Cascade

My love is a flame.
My love is a passion burning bright,
Much more than a name,
and it came like a thief in the night.

My love is a flame.
My love is more than this mere flicker.
My heart cannot hold
the raging inferno within me.

My love is galaxy of falling stars,
Splendid cascade, without equal;
Gladly light up the night with my heart.

Catch me as i fall,
And do not fear the burn,
Surely this is all;
It's to catch and be caught that i yearn.

It looks like i am pretty late to the party, but i just found Chasing Hats and i recommend it _ as though my recommendation really means so much.

Here is a link to something else stolen from John Barach. The thought of an arts reformation is near and dear to my heart. The need for Christians to recover a Biblical view of art cannot be overstated. For a more involved exploration of my thoughts on this, visit my archives and read Doxology.

i do not know specifics about the conference to which John refers in his essay, but the points he mentions from the lectures sound pretty good to me.

Station No. 11

Charles and Jason sat by the cafe window talking excitedly about art and music. Dave Brubeck’s Take Five was wafting through the cafe and the wind swirled the fallen leaves on the sidewalk outside. Warmth filled Charles, he felt as though he were home.

Jason was a painter who had not seen enough fruit from his labors and decided to open the cafe instead. He painted in his spare time, and many of the pieces hanging on the walls in the cafe were his creations. Charles took note of them all as Jason told some of the stories behind particular ones.

There was an irresistible aspect to Jason which Charles had never experienced with anyone else. He was receptive and welcoming. When Jason spoke it was as though Charles was seeing the man’s true heart and soul without a hint of pretense. Charles was astounded.

A smug sense of self-satisfaction crept into Charles’ heart as he sat in the cafe. Having such smart conversations with Jason was one of the crucial things which set Charles apart from people like Rosa, he thought.

“Surely, Rosa would have nothing to share in such interactions,” Charles said to himself. “A man like Jason would have no time for a meddling, bungling, quirky old woman like Rosa,” he mused in his heart.

A wry grin formed on the edges of Charles’ mouth and he reached for his cup. Jason took note of the expression.

Charles could not see it in himself, for no man can, but he was quick to reach judgments about people when he actually had very little knowledge by which to reach conclusions about others’ preferences or personalities or strengths or weaknesses. In fact, Charles was simply looking for boxes in which to put people in order to feel more safe and comfortable in his own predispositions.

As Charles lowered his cup his eyes met Jason’s, and they seemed to penetrate his very soul; as though Jason could see everything about Charles in that moment. Yet, as unsettling as that was, Charles felt completely safe.

Then, as though pulling on a loose thread in a way which threatens to unravel a sweater, Jason asked — without knowing the magnitude of the question: “So, Charles, what’s your story?”

The guys at Veggie Tales have been making clever, creative, humorous videos of the first order for years. Now, with Jonah, they have brought us a thoroughly entertaining and insightful film. Jonah incorporates plenty of elements to entertain adults as well as children, and is well worth the trip to the theater.

Quite frankly, it's hard to imagine that much creativity and talent in one place at one time.

i stole the following from John Barach.

Classical epic ... leaves us with three fundamental theological options: Heaven rings with the petty squabbling of adolescent gods, which means the world is not under control at all, or heaven and earth are ruled by a heavenly Führer, or things are governed by an impersonal and faceless power that grinds along, indifferent to humanity or justice. Take your pick: chaos, totalitarianism, or determinism. Whichever you choose, the world is a pretty grim place, with no hope for redemption....

By contrast, the Bible proclaimed from the beginning that there is one God, Yahweh, who created the world good and rules all things. Violence and evil are not written into the fabric of creation but are due to sin and His righteous judgment on sin, and therefore there is hope of redemption from evil. Ultimate reality is not a gaggle of gods, nor an autocrat, nor an impersonal Fate. Rather, ultimate reality is Three Persons in an eternal communion of love. Above us is a God who is love, whose love overflows in creating a world He did not need and in redeeming a world that had turned from Him. Heaven is not a battlefield or a prison; it is a dance hall filled with song. And, one day, earth will join in (p. 21).

Thanks, John.

Sheldon Vanauken was a very talented writer who died in October 1996. Perhaps his best known work, A Severe Mercy was a masterfully written piece about his true life love and their journey from pagan idealists to believers in Christ. Instrumental in their conversion was C.S. Lewis, whom they met when they travelled to England.

Other works which deserve just as much attention are Under The Mercy and Gateway to Heaven. Vanauken's writing style is smooth and descriptive without being verbose. He weaves elements in and out of these stories in a truly seamless fashion.

Under The Mercy is the sequel to A Severe Mercy and it chronicles Vanauken's journey through life after tragedy strikes in the first story. Gateway to Heaven is fiction, but bears some similarities to the real life story of Vanauken and his wife. What is of particular note is the way Vanauken tells the story in Gateway to Heaven by making it seem that the reader is actually reading the personal diary of one character, but then he changes the perspective and the reader is inside the diary of a different character.

i highly recommend a visit to xavier+, which is the site of Francis Mooney. His Oct. 20 entry describing his train ride is vivid and insightful in its own way.

After painting with his words, he gives us the great hymn Be Thou My Vision as a way of truly linking the beauty on earth to the great Beauty of our Creator. Reading the entry touched my heart with warmth. i think you will enjoy it also.

Neil Finn has had an interesting career musically. Along with his brother Tim Finn, Neil had a role to play in the 1980s alternative / progressive band Split Endz, which then became Crowded House.

Neil Finn's solo career has been equally, if not moreso, interesting. Of note is his album Try whistling this . . . Without question, there are tracks on the album which have a Split Endz flavor.

Station No. 10

Charles got himself out early for a long walk with the dog. He hadn’t been sleeping well for several days, just how long it had been since he slept soundly he could not recall. The brisk air would do him well. His dog was merely an excuse, Charles needed the exercise — both of body and mind — most of all.

Over and over in his mind ran the lines of Chin li.

Breathless,
So much so
I cannot say ‘good-bye.’

Empty,
Desert road,
No tears form when I cry.

Despite the stinging pain which the lines evoked, which was common when he read Chin li’s work, Charles was drawn to them because they revealed something deep inside he could not escape. He had been reading more and more of Chin li in the last month. He would steal away one or two nights a week and sit in a cafe, read poetry and listen to the local musicians who came to test their courage and their craft.

Charles had found a friend in the cafe’s manager, Jason. A more willing ear, Charles could not have imagined. Jason seemed content to simply listen and said very little. Charles was refreshed. Rosa seemed willing, but at times she seemed more interested in mothering Charles, and inserting her own story. Jason was closer to Charles in age, and — being a man — Charles felt he could talk to Jason in a way he could not talk to Rosa.

The refreshing Charles was feeling was crucial. On any given day he was a pendulum ranging from anger to fear to depression. Jason provided a glimmer of hope. Charles found himself looking for more chances to go to the cafe, it was his only therapy.

The dog had been an attempt at therapy, at the suggestion of a grief counselor who had said that after the loss of a loved one a domestic pet would help Charles’ spirits. But actually, the dog had turned out to be more work than pleasure, although on this particular morning Charles realized his companion had a strange comforting effect. Othello, a black lab from an animal shelter nearby, was panting excitedly, his tail wagging rapidly.

Charles had been out in the chill long enough now that the thought of Jason’s cafe and a cup of house blend were especially warm and inviting. A faint smile crept across his face as he turned and headed for the cafe.