after work on Friday, mind everywhere, a tense day with some tough kids. I remember coming into the dark room, sitting down by myself near the back. There were less people attending than a usual service but still enough to fill spaces. I was aware of where I was sitting, how I was sitting, who was around me, the plans for the rest of my night.

And then, like hearing the striking beauty of a melody I know so well, I was taken back. I stopped. Not just physically, but mentally. I stopped inside.

A girl took the mic, and began to talk about Jesus. But it was a different way of talking about him than I had ever heard before. She didn't speak about what to learn about him or how to live like him.

She simply spoke of him. She talked about his life. She talked about the things he did. She talked about the people he hung out with. She told stories. She spoke about the life of a man who lived on this planet, who ate and drank and slept on this earth. She talked about the ways he laughed and the ways he got angry and the times he cried. She talked about who he was.

And I suddenly felt like I was at his funeral. I felt like he was just here. She spoke like he was just here. She spoke like she knew him. She spoke like she missed him.

Her voice led me into tears. I missed him. I wanted to be with him. His loss was palpable. His loss was weighty. It permeated the room. And strangely enough his absence soon turned into what felt like his presence, sitting right next to me. The absence turned into a presence of a God who was joining me in my tears.

I remember my mind wanting to switch on and say “easy feelings, not too much now, don’t want to draw too much attention.” And then centering back on her voice. And this time my mind didn’t take over. It was too real. This time shame wouldn’t take away such a time to honor. Damn it not this time. Not when you feel like you have the living God sitting next to you, weeping right there with you. Not weeping for you, but weeping with you.

I didn’t want to be wept for. I didn’t want Jesus to have it all together and have to cry for me from some high place. I wanted him to be here, next to the earth, sitting in a chair, weeping alongside me. And that’s what it felt like. It felt like he was sitting next to me, weeping because he wanted to be with me, because he missed being gone, because he knew something of what it meant to feel alone. He knew something of what it meant to live on this earth. He knew what it meant to die on this earth.

This was a time to honor that death. This was a time to weep together over that death.

This was not a day of despair. Tears are not despair. Numbness is despair. A stone-face is despair. Having it all together is despair. Tears are hope. Tears were not the absence of God that day. They were the presence of a God I was weeping with – a God who had died in order for him to be able to sit and weep right next to me at his funeral.

Everything. No, really. Everything.

I get this feeling every time I'm really excited or laugh really hard or let myself simply feel a lot. It is the feeling of expense, the feeling that I am going to exhaust all of my resources, that if I keep this up I will surely run out, left empty with nothing but regret for the frivolous use of who I am. I fear I will run out of desire.

I have this song I've been listening to. It starts off slow, a woman singing in a soft voice, sounding somewhat timid and modest, and then quiets for a bit, her voice softens even more, the music halts.

And then there is an explosion. She screams out, she belts it. Nothing held back. She is in. All of it. There's no worry about expending energy. There's no questioning about breaking rules or being foolish. Just a woman who is all there. Every bit of her, nowhere but the present moment, set on the emotion, the expression, the desire emanating out of a passion in her that says this is worth it.

I was looking back on my journals. There is one in particular, my favorite writing in the past several years. It was written the day after my world was shaken by my counselor, when everything I was learning in the counseling program, everything that was in my head, all the intellect, finally slapped me in the face and slammed into my heart.

That day, I wrote that I was worth everything. I wrote that this work that I would be doing was worth everything. I wrote this work was worth my life. Worth going all in. Worth not looking back. Worth getting bloody, beat up, ticked off, torn up.

Worth dying for. This work was worth dying for. It was worth a life. And I think I felt that because I finally came head to head on with the reality that I was worth dying for. I was worth every bit, every ounce of someone's life. Every ounce of someone's desire. I was not an inconvenience of someone's time, a nuisance with too many needs. Not someone to be avoided, not someone to be silenced. I was worth being sought after, longed, ached, wept for, pursued with a desire that would never run out. Never. I'm talking never. That's what it felt like. It said don't worry because this desire would not be quenched.

It would stay when I was too much, when I said something really stupid, when I sung too loud or awkward or just plain weird, when I wanted to hide because no one wanted to talk to me, when I didn't know what to say, when I did something so shameful I wanted to hide for days. It would stay when I just wanted to be a fucking kid and be goofy as hell. It would allow a fucking kid to be what a kid is, which is spontaneous and unpredictable and full of life and quirkiness and desire.

That is the desire I wrote, the desire that said that you are worth everything. A desire where fuck is a holy word because it carries a desire stronger than shame-based rules.

A desire that would lead to the cross, a desire that would not be quenched even by death. Because I was worth it.

It is easy to say that Christ died for me, but much, much harder to carry the weight, to know the full reality that I am really worth it, That just calls me to way too much glory, way too much possibility, way too much hope. Much easier living a life thinking I am worth nothing than living a life holding an immeasurable glory.

Inherent Images of a Scandalous God

“What if there is something inherently delightful about you?”

Something about the time it was said, the right moment with the right expression, me in the right place to hear it – the words carried a weight with them, a punch, a cut piercing through my defenses, past all the filters, the walls, the intellectual rationalization.

Delight is a scandalous word. It is risky. It is near. It is seen, exposed, known. And it can be described in no other way than with the word grace. That moment where the unexpected, what you would never think or believe could or ever would happen, actually coming about.

It feels like a girl who you notice, who just makes you weak. It has nothing to do with what she says, but how she says it. It has nothing to do with what she does, but who she simply is. You delight in her. But you pretty much think there is no way things could happen between you. Or don’t want to hope that much because it hurts too much to hope like that, that someone you delight in so much would actually delight in you. And then, out of nowhere, she comes, and she says that she doesn’t simply think you are a nice guy, or do nice things. She says she is made weak by you. She says that she just can’t seem to control herself, that you make her anxious, you change her breathing, that you move her. Not in something that you do, but in simply who you are. She says that she delights, in you.

That is where you say, “Wait, hold on. This can’t be happening. This is too good to be true. I don't know if I can simply sit in this joy. There has to be a catch. I’m just not that great. I just don’t think I could actually be delighted in, especially by someone who seems just so delightful. Me? Really?”

"Yes, you. What if there is something inherently delightful about you?"

That is a scandalous statement.

Glosoli

I saw this video last year sometime and again during a presentation for my theology class before break. The second time brought me to tears, mostly due to one scene that won't leave.

Near the end, they are about to run and make the jump. Lined up, the boy in front with a girl at his side. He is pounding on the drum, the music rising, moving towards the climax. The rest of the group is behind them. It shows several of their faces. You can tell they are deep in their head. Thinking like crazy. Analyzing, measuring, weighing, options flying in and out. And then back to the boy, and you can see the excitement, the increased clarity and focus, the rhythm, the drum holding desire with each beat, as if providing a steadiness, a security in the face of the rest of their disorganization.

And the moment that won't leave me. The boy starts to run. No, he takes off. No wondering, weighing, measuring. And he doesn't just set the drum down, he throws it. The girl, she doesn't carefully remove her hat, instead she rips it off her head.

Why I think that image won't leave me? I know the questioning of the rest of the group, I know the looks on their faces well. The calculating, the safety measures. And when I'm caught up in my mind, like their questioning, I know that counseling is impossible, that it is way too much, that I need to get out before I get really hurt.

And then that moment. I see him throw the drum. I see her rip the hat off. And then my tears. Tears bringing hope and impossibility face to face. Reason and desire colliding. And desire blowing the hell out of reason. Logic fails.

And then human beings flying.

That is hope.

Back Home

It was hard to leave home. I was there for awhile but definitely could've spent more time with the family. Five nieces and nephews running around the house was a pleasant change from bachelor life in Seattle. A quick summation includes Play Station 3 (which my nephew Jacob said to Matthew, "why is Michael beating you at this game if you own it?"), Nintendo Wii, plenty of movies, a good college friend's wedding in Chicago, a couple nights out on the town (including new years where I vowed not to have anything to drink because of a bad cold, yet was forced into a couple games of beer pong at the end and got schooled off the table - I can't help adding the grossest story of the year so far - my partner was sick and she spit several times into a cup on the side. well, that cup somehow got into play on the next game. ouuuuccchhhh. thank God i lost and didn't learn that the hard way like a friend of mine did...). We also revitalized the game Taboo, did some skiing, had some good talks with the brothers and sister, and of course, hung out with the kids.

Rest

Maybe it is no longer just making it through the week, pining for the end. Maybe no longer ten steps ahead in conversation, looking from the outside in. Maybe no longer an escape from inevitable confrontation.

Rest. Maybe rest is no longer dissociation.

Maybe rest is being me, which I think means showing up to fight. Sticking around, not leaving, acknowledging that you affect me and that I will stay. Rest is saying that this is ok.

Rest then is seeing all of you. It is slow motion, it is sensual, it is feeling. It is your glance. It is your face, captured, illuminated, soft, strong, harsh, tangible, whole, human. In rhythm, in joy. Rest then is this delight not having to turn to shame.

Rest is sitting beside you, and becoming myself.

Look Who's #1

I just have to say that I feel blessed. Many factors contribute, one being college basketball. Not very often that your favorite team is number one in the nation. Although I have to say being a North Carolina fan your chances are higher than most ;)

And your other favorite team, Michigan State, is looking very promising at the #10 spot, their only loss a heartbreaker to the #2 team at the time, UCLA.

This is the current case, and it feels wonderful.

(I do realize that simply posting on this puts both of my teams in jeopardy of a major slump like jinx, but I can't resist).

This is Story

I met her at a show.My hands slipped through her hair.She listened to my story.Said I've heard all about you.Well it seemed she was sincere.But the conversation fled.He spoke through the prophets.Crucified for our salvation.He suffered and was buried.And on the third day he rose born again.She held my hand.Now wrinkles are for thinking.Old and weak I've become.The saint became a poet.That poet wants to fly.So show me the Kingdom.Where the angels come undone.As they marched into the rainbow river sky.Heal the wounded singer.Now he's on his way.They were dancing to the music.The shadow of the season.We tango'd through the sacrifice.Climbed the virgin hills.Walked straight up to the sunrise.Never had a reason.We released the blood upon the peasant land.She held my hand.
~Steven Delopoulos

An entire book can describe someone's life, but only a few lines of poetry are needed to describe one's experience of it. And only there do we find the real story.

You can sit with me for two hours talking about your past, but it will be that look on your face that can only be yours that tells me your experience of it. And in that look I find the real story.

Walls

The time change offered me another hour in the morning before church this sunday to finish up my sexual development paper. I hashed out the last bit of the sticky, rather-not-be-talking-about-this kind of paper and headed to church, still very much in it. The major theme that kept coming up was relational distance - what felt like an impenetrable wall separating me from the rest of the world.

In the room, in the people, in the singer, the words of the song, all came head on with the blockage, the feeling like no one had gotten through, the feeling that no one will ever get through. All a part of being so caught in the moment that certainty was bellowing from the room, but not a certainty of being right, but of hoping so much in what will be that it felt like it was already here.

The words spoke about a veil being torn, and that it is done. The symbolism slapped me in the face, and a feeling, or a voice, speaking over and over that it does not have to be this way. There was access. Intimacy was possible. To be known was possible. The wall has been blown to pieces. There is access and there is intimacy, and things do not have to be the same, because it is done.

Nelly Sayin It Right

Ok, some deep stuff came from an odd source as far as the topic goes. Lyrics from Nelly Furtado’s song Say it Right held some weight the last time I heard them.

From my body
I could show you
A place
God knows
You should know
Space is holy
Do you really
Want to go

I don’t want to go. And know few who do. I work at a psych hospital with patients doing everything they can to escape it. The arms of the adolescents sliced up, the adults detox-ing, eyes bloodshot. Their experience has not gone well. They went for it, massive disappointment came in after. Now slicing open their arms or poisoning their body to cope with the aftermath.

Of course I’m not that far off. Right away I think of the girls that get me, that make me so vulnerable when I’m around them, causing me to long, to remember, to think about what could be, and at the same time what was there in the past. Engagements so loaded. My heart skips, like a skip deep back into desire. Though the desire doesn’t exactly feel sexy. Even writing these words, revealing some of my desire, feels foolishly vulnerable, and I want to silence it all. The heart of desire carries with it the heart of pain.

Writing, feeling just a taste of the pain, I think of the most intense desire ever lived. It fits that we call the experience of the cross the passion. Desire taken to the heart of pain, and the way of redemption, and the way of resurrection. I can’t help but see how longing calls me to die – not just to die in an abstract sense, that sounds too sexy. But to really die in relationship, to actually feel like a part of yourself is about to implode in vulnerability with another. Falling forward, letting the rush of love surely disappoint, and in the center of that disappointment, redemption.

“It is always nice to hear how God has made your life go well, but it is when you have no reason to love God that when your talk of the love of God moves me to the core.” Dan Allender from the Wounded Heart

Sense of Touch

"Mystery is very different from a problem. While a problem can be solved, a mystery is inexhaustible. A problem can be held at arm's length; a mystery encompasses us and will not let us keep a safe distance." -Gabriel Marcel

When I think I know someone, I can know how not to know them, I know how to keep a safe distance. When I allow mystery, I allow for surprise. Mystery does not create distance, but horrifying nearness. Thank God we do not fully know Him, or we would choose not to know Him, for we would make Him all the things we continually want Him to be - money, sex, knowledge, power - anything we can control. The same for you an I, for not fully knowing you allows us to know each other far more than we may want to imagine. And that is what we don't want, and that is everything that we want. As spoken in the first words from the movie Crash:

“It’s the sense of touch. In any real city you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We’re always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something.”

The Brothers In Town

Matthew and David in Seattle. Two different worlds coming together made for a great weekend, which definitely climaxed at the party saturday night. To have so many people I know meet the brothers was the coolest experience I've had in a long time. We thought about going out at some point but had too good of a dance party at the house. We stepped it up several notches - there was no need to dance anywhere else.
I hope I gave them a pretty good experience of Seattle. Running around Green Lake, Zoka's and Peete's, East Lake Bar, Sushi, Pike's Market, Golden Gardens, volleyball, and some good views of the city happened. Sleep didn't happen...mostly because two of us were sleeping on the floor every night, a cheap trip for the bros but not exactly plush. But we hadn't had that kind of time together in a long time, and I'm thankful for that. It was special to have family come to where I was instead of heading back to see them, which made Seattle feel a little closer to home.

Grandma

I felt led to write and to continue to remember last weekend, to remember my grandma who passed away last weekend, to remember everything about who she was and what she represented in our family.

Matthew came up with the idea of writing down memories of Grandma for my mom, and I was writing at the airport on the way to Louisville. I just started writing 'I remember' at the start of each sentence, and with each sentence came more and more stories and scenes, and all of a sudden my heart was swelling and the tears came. My mind entered back to the house, the kitchen and the living room, and the yard, and the trees and the street. I was struck how much I remembered that house, the trips in the summer, the place where I grew to know all my cousins, the place where family grew in each of us to hold so much importance.

And then, the same family all met again at Grandma's funeral. And I continue to think about that service, and looking across the pews and seeing every one of us in tears. And there is something about that moment that feels holy, and it feels like the greatest honor we could give her. And at the time it was all we wanted to do. I could see how much we all wanted to grieve, how much we wanted that space to be able to do so, to allow our hearts to take over, and allow us to honor everything she was. There is nothing worse than the pretense of being ok when all you want to to is grieve, and I am thankful that we could grieve, and hope we can for a long time and to have that be ok.

I am reminded of the importance of remembering, how in remembering my heart grows soft, how longing for what was inevitably causes me to then long more and more for what will come.