Men of Vision

This is too good to pass up.

I got it in the latest post from the blog "Christ is Deeper Still," by Ray Ortlund. The title is alludes to Corrie Ten Boom.

Within, he quotes Sacrifice, by Howard Guinness (pp 59-60).

"Where are the young men and women of this generation who will hold their lives cheap and be faithful even unto death? Where are those who will lose their lives for Christ's sake -- flinging them away for love of him? Where are those who will live dangerously and be reckless in his service? Where are his lovers -- those who love him and the souls of men more than their own reputations or comfort or very life?

Where are the men who will say 'no' to self, who take up Christ's cross to bear it after him; who are willing to be nailed to it in college or office, home or mission field; who are willing, if need be, to bleed, to suffer and to die on it?

Where are the men of vision today? Where are the men of enduring vision? Where are the men who have seen the King in his beauty, by whom from henceforth all else is counted but refuse that they may win Christ? Where are the adventurers, the explorers, the buccaneers for God who count one human soul of far greater value than the rise or fall of an empire? Where are the men who glory in God-sent loneliness, difficulties, persecutions, misunderstandings, discipline, sacrifice, death? Where are the men who are willing to pay the price of vision?

Where are the men of prayer? Where are the men who, like Job of old, count God's Word of more importance to them than their daily food? Where are the men who, like Moses, commune with God face to face as a man speaks with his friend and unmistakably bear with them the fragrance of the meeting through the day?

Where are God's men in this day of God's power?"

Perhaps, I would pray, seated at a keyboard, reading a blog with a funny name about birds. And I would further pray, that they wouldn't remain seated for long.

And I don't want to appear glib or saccharine about this, either. I understand it is a daunting task--the greatest challenge of our day-to-day lives--just to get over ourselves. It is easy--indeed, automatic--to be self-absorbed and indifferent to all else, and this self-absorption can taint even the good things, even the blessings in our lives. Our dearest friends and family that we said we would love always. Our careers and ministries that we had recently believed were a sacred calling from God, but now feel burdensome.

We must begin to live with a vision of a life, a community, a Kingdom, that is greater than ourselves. Cheap and alluring are the roads of selfish ambition or trivial amusement, but those roads lead to a pit.

But wait! Read the Corrie ten Boom quote at the top of Mr. Ortlund's blog: "There is no pit so deep, but..."

Peace,

Tyler

Not a moment...

...passed after posting the last one that I found this at Between Two Worlds. Seriously, same minute. I am not joking.

Libation Station, What's You're Elation?

This link round up is a bit light-hearted, starting with the title--a one-off of this gem, but this time we're talking about the pleasures and perils of drinking.

Here's a great one about the pubs of Oxford:

A pub is a great leveler — not a workingman’s club, but an everyman’s club. The best are filled not only with the scent of yeast and hops, but also with banter and wit. Back in 1954, when the Rose & Crown on North Parade Avenue in Oxford was threatened with closure (inadequate toilet facilities), the defense that won the day called it a “home of cultured, witty and flippant conversation.”

Compare this to college-age dives like Brother's or Lodge Bar. Flippant conversation without the culture or wit is very different beast--hitting on inebriated girls or singing along to Soulja Boy is nothing I want any part of. But I would guess Brother's also has inadequate toilet facilities.

In any case, whenever all you Columbus expatriates are back in the Jewel of the Midwest, call me up and we'll go to Mac's or the Brazenhead.

Also, this looks like a good read when I'm not studying neuroanatomy. John O'Sullivan reviews Eric Felten's book, How's Your Drink?, a repository of anecdotes about--and, more importantly, recipes for--all sorts of cocktails.

But none of these attractions explains the mysterious allure of the cocktail to regular or hardened drinkers. Why do they prefer it — not everyone does — to straight spirits, champagne, wine, or beer? Doubtless many people would answer that question many different ways and some of them would be guessing at a reason they don’t quite understand themselves. My own explanation, however, is that drinking a cocktail is an attempt to recover the experience of that occasion when we had our first genuinely enjoyable alcoholic drink. In my case it was a glass of Drambuie given to me by a friend on a school trip in 1957. I have never quite forgotten the moment. In the novel Kipps, H. G. Wells captures the very similar result when his modest hero has his first glass of whisky: “Kipps . . . drank another sip of old Methuselah. . . . He was able to follow the subsequent course of that sip for quite a long way. It was as though the old gentleman was brandishing a burning torch through his vitals, lighting him here and lighting him there, until at last his whole being was in a glow.”

Alas, no second, third, fourth, or subsequent glass ever has quite the same effect. We may settle down monogamously with a favorite. (Drambuie never won me over to that extent.) We may gradually drink our way through the multicolored array of bottles under the bar mirror opposite. We may be quietly and sensibly satisfied with whatever becomes our regular tipple. But ecstasy rarely strikes a second time with the same drink — and never a third.

Some the stories are great. If you ever get your hands on the book, read the one about Jack Kennedy, gin and tonics, and the end of the world. Seriously.

But, if you're in a rush to blush, you can mix something up right away. Consult these two mavens if you must.

Robert Hess, Cocktail Spirit. Best haircut ever.

Alberta Straub, Cocktails on the Fly.

Of course, I wouldn't be responsible without telling you of the inherent dangers, as illustrated recently in Russia.

Mr Lyalin, an electrician, had spent the evening drinking with a watchman at his workplace when they got into an argument, Interfax news agency reports.

The morning found him waking up in the watchman's office but instead of going back to work, he decided to take the bus home.

At home, Mr Lyalin had some sausage from the fridge and lay down to sleep, the Komsomolskaya Pravda newspaper says.

After a couple of hours, his wife noticed the handle sticking out of his back and called an ambulance.

Viktor Belov, a surgeon who treated him, found a kitchen knife in Mr Lyalin's back but "by good fortune, it had gone through soft tissue without touching vital organs".

His alleged attacker reported the crime to the police himself, Interfax adds. Mr Lyalin apparently feels fine and bears no ill-will.

"We were drinking and what doesn't happen when you're drunk?" he was quoted by Komsomolskaya Pravda as saying.

With that, uhhh, cheers?

In Defense of Loving Truths

I will try to keep this brief, and I know a lot could be said about the topic I'm about to broach, but we'll have to save that for another time. Perhaps you could fill in some of the gaps with your always-appreciated comments.

In any case, here at med school, we've been doing a unit on spiritual diversity--specifically, how do we respect the beliefs of others as we pursue medical care consistent with their wishes?

I've been thinking all morning about the our fearfulness of upsetting others by approaching the topic of faith. And I agree that part of the motivation for the whole "tolerance" movement is helpful: how easy it is to avoid "those people" unlike ourselves! How quick we are to condemn others! How often that old spirit of fear and disdain returns! We must never underestimate our own sinfulness and pride, and the ease with which we judge others as bad, so we can esteem ourselves highly.

But what happens if we esteem ourselves lowly first? What happens if we approach one another out of humility, out of our own brokenness? Confession, of course, must precede grace.

But while the emphatic calls to tolerance can remind us of our own sinfulness and need for Christ, these same calls for tolerance, intended to uphold all faiths, paradoxically do the opposite. They denigrate each and every position one may hold, whether he is a Christian, Muslim, or Atheist.

The conventional view of "tolerance" depends on a central conceit: that one's faith is a purely personal choice. So you want to be a Salafist Muslim? Very well. Or perhaps convert to Reformed Judaism? Of course. Or maybe you are attracted to Pure Land Buddhism. Fine and good. Or maybe you would prefer Agnosticism. Excellent. These are your personal choices, and it would be a gross violation for me to impose upon you.

Yet this seemingly good-natured amicability banishes belief, thought, and reason. By understanding faith (or non-faith) as a purely personal choice for fear of causing trouble and contention, well-intentioned people shut it up into a box---impenetrable to reason and discussion. Much like the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, faith is not something explicable, expressible, or coherent, it simply is. Instead of being something someone agrees with or concedes is true, it becomes a subrational and existential choice. Logic and reason have no meaning for one's belief system.

But when a belief system is divorced from truth, so, too, is any possibility of meaning torn away. It only makes sense to believe in a heaven if it is true. It only makes sense to believe love is right if it is true. It only makes sense to hope amidst our darkness moment if who or what we hope for is true. Anything less is only self-deception, words that soothe only be repetition, but not by veracity.

When someone professing tolerance proclaims "fine and good!" to everyone, he must understand that this superficially accommodating gesture is a slap in the face to any sincere believer or unbeliever. For what he says is:

"So you wanna be a Salafist Muslim, or a Reformed Jew, or a Pure Land Buddhist? Fine, what you choose doesn't really matter. The only important thing is that it matters to you."

But anyone--everyone--deserves more than smiling indifference. Anyone who is sincere about their position must respond in protest. The Muslim must say, "Yes, when I go on the hajj, it matters to me, but the reason I do this is because it matters more than just to me!"

The Buddhist must say, "These are not things we choose just because. They are not things we picked out of a hat. We understand you are concerned with offending us and appreciate that, but we did not choose our beliefs because they are small enough to fit inside our own heads. We chose them for the opposite reason: because they are bigger than us, because truth is bigger than something we can just make up."

The Jew must say, "We chose them because we believe they are big faiths, and any faith big enough to be right is also big enough to be wrong. So please don't treat us like children. Treat us like adults--yes, with the respect that is often lost in heated debate--but with the respect that our belief is not something arbitrary."

Yes, often respect is lost because of our pride and sinfulness. That much we should always be aware of. But what is lost when we say all faiths are equal? Something far greater.

While I am on the topic of discussions of faith, I'd like to speak a bit about some glaring differences in faith systems I've seen. Just this Easter morning, I was listening to the radio on the way back from church, and they were interviewing a musician, and what he thought of spirituality. He said that when he plays, he feels such a oneness, a connectedness to all things---to everything. Words to that effect. I am not saying that is wrong in and of itself, but do these vague "Good Vibrations" have the power to save?

Similarly, in some of our readings for class today, I read this:

I have had a very interesting patient for whom bike riding was spiritual. She belongs to a community that travels all over the world and on bike treks. She said, "I feel at one when I'm biking, especially since it has such a connection with nature, too" When she injured herself, we did a spiritual history in which I asked: "Have you ever thought about there might come a time when you're older and you can't bike the same way? What would give your life meaning then?"

The next year, she came back and said: "I thought about your question, and I took up jewelry making, and I love it. I work with my hands now, and I can make jewelry for others. It's a creative outlet and gives me a lot of meaning." She always laughs because, as she said, " I know now you're going to say what if I get arthritis in my hands?" But I think what she learned in that process was that she could continue to look for meaning and purpose in her life; it's not static. What a profound lesson to learn.

Excerpted from: Lewis, Sheldon. "A Journey Through Spirituality and Health." Alternative and Complementary Therapies. June 2007.

To her newly-found enjoyable hobby, I wish her the best, but we must ask the question, does it have the power to save, or merely amuse? One of my most trusted mentors in the faith works as a jeweler, but if you'd ask him, I don't think he'd say his hours at the Diamond Cellar are what made his life significant. "She could continue to look for meaning and purpose in her life"? With tremendous questions unanswered by jewelry making, I think she probably will continue to look.

Some--in fact, probably all of us, to varying degrees--are quite good at avoiding the root questions that bring us to bow before Christ. What do we do with our own brokenness? It is easy to deny, or feel-good your way out of them, but they still remain. And when the questions can be avoided no longer, mealy-mouthed sentimentality does us no good. Watch this clip from a recent ER:

Embers

This latest post stems from a couple of things I've read recently. Please read this completely before you continue:


"Can You Call Me Back Later?"
by Michael Brendan Dougherty
of Surfeited with Dainties

†††

Cliche is a poison to the witness of the church. I suppose that some cliche is inevitable in any group. And further, there is some comfort in the familiar, in words that have roots, that have a heritage, that are not some modish novelty. But when the words of a rich heritage are hollowed out by time and careless overuse, they degrade into cliche. They are all form, shape, and contour, but no substance. Divorced from the truth they once bore, our words evoke little more than sweet memories. Meanwhile, the advertisements beckon, the magazines expose, and the televisions screech. The brothers and sisters of our abused generation, enticed by the offer of the 'good life' attained by unending consumption (of clothes, degrees, furniture, sexual partners, beer), cling to the hope of tomorrow's new thing, or, if hope is lost, sink into despair. Most probably suffer from a mix of both--the vague uneasiness that a deeper richness is attainable, but the uncertainty of where to look. Perhaps if only they swallow hard, clench their teeth, and look beyond the horizon for sunrise, this present gloomy fog will pass. Only a bright light can pierce the darkness. If the best we can offer is a well-rehearsed line, they won't listen. They've seen the ads. They know a slick slogan when they hear one.

I told him that “the Lord put this on my heart for him.” He seemed to take that
to heart, even though I was trying to relieve my conscience of him.

Christ told us about letting light shine before others, and the perils of keeping it hidden. Don't our hackneyed tokens of love, our half-hearted consolations, re-entomb the risen Christ? Don't we all light lamps and hide them under bowls? "Look at the great deeds I've done for you, Lord! I've saved the oil! I've trimmed the wick!" But we let the light fade and slowly extinguish. The sweet smoke may please us like the burnt offerings of old, but the cooling embers' glow leaves us all in darkness. We are the new Pharisees, sacrificing our friends at the altar, and asking of God if it has appeased his anger with us. Has the conscience been cleared? The tongue drips love, but the heart is still.

I barely had enough money to feed myself. How could I protect him from abuse at
work or home?

Is that it? Are we really that different than so many people we are trying to help? Do we, too, with gritted teeth and clenched jaw, wait out the same storm they do? When we see the tension and pain in others' lives, are we plagued by the tension of our own doubt, fear, and callousness? When we peer at another's creased face, does it, like a mirror, reflect our own weakness and inabilities? A tongue that knows not what to say? Eyes that want to look away?

†††

At this point, take a break from my post here. The two blogs I have been keeping up with during my Lenten otherwise-fast from the "blogosphere" are David Kuo's J-Walking, and Anne Jackson's Flowerdust, who both have, with about a dozen other bloggers, travelled to Uganda to work for a few weeks in the slums. Read David's first encounter here before continuing:

"Snapshots"
by David Kuo
of J-Walking

...I watched her and watched her... left right there... alone on her dirty
blanket, surrounded by circumstances that aspire to be called squalid...

One may throw up his hands in futility. What good is caring when so little can be done? Why bare one's soul, only to have it pierced by the tatters of anothers' wounds--wounds that we have no idea how to heal? Is heartache the price of love? Perhaps it is more than that--that such heartache is not the tradeoff, but the definition of love--brothers of brokenness.

Still, we recoil. Is it narcissism? The desire that, if one is healed, we would be the healer? That we would cast out the spirits? And if we cannot, don't we leave the recalcitrant demoniacs, for fear that we would have to face our own need and brokenness too? "My name is Legion, for we are many." Do we avert our eyes from those of Legion, because he may tell us he possesses us, too? The creased faces of our friends may mirror not only our hearts, but our souls.

Perhaps this is why the Lord tells us we must die to ourselves through His grace. Nothing else can break through our own brokenness and lead us to true love. "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." We may aspire to that, but it is vanity. Christ is the healer, the one who died in our place. We can only offer so much less:

Dearest friend, I cannot fix your brokenness. I can not bind the wounds.

But I cannot do nothing.

I cannot die for you, but at least I will die with you, for I cannot live knowing the dead sleep alone.

When Christ told us to let our light shine, he did not command us to light the whole world, but merely to light the house. That's the best we can do. And perhaps, together, room by room, house by house, we can build that city on the hill, rising above the slums and squalor, a beacon in the night. Perhaps we can remind others--and ourselves--that though the sky is darkened and the storm clouds loom, the Morningstar will soon return, ushering in the day that never ends, when all wounds are healed.

†††

Two men huddle underneath the lights in an empty parking lot. The snow swirls along the ground, sparkling a pale, sickly green underneath the halogen lights, making the night seem even colder than normal. The two men spoke briefly, with whispering wind muffling their words.

The taller man waved goodbye, and started for his car, and the other stepped back to collecting his grocery carts. It was cold out, and the tall man was busy with more than enough troubles, but something stopped him after a step or two. The wind carried the smoke of freshly-split pine. He looked across the street, where a small house was filled with the glow of firelight. He looked back at the man with the shopping carts.

"Oh man, bet that would be nice!"

The other looked up from his carts, and flashed a brief grin.

"Yeah." His breath wafted in the air, like something burned in his chest. He stared a moment, and looked back at his cart. "Well, I'll be seein ya."

"Yeah. Bye, John."

Suicide Kings and Laughing Jokers

Most of you may know I liked to do photography back in high school, and although I haven't done much lately due to the time and cost, I still to like to see what cool stuff there is out in the art world. Usually, not much, as many contemporary artists seem content on just being weird. I once read about a guy who would write two different addresses on a postcard, one on either side, and then mailed it so see where it would end up. Callde it something like: I hope they didn't give him an MFA.

Anyway, sometimes I do come across something pretty neat.

Check this out:

Psymanism

At first glance, you might think there's nothing special to the pictures, but click again to see a zoomed-up version.

It's time for Lent Resolutions...

Howdy everybody!

It's good to be back in the saddle...

Well, here's the scoop. I've been thinking about how I've been living lately, and I've kind of been convicted about....well, let's screw the timidity for a moment, and say that I've DEFINITELY been convicted about wasting too much time on the internet, visiting every random blog from yon to hither. My typical routine would be to mark out stuff I'd want to write about, but then I'd never get around to doing it. Meanwhile, the list of feeds in my Google Reader (if you don't know what that is, imagine all the lanes on the Information Superhighway merging together) kept getting larger. I knew something was amiss when I was talking about the political opinions of folks that even my friend Patrick had never heard of, and he has Anderson Cooper on speed dial.

SO. I decided I need to take steps this Lent to be, shall we say, a little less anti-social, and a little more creative. What does this mean?

1. MORE BLOG POSTING ACTION.

I know, you're thinking, "Tyler, you silly doof (goof + doofus), you make less sense than an Arnold Schwarzenegger film" Normally, I'd agree with you, but hear me out...this way I am actually communicatin with y'all, and some of you even seem to like what I have to say. Plus, I can finally write some stuff I've wanted to, and you might find it edifying. If there aren't too many links to Youtube.

2. THE GOOGLE FEED IS DELETED.

I am not checking the horde of blogs for Lent, making two very special exceptions I will write about in a post in the next week or so. So the link to my Google Reader on my homepage is deleted. Or "Baleeted!" if you're a Homestar fan. This means no more American Scene, no more Evangelical Outpost--even no more Crunchy Con!! Believe me, this hurts. And believe me, this also shows how much of a nerd I actually am. But won't be for long. Hopefully.

3. I WILL BE CALLING YOU.

And asking you how are things? Cause it would be good to know.

4. INDIANA JONES is COMING BACK

This has nothing to do with anything, but it is important nonetheless. Check this out. Even John will admit that it's cooler than Lost.

Well, that is it for now...I should have some stuff up in the next few days or so. Keep them eyes peeled.

Quick question---do you guys actually LIKE the random links I put in here? Cause if they're distracting, consider them----BALEETED!

The picture above is by Ewing Galloway and is available as a poster here. Just so I'm not infringin' on anybody's copyright. Wouldn't be the cowboy way, now would it?