At Play

Frolicking with my 3-year-old the other day reminded me of the many values of laughter, play and games. Franky Schaeffer wrote in his book Addicted to Mediocrity that such frolicking as i was doing with my son was divine, or of the divine. Aside from the now documented medical benefits of laughter, there are other benefits of laughter and play which are good for the soul. Prov. 17:22 counsels us in this same way.

My apologetics professor at Westminster Theological Seminary, Dr. William Edgar, was fond of saying that the invention of games and such were indications of Imago Dei because our creativity was at work at developing something which had no purpose outside of itself, and thus, really did not fit any sort of evolutionary explanation.

In the realm of laughter, i cackled upon seeing the picture of John Calvin in a party hat with balloons at kyriosity. And for a good chuckle, i recommend the film A Merry War.

In his book Hungering Dark, Frederick Buechner skillfully explores the ways in which God makes appearances in our lives and unsettles us _ intentionally _ that we might see Him and ourselves truly.

There is in Buechner's writing a willingness to talk about the well-trod paths of Christianity in a way which challenges conventional thinking on things such as why the story of Noah and the flood gets repackaged into a children's story when the topic is the destruction of the world due to sin run amok. Buechner suggests that society, Christians and non-Christians alike, are not up to the task of really taking the reality of the flood to heart, and thus the story gets reduced to a children's tale to ease our discomfort.

Such is the danger, i suppose, when Christians choose comfort over a vibrant relationship with God. It is all too easy to equate God with safety and comfort because our flesh longs for those things. Yet, at every turn, the Biblical account is of a very different sort of life, and once found, that life is vibrant, adventurous and invigorating _ even in its challenges and valleys.

Certainly, Psalm 23 is instructive on this point, as is Romans 5.

Among the prevalence of decadence in our voyueristic society, God's goodness and grace still shine through in subtle and not-so subtle ways. The heaviness and strangeness of the world cannot be measured, and thus a celebration of beauty is due.

In particular, Shakespeare's Sonnet 18, and Lord Byron's She Walks in Beauty.

i came across an interesting quote the other day; unfortunately i cannot remember where.

Tradition is the living faith of the dead. Traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.

i thought about the implications of this quote on the church in America today. it seems so much of what is passing as Tradition in church today is actually Traditionalism. consequently, any talk of new approaches to communicating the timeless truths of the Gospel and Orthodoxy are met with, at best, indifference, and at worst, animosity.

fortunately, Christ is our example and he rejected, wholeheartedly, Traditionalism, while upholding authentic Tradition.

One, Two, Three Strikes _ You're Out _ At The Old Ballgame

Stephen Hayes writes an interesting piece on the travesty which we call baseball and why the "All-star" game the other night was strangely fitting.

Like Hayes, i too left baseball many years ago. Today's version is far from being anything i can get excited about. Francis Mooney once told a story about a good friend of his who is a devout baseball fan who has not seen a game in years for _ as i recall _ much the same reasons as those Hayes discusses.

There's something about baseball today which is heartless, and in a world where there is already so much heartlessness, i don't want to watch others be heartless. And all this talk of baseball and heart brings to mind You Give It All Your Heart by Bill Mallonee.

Yeah, you give it all your heart
'cause that 's the way you play the game
ever since the smell of fresh cut outfield grass . . .
you've always been this way.

From the oil upon your leather glove . . .
to the sharp crack of the bat
from the faces on the trading cards . . .
to the stats upon the back.

You give it all your heart . . .
'cause they come to see you swing.
you learn to nurse your own hurts
and hope the coach doesn't susspect a thing.
Sure it is a longshot . . .
but that sky seemd oh so clear;
we may not make it out of the bush leagues, honey,
but that's not why we're here.

Now ever since the first game,
it's been deep inside of you.
Was it a music only you could hear?
when the count was 3 and 2?
But ever since you picked up the wood,
you can't seem to put it down.
You cannot get enough of it, so you roam from town to town.

And som call it your passion,
some call it your gift;
You know, the way you read the windup
and the nuance of each pitch.
But the whole thing felt like something else
when we walked onto that field;
it was like a language you must learn to read
for a base that you must steal.

No, you may not win the pennant,
you may not drink champagne;
it's not whether you win or lose,
but how you play the game.
The heroes aren't as many
the scoreboard's not as bright,
but somewhere some kid gets it all
when he swings that wood tonight.

I once knew a woman,
she asked her son to shine her shoes;
She put a quarter in each one
'cause she thought that was his due.
But he returned the money,
and when she asked him why that was
he said: "Mom, I'm old enough to know by now
you just do some things for love."

Yeah, you give it all your heart
'cause that's the way you play the game.
ever since the smell of fresh-cut outfield grass
we've always been this way.
And sure it is a longshot,
but the sky seemed oh so clear.
We may not make it out of the bush leagues, honey,
but that's not why we're here.

A song about baseball and so much more than baseball.

Taking Inventory

There is a fine line between healthy reflection and the paralysis of self-absorbing introspection. On the one side there is a mingling of sorrow and joy _ ultimately redemptive _ and on the other, self-loathing and pride.

Certainly the only real hope is that He will restore the years eaten by the locusts, and thus an appropriate mention of Locust Years by Vigilantes of Love.

There is a beauty in coming to that point where all the false structures i use to prop myself up need to be dismantled, and He must be the one to destroy them because i cannot . . . i am a glutton for my doom. i can no longer maintain those facades and my ability to use smoke and mirrors runs dry. There is a glory in the shipwreck He brings, such that i stop running and in my exhaustion call to God _ echoing the chorus to Locust Years_ Come have Your way with me.

His mercies are new every morning. Lam. 3:22-23.

Happy Birthday

Today is my niece Caroline's 8th birthday, which is a blessing in many ways. Caroline suffers from Smith Magenis Syndrome and yet she is an incredible messenger of joy. One of the things Caroline has taught me is that usually the best God has to offer in life comes from not trying to keep up with what everyone else is doing. Caroline moves at her own pace and is intensely relational; she always takes time to ask questions of me or others, in an attempt to really get to know us.

It is easy to look at Caroline and think of all the ways she is different from other 8-year-olds, but through her condition she has found a treasure so many others miss. I doubt my life would be as rich as it is without her.

Fierce Love [Gen. 32:25]

I need a fierce love to wrestle me to the ground.
I need a fierce love when I'm down and dirty.
I need a fierce love that won't take "no" for an answer.

I've changed wine into water;
I could be drowning in it.
The sirens call my name, and it's so insane.
I think, I think . . . I think I'm going under.

Sink or swim . . . You're calming the storm . . . out of the boat . . . You're calling me close.

I am slumming through my ghetto in the shadow of Babylon;
My heart needs a resting place.
I am squandering the sacred,
Protecting the profane.

You say: "Look into My eyes."