Listening

I play music by ear. Long ago I was able to read some music, but that skill quickly faded and now I'm almost completely dependent on my ears to help me along the right way. Because I have developed this skill, I can quickly pick out wrong notes and seek to fix them almost instantly - unfortunately when listening to someone else, an easy fix isn't always possible. This past weekend I played a show with my band and I could barely hear myself; I found out afterwards that it was partly because the monitor mix was messed up, but it was very difficult for me to play because the sense I relied so heavily on, had failed me.

I can listen very acutely while I make music and so am able to make judgements that benefit the overall performance. Yet I am a terrible listener, I always have been really. Originally it was because I assumed that I was right, then it became a habit. When I realized I wasn't always right, I found it easy to discredit the people who were "probably wrong", even if I was wrong too.

I don't even listen to God all that often. I move ahead, mocking those who sit and wait on the word of the Lord as being idolatrous and idle. Oh, every now and then I would pause and make sure I had the "All's clear" but mostly it's been my show. With very little regard for anyone else, friends, family or God, I have arrogantly made my way. Justified in my pride by the "knowledge" that I was right, or superior, or...

I try to listen, or at least I think I do - but I have so much to say and if I don't say it, somebody might miss out on some important truth? Right?

This summer I spent a lot of time by myself, listening to the radio mostly. I really listened, giving the people on air the benefit of the doubt, taking time to think through their position, not cutting them off with my own interjections; because really, that would have been futile. For some reason I can't listen to people though. Although this has been getting ever so slightly better.

Perhaps I learned not to listen because I realized I didn't want to hear what people were saying. Things like, "you've hurt me" or "you're being petty" or (worst of all!) "you're wrong". In the arrogance of youth  I didn't want to accept any consequences, but yet there are always consequences, to both good actions and bad.

I can't really change anything that I've done, and honestly, I'm not sure if I would want to. Sure I regret certain things, or at least how I reacted, but they needed to happen. At least my life has made me realize I need to listen. As a musician, I really should have known that.

So this year, maybe I'll listen more. I'd like to promise that I will, but promises that I can't keep aren't the best promises to make. I can talk less. Maybe that's it, talking less, and in the silence, being forced to listen more.

I've done much talking lately about learning the language of a community. I've now spent two years speaking the language of a community that I did not bother listening to first in order to learn it properly. Maybe, in these last months, I can pause from speaking to listen, and in listening, learn how to speak.

"Let us hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church..."

Sagebrush Philosophy

My great-grandfather was an amazing man. He was a pioneer, inventor and poet. When Canada had a competition to create our national anthem, he submitted a song entitled, "Canada, my Canada". This song actually won the competition, but because of the remote location in which he lived, my grandfather never found out soon enough to claim the prize and so "O Canada" was chosen instead. My mom recently gave me a book of my grandfather's poetry called Sagebrush Philosophy and I have been enjoying it immensely, here is one poem that I'd like to share with you.

When Comes the End of Wars?

When man to man shall brothers be
And all the world from bondage free,
No starving poor midst luxury,
Then comes the end of wars.

When Total War has made men see
The Light so they may well agree
That nations must united be
To put an end to wars;

When all the world has seen the fate
Of selfish crimes as up to date, When all unite to guard each state
Then comes the end of wars.

"It can't be done," we hear some say,
For there are those who think and pray
That all the world must run their way
Whate'er the cost of wars.

In eighteen-hundred-sixty-one
The same old cry, "It can't be done,"
  'Twas fought by every mother's son -
A bitter civil war.

In the land of the free and the home of the brave
The South declared the North were knaves
To order freedom of their slaves;
They claimed a righteous war.

They'd bought their human slaves with gold
As chattels by the law to hold,
  To work till they were dead and cold.
They asked God's help at war.

Their slaves showed loyalty complete,
They meekly bathed their master's feet
So they might have corn bread to eat,
  Why, then, a cause for war?

'Twas Honest Abe who then did say
That some must learn the hard, hard way,
That justice will at last hold sway
Whate'er the cost of war.

The slaves were freed; the battle done;
The North and South have since been one;
And one they'll be till Kingdom Come -
A union bought with war.

Roosevelt and Churchill out at sea
In that great charter did agree
That "Mankind must alike be free;
This war must end all wars.

"Freedom from want where all may share
God's wealth of land, of sea and air;
Of independence everywhere
When Justice outlaws wars."

When Armageddon tales are told
Of statesmen and of warriors bold
Who fought for freedom, not for gold,
And won the last great war;

When Total War these words explain
"Ye humans must be born again,"
So peace on earth may ever reign,
That war will end all wars.

- Victor W. Heydlauff

With Fear and Trembling

It is said, "Work out your salvation with fear and trembling". I come before you and openly admit that I am afraid.

I look to this upcoming year and realize that I can't do it. I don't want to do it. I don't want to go back to school. I don't want to face all of my responsibilities. I can't face my friends yet. I'm not ready for my studies. I don't have the strength, the energy, the faith, the money.

But of course I can't. I'm not supposed to. To think I've spent an entire year expounding on Missio Dei to once again forget that it is God's mission and not my own. I truly cannot make it through this year. Knowing that ahead of time may prove to be my one chance at survival. If I can do something on my own, thank-you God (but please don't interfere).

The stress is back; bringing with it the heartburn, the fatigue, the lack of sleep, the depression, the anxiety, the quiet desperation. Why? In place of Faith - doubt, for Hope - Despair, and Love - naught but a twisted depiction. Fortunately, paradoxically, these three remain, despite my ignorance.

And so I shoulder my cross, noting as I do that it seems not to weigh as much as I thought it would upon its appearance. (Matt. 11:30)

Missions Trips

Sooo... As I prepare to go back to school to my job as Missions Rep I suddenly have this video pop up on my screen. And yes, I am planning on leading a group of students to the DR on a missions trip over spring break. I could try to rationalize my actions or simply offer up a Kyrie Eleison.

In the words of Jesus (?) "There's that, and there's that"

Psalm 32 - Confession and Call

"Blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered" (Psalm 32:1)

So says the psalmist, small comfort to the one wallowing in sin. The poetry speaks for itself, damned is the unforgiven; woe to the naked sinner!

Augustine Confession rings true, "Now behold, let my heart tell You what it sought there: that I should be gratuitously evil, not being tempted with anything but evil itself. It was foul, and I loved it." Like a pig in a sty, willingly rolling in filth for the immediate self-pleasure such activities bring.

Desperately, rabidly, I repeat the litany, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner..." but the mumbling whispers fail to reach up even to my own ears, never mind the ears of some enthroned deity. Like the pilgrim in Bunyan's book, I crawl burdened towards the cross, unlike him I refuse to leave that burden there, dreading the thought of revealing myself to walk upright into some foreign kingdom.

Satan's claim is sure, there is no escape from that, his chains are forged in the fires of my own sin. But, as I struggle to avoid that hideous cross, the One upon it slowly fixes me in his gaze, "I have called you by name, you are Mine."

I am my own, I am free, I am lord. Yet even in my blinded stupor I can see the hollowness of those claims as chain after chain raps around me, binding me to a terrible master, bonds that are of my own making.

Why would he want me, that one on the cross, and what authority has he to make such a claim? Unfortunately the way he spoke leaves no room to doubt his authority.

It makes no sense, what good am I? I am useless - bound as I am hand and foot - incapable of anything good or productive. I scream up at him, "Leave me alone, you don't want me, nobody does." The self-loathing that has long been my comfort and goad rises up; my simultaneous shield and weapon.

"Your sins are forgiven", says he.
"You know I'll do it again", I retort.
"Your sins are forgiven."

That's it. Silence, nothing happens, nothing changes. I continue on, clutching the chains that suddenly feel loose upon my body. Weary and burdened I continue on with that inescapably harsh judgement ringing in my ears, "Your sins are forgiven".

On I go loving my sin, while paradoxically begging for release, and every now and then, my litany of "....have mercy on me a sinner..." is subtly interrupted by a voice saying, "Your sins are forgiven".