i walk out the door
across the dew-quilted yard
towards the shed
where the chickens are.
i unlatch the door
and it creaks
open on rusty hinges.
through the crack,
the morning lights fade
into the shed.
it warms the moist straw
thatching the ground.
i see a yellow bantam
as he picks
around the shed.
i dip a plastic
cup into a bag of feed.
the grain and grit
pour from the cup
into the feeder.
hearing the flowing grain,
chickens awake.
their staccato saunter
goes before their pick
at the feed.
i walk across the moist green lawn,
and go back
to bed.
slapping my shoulder, a hand
drags me to my feet
only to see the chickens
running free.
I forgot to latch door!
the green yard
is speckled
with yellow chickens
who pick
around
for food.
i sprint down the stairs,
and out the door, frantic!
i chase the chickens all around,
and corral them near the shed.
they kick
and fight
and banter back.
flapping wings and flared
feathers give me quite
a scare.
i shoo and shoo
them in the door
and latch it.
i have since moved
from the farm
and have no chickens now
but they still get out sometimes.
i can feed them,
give them water,
gather eggs,
but if i forget
to lock
the door,
if i make
one mistake
these days,
my life scatters across the lawn.
this routine, this staccato saunter,
is speckled
with mistake.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This poem is supposed to compare the experience at the shed with my life today. Does that work? Someone commented that it is perhaps too obvious? any better ideas about transition?
are the images of the chicken farm vivid enough, or too much so? if you read it out loud do you hear the percussion of the "k" and "d" sounds? other comments?
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Carved into adoption
he has been working on me for a while.
i was once a block of wood, but he has been
whittling away at my anger,
sanding my temper smooth,
carving in grooves of honesty,
and blowing off the dust of impatience.
soon he will paint my robes white
and give me a crown.
this block of wood,
has become a chosen son:
adopted to be formed and shaped.
this is a persona poem. the speaker is a now figure of a man, who was once just a block of wood. does the poem give this sense of personal development? do you pick up any religious implication? i want the reader to feel as though the figure was once a rough block of wood? do you feel this way? are there any images that don't work?
i was once a block of wood, but he has been
whittling away at my anger,
sanding my temper smooth,
carving in grooves of honesty,
and blowing off the dust of impatience.
soon he will paint my robes white
and give me a crown.
this block of wood,
has become a chosen son:
adopted to be formed and shaped.
this is a persona poem. the speaker is a now figure of a man, who was once just a block of wood. does the poem give this sense of personal development? do you pick up any religious implication? i want the reader to feel as though the figure was once a rough block of wood? do you feel this way? are there any images that don't work?
the wood block and the wood carver
a block of wood
lies stagnant on the table.
the woodcarver takes it in his worn hand.
he turns it over,
again and again.
he abrades it with a brawny finger.
splinters want to enter his calloused flesh,
but they dare not as
he sands away insolence. the woodcarver
whittles grooves of honesty.
shavings of jealousy fall to the dusty floor.
he holds the figure up to the light
and blows off the dust of impatience.
he rounds the head of the figure with a crown.
the block of wood,
now a king with robe and scepter,
painted white and red
stands of the shelf.
any changes? what images work, which ones don't? howabout the end? any suggestions? does the 'crusted finger' image make him seem experienced or just gross? any better word suggestions?
lies stagnant on the table.
the woodcarver takes it in his worn hand.
he turns it over,
again and again.
he abrades it with a brawny finger.
splinters want to enter his calloused flesh,
but they dare not as
he sands away insolence. the woodcarver
whittles grooves of honesty.
shavings of jealousy fall to the dusty floor.
he holds the figure up to the light
and blows off the dust of impatience.
he rounds the head of the figure with a crown.
the block of wood,
now a king with robe and scepter,
painted white and red
stands of the shelf.
any changes? what images work, which ones don't? howabout the end? any suggestions? does the 'crusted finger' image make him seem experienced or just gross? any better word suggestions?
Monday, January 12, 2009
Defying Zephyr
zephyr capriciously chose to gust through northwest Iowa
without a thought, he thoroughly threw snow
over the perilous prairie.
his blustery caprice drafted
a sketch of snow onto the stagnant fields
his gust became a blizzard
and we were driving in between the lines.
between shrouded yellow solid
and frosted white strips of paint
through his vast white blunder
his bluster cried for our submission.
but our defiance stronger than his will:
tires inched along,
plowing white padded cement,
with gentle touch of slow
and speed,
we trounced his angry squall
---------------------------
this poem came from my drive from lincoln, ne to NWC this afternoon. there was quite a wind and snow storm. i had to drive with little visibility. but it was an adventure. i wrote a response to Zephyr, the greek god of the west wind, who attacked us. i want it to be a humble, yet defiant piece. from reading it, do you get an image of an incredibly blusterous blizzard and a very arbitrary wind system? from your reading what is the tone of the poem? what images work for you? does the repeated 'th' sound in the first stanza sound like wind?
please help me by answering any of these questions or by just giving me feedback...
without a thought, he thoroughly threw snow
over the perilous prairie.
his blustery caprice drafted
a sketch of snow onto the stagnant fields
his gust became a blizzard
and we were driving in between the lines.
between shrouded yellow solid
and frosted white strips of paint
through his vast white blunder
his bluster cried for our submission.
but our defiance stronger than his will:
tires inched along,
plowing white padded cement,
with gentle touch of slow
and speed,
we trounced his angry squall
---------------------------
this poem came from my drive from lincoln, ne to NWC this afternoon. there was quite a wind and snow storm. i had to drive with little visibility. but it was an adventure. i wrote a response to Zephyr, the greek god of the west wind, who attacked us. i want it to be a humble, yet defiant piece. from reading it, do you get an image of an incredibly blusterous blizzard and a very arbitrary wind system? from your reading what is the tone of the poem? what images work for you? does the repeated 'th' sound in the first stanza sound like wind?
please help me by answering any of these questions or by just giving me feedback...
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Gran Torino (take 2---possible NWC Beacon edition)
An ex-auto worker, Walt Kowalski, whose wife has recently died, lives in a rotting neighborhood in Detroit. He is the last white person in the neighborhood, now teeming with Hmong people. His sons express their concerns with his living in the old neighborhood. Walt’s neighbors are a Hmong family with a cute daughter, Sue, and a timid son, Tao. Tao’s gangbanger cousins try to get him to join their gang, but when he fails the initiation of stealing Walt’s Gran Torino, things get ugly. They try to force him into the gang, but Walt growls at the gangbangers to ‘get off his lawn’ as they look down the barrel of his Korean War carbine. Tao culturally has to make amends with Walt, so he takes the boy under his blue-collar wings and disciples him on how to ‘be a man’: consisting of racial slurs and cuss word grammar, as well as respect for property and elders. The gangbangers strike back, the situation quickly escalates out of Walt’s control and confrontation is necessary. Any more summary would give too much of the story away, you’ll just have to see it for yourself.
As a brusque old man, Walt is a microcosm of a dying racist American generation. In the film, young Hmongs, Hispanics, and Blacks create the palate of the neighborhood shrouded in violence. But like Walt, racism still blots the landscape here and there. Because the neighborhood is so diverse, Walt has to learn to coexist or to live with his neighbors. Since multiculturalism and community are hallmarks of Northwestern College, we can draw many lessons from Walt. After the recent elections, the student body was indignantly rebuked in chapel by Kevin McMahan because one of the international students was appallingly taunted for the color of their skin. This is no way to live in community. In Gran Torino, Walt has to learn to accept the fact that his neighbors were different. They come from foreign culture, but they still are able to teach him something about himself. He also has to learn to take initiative to gain understanding. Seeing Walt talk with ‘Yum-Yum’ and Su, and eat platefuls of Hmong food are some of the more touching moments of reconciliation in the film. Sacrifice is vitally important to community. Walt’s iconic sacrifice solidifies his friends’ safety and happiness. Acceptance, initiative and sacrifice are fundamentals for community life.
Gran Torino is a story that should keep hopes of reconciliation afloat. Viewers will see the light on their journey through this tunnel of American racial history, and its redemptive realization is very satisfying. Even with all the guns, swear words, and racial slurs, it is a film that suggests that violence only escalates, but sacrifice brings true reconciliation.
As a brusque old man, Walt is a microcosm of a dying racist American generation. In the film, young Hmongs, Hispanics, and Blacks create the palate of the neighborhood shrouded in violence. But like Walt, racism still blots the landscape here and there. Because the neighborhood is so diverse, Walt has to learn to coexist or to live with his neighbors. Since multiculturalism and community are hallmarks of Northwestern College, we can draw many lessons from Walt. After the recent elections, the student body was indignantly rebuked in chapel by Kevin McMahan because one of the international students was appallingly taunted for the color of their skin. This is no way to live in community. In Gran Torino, Walt has to learn to accept the fact that his neighbors were different. They come from foreign culture, but they still are able to teach him something about himself. He also has to learn to take initiative to gain understanding. Seeing Walt talk with ‘Yum-Yum’ and Su, and eat platefuls of Hmong food are some of the more touching moments of reconciliation in the film. Sacrifice is vitally important to community. Walt’s iconic sacrifice solidifies his friends’ safety and happiness. Acceptance, initiative and sacrifice are fundamentals for community life.
Gran Torino is a story that should keep hopes of reconciliation afloat. Viewers will see the light on their journey through this tunnel of American racial history, and its redemptive realization is very satisfying. Even with all the guns, swear words, and racial slurs, it is a film that suggests that violence only escalates, but sacrifice brings true reconciliation.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Gran Torino
Walt Kowalski, an ex-auto worker, whose wife has recently died, lives in a rotting neighborhood in Detroit. He is the last white person in the neighborhood, now teeming with Hmong people. His sons express their concerns with his living in the old neighborhood. Walt’s neighbors are a Hmong family with a cute daughter, Sue, and a timid son, Tao. Tao’s gangbanger cousins try to get him to join their gang, but when he fails the initiation of stealing Walt’s Gran Torino, things get ugly. They try to force him into the gang, but Walt growls at the gangbangers to ‘get off his lawn’ as they look down the barrel of his Korean War carbine. Tao culturally has to make amends with Walt, so he takes the boy under his blue-collar wings and disciples him on how to ‘be a man’, consisting of racial slurs and cuss word grammar, as well as respect for property and elders. The gangbangers strike back, the situation quickly escalates out of Walt’s control and confrontation is necessary. Any more summary would give too much of the story away, you’ll just have to see it for yourself.
The film, like Walt, carries marks of religion, race, age, war, family and economics. Like the decadent neighborhood where he lives, Walt too has been cast aside by his society, most notably his sons. They both drive Japanese cars, which Walt takes as an insult on his character. Constant inquires by a Catholic Father of Walt begin to pull back the layers of scar tissue that sheathe the whole Cold War generation. Scars of war and family loss and trouble seep through these conversations. There is also a Hmong religious man who makes Walt feel ‘more at home than with his family.’ The portrayal of religion is not one of annoyance, but of a therapeutic way to understand self. At the end of the film, Walt’s kids come to a greater understanding of him through religion, and Walt understands true religion. As a study on race in America, the film is not reluctant or dark yet hopeful for the future of reconciliation. But we have to trudge through a lot of muddy, grotesque racism to get to that point.
The polished Gran Torino and the brusque Walt are the decaying Old America. The shiny antique car is a symbol of the respected generation of America who fought in the ‘Cold’ War. Walt is an archetypal growling old man who learned to survive in battle and now alone. The car signals a transition in the relationship between the Tao and Walt, and it also hints at a passing down of one generation’s traditions to the next. As a microcosm of the elderly American generation, Walt’s frustrations culminate with an argument with his son and her wife. The son wants to relocate Walt to an ‘independent retirement community.’ With a close up shot of Walt’s face in a crescendo of growling (perhaps a deeper growl from American elderly) he kicks his son out of his house.
Gran Torino is a microcosmic reading of an abrasive old man named Walt, who just needs something fresh and foreign to show him the truth.
Update
the posts on here now were not all invented in the last couple of hours...
a couple are from thanksgiving
and the rest are from earlier in the semester
more to come.
dj spank
a couple are from thanksgiving
and the rest are from earlier in the semester
more to come.
dj spank
Christian Horror Novels
For Thanksgiving this last weekend, my family went to Oklahoma City to visit some friends. They live in a horribly normal suburban home, and I was truly impressed with how nice it was. They had all kinds of yuppie décor and other things to fill a big house with such as a pool/ping-pong table and a TV the size of a whole wall. But what really surprised me was their bookshelf. I walked up to it and saw nothing but ‘Christian’ fiction. It was all Peretti, Dekker, and LeHay and Jenkins. I would consider all of these to be one big genre: dark, horror, eschatological, futuristic fiction. Seeing all these books made me wonder, “What is the appeal of ‘Christian’ dark fiction? Do Christians really like being scared? If so why, is it because we don’t fear God himself enough? That seemed like a logical conclusion according the reading that I was doing at the time: Shane Claiborne. According to him, and other well respected Christians from past centuries and decades, these people didn’t fear God, and their lifestyle showed it. Maybe our friends were filling their fear void with dark Christian fiction…who knows?
But I still wondered what the appeal of these books was. Jenkins and LeHay have invaded Christianity with their fictional interpretation of eschatological Bible passages. Having talked with many friends over the years about these books, I have begun to pick up on some of their appeal. After people read them, they begin to compare their world to world of the books. “Who is Nikolai in our world?” people would ask themselves. This kind of paranoia crept upon us at the right time: Y2K. I would make the argument that these writers contributed to the ‘fear and consume’ culture surrounding the terror of the new millennium, (thank you Michael Moore) but that is an argument for another time. This attitude of searching for the antichrist has stuck with Christians in the US, as clearly illustrated during this last election (or even the last decade i.e. Osama and Saddam). Perhaps the Left Behind series gathers its appeal from the fact that it writes about something we all fear: the future. Christians especially fear the future because there really is no clear interpretation of the eschatological passages of Revelation, Daniel, or even Ezekiel. Since we fear these things so ardently, when someone offers an interpretation set in our world and culture we latch onto it. All of the books except for the last one have dark covers, but the last one is white. These books offer us more than fear, they also offer us hope for a beautiful tomorrow. Perhaps that is where their appeal is.
This still does not account for Peretti or Dekker. Why do Christian writers try to make other Christians scared? Peretti has pumped out many books, including a series for kids, and they all inspire awe or fear in us. Dekker writes ‘Christian’ horror novels, which my little brother reads by the dozen. What is up with people wanting to be scared? Is there a vacuum of fear in our hearts? Perhaps as believers we are simply bored. Claiborne makes this argument in his book The Irresistible Revolution. He argues that teenagers and the younger generation of believers are disenchanted with the church because the church doesn’t challenge them. His contention lies within a basic disagreement with modern-day evangelicals: what it means to live the gospel. Claiborne’s idea of living the gospel consists of total lifestyle reorganization and redirection toward Christ, whereas most modern evangelicals simply change a few patterns of behavior while still living their boring 9 to 5, bureaucratically controlled lives. This idea of total lifestyle reorganization has been quite the experience for Claiborne: he has traveled the world, Iraq, India, he has been arrested on many occasions, he has moved to the ghetto to live, he has lived on the edge (with no real income) for over ten years. This ‘style’ of Christianity is exciting and dangerous, like the books of Dekker and Peretti. Since most evangelicals don’t want to get out of their suburban environment and live on the edge like Claiborne, they insulate themselves by reading dark Christian novels. They get their religious excitement through sweeping worship services, short-term mission trips, and horror novels. All these things make modern evangelicals feel like they are doing something with their lives, when in reality they are not.
But I still wondered what the appeal of these books was. Jenkins and LeHay have invaded Christianity with their fictional interpretation of eschatological Bible passages. Having talked with many friends over the years about these books, I have begun to pick up on some of their appeal. After people read them, they begin to compare their world to world of the books. “Who is Nikolai in our world?” people would ask themselves. This kind of paranoia crept upon us at the right time: Y2K. I would make the argument that these writers contributed to the ‘fear and consume’ culture surrounding the terror of the new millennium, (thank you Michael Moore) but that is an argument for another time. This attitude of searching for the antichrist has stuck with Christians in the US, as clearly illustrated during this last election (or even the last decade i.e. Osama and Saddam). Perhaps the Left Behind series gathers its appeal from the fact that it writes about something we all fear: the future. Christians especially fear the future because there really is no clear interpretation of the eschatological passages of Revelation, Daniel, or even Ezekiel. Since we fear these things so ardently, when someone offers an interpretation set in our world and culture we latch onto it. All of the books except for the last one have dark covers, but the last one is white. These books offer us more than fear, they also offer us hope for a beautiful tomorrow. Perhaps that is where their appeal is.
This still does not account for Peretti or Dekker. Why do Christian writers try to make other Christians scared? Peretti has pumped out many books, including a series for kids, and they all inspire awe or fear in us. Dekker writes ‘Christian’ horror novels, which my little brother reads by the dozen. What is up with people wanting to be scared? Is there a vacuum of fear in our hearts? Perhaps as believers we are simply bored. Claiborne makes this argument in his book The Irresistible Revolution. He argues that teenagers and the younger generation of believers are disenchanted with the church because the church doesn’t challenge them. His contention lies within a basic disagreement with modern-day evangelicals: what it means to live the gospel. Claiborne’s idea of living the gospel consists of total lifestyle reorganization and redirection toward Christ, whereas most modern evangelicals simply change a few patterns of behavior while still living their boring 9 to 5, bureaucratically controlled lives. This idea of total lifestyle reorganization has been quite the experience for Claiborne: he has traveled the world, Iraq, India, he has been arrested on many occasions, he has moved to the ghetto to live, he has lived on the edge (with no real income) for over ten years. This ‘style’ of Christianity is exciting and dangerous, like the books of Dekker and Peretti. Since most evangelicals don’t want to get out of their suburban environment and live on the edge like Claiborne, they insulate themselves by reading dark Christian novels. They get their religious excitement through sweeping worship services, short-term mission trips, and horror novels. All these things make modern evangelicals feel like they are doing something with their lives, when in reality they are not.
Thoughts on the Cost
As our Honda mini-van weaves around the intricate patchwork of winding suburban streets and avenues, my eyes wander all around the neighborhood. Each house is an exact replica of the one next to it. It’s almost as if somebody hit copy and paste a thousand times. All the fake brick sidewalks and stucco walls and pseudo-barn doors make for quite the ‘parade of homes.’ The streets are perfectly clean and the yards perfectly cut. There are no leaves on the ground, because there are no trees. This is the kind of neighborhood that I dread. We pull up in the drive way of our friends’ home, and I realize that even they have bought in. As I walk into their outrageously enormous ‘home’, I see a TV screen that covers a whole wall, a ping-pong table room, and further in lies the ‘living space’ with rounded drywall corners and yuppie home décor. Untouched candles and recessed lighting are just a few of my frustrations. Not to mention the massive faux rustic clock sitting on top of the mantel above the gas fireplace. Tile counters, floors and even walls are adorned with even more useless trinkets and gadgets, which contrast with the maroon accent wall in the kitchen. This intricate piece of suburban normality becomes an itch in my brain, pleading to be scratched, in the form of the very page you are reading. I begin to wonder things that my mom would strangle me for saying. Like, “This neighborhood is the most horribly normal place I have ever been!” “Is there any authenticity here, or is it just the superficial paranoia of a privileged white society too scared to get out and into the ghetto and help their ‘brothas’ in Christ out?”
“This is the suburbs, where it is all white and safe and happy!” “I would be grateful if a volcano somehow came out of the ground and swallowed this whole materialistic neighborhood!”
After travelling in the car for seven hours with your six person family, you have to find things to do to entertain yourself, such as reading over 200 pages of Shane Claiborne’s The Irresistible Revolution. After hearing him speak of the true cost of discipleship, about the biblical ideals for faith and community, and about Christ’s call to feed the poor and visit the lonely, I find this suburban ‘Christian’ home to be in stark contrast with the Biblical ideals put forth by this ordinary Christian radical. But then I realize something: the reason that Shane and others like him, such as Bonheoffer and Francis of Assisi, are so radical is because of people like these suburbanites! Shane calls us to give up the ‘Christian’ notion that faith only serves to sanctify the individual and then live comfortably, and to embrace the idea that the church is more than just multi-million dollar buildings on hills above comfortable suburban communities. In Bonheoffer’s The Cost of Discipleship, he discusses and verifies the ideas of ‘radicals’ like Claiborne. Bonheoffer’s idea for the believer is completely and infinitely pervading self-renouncing faith, not just a change to our moral conduct, and to take an oath of self-alignment with the life and person of Jesus Christ. Self-renouncing faith? What a concept…What does it mean to totally renounce yourself for Christ? This is something that I am just beginning to explore. But I cannot blame the suburbanites for their comfort. That would be utter hypocrisy. While my eyes may have been surveying the scene set earlier, my mind is set on self examination. What have I bought into? How can I accuse people of not grasping self-renouncing faith whole-heartedly when I myself cannot even do so? I sit comfortably in the warm mini van with my Adidas shorts and my Eddie Bauer Shirt and my Nike shoes. Thinking back to the massive amount of unused clothing just sitting around my dorm room, I realize how ridiculous it is just to let it all sit in my drawer while there is definitely somebody somewhere naked who would love to wear some of it. Sure, it’s nice to have some variety in our wardrobe, but I was so blind to my own actions. I have complete excess! There are shirts and shorts and all kinds of other things sitting in my drawer that I will never ever wear. What do I do now? What would Jesus do?
Driving through the neighborhood was a deeply disturbing experience for me. In my devotions lately I have been reading through Philippians. One day I got to Philippians 1:27 and it reads somewhat like this, “Only let your conduct be worthy of the gospel of Christ…” I sat back, thought for a second, and then asked myself this question: What is the Gospel of Christ?
…
…
After pondering this for a few minutes, I came up with multiple AWANA verses that explained faith and grace and whatnot…But what I really wanted to know was this: What does it mean to conduct ourselves according to the Gospel of Christ?
What the heck does that mean?!?!?
Have I ever actually seen someone do that? I began to frantically search the scriptures, only to find that the gospels told me everything that I had never heard of in my suburban evangelical community: peacemaking, social justice, loving my neighbor, Christ’s heart for the poor, and so on and so forth…
What does it look like to ‘conduct ourselves according to the gospel of Christ?’
I am beginning to see what others have discovered in their search for the answer to this simple question. They have discovered that their self-renouncing faith screams at them to renounce not just their sin patterns, but their lifestyles! Lifestyle means place, culture (attitudes), possessions, social groups, and religious and political interactions and practices. They see that aligning their lifestyles with Christ means more than just living comfortably and not sinning. It means complete devotion to Jesus Christ, no matter what the cost.
What does this look like?
I am still trying to figure that one out.
As I began to make some of these realizations, I felt this easing sense of liberation. The gospel became alive to me, and that was very liberating. As it should be according to the passage of scripture that says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and lowly in heart and you will find rest for your souls for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Even though life may not always be easy when we are wear the yoke of Christ, we can be at ease knowing that He is sovereign and that we are trying to follow His will according to the gospel.
I am just trying to find the Way.
“This is the suburbs, where it is all white and safe and happy!” “I would be grateful if a volcano somehow came out of the ground and swallowed this whole materialistic neighborhood!”
After travelling in the car for seven hours with your six person family, you have to find things to do to entertain yourself, such as reading over 200 pages of Shane Claiborne’s The Irresistible Revolution. After hearing him speak of the true cost of discipleship, about the biblical ideals for faith and community, and about Christ’s call to feed the poor and visit the lonely, I find this suburban ‘Christian’ home to be in stark contrast with the Biblical ideals put forth by this ordinary Christian radical. But then I realize something: the reason that Shane and others like him, such as Bonheoffer and Francis of Assisi, are so radical is because of people like these suburbanites! Shane calls us to give up the ‘Christian’ notion that faith only serves to sanctify the individual and then live comfortably, and to embrace the idea that the church is more than just multi-million dollar buildings on hills above comfortable suburban communities. In Bonheoffer’s The Cost of Discipleship, he discusses and verifies the ideas of ‘radicals’ like Claiborne. Bonheoffer’s idea for the believer is completely and infinitely pervading self-renouncing faith, not just a change to our moral conduct, and to take an oath of self-alignment with the life and person of Jesus Christ. Self-renouncing faith? What a concept…What does it mean to totally renounce yourself for Christ? This is something that I am just beginning to explore. But I cannot blame the suburbanites for their comfort. That would be utter hypocrisy. While my eyes may have been surveying the scene set earlier, my mind is set on self examination. What have I bought into? How can I accuse people of not grasping self-renouncing faith whole-heartedly when I myself cannot even do so? I sit comfortably in the warm mini van with my Adidas shorts and my Eddie Bauer Shirt and my Nike shoes. Thinking back to the massive amount of unused clothing just sitting around my dorm room, I realize how ridiculous it is just to let it all sit in my drawer while there is definitely somebody somewhere naked who would love to wear some of it. Sure, it’s nice to have some variety in our wardrobe, but I was so blind to my own actions. I have complete excess! There are shirts and shorts and all kinds of other things sitting in my drawer that I will never ever wear. What do I do now? What would Jesus do?
Driving through the neighborhood was a deeply disturbing experience for me. In my devotions lately I have been reading through Philippians. One day I got to Philippians 1:27 and it reads somewhat like this, “Only let your conduct be worthy of the gospel of Christ…” I sat back, thought for a second, and then asked myself this question: What is the Gospel of Christ?
…
…
After pondering this for a few minutes, I came up with multiple AWANA verses that explained faith and grace and whatnot…But what I really wanted to know was this: What does it mean to conduct ourselves according to the Gospel of Christ?
What the heck does that mean?!?!?
Have I ever actually seen someone do that? I began to frantically search the scriptures, only to find that the gospels told me everything that I had never heard of in my suburban evangelical community: peacemaking, social justice, loving my neighbor, Christ’s heart for the poor, and so on and so forth…
What does it look like to ‘conduct ourselves according to the gospel of Christ?’
I am beginning to see what others have discovered in their search for the answer to this simple question. They have discovered that their self-renouncing faith screams at them to renounce not just their sin patterns, but their lifestyles! Lifestyle means place, culture (attitudes), possessions, social groups, and religious and political interactions and practices. They see that aligning their lifestyles with Christ means more than just living comfortably and not sinning. It means complete devotion to Jesus Christ, no matter what the cost.
What does this look like?
I am still trying to figure that one out.
As I began to make some of these realizations, I felt this easing sense of liberation. The gospel became alive to me, and that was very liberating. As it should be according to the passage of scripture that says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and lowly in heart and you will find rest for your souls for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Even though life may not always be easy when we are wear the yoke of Christ, we can be at ease knowing that He is sovereign and that we are trying to follow His will according to the gospel.
I am just trying to find the Way.
Mission Trip to Bluefields, Nicaragua
What we see in Bluefields:
A polluted bay,
Houses made from rusting metal sheets,
Roads of red mud,
Miles of wrappers and tires that stretch down every ditch,
A deluge of garbage slumped against a hill,
Taxis that tear down the ancient roads;
The passengers with nowhere to go.
What we hear in Bluefields:
A soccer ball bouncing as we boot it with the kids,
The sharp sound of the scissors slicing paper
to create some clever crafts, such as a colorful mask,
a tongue-tied toddler,
Too timid to join and play,
Adrian strumming the strings of his guitar, and
the kids’ clapping crisply echoing
while they sing a Spanish worship song,
“! Dame la mano, querido hermano! ¡Dame la mano y mi hermano serás!”
The Art of Fishing...
The tanned skin on his hand
Wrinkles as he bends it back at the wrist.
He glances at the top of the pearly fishing pole,
Raised high above the surface.
His wrist, like a catapult,
Releases the pressure and
Grandpa swings the pole over the water, cutting the air.
Fishing line whirs from the reel.
The small plastic worm plops into the water.
Lowering the rod and
Tipping his hat up, then down,
My Grandpa reaches one index finger
Into a frayed belt loop
And adjusts his trousers.
His hands have clenched
Too many wrenches
And his cracking fingers
Have pricked themselves many times
With the very hook they rig,
While sitting on the back bench
Of the faded green rowboat.
He settles into the quiescence of the pond
Hearing only the grunting bullfrog,
Seeing only the twilight
Hover on the water
With the dragonflies.
Wrinkles as he bends it back at the wrist.
He glances at the top of the pearly fishing pole,
Raised high above the surface.
His wrist, like a catapult,
Releases the pressure and
Grandpa swings the pole over the water, cutting the air.
Fishing line whirs from the reel.
The small plastic worm plops into the water.
Lowering the rod and
Tipping his hat up, then down,
My Grandpa reaches one index finger
Into a frayed belt loop
And adjusts his trousers.
His hands have clenched
Too many wrenches
And his cracking fingers
Have pricked themselves many times
With the very hook they rig,
While sitting on the back bench
Of the faded green rowboat.
He settles into the quiescence of the pond
Hearing only the grunting bullfrog,
Seeing only the twilight
Hover on the water
With the dragonflies.
Blade Runner Review without summary
“Time…to die,” says Roy Batty, with a nail in one hand, he bows his head while sitting on the rain soaked rooftop of some old skyscraper in the middle of Los Angeles as his soul leaves his body in the form of dove flying up above the cityscape. Gaff asks Deckard if it is done, and Deckard declares, “Finished.” This religiously metaphoric end to the sci-fi thriller, Blade Runner, conveys the sense that the ‘Replicants’ could perhaps save man from his consumer depravity. But religion is only one of the themes, or should I say streams of consciousness, that mark this film.
A dark, swirling cesspool of human filth is all that’s left of Los Angeles by 2019. The decadence of Los Angeles is one of many elements in Blade Runner that are reminiscent of the noir genre. The whole film is a futuristic celebration of old film noirs. We run into this tribute in the first scene of the film. The camera is positioned above a slowly moving ceiling fan in a room where a man, wearing an old brown suit coat, sitting at a desk, is smoking. This scene is very familiar to anyone who has studied film noir at all. Another man enters the room, and the first man interrogates him, almost like a private eye questioning a suspect or witness. Such a tense interaction between two men with props such as the ceiling fan, desk, cigarettes and the man’s suit sets our mentality to film noir. We aren’t sure who is ‘good’ (human) and who is ‘bad’ (replicant) throughout the film due to ambiguous clues, such as Rachel asking, “Have you ever taken that test yourself?” There is a lot of dark and shadowy lighting throughout the film as well, such as in the room the first time Deckard kisses Rachel. Smoking and liquor were both common in film noirs and are prevalent in Blade Runner as well. This use of ‘drugs’ begs the question, “What pain are these people suppressing?”
“More human than human, that is our motto,” says Dr. Tyrell. This motto personifies another element of the film: the question of what it means to be human. The interrogation scenes in the film demonstrate that to be human there has to be some sort of emotional response toward animals. Since Replicants are the ones being tested and showing empathy for the animals, this brings up the question of how human are the real humans? Throughout the film Gaff makes a few origami animals, this may suggest he is a Replicant. At the end of the film, Deckard finds one of his origami unicorns; this furthers the ambiguity about his status as replicant or human. This question of humanity as empathy toward nature originates in the film’s portrayal that corporations have depleted the earth of any organic beauty, and that humans have become inorganic, paranoid beings. With constant police surveillance and pervasive neon advertisement as the only light in the darkness, we are led to believe that man has become wholly depraved, and is in need of a savior. Roy becomes this ‘savior’ figure in the end of the film. He says, “Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it? That's what it is to be a slave.” Roy has been in fear of death for his short life, but when he releases that fear; he becomes human and his spirit is free to escape above the dark corporate void of Los Angeles. After giving this speech, Deckard and Rachel are released from their slavery in the paranoid society, and they run away, like the unicorn spliced into the piano scene running through the forest, as they become truly human.
Portrayal of corporate destruction of organic life and humanity is a very counter culture theme today, considering the great amount of corporations and their dehumanizing practices. What would Roy ask us today? Do you live in fear? Are you free? Are you human?
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