Old World Tattoos

We had a baptism in Church yesterday. It was especially meaningful because it was an entire family. . .Mom, Dad, and little girl. I was asked to be a sponsor (or god-parent) of one of them, which I accepted with some fear and trembling. Every time I'm asked to do this, I get the feeling that God is giving me yet another chance to redeem some of the ways I've blown it as a parent. It's going to take a lot of god-children. . . ;-)

Anyway, that's not what I wanted to write about. The young man who was baptized was brought up in a Baptist church. . .and at some point ditched it and tried various "things." I learned this from his Mom, who was there yesterday. We had a nice chat after the long baptismal service. It was apparent from talking with her that it was her prayers and example of life that had planted the seed of Christ in her son's heart. She was obviously grateful that his long and dangerous "search for something real" was perhaps over. You could see the relief in her face. She now attends a Calvary Chapel Church and so she found our service "very unlike what she's used to." But when I mentioned that my first Orthodox service had "scared" me. . .she responded, "Oh, no. . .it didn't scare me. I've been to Catholic churches and even synagogues. In fact, the Orthodox service reminded me more of a synagogue service. . .it was so 'Old World'." I felt a brief surge of defensiveness rise up in me, but I avoided giving it voice. I let her words wash over me. "She's right", I thought to myself. "It is Old World. That's what I like about it."

The thing that she's going to have to deal with sooner or later, especially if her son continues to make progress and grow roots in Christian Orthodoxy, is why a young man covered in tattoos, with many holes in his skin from body piercings, would reject a "contemporary" expression of Christian faith in favor of something "Old World"? Just another fad? Just something else that is exotic and therefore at it's heart a form of rebellion for him? Perhaps. Time, with its attendant suffering, will reveal everything. . .for all of us. The Good Sower spreads His seeds everywhere. . .it's up to us to plough up our hearts so we can accept them.

My Heroes Have Gotten Bigger

There was a time when music meant much more to me than it does today. No, that's not exactly right. . .let me try that again. There was a time when expressing myself through songwriting meant a lot more to me than it does today. That's closer. . .but still isn't quite right. In fact, I don't think I can express this in a single sentence. It's going to take an entire blog entry:

There was a time when I admired poets and artists greatly and wanted to emulate them in some way. There was something about the way they observed life and boiled it down into a few words, a few notes, a few brush strokes, that appealed to me. Since I had a facility with words, and to a lesser degree music, songwriting became my creative outlet. Over time, it became the principal way for me to open my heart and relieve the pressure that builds up there when life overwhelms me. . .either with its beauty or ugliness. It has served a useful purpose in my life for which I am grateful, but I find I am not as drawn to this as I was in the past. To put it simply, I find that I don't need to write. There is nothing boiling up in me that needs to come out that way. So, who's the culprit? Who or what has killed my muse?

After struggling with this for a while, I have to say it is the Orthodox way of life. It is the daily services, the morning and evening prayers, the cycle of feasts and fasts, the sacraments of Holy Communion, marriage, confession, baptism - both mine and the baptisms of my godchildren - the pilgrimages to monasteries, the living in community with other Orthodox believers, the reading of the lives of saints. . .to name a few elements of a traditional Orthodox life. I still love music, but nothing has surpassed my experience of standing in a monastery at 3am listening to brightly sorrowful Byzantine chant pouring from the hearts of virgins who have abandoned everything this world has to offer in order to get a little closer to God. It has given me a hint of what the Seraphim and Cherubim sound like encircling the throne of God. I sill love the intricacies of language, but nothing has surpassed the enormous tapestry of poetry that comprise the daily cycle of services in the Orthodox Church. I have been seduced. I have been overcome. My pen has dropped from my hand, and I stand with my mouth gaping at the beauty I see. My heroes have gotten bigger.

Dissipation

Maybe it's the hurricanes that blow up the coast and fizzle into the streets, or the politicians that blow into town and fizzle into various demographics, or maybe it's just my own level of distractedness. . .but something has me thinking a lot about dissipation lately. As in, "I'm dissipated." Like I'm spread too thin. Like I'm thinking of too many things at once. Like I'm scattered in mind and tongue alike. Why are all these plates spinning around my head? Why not let a few drop to the floor and crash? I didn't promise anyone I'd keep them all spinning, did I? Nope. But now that they're all up there zinging. . .some wobbling. . .I've become a slave to them. They ain't worth it. Can't eat off spinning plates. Can't even use them for skeet shooting. However, they probably are worth something and instead of letting them explode all around me, I should exert enough energy to grab and stack them like that guy used to do on the Ed Sullivan show. The trick will be to sell them once I've got 'em stacked up.

Spider Sails

I don't like spiders. . .they make me shiver. . .and yet in the space of a week I'm making two entries about them. What's up with that? Anyway, as I was taking a walk yesterday through a small wooded area near where I work, I came across an almost "perfect" spider web. What I mean is, it was one of those webs that was roundish, very symmetric, and stitched between two branches in such a way that it was catching the slight breeze like a sail. The filtered sun was hitting it at just the right angle so all the features sort of glowed. The spider was sitting in the middle and the breeze was filling her sails. I stopped and marveled at this little piece of work and thought, "How ingenious. . .food will eventually fill up her little sail and with some patience she'll have a feast."

Fast forward to this morning: As I was reading Patrick's last comment to my Fatally Safe post, where he says, "I think sometimes there's a certain pressure to seek out more 'complexity' because we feel dull and bored, but you're right--life IS complex. But I think one needn't seek it out--it will come to you, as I discovered.". . .the image of the spider waiting patiently in her web came to mind. She lives or dies by the grace of God. She's doesn't try to escape boredom or hunger by seeking "better" ways of being a spider. She's content. I'm usually not. I'm going to go back later today and have a little talk with that spider. She can teach me something.

Fatally Safe

Life is like an iceberg in at least one respect - there is much more under the surface than above. I sometimes get swamped by the waves in my little corner of the ocean and when I do the first bit of truth I jettison, in a panic to stay afloat, is this very basic fact. I admit it's stupid. It's like tying a tourniquet around my neck in order to stop a nosebleed. I start seeing people superficially, making snap judgments about them and their various "ways". Life in general become "smaller" which leads me to trivialize myself and my life as well. Eventually (or perhaps initially. . .I can't tell) even God appears 2-dimensional and I lose interest in prayer. It cuts off all inspiration and leads to an increased appetite for beer and TV. Sex becomes something it shouldn't, boredom replaces vitality, and love fades away. My wife looks at me with a certain hopeful sadness, and it's damned hard to write a good song. The thing that rescues me time and time again is to somehow recover the truth that life is NOT static, simple, superficial, limited, finite, obvious, prosaic, etc. Life is poetry. Life is a dance. Life is dangerous and risky. Life is frustratingly complex and reflects the infinite nature of it's Creator. To shield myself from this complexity is fatally safe. Sooner or later I've gotta take off this silly life jacket, jump back in the water, and see what's under the surface.

Spiderman Virtue

I finally got around to seeing Spiderman II the other day. I liked it. . .but not for reasons that I thought I would. I went mainly to get into all the flipping around through the air and stuff. But I ended up enjoying the film more because of the way it simply and unpretentiously displayed the virtue of self-sacrifice in such a non-apologetic way. It reminded me of something I've heard about an Orthodox monk who lived and died a few years ago in the Northern California wilderness. His name was Fr. Seraphim Rose. I've been told that sometimes when people would come to him seeking spiritual advice he would tell them to put down the Philokalia and instead read David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Sometimes this scandalized the zealous convert to Orthodoxy who had traveled out into the wilderness to seek an Orthodox "guru". But Fr. Seraphim was onto something (in my opinion). He realized that most of us are so disintegrated that we hardly even know what is "human". . .much less divine. By reading well-written stories of authentic human relationships and struggles, we catch a glimpse of what an actual human being looks like. Sometime after that, perhaps we can access more "spiritual" literature such as the Philokalia. I'm not claiming Spiderman is on a par with Dickens. . .hardly. But I am suggesting that our culture continues to free-fall morally and that it takes a presentation of basic moral virtues such as self-sacrifice in a simplistic setting to get through to us. ALL of us. . .not just them (whoever "them" is).