I have been meaning to change this blog around for quite sometime, basically the format, and well, most other things about it. I have this crazy idea of exploring different beliefs, vantage points, if you will, of certain things within our culture; How they affect the way we interact, think, see, and live. These things especially hold fascination for me because there are multiple ways of looking at things, and in doing so, we sometimes discover that our eyes don't see the way Jesus' would and our hearts don't react the way his would. All I intend (even if it happens in a round-a-bout sort-of way) to do with photography or the words I lay down is to point to Him- and hopefully that is what anyone who chances upon all this will be left with.
So onto Death, most feared of foes.... or so it seems. You can call me morbid. It's ok. Some preliminary questions to juggle around in your head:
Why do we attempt so hard to avoid death?
How does our denial and avoidance of the reality of death manifest itself?
How do our beliefs about what death is cause us to react?
What is the correlation between life and death ?
How does our fear of death affect life?
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
hunger pains and crimson stains
I came to a coffee shop, bought the cheapest thing I could (tea)(hey, rent's due soon) and sat down, took a deep sigh and prepared to start learning more photoshop. And then I came across this while checking email. Perhaps I should summarize. Someone is selling a mansion for 75 million dollars..... with 23 bathrooms, 13 bedrooms, a bowling alley, movie theater.............
Is your jaw dropping, have you gone into a coma yet?
This is definitely an extreme case, I'm not implying that the majority of Americans walk around with millions of dollars in their pockets, and bathrooms enough to use a different one every day for more than three weeks, But to me, these are the implications of a starving nation, and really, of a starving humanity(as much as we have helped the idea along, it's not just americans chasing their own prosperity). I've heard of such things, but today I am sitting here shell-shocked because I don't understand how someone could come to the conclusion that they should build something like this. I don't understand it. What could inspire you to be so bored, what could inspire you to hoard so much? These are the signs of a starving nation,and it outrages me that we live in such poverty that people hedge themselves in with all the greed and comfort and safety they can muster in the hopes that they will allude life, and maybe death too.....
And somehow the same thought I have been having lately is connected. We are hungry for something else. It's as though we have this giant tapeworm living inside us, eating everything in sight, demanding more and more, and yet we are still hungry......and we are either still unaware of our tapeworm, or are left asking the question, 'how do we get rid of it?' and 'how do we get rid of this persistent hunger?'
I also look around and see a church full of people, containing a huge amount of love, and generally speaking we can be pretty good sometimes at lavishing it upon each other, at loving those who love us (sometimes). But I'm left wondering there as well, if we have something that destroys the tapeworm and satisfies the hunger.....why aren't we giving it to the people that are hungry?
What are we doing, Body of Christ??? Are we building our own invisible mansions full of other things that hold no value? Are we really seeking out those whom Jesus seeks, are we really looking with his eyes? Are we really loving with his love? Or are we building our own half-hearted, self-imploding time bomb?
I guess I want to see impossible perfection, in the sense that it actually is possible. Jesus broke a few loaves of bread and fed people who were really hungry-thousands. So why is it that we are so unsure of the love he has given us? Is it a small thing that he did this? We are unsure of ourselves, when we should be sure of him. Is it a small thing that he covered us with his own crimson stains? Is it a small thing?
Or is it a big enough thing that we have faith and love, from him, to love others, to feed the hungry, to comfort the sick and dying and lonely in the smallest ways (and just maybe those are the big ways)? to love those who spite us, and annoy us, and reject us.....and know that it is multiplying just like the bread and fish? Is it a big enough thing that we have faith that he is multiplying the love he has given us inside of us to amounts we can't even imagine?
Jesus told his disciples to feed the crowds. He would not give them an impossible command, he doesn't toy with people that way. It was possible because they had Jesus with them. It is possible because we have Jesus with us.
I'm not advocating a faith based on works, or our justification based on works. I don't believe in that at all. What I am sick of is a bunch of unmotivated, lazy people sitting around talking about theology and arguing and debating and getting all 'intellectual' about things. (I'm not isolating myself from this group, by the way) What I am sick of is a gospel that says Jesus loves you exactly like you are and you don't have to do anything to earn it and ends there. I think that statement is true, but I don't think it ends there.
What I am advocating is a love that actually has power and compels, because I am sick, really, really, sick and tired of myself, and others who have made this blood into something weak and fluffy.
What I am saying is that if we really know Jesus, if we really know the Father, we should look more and more like him the longer we know him. We should have works, only because there is simply nothing else a love of this magnitude can do except produce more love of the same kind. Anything less is taking away from the power of what has been done for us, and the love that has blanketed us.
Are we living like these crimson stains are a small thing?
If we are, we shouldn't go looking for works or signs or power.........
We should go find Jesus....or go be found by him,
and then see what happens.
I don't think I want 23 bathrooms. And I don't think I want the disillusion that I am as far removed from that tapeworm as I would like to think I am.
I want to walk beside Jesus and watch as he brings light and love everywhere my feet carry me. I've only got a tiny crust of bread, but I've got Jesus.
Is your jaw dropping, have you gone into a coma yet?
This is definitely an extreme case, I'm not implying that the majority of Americans walk around with millions of dollars in their pockets, and bathrooms enough to use a different one every day for more than three weeks, But to me, these are the implications of a starving nation, and really, of a starving humanity(as much as we have helped the idea along, it's not just americans chasing their own prosperity). I've heard of such things, but today I am sitting here shell-shocked because I don't understand how someone could come to the conclusion that they should build something like this. I don't understand it. What could inspire you to be so bored, what could inspire you to hoard so much? These are the signs of a starving nation,and it outrages me that we live in such poverty that people hedge themselves in with all the greed and comfort and safety they can muster in the hopes that they will allude life, and maybe death too.....
And somehow the same thought I have been having lately is connected. We are hungry for something else. It's as though we have this giant tapeworm living inside us, eating everything in sight, demanding more and more, and yet we are still hungry......and we are either still unaware of our tapeworm, or are left asking the question, 'how do we get rid of it?' and 'how do we get rid of this persistent hunger?'
I also look around and see a church full of people, containing a huge amount of love, and generally speaking we can be pretty good sometimes at lavishing it upon each other, at loving those who love us (sometimes). But I'm left wondering there as well, if we have something that destroys the tapeworm and satisfies the hunger.....why aren't we giving it to the people that are hungry?
What are we doing, Body of Christ??? Are we building our own invisible mansions full of other things that hold no value? Are we really seeking out those whom Jesus seeks, are we really looking with his eyes? Are we really loving with his love? Or are we building our own half-hearted, self-imploding time bomb?
I guess I want to see impossible perfection, in the sense that it actually is possible. Jesus broke a few loaves of bread and fed people who were really hungry-thousands. So why is it that we are so unsure of the love he has given us? Is it a small thing that he did this? We are unsure of ourselves, when we should be sure of him. Is it a small thing that he covered us with his own crimson stains? Is it a small thing?
Or is it a big enough thing that we have faith and love, from him, to love others, to feed the hungry, to comfort the sick and dying and lonely in the smallest ways (and just maybe those are the big ways)? to love those who spite us, and annoy us, and reject us.....and know that it is multiplying just like the bread and fish? Is it a big enough thing that we have faith that he is multiplying the love he has given us inside of us to amounts we can't even imagine?
Jesus told his disciples to feed the crowds. He would not give them an impossible command, he doesn't toy with people that way. It was possible because they had Jesus with them. It is possible because we have Jesus with us.
I'm not advocating a faith based on works, or our justification based on works. I don't believe in that at all. What I am sick of is a bunch of unmotivated, lazy people sitting around talking about theology and arguing and debating and getting all 'intellectual' about things. (I'm not isolating myself from this group, by the way) What I am sick of is a gospel that says Jesus loves you exactly like you are and you don't have to do anything to earn it and ends there. I think that statement is true, but I don't think it ends there.
What I am advocating is a love that actually has power and compels, because I am sick, really, really, sick and tired of myself, and others who have made this blood into something weak and fluffy.
What I am saying is that if we really know Jesus, if we really know the Father, we should look more and more like him the longer we know him. We should have works, only because there is simply nothing else a love of this magnitude can do except produce more love of the same kind. Anything less is taking away from the power of what has been done for us, and the love that has blanketed us.
Are we living like these crimson stains are a small thing?
If we are, we shouldn't go looking for works or signs or power.........
We should go find Jesus....or go be found by him,
and then see what happens.
I don't think I want 23 bathrooms. And I don't think I want the disillusion that I am as far removed from that tapeworm as I would like to think I am.
I want to walk beside Jesus and watch as he brings light and love everywhere my feet carry me. I've only got a tiny crust of bread, but I've got Jesus.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
I woke with the sun this morning
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;
the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus;
2 it shall blossom abundantly
and rejoice with joy and singing.
The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the Lord,
the majesty of our God.
the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus;
2 it shall blossom abundantly
and rejoice with joy and singing.
The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the Lord,
the majesty of our God.
3 Strengthen the weak hands,
and make firm the feeble knees.
4 Say to those who have an anxious heart,
“Be strong; fear not!
Behold, your God
will come with vengeance,
with the recompense of God.
He will come and save you.”
5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
6 then shall the lame man leap like a deer,
and the tongue of the mute sing for joy.
For waters break forth in the wilderness,
and streams in the desert;
7 the burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water;
in the haunt of jackals, where they lie down,
the grass shall become reeds and rushes.
8 And a highway shall be there,
and it shall be called the Way of Holiness;
the unclean shall not pass over it.
It shall belong to those who walk on the way;
even if they are fools, they shall not go astray.
9 No lion shall be there,
nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it;
they shall not be found there,
but the redeemed shall walk there.
10 And the ransomed of the Lord shall return
and come to Zion with singing;
everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;
they shall obtain gladness and joy,
and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
“I just can’t sell the idea of spending that much money to go to India, they don’t understand why you need to go to India”
I can understand this point of view, there are a lot of reasons for it, first and foremost, maybe I wasn’t specific enough, maybe it’s simply because I am not well-enough known there, either way this isn’t meant as a rant against anyone, this is me realizing exactly why I am going to go back to India; with or without the apparent money, whether it’s now, or I have to work for it for months…..
There is a little girl, around four years old now, living on the streets of Pune. I held her for hours one day. She sat in my lap and would turn around occasionally to stare up into my eyes with her deep, dark brown ones, they held secrets I will never know, and even at two years old, probably a profound depth of pain and suffering that I will never understand. Sometimes she would sleep, other times she would sit up and laugh and avidly watch what was going on with everyone else in the room. We ate lunch together, both of us dirtying our hands, while I ate steadily, she ate hungrily. I helped her dip sweet biscuits into a cup of chai without spilling it, and without losing the entire biscuit in the chai (it‘s never as fun to drink soggy biscuits). The entire time she latched onto my right hand with her tiny hand. And when the hours were up, I had to let go of that hand. I had to release her - back to the streets. Her older sister picked her up to carry her out the back door, and she looked up at me with those huge, deep eyes, and tears started their journey all the way down her face; they didn’t stop, she kept crying, and trying to get back down to come back in. I couldn’t stare at those eyes anymore, I had to leave the room. I had to leave so she could go back to the streets, I had to leave before I lost my own sanity.
It may not seem valid to go to another country to ‘just hang out’ with some street kids, or other people who live on the streets, or kids who used to but now are fortunate enough to live in a house with people who love them, take care of them, and make sure they have a chance other than the hopeless cycle of life on the streets.
It may seem much more valid to have an organization, some sort of visible project that lasts for a week and demands the sweat of your brow, like building a house or a church. (I am not saying these things aren’t important, I think they all have their place) But wandering around India, feeding random people out of a backpack, spreading Jesus where you can, giving listening ears, eyes to see and weep over, and a broken heart to offer on someone else’s behalf - a pencil and a camera to carry stories to another people who are also in poverty- poverty of love, how is that obsolete? A burning heart to try and get someone to just look into another pair of eyes affected by our way of life, and to get that someone to really look back- and to see, to understand what it is to feel real empathy for someone else, to feel real pain over someone else’s pain, to feel real repentance over our actions, the ones we weren’t aware could cause such pain, and to feel something other than indifference, something other than a cold heart of stone, these things are worth more to me than all the money in the world. How can you even compare the kingdom of God, how can you put God’s love on the same plane as money? They are two entirely different substances.
And it’s true, I don’t necessarily have to go all the way to India to love my neighbor…. Not in the sense that there are plenty of people right here before me to love (which should by no means be neglected either) But if the only way people can learn to love each other is by knowing a bit of them, by being entirely confronted by them and not turning away, then going somewhere, and in a sense bringing those people back with you, is of infinite value. Beyond that, how is it loving on my part, if I know what I do, if I’ve seen what I have, and do nothing, say nothing?
We can’t just keep ignoring our brothers and sisters, our family, while we sit around in all our comfort here. We don’t know what real poverty is, if we want the comfortable life that globalization and our nation’s setup provides for us, then we are also held responsible for those from whom we steal our comfort. We are responsible for those who provide us with an abundance while they have a lack.
We can’t turn our eyes away anymore.
I can’t turn my eyes away anymore.
I’m going back, and I’m bringing their stories, bits of themselves. Jesus gave his life so we could give ours. Let’s not toy around with that. Let’s not ignore blood that was given on our behalf, just for a little bit of fleeting comfort.
I don’t care if people think I’m crazy for it.
I don’t care if they think it’s dangerous or it really is.
My father is going to help me go. And that’s that.
I can understand this point of view, there are a lot of reasons for it, first and foremost, maybe I wasn’t specific enough, maybe it’s simply because I am not well-enough known there, either way this isn’t meant as a rant against anyone, this is me realizing exactly why I am going to go back to India; with or without the apparent money, whether it’s now, or I have to work for it for months…..
There is a little girl, around four years old now, living on the streets of Pune. I held her for hours one day. She sat in my lap and would turn around occasionally to stare up into my eyes with her deep, dark brown ones, they held secrets I will never know, and even at two years old, probably a profound depth of pain and suffering that I will never understand. Sometimes she would sleep, other times she would sit up and laugh and avidly watch what was going on with everyone else in the room. We ate lunch together, both of us dirtying our hands, while I ate steadily, she ate hungrily. I helped her dip sweet biscuits into a cup of chai without spilling it, and without losing the entire biscuit in the chai (it‘s never as fun to drink soggy biscuits). The entire time she latched onto my right hand with her tiny hand. And when the hours were up, I had to let go of that hand. I had to release her - back to the streets. Her older sister picked her up to carry her out the back door, and she looked up at me with those huge, deep eyes, and tears started their journey all the way down her face; they didn’t stop, she kept crying, and trying to get back down to come back in. I couldn’t stare at those eyes anymore, I had to leave the room. I had to leave so she could go back to the streets, I had to leave before I lost my own sanity.
It may not seem valid to go to another country to ‘just hang out’ with some street kids, or other people who live on the streets, or kids who used to but now are fortunate enough to live in a house with people who love them, take care of them, and make sure they have a chance other than the hopeless cycle of life on the streets.
It may seem much more valid to have an organization, some sort of visible project that lasts for a week and demands the sweat of your brow, like building a house or a church. (I am not saying these things aren’t important, I think they all have their place) But wandering around India, feeding random people out of a backpack, spreading Jesus where you can, giving listening ears, eyes to see and weep over, and a broken heart to offer on someone else’s behalf - a pencil and a camera to carry stories to another people who are also in poverty- poverty of love, how is that obsolete? A burning heart to try and get someone to just look into another pair of eyes affected by our way of life, and to get that someone to really look back- and to see, to understand what it is to feel real empathy for someone else, to feel real pain over someone else’s pain, to feel real repentance over our actions, the ones we weren’t aware could cause such pain, and to feel something other than indifference, something other than a cold heart of stone, these things are worth more to me than all the money in the world. How can you even compare the kingdom of God, how can you put God’s love on the same plane as money? They are two entirely different substances.
And it’s true, I don’t necessarily have to go all the way to India to love my neighbor…. Not in the sense that there are plenty of people right here before me to love (which should by no means be neglected either) But if the only way people can learn to love each other is by knowing a bit of them, by being entirely confronted by them and not turning away, then going somewhere, and in a sense bringing those people back with you, is of infinite value. Beyond that, how is it loving on my part, if I know what I do, if I’ve seen what I have, and do nothing, say nothing?
We can’t just keep ignoring our brothers and sisters, our family, while we sit around in all our comfort here. We don’t know what real poverty is, if we want the comfortable life that globalization and our nation’s setup provides for us, then we are also held responsible for those from whom we steal our comfort. We are responsible for those who provide us with an abundance while they have a lack.
We can’t turn our eyes away anymore.
I can’t turn my eyes away anymore.
I’m going back, and I’m bringing their stories, bits of themselves. Jesus gave his life so we could give ours. Let’s not toy around with that. Let’s not ignore blood that was given on our behalf, just for a little bit of fleeting comfort.
I don’t care if people think I’m crazy for it.
I don’t care if they think it’s dangerous or it really is.
My father is going to help me go. And that’s that.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
So, a brilliant idea today while flipping through 2009 writer's market book. (these things are enormous, by the way) I was looking for possible magazine's to send articles into in the future, and I think I've found one :
Aventura
no joke. honestly.
....it very well might not get published...but who knows, miracles happen. ...and if I have something to say, I have something to say to these people too. They deserve the privilege of looking into another pair of eyes and seeing something worthy to cause compassion.
anyway, if anyone has any great ideas of how to get to india for really cheap.... really soon.... please let me in on the secret. i'm pretty determined to go back for a couple months.
Aventura
no joke. honestly.
....it very well might not get published...but who knows, miracles happen. ...and if I have something to say, I have something to say to these people too. They deserve the privilege of looking into another pair of eyes and seeing something worthy to cause compassion.
anyway, if anyone has any great ideas of how to get to india for really cheap.... really soon.... please let me in on the secret. i'm pretty determined to go back for a couple months.
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