Mercy is Entirely the Subject

I ducked into my favorite local coffee shop early this morning and ordered an Americano in a warm mug. Sitting down, I felt slightly naked because I didn't have a book with me. I always carry something. (I think it's like policemen who carry guns.) At least I had my little moleskine journal.

Knowing that I needed to defrag from the flurry of papers I'm writing for classes, I thumbed through used books from the shop's corner shelves, and found a tattered gem: Writers at Work: The Paris Review Interviews. Interviews with poets like Ezra Pound, T.S. Eliot, and Marianne Moore, and they're talking about the process of writing! (In 1963 it cost $1.65.) It's true. I get high on old books.

Robert Frost is interviewed first. His glib tone translates perfectly from those old tape recordings down onto the pages. I scribbled a handful of his words on the creative process, and a few concerning a certain ancient book:

"I noticed that the first time in the world's history when mercy is entirely the subject is in Jonah...Jonah is told to go and prophesy against the city and he knows God will let him down. He can't trust God to be unmerciful. You can trust God to be anything but unmerciful. So he ran away and--and got into a whale. That's the point of that and nobody notices it. They miss it." -Robert Frost

I like that Jesus even hides in the theology of old poets. In his pre-whale days, Jonah would only go to Ninevah if he could trust God to be unmerciful towards them. Since he (obviously) couldn't do that, Jonah runs, presumably pouting, "and got into a whale." Mercy is entirely the subject.

I am awfully good at pouting, I'm afraid. Isn't it strange how we humans want mercy for ourselves, but not for the ones we'd rather not forgive?

(Read the whole Frost interview here.)

(Mercy photo by Summers)

Salsa in the Reference Section

Old books make me high. Tonight there's this crazy four-hour art tour that starts at the Pasadena Central Library, and goes all around old-town. This is the same library that took my breath away as I first approached its welcoming old European fountain a few days ago.

The children's corridor is large and magnificent enough to do cartwheels through. If one should desire to do such a thing.

I like free Friday night happenings.

Rumor has it that there will be many surprises tonight for the art-tour. I heard that there will be free Salsa lessons in the Reference section of the library. Dancing in the Reference section!

(Photo of Pasadena Library by Libraryman.)

The First Days

I flew into Burbank on Monday and found the lovely Kleins waiting to hug me. Going from airport to airport, I arrived just in time to find a seat in Dr. Kraft's (somewhat infamous) class at Fuller. (And I've got the picture to prove it.) Smiling with me is Amy G. She's been in my MAGL online cohort, too. Cute that she commemorated my goofy-I've-just-arrived-to-California excitement. And God saw that it was good. The evening and the morning, the first day.

On Tuesday's morning I borrowed a bike from nice Morgan Klein, and happily learned that the ride to school is all downhill. It's about a half-hour joyride through palm-laced streets. I waved to approximately 4.5 grandpas and some smiling children in strollers.

Laying aside my bratty disdain for ugly libraries, I got acquainted with Fuller's antiquated shelves. (The library from my undergrad uni, UMBC, was 7-floors high, filled with light, and immaculate. Beauty makes it easier to study, I say.) Happy as a clam, I checked out a gorgeous old copy of Elizabeth B. Brownings' complete poetical works, inscribed to Sophia (with love) on September 26, 1913. Old Elizabeth's sonnets are so thick. And she knew my Italy very well.

On the one hour evening ride home from Fuller I surmised why they call it Altadena. I will conquer that hill in better time, I will. But all the sweat reminds me that I'm alive. The evening and the morning, the second day.

No More Whiny Pants

I am moving to California in four days, and I feel like I'm growing up. Two days ago, an eight year old asked me, "Do you think there is still gold on the ground in California?"

I smiled out, "I sure hope so!"

For me, like history's many, going West carries the hopes of a shiny new chapter. I hope the ground is golden there, kiddo.

But I have had numerous freaking-out sessions in the last few weeks. In the old days, I would try to explain these crying-fits and moments of I-am-being-impossible with the phrase, "I am emotionally overwhelmed." But I overused those words so much that they grew really old.

I don't know what to call it. There are moments when I'm just plain freaking out in the inside. I do wonder if that is why my heart has been beating strangely. Certain unknowns (like, "when will my next paycheck be?") have plastered over my waning trust in the Faithful One.

And then, my dear friend Carissa put a book in my hands: Ruthless Trust: The Ragamuffin's Path to God, by Brennan Manning. I'd found it on her shelf. It was tattered. Tattered books always catch my eye. I like them the best.

I'd never read anything by Mr. Manning before, but I'm finding his writing so excellent and refreshing. I've grown so tired of books on God that are rich in content, but terribly written. There are many. And that makes me sad.

But this book is different. Manning is a writer. And as I was about thirty pages into his book, I started crying these good, healing tears. Not the whiny-pants tears, the nice, soul-opening tears. And something like scales fell from my eyes.

"So often what is notoriously missing from the external, mechanized concept of salvation is self-acceptance, an experience that is internally personalized and rooted in the acceptance of Jesus Christ...Self-rejection in any form is a manifest sign of a lack of trust in the total sufficiency of Jesus' saving work. Has he set me free from fear of the Father and dislike of myself, or has he not?" -Brennan Manning

In fresh terms, Pastor Brennan reminds me of how God sees me, in spite of my failure to trust him. And in spite of the unsuspecting self-rejection that has been creeping up on my thoughts lately.

Rest Now, Madeleine.

Dear Madeleine L'Engle died yesterday. She was 88. I read her classic tale (the one the publishers warned would probably fail), A Wrinkle in Time as a tween, and felt alive. So then I read A Wind in the Door, and Many Waters. Like C.S. Lewis, she had a way of dignifying children by writing phenomenal stories that called out our imagination. I would like to read every last one of the 60 books she published in her wild lifetime.

Reading this gorgeous NY Times article made me love her even more.

The Washington Post unearthed this fantastic anecdote:

She once told National Public Radio that she was in a phase of searching for a better understanding of theology when "I just came across a phrase of Einstein's, which completely excited me. He said, 'Anyone who is not lost in rapturous awe at the power and glory of the mind behind the universe is as good as a burned-out candle.'

"And I thought, 'Oh! There's my theologian.' "

(Image quote from Douglas Martin, NY Times, 9/8/07)

Interruptions on the Way

I'm traveling by train from Lisbon to Castelo Branco, on the way to spend a night at Barbara's land. We're stopped. The Portuguese lady on the recording calls it a brief "interruption on the way." But the other passengers say there is a fire up ahead, somewhere near the tracks.

Catherine is with me, and we laughed that just a few moments ago I'd quipped: "Those dark rain clouds don't sound good for us in the land." Turns out those rain clouds were actually made of smoke. It is dry in Portugal, and brush fires are common.

It is nice to have a traveling companion for this part of my journey. I met Catherine about four years ago at St. Dominic's International School. She was in year ten and I was in year one of my Young Life internship. I met her at lunch-break, and we chatted about life and books. I remember thinking that she was one of the brightest thirteen year-olds I'd ever met. We continued to meet up for lunches over the years, and kept the conversation going. We spoke a lot about Jesus. I prayed for her and asked many friends to do the same, because I so wanted her to know how much God loves her.

Today Catherine sits next to me knowing that Love personally. Somewhere along the way--was it in a 24-7 prayer room, or as she was walking along the Atlantic?--Catherine committed her life to following Jesus. Now she's two train seats away from me reading and journaling Madeleine L'Engle.

When we settled into the train she'd grabbed a book from my tiny portable library a'la red Samsonite carry-on. I've been grinning to myself as I watch her scribble old M's words into her Portuguese/English journal.

"What good words did you find, Cat?"

"Oh! It's this great bit about how when we're too self-absorbed and analytical, we're not really able to live."

"That's the part about us being more like children, right?"

"Mmmm, yes."

It is a joy to see others losing themselves in the same words that have held me. With Catherine, I'm reminded how simply-chewed words over lunch can be a part of the relentless in breaking of God's love in another's life.

May we keep that conversation going.

Familiar Streets, Salinger on Family

Portugal is familiar as ever. And I do mean familial-er. The uneven stone streets of this land reach out and greet me as a sister because I, too, am uneven. And we will keep on walking, dear.

I might start including scraps from my scrappy journal, as I write them. My tone betrays my own voice as I tend to immediately mimic the writers that I read, just as teenage girls begin to talk like their favorite friends, accidentally.

6 Aug 07 - 4:45 pm - Cascais, Portugal

I have just finished Salinger's Franny and Zooey, and am terribly glad that for perhaps the first time in my life I happened to arrive at a meeting point ten minutes earlier than planned. I'm leaning my somewhat tired back against the old marble wall at the Cascais Station. The cool breeze keeps washing away the station-smell of urine in the crevices of the steps.

Jasmin will soon be here to greet me. I can't wait to hug her. It's been a year.

On the walk to Cascais from Monte Estoril I did my civic duty and helped at least three German tourists. I also avoided a nice Brazilian lady who was trying to sell me something with my mostly true, "I'm sorry but I don't speak Portuguese." She later diverted a helpless English speaking tourist to me. I'm not sure if I helped the lady find a bus to Cabo do Roca, but I gave it a shot.

[end.]

I am so glad that sweet Jesus urged me to plant Franny and Zooey in my carry-on as I viciously packed for six weeks of travel. I read it straight through on the two aeroplanes, and then finished it, quite triumphantly, while leaning against the train station wall in old Cascais. I've read the book about three times since college, and it still makes me giggle aloud at every third page. The interplay of the Glass family is a riot, and Salinger's narration absolutely kills me. Incidentally, I think that English and Theater majors would find the conversation perfectly self-deprecating to their studies. Artists do tend to take themselves far too seriously. And the Glass family certainly does.

The plot weaves around the spiritual crisis of young Franny Glass. Muffled within a host of superfluous cigarettes and god-damns, Salinger still paints a more honest picture of the real Jesus than might be found in many a church-house. That's one of the reasons I like him so much.

I found this excellent NY Times book review by John Updike from 1961. I disagree with the guy on many points, but his words are far more erudite than mine about why Salinger is a genius:

"...Salinger's conviction that our inner lives greatly matter peculiarly qualifies him to sing of an America where, for most of us, there seems little to do but to feel.

...His fiction, in its rather grim bravado, its humor, its morbidity, its wry but persistent hopefulness, matches the shape and tint of present American life."
-John Updike, NY Times (Sept 17, 1961)

Come to Me, All Ye Laden With Potter

This morning I discovered one of my possible contributions to society: Harry Potter Therapist.

I was out getting coffee with Mackenzie last night, and we heard that the other coffee shoppes were staying open till 1am to accommodate the frenzied Potterites. For at midnight oh one, bookstores released Rowling's, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7). To poppy culture, I imagine this is just a few adrenaline drops short of Beatle-mania.

I appear as an eyebrow-raised (casually giggling) observer watching this all unfold. I've not yet read even one Harry Potter, nor have I seen the movies. And not for any deep reason, either, except that I've just always been a bit bored by any sort of fantasy/sci-fi. I've never been able to make it through Lord of the Rings, nor have I even finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia (causing great rebukes from Lisa B).

And so, all of these vacuums make me quite useful to society today.

As I was getting my morning coffee here at the Klein house, I observed what hilarious tension Harry Potter can cause in opening-day readers. Two sweet members of the household are voraciously reading their just-acquired Book Sevens, but, they are reading at quite differing paces. Reader #1 will inevitably laugh aloud, or gasp, or signal a cause for alarm. Even if in another room, these responses cause Reader #2 to yell, impassioned, "YOU JUST HUSH!!! DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME ANYTHING!!!"

Seeing that I could be of some help here, in my Potter virginity, I grabbed my pink "I feel just like a princess" coffee mug (just discovered in the cupboards) and took one of these Klein gals for a walk around the block. She was so itching to talk about what she'd read so far, but had no one to listen. I, on the other hand, am somewhat disinterested, and thus, completely immune to ruining the big Harry surprise. A good Potter therapist, I am.

"Well, tell me what you've read so far," I said, as we walked up the block.

"You really haven't read any Harry Potter before? Well, first of all, it's about a kid who does magic..."

"He Calls Me To Be A Life Again"

(for Rachel and her dreams) some re-discovered words from Buechner's The Alphabet of Grace :

Beneath the moonlit drifts of sheet, I turn in my sleep and draw up my knees...And with my knees drawn up, I dream I am sitting down. I am sitting on a stool at a bar, and my glass has left a wet ring on the wooden counter-top. With my finger, I start to move the wet around. I move it this way and that way with nothing much on my dream of a mind. And then on the smooth counter of the bar I write a name. When I have finished writing it, I start to weep, and the tears wake me up. I cannot remember the name I wrote, but I know that it was a name that I would be willing to die for. Maybe it was the secret name of God or the secret name of the world. Maybe it was my own secret name. The dream is only a dream, but the tears are exceedingly real.

Darkness was upon the face of the deep, and God said, "Let there be light." Darkness laps at my sleeping face like a tide, and God says, "Let there be Buechner." Why not? Out of the primeval chaos of sleep he calls me to be a life again...To wake up is to be given back your life again...Waking into the new day, we are all of us Adam on the morning of creation, and the world is ours to name. Out of many fragments we are called to put back together a self again.

"My poor misguided child," my grandmother says, "is all this cloudy rhetoric your way of saying that in the morning you wake up?"

"Yes, it is," I say...

-Frederick Buechner

(Waking up photo by Phil Hilfiker)

Fire at Simple Way House: Pray, Please

I just got word that this morning there was a 7-alarm fire at the Simple Way house in Philadelphia, home of Shane Claiborne. Shane recently penned The Irresistible Revolution, a book on his experiences of living in this new monastic community he helped to establish.

Here's what Billy from the Ashram just wrote about the fire:

I am deeply saddened to report that the Simple Way house at 3200 Potter Street was very badly damaged, and from what I've heard, has been condemned and will probably be torn down soon. I just got off the phone with Chris Lahr and he told me that apparently everyone is ok, though it sounds like Shane made a pretty narrow escape and everyone has lost a lot of valuable personal articles. I think that I can safely speak for anyone who has ever been to 3200 Potter when I say that we've all lost something that is a vital part of our unfolding communal story. This place has truly been one of the most important and life changing destinations for Christian pilgrims in America over the course of the last decade.

It's important that we pray for this community in Philly. They are trailblazers and way-preparers.

(Thanks to Beth for the transluscent news.)

Mathspeak for Christians: Bounded-sets

[I'm going to start posting bits of what I've been learning in my classes, in case you're interested. If my language starts sounding pretentious and annoyingly academic, please stop me.]

Here is something I'm chewing on from a book by Paul Hiebert:


What are the consequences of defining Christianity as a bounded-set?

In the West, we tend to define our realities in terms of boundaries, in terms of either/or, rather than the both/and of fuzzy-sets. Bounded-sets is a view of reality based on the Greek worldview that we have inherited.

Hiebert warns that when Christianity takes on the form of bounded-sets, we first begin classifying people as Christians “on the basis of what she or he is,” according to our own tests of orthodoxy and orthopraxy (Hiebert 1994: 115). Secondly, bounded-set Christianity sharply delineates between those who are “in” as Christians, and those who are “out,” and that, as consequence, we tend to work hard to maintain this delineation. Thirdly, this sort of Christianity views all believers as essentially the same, discrediting any sense of spiritual maturity or immaturity, and the need to learn from one another. Fourth, a heavy emphasis is placed on conversion as the defining “boundary line,” while sanctification has no place in the set. Lastly, there is an over-emphasis on the ontological reality of righteousness: the intrinsic nature of the person is of the highest importance.

(Maths photo by Akirsa)

To Play Like a Child Again

I am in a season of anticipation: trying to rest, learning to listen, and waiting on God. Right now I'm feeling like a mass of dots aching to be connected by a smarter crayon.

But today it was nice to take an hour long road trip with my Mama to the Trader Joe's in Old Town Alexandria. I had to show her how small and lovely grocery stores can be.

Last night I tried to talk to God about connecting the dots of my desires. And I felt like he calmed me down by nudging me to "just read a book for fun before bed." Maybe because with all of my overdue projects for Fuller, I've been taking myself way too seriously lately. (He's a good Daddy, he is.)

I grabbed a worn copy of Madeleine L'Engle's A Circle of Quiet, the first of her Crosswicks Journal series. I'd bought it at the public library sale for 50 cents a few months ago because I knew Lisa B. thinks that book 4 in L'Engle's Journal is gorgeous stuff, and I pretty much trust anything Lisa says. Plus, there's that sweet memory of reading Miss Madeleine's A Wrinkle in Time and A Wind in the Door as a kid.

If you didn't read Madeleine's A Wrinkle in Time you owe it to yourself to slip back into childhood and read the thing. Last night I was reminded just how carefully she puts words together. I smiled myself to sleep as I read:

"The concentration of a small child at play is analagous to the concentration of the artist of any discipline. In real play, which is real concentration, the child is not only outside time, he is outside himself. He has thrown himself completely into whatever it is that he is doing...His self-consciousness is gone; his consciousness is wholly focused outside himself...

...When we can play with the unself-conscious concentration of a child this is: art: prayer: love." -A Circle of Quiet, chapter 1

Higher Grounds

I'm back in Smalltown, MD after my trip to Onething, and I'm taking fizzy Airborne tablets to fight the oncoming symptoms of flu-gunk. (The teacher-invented fizz of Echinacea and C tastes surprisingly nice.) And then I get this friendly email from Amazon telling me how I should get Len Sweet's new book, The Gospel According to Starbucks, and I wonder if Big Brother is watching me. I was planning on blogging on coffee and God today, after all.

Sound the alarms. The Nelly is going Decaf in 2007. She has become hopelessly addicted to high-test coffee, and it's gone on for far too long. What was it that God said to Cain in early Genesis? "Caffeine is creeping at your door, it desires to have you...But you must master it!"

In other news, I've learned from more grandfatherly, hipster, and experienced bloggers that it's fashionable to do a year-end blog rewind, thus noting their top 5 most popular posts of the year. Well, being that I've really only been blogging faithfully since September 2006, I'll only note the one post that stole the most conversation in my first months in the blogosphere.

(Experimentally-Rocked-Drum-Roll, Please)

My #1 Most Popular Post of 2006:
Help Wanted - A simple poll asking you, the people, to help me pick a part-time job. 46% of you voted that I work as a Starbucks Barista. And then all hell broke loose. Which then brought on the following post: Would Jesus Drink at Starbucks?

I must say, if I weren't already knee-deep in reading for two fresh new Fuller classes, I'd probably grab this interesting new book by the pomo legend, Leonard Sweet. But for now, I'm sticking with Decaf Joe and The Shaping of Things to Come.

Onething or Nothing

I'm writing from Kansas City, at the International House of Prayer. Tomorrow I'm joining 10,000+ young adults for a three-day gathering of worship, prayer, and fasting to bring in the New Year. Onething is known for being a massive welcoming of the Holy Spirit. For me this is a time of re-focusing on the One. I'm pumped.

I was in the prayer room for a little while last night. (Mike Bickle opened this prayer room in September of 1999 and has orchestrated night and day, non-stop worship and intercession for the nations since then. It is an insane move of God!) We spent hours praying corporately for the young people coming to Onething. That the fire of the Holy Spirit would move on our hearts. (I really think the Spirit likes those prayers.)

I helped out with the pre-conference set-up today. I had the strange-adrenaline-rushed-job of unpacking and displaying thousands of brand new books for the Onething Bookstore. As I wielded the power of my exacto-knife on cardboard boxes, I chatted with a guy named Phil in the Forerunner School of Ministry, IHOP's full-time Bible school. FSM is unique in its approach to theological training, because in addition to the classroom, IHOP requires that every student spends significant time in the prayer room, getting near to God's heart, and dialoguing with Him about the things they are learning. It's a far cry away from just devouring books and filling up a mind with knowledge. This is a heart education.

As a happy and challenged seminary student at Fuller, I was interested to hear about Phil's FSM schedule.

"How many hours to you get to spend with God in the prayer room each week?"

"Oh, anywhere from 25-30. It's amazing." He said.

"I'm jealous for that sort of education." I confessed.

How to Spend $15 @ Borders

Today I received a $15 Christmas gift card to Borders (thanks Ernest and Tammy!). Since I only have t-minus 20 days until my next Fuller-online class, I decided I needed to make this non-academic reading purchase pronto. I brought a stack of books to my table to peruse, grabbed a cup of Seattle's (probably not the) Best decaf, and spent a half-hour choosing my pages of prey.

I was an English major in college. For the thousands I paid (mmmm..am still paying) for my education, one of the nicest things I learned was how to figure out what's worth reading. You've just gotta have a plan, honey. And you gotta know how to read the reviews and skim the stuff real fast.

A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 (Phillip Keller) $4.99
I've heard many say this little one is an overlooked classic. I wanted to read the whole thing while I was there. Borrow this from the church library, baby.

Velvet Elvis (Rob Bell) $14.99
One Velvety idea: Our relationship with God is a trampoline that we invite others to jump on. “I am far more interested in jumping than I am in arguing about whose trampoline is better. You rarely defend the things you love. You enjoy them and tell others about them and invite others to enjoy them with you.” Borrow this from a friend cause Rob Bell is so hot these days that everyone's who's feeling groovy and "emergent" has it, baby.

Praise Habit: Finding God in Sunsets and Sushi (David Crowder) $14.99
Yes, David Crowder wrote a book. It's a reflection on the Psalms (Remixed) by Eugene Peterson, replete with zany illustrations and wild Appendices. I want to read this. But I don't need to own it. Read this while you're at Onething 2006 next week! It'll surely be in the IHOP bookstore with the cushy chairs. You can just read it in there and not buy it. Boo yah, baby.

The Story $24.99
About 380 pages of the Bible in Narrative form, with the new (and happily inclusive speaking) TNIV translation. Try to borrow this from the public library, baby.

Martin Luther King, Jr., On Leadership $4.99
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” -MLK Dec 1960 Although King is phenomenal, this doesn't look like the most phenomenal book about MLK.
There's a reason why bargain books are bargain books. Find a better MLK bio at the library, baby.

To Be Told: God Invites You to Coauthor Your Future (Dan Allender, PhD) $13.99
Dan is the Christian counselor guru man. I like him. (Too bad his publishers made the sub-title of his new book so cheeseafied.) To Be Told encourages people to look at their lives as a big sloppy whole, and consider writing it all down to remember all the whacky redemption God's done. I wanna do that. And I know other people who ought to do that, too. The book was given sweet reviews by Brian McLaren, John Eldredge, and Tremper Longman, III! (I think I sat in on this Tremper's class when I was visiting Westmont College last month. He pretty much has an amazing name.) Buy this one and then pass it on, baby.

How to Rest in America - part 2

(Continued notes-to-self from this post: How to Rest in America - part 1)

18. Read the international news.
19. Learn some new songs.
20. Sketch things in a little book. (You used to do that as a kid. You forgot how much you like to do that.)
21. Sleep long enough to remember your dreams.
22. When you wake up, write down all those dreams.
23. Drink better coffee.
24. Listen to some classic books on mp3.
25. Write people thank you notes for things they'd never get thanked for.
26. Frequently fast from the internet.
27. Have some long meals with old friends.
28. Drink two-Nalgenes-full of water every day.
29. Get out of debt completely.
30. Start reading good poetry again.

As Storm Clouds Gather

I have often been moved by books that slip under the radar screen of popular approval. (In fact, I tend to duck from those ones. I'm a little stubborn and prideful, I know.) This book is one of those quiet messengers: "As Storm Clouds Gather: A Sleeping Church Must Be Awakened," by Jim Maher. I am only five chapters into it, but it is asking me to reexamine words that Jesus said...the ones that I always, well, sort of skimmed over. Especially Matthew 24. If you are intrigued, forget the book, but go and read that chapter and let me know if anything stirs in you. (I heart when people leave comments to tell me they're reading this bloggy-thing.) I'll be checking back as I try to finish it before I leave it on my friend's bookshelf here in Kansas City.