Scribblings / Warblings / Daubings
Daph is wondering why we’ve been parked in front of the Precept building for 25 minutes while a multitude passes by wondering at the man in the Jeep cranking up the worship music. Well, Daph, we go our own way.
“We know where the Spirit of the Lord is… Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty!…”
All the same, I’ll be glad when Brooke shows up.
I love thunder.
It doesn’t frighten me.
It feels rather like it puts me in my place, and I’m glad to be so put.
An old college friend of mine updated the blogosphere today about how she is joining a group of people in her town to start a “new church” of “ordinary people committed to living out the Mission of God in community and for the community.”
First, I have to wonder at the term “new church.” I’ll leave it simply in quotation marks, and let you ponder the significance (and possible error) of this phrase.
But then I began to comtemplate the nature of community. I must confess that I have not the sweet feelings toward this term “community” which so many seem to hold. Community can be as corrupt as its individual members. Community can be dishonest, just as any man can deceive himself. Community can be less than a warm, fuzzy place. Community can be more than a hard, rough-edged place. Community can lack authority, lack accountability, lack merit. Most of all, community is not a magic word.
Sometimes I curse the camera–
For how it lies to me–
With claims that moments can be held–
In happy permanency
This is a new song I wrote over the weekend, to play at a concert at the barking Legs Theater. If you’d like to listen to the song, click on this post’s title and it’ll take you to where you can hear it (smile). If I were computer-savvy, I’m sure I could have posted it here somehow…
Faces
Have you seen the face of Suffering
A common face, ordinary, plain
Yet somehow familiar to the human race
Moving through the crowd Humanity
He stops one man walking dully by
All the other faces turn away and smile
Careless of their brother, they move on awhile
But as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
Make him tell you why it must be so
There has to be a reason—hold onto him, don’t let go till he tells you so…
Have you seen the face of perfect Peace
Disfigured face, brutalised and maimed
Difficult to look on, lovely all the same
His beauty spoils the following:
Loneliness, Despair, and heavy Shame
But like a treasure hidden—hidden in a field of pain
The guilty go on looking, desperate for his face
And as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
Make him tell you why it must be so
There has to be a reason—hold onto him, don’t let go till he tells you so…
He’ll tell you that you have to see him to believe
That his face of Suffering is the face of Peace
Only eyes open wide see the Loveliness inside
But you have to be near—so near—for the Beauty to appear
Through the painful tears…
So as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
Make him tell you why it must be so
There has to be a reason—hold onto him—
And as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
And he’ll tell you why it must be so
He has to give a reason to hold onto him and not let go…he won’t let you go…
This is a new song I wrote over the weekend, to play at a concert at the Barking Legs Theater. Sorry about the bootleg recording, but I happen to think my wife did a fantastic job with the iPhone voice memo app (grin)…
Faces
Have you seen the face of Suffering
A common face, ordinary, plain
Yet somehow familiar to the human race
Moving through the crowd Humanity
He stops one man walking dully by
All the other faces turn away and smile
Careless of their brother, they move on awhile
But as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
Make him tell you why it must be so
There has to be a reason–hold onto him, don’t let go till he tells you so…
Have you seen the face of perfect Peace
Disfigured face, brutalised and maimed
Difficult to look on, lovely all the same
His beauty spoils the following:
Loneliness, despair, and heavy shame
But like a treasure hidden–hidden in a field of pain
The guilty go on looking, desperate for his face
And as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
Make him tell you why it must be so
There has to be a reason–hold onto him, don’t let go till he tells you so…
He’ll tell you that you have to see him to believe
That his face of suffering is the face of peace
Only eyes open wide see the loveliness inside
But you have to be near–so near–for the beauty to appear
Through the painful tears…
So as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
Make him tell you why it must be so
There has to be a reason–hold onto him–
And as faces come and faces go
Turn around a moment, ask him what he knows
And he’ll tell you why it must be so
He has to give a reason to hold onto him, not let go…he won’t let you go…
six billion hearts in a moment murmuring–
six billion lung-fulls taken in and out–
six billion wonderings what the day will bring–
six billion statements of what it’s all about–
…is coming… (smile)
Loudness.
Disregard.
Charisma.
Passion.
Position.
Fame.
Ignorance.
Cowardice.
Cleverness.
Pleasantry.
Assumed superiority.
Standing at the front of a room.
Sitting at the head of a conference table.
Writing in the blank space of a blog or a comment field.
Scoffing.
Intimidating.
Power.
I think the internet is too much for me.
Too much news. I can read the headlines everyday, with new ones popping up moment by moment. I can click on links to related articles. I can learn all kinds of things about all kinds of people in all kinds of situations. But then I do nothing about it. There is no outlet for so much information except mere opinion. So I can leave comments, or click thumbs up and down, or post the item framed with my own view. And then do nothing. Do nothing but wait until the next item rolls around. Do nothing but grow cynical, frustrated, or feel cheap, empty victories for “having my voice be heard.”
Too much entertainment. I can drop by Hulu and laugh at Conan’s monologues and general silliness, or check out the latest YouTube clip for a chuckle. I can forget that there are very important things happening which ought not happen. I can forget there is evil.
Too much photography. I can log in to Facebook and scan through the photos of my friends, see countless self-portraits at odd angles with faces frozen in rock star screams or Zoolander pouts or eyebrow arches. I can see beautiful face and beautiful face, curvy figure after curvy figure, and skin skin skin on “innocent” sites. And then there are too many faces in my mind and I forget the faces that really matter to me. I forget the innocence of a flesh-and-blood smile. I forget the good, good hardship of a living person and grow more comfortable with the static flat image. Or I grow angry that people think so little of their smiles, their eyes, their bodies, that they would paint them and alter them into meaningless charms.
Too much text. Words, werds, wurds. Too many words sitting open-faced, as if every one of those words and ideas were as important as every other. One man’s blog is another man’s comment. I can look from page to page, blog to blog, listening to the voices speak through their words–and at the end of the day, I can believe that someone’s words matter more because their well-designed website looks much cooler than the other. I can disregard a friend and read an enemy. I can lie. But I cannot pronounce truth in so much text. All is opinion. All is equal.
Too much music. Too much video. Too much sound. Too much fury.
And not enough of the things that really matter.
Am I alone in this?
thegreatknock 