Kentology

Old Manion and the Little Brick Church

2011-08-22T12:53:00.000-07:00

In spite of what he deemed his better judgment, Mr. Manion bought the little house next to the little brick church across from Hawthorn Community Center. It had changed a number of times, this little church, since old Manion had taken possession of his very private abode almost 40 years previous.

When he moved in it was called simply St. Lukes, and Manion decided he knew enough about the trajectory of little churches like this one, and could count on its shutting its doors soon enough. By this point a handful of old people and a couple of sentimental ex-hippies were all that remained of what was once a thriving community of believers.

Manion had his way. By his third year of residence the doors were locked and weeds began to take over the front yard of the little brick church.

It was at great personal cost that Manion tended the church garden while it stood empty for the better part of a year and a half. And while he had only taken up the task in order to keep the weeds from bleeding over into his own lavish garden, he was much admired by the more tenderhearted of the neighbors on Hawthorn Street.

You can imagine his cacophony of emotions, then, when New Creation Church and Worldwide Ministries Inc. took possession of the building. Actually, he only had about three emotions at his disposal, old Manion, consisting of anger, smugness, and regular (which might be described as a mix of anger and smugness with a bit of bitterness and depression). But on the occasion of NCCWM Inc. taking over care of the garden, he was a bit relieved. Not that he disliked the task itself, but he couldn't stomach the bright smiles and head nods from little old ladies with cotton-candy-bouffants, squinting against the sun at him while pulled weeds or mowed the grass. He never intended to do anybody else a favor. He just hated weeds. Or to hear him say it, he "haaaaaated weeds!" But as I say, he was relieved to hand over care of the garden, but a bit solicitous about the newcomers on Sundays and Wednesdays, and random times during the week, cluttering up the streets and making way too much noise with their "good mornings" and "hey brothers" and such false merrymaking.

NCCWM Inc. grew faster than the weeds that formerly besplattered her lawn and it wasn't long, maybe 5 years or so, before a planning committee was arranged to discuss an add-on that would include a new gymnasium and a kind of youth ghetto complete with colossal time-wasters and beanbags on which to give and receive back rubs (provided you were holy enough for such attention). There was even a point when this gregarious committee entertained the idea entertained the idea of remodeling the church's facade to more of a this-is-not-your-grandma's-church aesthetic.

But alas, the pastor - the one with more suits than memory could contain, and a great blue-black Ken doll hairdo - was caught in an affair before the planning committee could agree on carpet color for the mezzanine, or foyer, or narthex, or whatever the antechamber with the "wait here and smile a bit" feel about it is called. This would have caused a scandal, but the congregation had such implicit worship for the man that they couldn't quite decide what to make of the whole thing. And on top of that, some very sharp looking men in very dark suits with titles ranging from "The Reverend" to "Bishop" came and spoke vaguely about looking ahead and forgetting the past, and made promises about God's abundant blessing on those who honored the anointed ones - at this there was a lot of chest puffing by the suits.

It all took some time to sort out, but only about a third of the congregation left, and they were just the rabble-rousers anyway - the type that quote scripture about adultery being sinful. But, unfortunately for NCCWM Inc. these were also the only ones who made any real contribution to the coffers and very soon NCCWM Inc. had to drop the "WM Inc." part and give up most fo the remodeling project.

This eased old Manion's labored breathing considerably and he took to scowling less at the remaining congregants, especially as they took to scowling far more. Pastor Oily Joe, as Manion was fond of referring to him, was sent to some other unsuspecting congregation under vague pretenses, and was replaced by the youth minister, who had a homier look and a nice singing voice. But as time wore on it became apparent even to the most ancient and staunchest of the NCC churchgoers that he had no gift for preaching, at which point many took to grumbling.

The habit caught on like a fashion trend. Soon enough the Lord's Day feast was replaced in many homes by lively gripe fests where many slogans were invented and traded like hot commodities.

Old Manion looked on from his front porch, reading faces and general demeanors and began to ready himself to take up care of the church's lawn. Very soon Manion again had his wish. The economy slumped and was just the stiff breeze needed to blow the hollow, dry congregation out the front doors of the little brick church.

Having taken up care of the yard, old Manion was aware of a twinge of anxiety that had settled in just below the callous over the left ventricle of his shriveled fig of a heart. He was glad - if it can be called gladness - to have a quiet building as a neighbor, but was aware that nature abhors a vacuum. The next congregation along may be worse than the last, and by the end, NCC was at least solemn and quiet! What a messy business, this - almost as complex as old Manion himself.

He was a bit of a prophet, old Manion. He could predict the weather by the mood of his joints, and his general forebodings were often realized in time. Perhaps it was because he was mostly aches and forebodings, but on this occasion his strenuous brooding was soundly vindicated.

Pastor Vicky, of the newly installed Hawthorn First Presbyterian Church - a P.C.U.S.A.G.L.T.B.Q congregation (an offshoot of an offshoot of the P.C.U.S.A.)- was a tall woman with the countenance, demeanor, and hairdo of a professional politician. Her husband, Bob (Vicky was the only one who called him Robert), was about the same height and stature as Vicky, especially through the shoulders and thighs. Bob had the nervous visage of a shamed beagle. His habit of standing behind and slightly to the left of Pastor Vicky irked old Manion as he glowered across the lawns at the newcomers. Bob, it seemed, was quite a fan of Vicky.

The church services were quite well attended if you only counted the female population. It would seem that this particular church attracted mostly single ladies in their 40's and 50's, with the occasional homogeneous couple consisting of a loud, somewhat angry female, and an even angrier man.

Hawthorn First Pres. was an activist church, though not terribly active if one considers the potential for activity in a neighborhood like the Hawthorn District. Taking into account the several petitions on the front table in the foyer-mezzanine-narthex-antechamber-thingy with the tatty carpet, and the bi-monthly bell choir, it was a congregation full of the latest opinions and not much else.

Pastor Vicky possessed in good measure the kind of cynicism that people mistake for a robust intellect. Every second Thursday of the month she invited a speaker to come and talk about why most of the bible is questionable at best, and in all likelihood, spurious. On Tuesdays she posted on her blog about love and inclusiveness, and why it is a good idea to hate people who actually take scripture seriously. And on Fridays, the good pastor left dear Robert to play on his computer and headed down to The Red Hedgehog for beers and a lively discussion with the ladies where great suggestions were mulled over about the lives of whoever was not currently present.

This lasted several years and old Manion could do nothing but brood and grow older. There wasn't anything particularly disturbing about the church in the way of sensory input, save their reluctant singing on Sundays. They were quiet enough and kept to themselves. Only once had he ever exchanged anything like words with Pastor Vicky, and that was just a short grunt in answer to a question about property lines and a precariously close hedge he had cultivated for the sake of privacy.

Only dear Robert, or Bob ever ventured to talk to old Manion. He was persistent, but Manion questioned his intelligence. This was because Bob seemed oblivious to Manion's obvious disdain for company. (TO BE CONTINUED)

Make a Joyful Noise!

2011-07-07T13:29:00.001-07:00

In Ephesians 5:17-21 we are told, "Therefore do not be unwise, but understand what the will of the Lord is. And do not be drunk with wine, in which is dissipation; but be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord, giving thanks always for all things to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, submitting to one another in the fear of God." (NKJV)

In scripture, music is generally associated with merrymaking, and ceases in times of great distress (Isaiah 55:12; Song of Songs 2:12; Psalm 137; Lamentations 5:14). It is interesting then that this passage tells us to sing and, "give(ing) thanks always for all things." It may be that as those who are deserving of wrath, any mercy, or grace shown to us is impetus enough for perpetual thanksgiving. This may account for giving thanks always. But what about "for all things?" This seems to carry the notion that we are to give thanks because all things are mercy and grace to those who are in Christ. For it is only "in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" that we can give thanks for all things.

Imagine Paul and Silas sitting in jail and singing hymns. " But at midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them." Acts 16:25 (NKJV) Notice they were not singing "in their hearts" as though the prisoners were listening to nothing. They were singing aloud from the steadfastness of their heart's conviction. As the psalmist says, "My heart is steadfast, O God, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and give praise." Psalm 57:7 (NKJV) And what was the basis for the steadfastness of their hearts? In Paul's own words, " For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, 39 nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39 (NKJV)

Therefore, let us also make a joyful noise to the Lord!

Commencement Speech 2011 for The Oaks Classical Christian Academy

2011-06-17T13:31:00.000-07:00

Class of 2011, fathers, mothers, members of the faculty and board of directors, families and friends, thank you for affording me this opportunity to speak to you. It really is a tremendous honor to be asked to encourage you on what is likely one of your most momentous occasions to date. But as our own Mr. Kimball wisely observed, every honor has its down side. While it is a great honor for Mr. Palpant to be chosen teacher of the year by a member of the Lilac Court, it does require he ride on float and wave at the crowd. Likewise, while it is quite flattering to be asked to give a commencement address to a very fine group of soon-to-be-graduates, it does require you have something to say.
The reality of this hit me about two days after I accepted the invitation and I began to panic . . . but then I realized the up side to the whole thing. At least now I would not have to listen to the commencement speaker. But I am afraid the same is not true for you. And, on an occasion when you deserve much better than the kind of trite bumper sticker platitudes that do little more than reveal the speakers high regard for his own intellect, I thought it best to convey something a very wise man showed me. But first, here is a little reading from satirist Terry Pratchett’s book The Wee Free Men. Please lend an ear:

"Witches are naturally nosy,” said Miss Tick, standing up. “Well, I must go. I hope we shall meet again. I will give you some free advice, though.”
“Will it cost me anything?”
“What? I just said it was free!” said Miss Tick.
“Yes, but my father said that free advice often turns out to be expensive,” said Tiffany.
Miss Tick sniffed. “You could say this advice is priceless,” she said, “Are you listening?”
“Yes,” said Tiffany.
“Good. Now...if you trust in yourself...”
“Yes?”
“...and believe in your dreams...”
“Yes?”
“...and follow your star...” Miss Tick went on.
“Yes?”
“...you’ll still be beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren’t so lazy. Goodbye."
I include this because I am supposed to give you advice and this came to mind because in one short, pithy statement it seems Miss Tick had demolished the very foundation of every Disney movie, and most graduation speeches.

So, now that the advice part is out of the way, allow me to relate this story that is perhaps far too familiar. You may wonder at my choice, considering all of the manifold wisdom in scripture from which to choose. But this is commencement, and what is a commencement but the beginning of a thing. You are starting out, and we are gathered here to witness the conferring of diplomas which is to say, “Congratulations, that part is done. A new part begins.” This is precisely the moment to lift our heads and take a look around; the time to take stock and compare where we are with where we want to go. We get to draw back a bit, into our more poetic impulses to take a look at our narrative like a frozen stream; the architecture of several instances in a single moment. It is an appropriate time to give thanks to God for his graciousness and have our minds renewed. And it is at these moments that a good reminder of the main things is most suitable. So please prepare your ears, and your hearts for this story from Mark’s Gospel, 14:53-72.

And they led Jesus away to the high priest; and with him were assembled all the chief priests, the elders, and the scribes. 54 But Peter followed Him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the high priest. And he sat with the servants and warmed himself at the fire. 55 Now the chief priests and all the council sought testimony against Jesus to put Him to death, but found none. 56 For many bore false witness against Him, but their testimonies did not agree. 57 Then some rose up and bore false witness against Him, saying, 58 "We heard Him say, 'I will destroy this temple made with hands, and within three days I will build another made without hands.' " 59 But not even then did their testimony agree. 60 And the high priest stood up in the midst and asked Jesus, saying, "Do You answer nothing? What is it these men testify against You?" 61 But He kept silent and answered nothing. Again the high priest asked Him, saying to Him, "Are You the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?" 62 Jesus said, "I am. And you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven." 63 Then the high priest tore his clothes and said, "What further need do we have of witnesses? 64 You have heard the blasphemy! What do you think?" And they all condemned Him to be deserving of death. 65 Then some began to spit on Him, and to blindfold Him, and to beat Him, and to say to Him, "Prophesy!" And the officers struck Him with the palms of their hands. 66 Now as Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant girls of the high priest came. 67 And when she saw Peter warming himself, she looked at him and said, "You also were with Jesus of Nazareth." 68 But he denied it, saying, "I neither know nor understand what you are saying." And he went out on the porch, and a rooster crowed. 69 And the servant girl saw him again, and began to say to those who stood by, "This is one of them." 70 But he denied it again. And a little later those who stood by said to Peter again, "Surely you are one of them; for you are a Galilean, and your speech shows it." 71 Then he began to curse and swear, "I do not know this Man of whom you speak!" 72 A second time the rooster crowed. Then Peter called to mind the word that Jesus had said to him, "Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny Me three times." And when he thought about it, he wept.
Mark 14:53-72 (NKJV)
Have no fear! I will not be asking you to outline this chapter, find Mark’s thesis, or memorize two main events from it! What I do want to point out is the particular way Mark conveys this story. It is not entirely peculiar to Mark, though, because Matthew conveys it in a similar manner. But I want you to notice the form of the story. It is clear that each of the Gospel writers arranged their narratives to best support their intended message, and our job is to pay attention not only to the words, but to the arrangement.
Notice that Mark uses a literary device that we might call cross-cutting. It is the kind of thing we often encounter in the movies. I don’t know if you are familiar with the movie The Godfather starring Al Pacino and Marlon Brando. Your parents may be more familiar, but there is a scene toward the end of the film where Pacino’s character, Michael Corleone, is at the baptism of his godchild. This is the scene from which the movie gets its name. He is becoming the godfather.
Michael Corleone is the son of Mafia Don Vito Corleone. At the beginning of the film he is squarely opposed to the criminal life of his father. But throughout the move, his loyalty to his family has made him move to the point where in this scene, after the death of his father, he is in a beautiful cathedral at the baptism of his nephew, while at the same time his hit men are carrying out revenge against a rival gang that Michael has staged. The scene cuts between Michael taking holy vows and his lackeys carrying out his bloody orders.
“Michael, do you believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth?”
“I do.”
One man is gunned down in his home.
“Do you believe in Jesus Christ His only Son our Lord?”
“I do.”
Another is killed in cold blood.
“Do you believe in the Holy Ghost, and the Holy Catholic Church?”
“I do.”
And another . . .
“And do you renounce Satan?”
“I do renounce him.”
And another . . . And another . . .
“And all his works?”
“I do renounce them.”
Clearly the intent is to show Michael’s hypocrisy and hardheartedness. That he could steel himself for such a blatant lie as this is a powerful exposition of his depravity.
We have much the same kind of thing in this story from Mark, and I think Mark desires that his readers meditate on it. We can easily understand the meaning of the cross-cutting in The Godfather. What is Mark trying to convey here?
In this narrative we have cross-cut scenes from inside where Christ stands before the High Priest, and outside in the courtyard is Peter, the one who only hours before swore he would not deny his Lord. Indeed, he was ready to follow Jesus to his death while within the comfort and security of the upper room.
I’m sure the contrast is already apparent. There Christ stands facing accusation after accusation, the lie of which can be seen by their disagreement. And he says nothing.
I wonder how he looked. Serene? Sad? There must have been no hostility or resentment on his countenance because the High Priest obviously becomes exasperated.
“Do you answer nothing?”
There stands Christ facing the agitated officialdom and he looks on without a word. Then the High Priest asks a legitimate question, the answer to which he must not have expected.
“Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?”
“I Am.”
Jesus finally opens his mouth and condemns himself with the truth.
All this and just outside, in the courtyard below, stands Peter facing, not the officialdom, but a maid servant.
What is Peter doing there anyway? All the others have fled, save one disciple known to the High Priest, and Peter had followed close behind. Is this the fulfillment of his pledge? "Even if I have to die with You, I will not deny You!" It is easy to condemn Peter. But try to imagine this. It must have taken a tremendous amount of courage to come this far. But Peter’s stout fortitude was just not up to it when the trial began.
“You also were with Jesus of Nazareth.”
“I neither know nor understand what you are saying!”
And with a lie and curses Peter attempts to save his life.

I shudder to think what my narrative would look like cross-cut this way. Would there be the faithful churchgoer set against the lazy husband? Or maybe the encouraging choir director against the grouchy, impatient father? What would yours look like? I’m willing to bet you’ve written the script before. Surely the irony has not gotten by you in the middle of Cantabile, or as you sing on Sunday morning. The same mouth that only days, or perhaps hours before mumbled curses or complaints is now employed in the praise of the most high?

But, thank God this is not the way He cross-cuts our story. The fact that Peter failed utterly is hardly big news. That he would later be confronted by Paul for his hypocrisy is only the back story, the context for the truly surprising truth that what God cross-cuts our unfaithfulness with is Christ’s faithfulness. No fact of history is more glorious for us than this, and I doubt any fact is more confounding. Christopher Hitchens, in his book god in not Great seems to agree. He says, “Ask yourself the question: how moral is the following? I am told of a human sacrifice that took place two thousand years ago, without my wishing it and in circumstances so ghastly that, had I been present and in possession of any influence, I would have been duty-bound to try and stop it. In consequence of this murder, my own manifold sins are forgiven me, and I may hope to enjoy everlasting life.”(Christopher Hitchens, 'god is not Great,' p. 208-209). Exactly! When Jesus died for sinners He turned the world on its head!

Why am I telling you the gospel? You already know it. “For goodness’ sake, Mr. Young we’re graduating tonight from a Christian institution.” The answer is simply this. You are about to embark on a journey into uncharted territory. The way is treacherous and you will be tempted to save your life. This was the problem with Peter.
You remember the story of the great confession. Jesus asks who people say He is and the disciples reply with, "Some say John the Baptist, some Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets." But when Jesus asks who they say He is Peter replies, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”
It seems Peter, the standard bearer gets it.
“Blessed are you Simon Bar-Jonah, for flesh and blood have not revealed this to you, but My Father Who is in Heaven.”
But then Jesus begins to teach them that he must go to Jerusalem, encounter various trials, and die. And there is an interesting phrase Matthew uses in telling this part of the story. He says “from that time.” It is as though now the thing is out in no uncertain terms. Peter said it unequivocally and now there can be no question about who this is. But this little phrase - from that time – tells us that we have hit a transitional moment in the story. Here Jesus is with his disciples, and the question that must have been burning in their minds is finally settled. This is the One, the Anointed! Do you know what this means? The anticipation must have been unbearable. What is the plan Lord? What are we going to do? So Jesus tells them. I am going to go to Jerusalem and die. That’s it! That’s the plan!
I am thankful God is not like men. Take a look at all of redemptive history and tell me if this is not completely in keeping with the way God does things. Yet we still don’t get it, and I often imagine God shaking His head and wondering, “Will they ever learn?”
But as I say, Jesus began to teach them that he must go to Jerusalem, suffer various trials and die. So, Peter, perhaps emboldened by the recent benediction has the gall to correct his Lord.
"Far be it from You, Lord; this shall not happen to You!"
To which Jesus sharply responded, "Get behind Me, Satan! You are an offense to Me, for you are not mindful of the things of God, but the things of men."
What Peter did not understand Christ would make clear a few verses later.
"If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. 25 For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. 26
Matt 16:24-26 (NKJV)
What Christ did was twofold. First, Christ secured deliverance from the narrative of condemnation. Your righteousness is in Christ and what God says about you is true. And what does He say? He says you, “are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light; 10 who once were not a people but are now the people of God, who had not obtained mercy but now have obtained mercy.” And for what purpose? Zacharias, in Luke 1:74-75 says that God delivered us, “To grant us that we, Being delivered from the hand of our enemies, Might serve Him without fear, 75 In holiness and righteousness before Him all the days of our life.” Notice, your deliverance is so you might serve without fear.
Secondly, Christ showed us the way things really are. The way to save your life is to give it away. Do you want to live? Take up your cross daily and follow Christ. Do this and you will turn the world on its head.
But, you see, something is still missing. This isn’t the end of the story. You must die, surely. But only in reliance on Christ who promises that you are receiving a kingdom that can’t be shaken. You have not come to the mountain that can be touched with human hands. But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem.
You have received a liberal arts education. This is the education for free citizen. And because of Christ you are free citizens of a heavenly kingdom. So I charge you now, I encourage you, build that kingdom.
You know the gospel. Now go live it. Embrace the glorious dualities. The way up is down. Tyrants are not respected, but true servants are. Often, the one in the room most noticed is the only one who is quiet. The wise are not lofty. The way to enjoy stuff is not to desire it too much. Be humble, but conscious of your royal inheritance. Be meek as a lamb, and courageous as lions. As Chesterton said, “Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of readiness to die.”
The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord make His face shine upon you.
And give you peace,
Amen!

Love Cultivated

2010-06-18T20:34:00.000-07:00

Sound sweeps
Like scented dew drops
Of morning
Engulfing once for all
Like color raptures the dawn,
And finds me
Gentle breeze swept,
Swaying
In warm embraces,
Staying,
Remaining with one
Sanctified to me
Like new identity,
Much for the better!
Much for the worse!

Youthful enticements fade,
And favorite denim,
Knee holes,
Like worn souls,
Requiring mending,
for lack of tending
Like late to bed and early to rise,
Persuade tyranny
Like self guided missals.
Much for the better!
Much for the worse!

And in the late
shade-drawn-shadow-cast,
With eyes red,
The things said or left unsaid,
Echoing
Like drafty windows,
Exploit my better intentions
and push friendly strangers
Juxtaposed
In similar surroundings,
Much for the better!
Much for the worse!

With teeth locked
Rock grinding
Finding sweet sleep
Amongst needs deep
Like the fashioning of iron
In the FIRE
The Source of the sound,
the scent,
the color,
the dawn,
the sanctity,
the new identity,
CALLS,
Like with a
still small voice,
And says,
"I AM FOR THE BETTER"
so much for the worse!

And rest returns
Rendering love completer
Like vase
Just fulled from the kiln,
With sweltering heat
Like black on skin
With aid from life-giving SUN.
The mud,
The glaze,
The trial by fire,
Unite,
Like rain and stream,
Stream and river,
River and ocean,
And the Crafter
With gifted pleasure
States
And none will rebut,
"IT IS GOOD!"
Much for the BETTER!

So come to me,
Love of my youth,
Forgive my lack of resolve,
Remember my words
Fresh,
Like sweet spring,
And require of me what you will,
Like testing the gallant,
And rewarding trust!
And I will seek
You
With new eyes,
And fire-glazed
Heart!
MUCH FOR THE BETTER!

Friendship's Inquiry

2010-06-18T20:32:00.001-07:00

Have you ever

Danced

In the rain

To the music in your head?

It is, perhaps,

A slower, wiser, dance,

Reminiscent of the weathered

Eyes,

Whose smile and wits within

Eluding.

You know you.

I do not.

It’s raining.

Let’s dance.

Have you ever

Sang

In the rain

An impromptu melody?

It is, perhaps,

A melancholy tune,

Reminiscent of the dreamers

Quirks,

Whose rule and object,

Not disclosing.

You know you.

I do not.

It’s raining.

Let’s dance

Public School Concert

2008-12-16T22:01:00.000-08:00

I suppose the first thing you may expect me to report from having attended a public middle school concert is how much better we, at the private parochial schools, sing and how I was struck by the incessant misdeeds of those public school students, with their loud conversation, sloppy lines, less-than-casual dress. Not a bit of it!!

While these things were all too true of my experience this evening. I was struck most profoundly by their gaze. Primarily by the orientation of their gaze. I always assumed that my students watch the conductor - that is, me - so well because they are well disciplined and know what they ought to be about. While I am certain this accounts for much of the truth, tonight made me wonder if something else were at play here. Those kids - smiling and giving it everything they had (when it occurred to them to do so) - were looking at their fathers. Not all of them, mind you; only the majority of the kids not looking at the director.

How do I know? I don't, for certain. But I watched as best I could when it struck me that a delightful little boy (7th or 8th grade) kept performing little acts of buffoonery and glancing our direction. I noticed a heavily bearded young man, his wife's head on his shoulder, smiling back at the boy. From the looks of it, the little guy desired that smile above all else.

Upon noticing this I took to an unconscious vigil as the students filed past my seat and their heavy perfume became palpable and mixed with stale cigarette smoke of the restless audience. I noticed the longing stare of a young alto at another father sitting a few seats down (and in need of a decent belt by the looks of it). She continued to sing to him, glancing only occasionally at her director.

Lest you think these children were merely stealing glances, let me assure you they were turned, shoulders and all, away from their director and staring at their fathers. The clincher came when as I left the auditorium and saw the young lady in tears asking her mother where "he" was. She kept repeating, "He promised!" and I could only assume she spoke of her father.

Why do my students look at me when I conduct? Well, because they are told to, of course. And because the vast majority of them are sure that their father's gaze is fixed on them. They don't have to look. They have seen plenty, and they are certain dad is smiling. They have the security they need to attend to the task at hand with all their attention.

My heart goes out to the little guy who is not sure.

Man Hugs-

2008-10-23T12:22:00.000-07:00

Click here to learn how to execute a proper man hug.
I confess- I found this on another blog. I am just passing it on for your education and enjoyment.

Oh no- I found another one:

2008-09-12T23:51:00.000-07:00

Watch here. Can we honestly believe in our churches that this kind of stuff is . . . profitable? Beautiful? Holy?
I know that it is hard to watch, but you gotta wait for the guy's solo moon-walking at the end. Wow.
And seriously, how much time did they put in practicing this schtuff?

He'll Zap You- "Zap"-

2008-09-12T22:59:00.000-07:00

Watch here. Wait for the verse that says "Jesus is like a mounty". They must be Canadian, right? Jamie?
And we wonder why the church is where it is today.

Dragons, Fables and The Spruce

2008-06-22T21:13:00.000-07:00

This is my first summer as a teacher that I don't have to work a full time job. As a notorious slacker I decided it was my duty to figure out some things to do with Corbin, my 7 year old, before I wasted the summer eating pop-sickles and complaining that I don't have enough time to take care of the lawn. I'm not much for theme parks or carnivals, but I love to play catch, hike, fish, and shoot BB guns. While these are noble activities, we are landlocked, and generally surrounded by blacktop and cookie cutter modular homes. With gas prices rocketing out of the range of our zero balance budget, I decided we would do well to find a few things to do together at home. Among these things are reading Aesop's Fables, building a fort in the base of the huge blue spruce out front, and drawing mythical creatures.

Here is a picture of my first dragon. I have never been much for drawing but have always admired those who could. I got a gift certificate for Barns and Noble (thanks Schlects) and Corbin found a book on how to draw mythical creatures. I thought, "Why not?" We bought the book and have learned a valuable lesson this week. In order to do art, one must first learn the technique. Yep, it's that simple. The genius may come later, but first, the technique.

This dragon is nothing more than a recreation of what was in the book; nothing original really. I don't know how to draw one from my imagination yet. I can imagine plenty, but I don't yet have the skill to put it on paper. Perhaps a few hundred copies of other people's work will teach me though, and Corbin is having a blast.

Music and Narrative

2008-06-11T14:36:00.000-07:00

Albert Einstein once noted that, “It would be possible to describe everything scientifically, but it would make no sense; it would be without meaning, as if you describe a Beethoven symphony as a variation of wave pressure.” How then do we describe everything? Picking up the theme of Beethoven’s symphonies, how does one describe them? Theorists might speak in terms of sonata allegro form and dominant tonic relationships. This is helpful for students attempting to learn the craft of composition, but as for the meaning of his symphonies, it would be like describing a home in terms of 2x4s and vinyl siding. The musicologist would likely talk about Beethoven’s state of mind and cultural influence while writing each symphony, and thus draw Freudian conclusions about his frustrating childhood and devastating deafness being expressed in his music. But is it necessary to discover the state of mind of a composer in order to understand his music? Many modern analysts would say so, but it is vanity to attempt to get into the mind of a long dead composer in order to apprehend something that he created to be understood on its own. That said, is it better for us to simply trust our visceral perception of the music in order to understand its meaning? While musicologists sicken at the notion that an untrained person might render any legitimate opinion, perhaps the lack of attendees in modern concert halls ought to clue us in to the lack of compelling music being presented there. As for the meaning of a piece of music, however, visceral reactions leave much to be desired. Lack of nomenclature on the part of the listener, and a glut of subjectivity will leads to confusion at best. Can we understand the great music of Beethoven at all? Of course we can. The difficulty lies in the language we use to describe this music.
Many musicians chafe at the notion of speaking about music in any but musical terms, and would have us believe that it is abhorrent to use such linguistic devices as metaphor or simile when describing it. The contention of many is that music has no representative meaning at all. The notion du jour is that music has its’ own meaning, which is a purely musical meaning. What this leaves us with, however, is no recourse for meaningful discourse. One could speak of a building in terms of composition – bricks, steel, glass, and so on – or the dimensions and symmetry, and never represent anything of the common experience of seeing or entering such a building. By common experience, I do not mean personal emotional reactions such as awe, or exhilaration which will likely vary from person to person. One person will view the Grand Canyon with the exhilaration of a conqueror while another will view it with apprehension and nervousness. By common experience I mean that whatever our subjective reaction, when we view the Grand Canyon or a great work of architecture or listen to a great piece of music, we are compelled to move beyond apathy. Our common experience is marked both by fulfillment of expectation and by a heightening sense of anticipation. The Rocky Mountains are a beautiful thing to behold from the high plains of Colorado. The picture from that vantage point both fulfills the certain longings (having to do with our desire for meaning, beauty and so forth), and heightens others (such as a longing to be in the mountains, climb the steep peaks, or explain the existence of such a phenomenon). This is why we can use words such as “majestic” to describe both the Rocky Mountains and a Beethoven symphony. Both of these creations move us through the common experience of fulfillment and anticipation. Furthermore, while we use words like composition, texture, and symmetry to speak of the art of painting or sculpture, and we also use them to talk about architecture. While discussing the literary arts we may use the terms theme, subject, or development, and we find that our musical forefathers saw fit to use just such terminology to describe the composition of fugues and inventions. But we also hear the terms composition, texture, and symmetry which are usually associated with the plastic arts applied to discussions of music composition. One would be hard pressed to find any discussion about music that does not somehow borrow nomenclature from another discipline. So then, how does one begin to understand a piece of music?
There are many questions that one might ask of a musical composition in attempting to get at its meaning. The performer will ask questions to help him along in his quest for a more compelling performance. The composer will ask questions to help him emulate the more compelling elements of the composition in his own work. But whoever the adventurous inquirer, and whatever his role, the common question is, what makes this piece compelling? The most exhaustive answer to this question will, and ought to, contain discussions of harmony and rhythm, melody and counterpoint. But, as previously mentioned, these are elements of the composition, pieces to the puzzle. This is the grammar of music. The way these pieces – the harmony, rhythm, melody, counterpoint and so on – are fitted together to make a cohesive whole is the logic of music. And lastly, the arch discipline for composition is the rhetoric of music.

The idea that music is a rhetorical art is by no means a new one. Rhetoric and music certainly seem to share some natural affinities. For instance, a simple process for writing and delivering an oration could be broken down as follows: inventio, dispositio, elocutio, memoria, and pronuntiatio. Roughly speaking, inventio is finding a subject and all pertinent information for that subject, dispositio is the ordering of material, and elocutio is the actual translation of material into a persuasive argument using certain linguistic devices. Memoria and pronuntiatio deal with memorizing and delivering the oration. While the first three, inventio, dispositio, and elocutio, are dealt with in the composition of a piece, the last two are concerned primarily with the delivery of a piece, or the performance in the case of music. The process of musical composition in a rhetorical sense can be seen as follows:
a) Inventio, including the loci topici
b) Dispositio
a. exordium (introduction, must arouse interest and introduce ideas)
b. narratio (advancing the intended idea)
c. propositio (divisio) (the content and purpose of the oration)
d. confirmatio (arguments in favor of the original idea)
e. confutatio (refutatio) (arguments against the original idea)
f. peroratio (conclusion) (emphatic end)
c) Elocutio (Decoratio) (deals with musical figures, to be discussed later)
d) Memoria
e) Actio, Proninciatio[1]

If music is indeed conceived along rhetorical lines then it follows that there will be other natural affinities with linguistic disciplines that will make the discussion of a Beethoven symphony more meaningful. One worth exploring is story. Can music tell a story? While music (without the aid of lyrics) lacks any propositional meaning, it does have representational meaning. By “representational” I do not mean the kind of base and even crass imitations of birds by the flute section, or ducks quacking by the oboe. By representational, I mean that when a combination of rhythm, melody, harmony, and counterpoint evoke certain emotions in the listener, the listener will in turn find something concrete and familiar to associate what he is hearing with. If, for instance, a composition begins with a soft dynamic with smooth articulations, which rise to a feverous pitch of loud accented notes, and then ends with a minor pulsating section, the listener might imagine a storm that ends with the destruction of a boat, or a fight ending with the death of one of the opponents. But the multiplicity of narrative interpretations gives us a hint as to the relationship. It is a relationship of analogy. A piece of music is not a narrative in the sense that it contains intelligible plot points and characters with names. It is, however, a musical narrative, with musical plot points, and narrative arc, and so on. It is a narrative by analogy. Disney’s Fantasia is a great example of our incessant need to associate wordless music with some sort of story. After all, story is indeed compelling.

Even atheistic, Darwinist, materialists know that ad hoc evidence for natural selection presented by way of a series of propositional statements is not nearly as compelling as a story. Thus we get the privilege of watching the story of Grog getting Mesolithic in his cave dwelling on the Science Channel as evidence of evolution. But when the credits roll we are left empty because, of course, the story is false. We know, if not self-consciously, that true stories are those that tell of death, burial, and resurrection. Our reactions to stories otherwise told are visceral. Take for example the 1989 black comedy Heathers. A good synopsis of this gem of modernity might go something like this; Veronica, a popular high school student, is tired of her mean and false friends, all three of whom are named Heather. She meets Jason Dean, a renegade with a murderous apatite, and the two go on a killing spree disguising each murder as a suicide. The movie ends with Jason Dean committing suicide after Veronica refuses to participate in any more murders and tries to murder him. If that doesn’t make you choke then I don’t know what will. It doesn’t make sense to end the story without consequences for the murderers or redemption for the repentant. In this story there is only death. It is the cinematic counterpart to such modernist music as Wozzek, by Alban Berg. Berg’s music is overrun with discord and jagged rhythms corresponding to the murderous tale of this one act opera. There is little wonder why concert halls were abandoned during first half of the 20th century. Many composers began to view music as a purely mathematical discipline and rejected its linguistic affinities. Their music did not stop telling stories, however. The stories they were telling had simply become distorted.

The question now becomes, how does music tell a story? If it has no propositional meaning, no intelligible plot line, no characters with names and personalities, how can it contain narrative? The answer lies in the element of tension and release, promise and fulfillment, expectation and satisfaction (or perhaps even disappointment or irony). These are the elements that make narrative compelling. We are delighted and surprised by threads of story that interact and weave together to heighten or fulfill expectation. And the best narratives will include concurrent fulfillment and heightening/redoubling of expectation. In his book Theology, Music and Time Jeremy S. Begbie suggests that tonal music is compelling in the same way that history is compelling. He writes, “While not assuming a uniform systematic of promise-fulfillment in the Bible, frequently we are presented with fulfillments of divine promises such that each fulfillment in the past becomes promise for the future.” The resurrection of Christ is one fulfillment that becomes promise for the future. Jesus is, “the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.” The resurrection of Christ marks the fulfillment of one promise – For You will not leave my soul in Sheol (Ps. 16:10) – and the beginning of a new promise that, “in Christ all shall be made alive.”

(TO BE CONTINUED)
[1] Bartel, Dietrich. Musica Poetica: Musical-Rhetorical Figures in German Baroque Music. Lincoln NE:
University of Nebraska Press, 1997. pp. 64-82.

To Be or Not To Bop

2008-06-05T21:19:00.000-07:00

I can’t imagine how we pulled it off; four geeky high school kids sitting in a jazz club in the middle of Pearl Street, Boulder Colorado, as we had on so many Friday nights since one of us had the guts to ask if we could. It was harmless I suppose. Our only intention was to hear live jazz and the bar made tons of money despite the pencil-neck-mop-headed quartet in the corner – I was the only one without a mop-head; my father had spent time in the military. Besides, we ordered plenty of soda and were marked out by a sign on our table that told the waitress not to serve us alcohol (as if she couldn’t have discerned that by the look of us). We were actually a quartet too. I played bass (or at least hoped that what I was doing would some day lead to something that could be called bass playing), John played the drums (he was amazing), Ben was a trombone player (he was great too), and Dave played trumpet (he would attain greatness in his time). We lived this stuff, this jazz. Well, the other guys lived it while I pretended to but merely survived. I liked jazz for certain, I just didn’t get it. Wait, let me back up . . .

I cut my teeth on the early rag and blues. It isn’t hard to get Louie Armstrong, Benny Goodman, or Chick Webb. I even got some of the early Gillespie-Parker bop. Anthropology was one of my favorites! But this stuff I didn’t get.

This particular night at the Round Midnight I would get a taste of just how much I didn’t get. The set began with the guitar player (his name escapes me) and Paul Warburton on the upright bass playing a great, old, swingy thing. I remember being enamored with Mr. Warburton’s bass which had an extra string and sounded quintessential. As I recall, the legend was that he picked it out of a trash dumpster in a back alley in Chicago, and now it’s worth seventy five grand. This jazz I got! It was agreeable – enjoyable. I could immediately perceive the structure and the tune stuck like wet sugar. After the opening tune Ron Miles entered with his signature suite complete with high-water black pants, shiny black shoes, and white socks that seemed to scream, “Look at me,” with each long stride. I had anticipated his arrival due to the dramatic preamble I received on his playing during the almost forty minute trip to the club. Apparently this was the trumpet player to see in the state of Colorado. The tune began and his first note let me know that I was in for a treat, and what a treat it was. The guitar strummed a sustained foundation like an oar pushing a boat slowly and purposefully through calm waters. The bass was sparse and created anticipation that was not to be actualized, rather built upon until I wanted to explode. Then Mr. Miles played a tone that sounded smooth like milk chocolate. I was drenched in sound and lost in a tune so slow that memory couldn’t contain it. When I finally recovered my senses I heard the count off for the next song, “one, two, one two three four!” “Great,” I thought “a swing tune. Oh, but what is this? Be-bop, I can dig it.” I was pulled along on fast ride that seemed to change direction without slowing down. By the time I found my seat and was strapped in the band had whizzed through the “head” twice and were ready for solos. Then things got all messed up! I didn’t get it. These guys were playing things that didn’t seem to make any sense. Not that I wasn’t intrigued. I was mystified, and I wasn’t about to let anyone know it. The last thing I needed was for one of the guys to know that I didn’t understand the music. What would they say? Unfortunately, though, God granted me a face that betrays my every emotion. It’s like a billboard and I have a heck of a time getting away with anything. It was John, I think, who leaned over and said, “He’s taking it ‘outside’.” “Oh,” I said in an attempt to seem as though I had heard of “taking it outside” before in the context of jazz soloing. But I hadn’t, and I really didn’t like it. It was like someone had turned on the stereo in the middle of the tune and the two songs were having it out. My first reaction was akin to that of an early morning with an imposing alarm clock; I wanted to push the snooze-button and get back to the rest I had been enjoying a moment before.

It was some years before I learned to understand this kind of soloing. I worked hard to do so. Apparently there is a close correlation between improvisational jazz soloing and the enigmatic dialect of English, called jive, that a learned and hip faction of the African American community developed during the Harlem Renaissance. Milton “Mezz” Mezzrow wrote on the subject in his book Really the Blues. In the book he recalls standing under the “Tree of Hope” in Harlem where the vipers – those were the modern day equivalent of pot-heads – would hang out and exchange jibes in their new formed tongue. Jive was an ever-changing language and the key to these contests of jibes was not only to put down ones opponent with insults, but to come up with new and novel ways to speak. When the competition became heated it was likely that it would move indoors and the competitors would break out their instruments and continue the competition, but this time it would be with novel riffs (or short musical ideas). This being the case, there is only so much novelty that one can find within a particular idiom. Thus, the be-bop players of the 1940’s and beyond began taking their solos “outside.” Put plainly, they began to play solos that had nothing to do whatsoever with the music over which they were played. They were influenced by the avant-guard with its devolution and disillusion of harmony, and their solos became more and more esoteric and disembodied.

While I can say that I now understand this form of jazz improvisation, I can’t say that I like it much. Granted, it is tantalizing to hear the skill and virtuosity of those who can play jagged modes, pentatonic, and octatonic scales over sixteenth note values at 200 beats-per-minute. It’s like a circus trick. But just as many circus tricks are interesting in that they seek to defy natural laws – God’s laws – these solos are appealing mainly in their defiance. They lack a sense of obedience. The artist seeks to impose his will on a twelve bar form with results tending toward violence. The rules are thrown out and the liberated soloist rages against the harmony that has been so neatly established. I suppose the question to ask about this music is, “outside of what?”

Trippin' (The verbal meanderings of a musician)

2008-06-05T18:57:00.000-07:00

“Momma’s, don’t let yer babies grow up to be cowboys!” Or in the immortal words of Jill Scott, “They say I’m trippin’ the way you got my whole life flippin’.”

Throughout history music and language have been woven in an undeniable tapestry that has both informed and mystified theorists and practitioners of both disciplines. Composers of 17^th century Germany went so far as to adopt rhetorical terminology for musical figures that they supposed corresponded to their linguistic counterpart. Music and language are similar but not identical. Language is uniquely propositional. It has the ability to abstract, to define terms and give meaning. Whereas music is primarily a sensual art, one in which the harmony, rhythm and timbre combine to elicit an emotional response, language has representational meaning. However, in the realm of poetry words become the vehicle for similar affect found in musical discourse. The poet chooses from a panoply sounds, or as Irwin Edman stated in his book Arts And The Man, poetry is, “a music which restricts itself to the sounds which happen to be incarnate in the words of some particular language.” Alliterations and rhymes are the substance of such an incarnation, but by no means the sum. Such words as “cellar doors” and “cherry red bicycle” contain the stuff of whimsical beauty found simply in their phonemes. Great poetry combines the sensuality of well chosen words with devices of logic and rhetoric to render a very complete art. Thus, the marriage of music and poetry has been a powerful artistic endeavor since the dawning of culture.

The role that song has played in history has been immeasurable. Psalms contain words of praise, spiritual lessons, and even prophesy. It is assumed that Greek tragedy was sung and opera was created as an attempt to recapture the ancient art of sung drama. The songs of people have been the medium through which history gains an audience and legends are born. The song seems the most reasonable home for the verbal expression of love, and for that matter hate. It is the medium in which the starkest emotions of man are explored. The poet works in a realm of duplicity, combining the beauty found in the sounds of words and the meaningful discourse of language to which the musician adds the meaning of affect. Every great song, then, begins with great poetry. Take for example Shakespeare’s poem:

Take O’ take those lips away

That so sweetly were forsworn

And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn.

But my kisses bring again

Seals of love,

But sealed in vain.

The greatness of the poem can be immediately apprehended. It is pithy, complete, and the words are beautiful to the ear. Or Robert Frost:

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud --
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

But what of poetry found in the popular songs of today? I am reminded of the crass love poem containing the tag line, “She’s got sauce, yo’ baby ain’t sweet like mine.” Ah, what a lovely sentiment. It seems that our poetry has gone the way of too many pulpit platitudes, it sounds as though we are quoting bumper stickers. Too many modern songs are the stuff of slang and nonsense. Their use of words is culturally idiomatic and certainly less than compelling. And these foibles aren’t relegated to secular music either! Christian artists have fallen lock step (or perhaps a few paces behind), and such silliness as, “Oh, when He rolls up his sleeves he ain’t just puttin’ on the ritz,” comes spewing forth. AH! I don’t even know what that means! “But that is an old and extreme example,” you say. What about the recent song by New Song that extols the resurrection of Christ with the line, “Three days later everybody found out that you can't, no you can't keep a good man down.” We need only compare these words to those of King David to see the vast chasm which is fixed between biblical standards of excellence and what we have embraced.

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.
Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge.
There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.
Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun. Psalm 19:1-4

I am afraid we have extended the right hand of fellowship to those who wish to destroy us. We have been enchanted by the soft voice of the tempter who says, “Really, you don’t want to be marginalized, do you? In order to win you need to be relevant, and what is more relevant than what people already are accustomed to?”

“So what is the answer” you ask? What are we to do? We might start by reading some good poetry. And we must begin singing the psalms.