Having found both salvation and respite through hard work, He plotted steps towards a promised land. As a child dipping his toes in cold water, He lingered on possibility. Should there be new love, old love, new direction, old direction, or this never-ending ache to resound in perpetuity? There is a fallow feeling when a heart begins to think and dream if the body fails; the indictment of unploughed soil.

             For a time there was no action, only a deep, deep fear carrying him from the chair to the altar. There, he found himself in travail wondering if there was an end to selfishness and a beginning to surrender. But even so, there are times a man finds himself believing he is truly humble and sorrowful only to discover it was self-indulgence. For, pity can deceive all manner of men; especially the passionate.

             A daydream is no substitute for decision. It is lazy to linger over possibility if there is an option to pursue a decision. Still, when an understanding has been reached within the heart, and the wheels of ingenuity and zeal are set in motion, it is foolish to forget the Lord.

             In spite of all he had learned of motion, action, and intent. It was understood there would be no motion, no course until stillness had taught him the greatest of disciplines: silence. In a cave of his own making, he waited to hear the creaking of the gate, the whistle of the wind, and the whisper of God. Longing and desire where the only gifts he had brought, but they were enough. Giving his gifts to the giver – without word or thought – he saw his longing and desires fashioned into a single shape like a compass, and given back to him.

             No matter the direction, this compass always pointed one way: towards the mountains. He remembered the story a man he always admired: Caleb, that great ancient who also conquered the hill country. He remembered how others too had subdued the Earth and he dared to believe he would also. All this and more from a moment of deep silence. There was no thought of the possible or the impossible. Only longing and desire. Just as thirst is for water, he saw his heart had always been pointing to a single, indelible answer:

             the ever-present yes.

Honesty:

             Through talking and interacting with friends I recently learned a few things. It's rare for me to have any kind of lucidity when I talk to people. All too often I find myself looking back at moments wondering, “Who was I just now?”

             Sometimes, it seems beyond difficult. . .honesty means much more than true words. Sometimes, a man may find himself being very dishonest by choosing to hide behind truth [or a version of it]. A person can be dishonest through their disposition. For, how can my friend know me when my face is a lie? And there is another, more sinister form of dishonesty that comes from silence; an unwillingness to speak truth is also a form of dishonesty. Indeed, so often silence is birthed from the progenitive element of pride. Whatever my reasons, my silence is my self-deception [valuing myself over and against others] keeping me from giving life and love to those around me. This pride may also keep me from saying everything there is to say because of an unwillingness to admit the selfishness within my heart.

             In these ways, I look at myself and see self-deception at work. Truly, in the end, I could lie and convince the whole world of something only to find myself the ultimate fool. I could make you think I'm something I'm not. I could make you think my motivation is this and not that. I could keep silent because I'm afraid to look foolish or wrong. I could mask my motivation so I may look better than I do, but I'm the one who is deceived. I think about the time the Master said all that is hidden will be brought to light. I also think about all that is not hidden, all that is true; it shall be hidden, made secure for all Eternity – a treasure to withstand the fire. All this and I wonder if I'd rather be 'right' or happy.

                         So, I'll get 'real' for a moment.

             Whatever the reasons, I have always been leery of being thought of as a worship leader. In fact, I have often played the fool or acted in a flippant way so I wouldn't have to take the fact that I lead worship at church too seriously. Sunday evening, I said something flippant and my friend called me out for it. Normally, I am not impressed by someone who has a severe sense of right and wrong [it says to me they eat from the Tree of Knowledge more than I do] but there was something real in my friend's reaction. My friend didn't want me to feel bad, I felt like He just wanted better from me. There was no scowl on his face or sign of disapproval, just a brotherly rebuke.

             A couple days before, I witnessed two friends disagree about a plan. I watched them state their cases and actually list their respective, selfish reasons for advocating their preferences. They were unashamedly exposing their selfishness to one another. Without drama, or raising their voices, or ad hominem attacks, they disagreed and finally solved the problem together. It taught me how argument can be more of a dance than a battle if both sides are willing to be honest. Too often, I mask my true motivation so I can fire from the high ground. It's a dirty, horrible thing to do, and I don't want to do it any more.

             So this is a step. I will post these words for all to see. I admit, I deeply care about leading worship for my church. I don't want to use silence as a weapon to bolster my pride. I don't want to use flippancy as a protection from vulnerability. There are things I am absolutely unhappy about regarding relationships in my life. But to be honest, it doesn't matter. I love all of you who might read these words. It was dishonest for me to ever allow anyone to think otherwise. I'm afraid for all of you to know how much you mean to me, but I really do love you. I say this in full sincerity: without you – my church – I really am nothing.

             Thanks Matt Burk. Thanks Dave and Melissa.

Rough draft hodgepodge:

            Gabriel is listening to a song about the death of the god, Pan, while he drives. The day is cold and hazy; he likes this weather. Any given week or two-week period, he'll listen to the same four or five songs as though they were a soundtrack or sympathetic chorus guiding his steps toward a precipice. He drives to town alone as often as he can. He drives alone because he is lonely. The familiar menagerie, scenery, and pregnant memories pull to this town and away from other things.

             When he arrives, he will go to the same shops for the same reasons he listens to the same music. He will feel at ease and full of wonder at what will happen. It is good to have control over this. Expectancy can be terrible when uncontrolled. He will have solace in this public solitude. It feels like a choice and not a curse. When the errands are finished, coffee emptied, and his stomach and curiosity teased, he will come back home more fond of himself and those elusive things which pleaded at the start.

             He is a kind boy looking for the right people to come along and return the favor. Only, there is a lot of slack in the system. Earlier in life [or later perhaps; it's all the same] he was a recluse. Indeed, when is mostly irrelevant when talking of the soul. He will go through times of deep loneliness [most likely] for the rest of his life. He will also go through times of so-called breakthrough in due time. Neither will matter because there is a miracle, a promise, and a horizon found at a place that was, is, and will remain undisturbed: the place where he knelt.

                   So. . . .

             The point of this is meant to be simple. Reality will always sound the truth: humanity is loaded with lonely people. Most of us do what we do because we are trying to connect. Inevitably, we are going to die. Community is a good thing, but no substitute for the moment when or – should I say – where you knelt. You will find if you had ever knelt that you have always been kneeling. Though you fear you have never done so, believe and I swear you one day will. Perhaps it is possible to embody [through conscious anticipation] New Creation, now. You will find – in Faith – the thing pulling you either to work, study, solitude, cathedrals, shops, stops, starts, or whole other nations only seemed facile because it was too deep to wholly see or hear.

             I write all this because I'm trying to discipline myself, to become reckoned with the highest things. I don't imagine it is important to possess a trilinear view of existence, but it helps me. For all the gaps logic points out, I calmly remember things are being resolved. Finally, it is good to know you are lonely, better to not pretend, and best to remember to pluck the string when life bids you to forget.

What matters:

            I learned something, or perhaps realized something new yesterday. Sloth is not laziness. Laziness is a fruit just as depression is a fruit. Indeed, depression and laziness are two fruits from the same tree. An apple tree is not the same thing as the apple itself [though the apple may produce more trees as time passes] and so the sin of sloth should also not be confused for its fruit. So, it begs the question: what then is sloth?

             Slothfulness is not the discontinuance of motion. It is the active endeavor of seeking, pondering, and caring actively about trivial things. You can read about the 4^th century monks who called it the 'mid-day demon' or Aquinas; you'll find the same answer. Slothfulness is caring about the wrong things over [and often against] what is truly important.

             If someone overheard a conversation in which two people were talking about the value of children and listened as a participant claimed she was not able to stand even the sight of them, what would be the conclusion of the one who was eavesdropping? Should he conclude that the value of children is a relative thing? Or, should he rightly understand there is no change in a child's value and the true problem is with the one who cannot stand them? The answer is self-evident.

             In a similar way, I fear I have lost my grasp of beauty. Beauty can be a terrible thing to deal with, and I find I seem to run away from it rather than contend with the Truth it resonates with. Beauty is an abstract notion we use to say identify something too marvelous to fathom: the presence of God. I often view time as the string of an instrument. When the string is plucked, Truth is the resounding note with Beauty in the overtones. When I hear that string being plucked, it seem as though all moments are one moment. There is only an ever-present yes which beckons the World to 'taste and see. . . .'

             So yesterday, I realized [like the conversation about children] Beauty and Truth were not subjects of negotiation. The problem was so simple I had hitherto missed it: I had chosen to care about relatively trivial things. The result has been utter depression. I thought I was sad because things just never seemed to work out. How silly. It has nothing to do with how things 'work out.' It has everything to do with the choice to care, meditate, ponder, and invest in things Eternal.

             So, it is another moment when I must hit the reset button. It's funny, I've hit that button so many times but I must still be the most stubborn thing God ever created. It's not dramatic either, just another moment when I throw up my arms in a huff and grudgingly mutter, “you win.” I'm glad too. I'm an idiot.

Tonight, God bless all of us.

Richland Baptist Church:

Ten years old, young and curious;

go to an evening church service.

Get out of the car and walk

into the sanctuary with mom and dad.

The service begins.

Watch a man with a sweating brow take

off his tan jacket and dip his

finger tips in a bowl of water.

Everyone waits in expectation.

He puts his finger tips on

the rims of goblets moving

in slow circles.

Varying levels of water with varying notes;

never seen this before,

but it is [in another way]

familiar.

He tells the congregation about Jesus.

Some folks go forward, most stay put.

Tomorrow, his wife will do a demonstration on the marimba

before he speaks; a potluck supper will follow the service.