Praying with Kings of Leon

In June I, in essence, emerged from 2 of the darkest years of my life. Those couple of years were spent in self-examination and intense struggle with what I found. I've never known such loneliness, pain, or distance from God. One of the worst things I discovered is that my ability to share myself--my true self--with others is all but nonexistent. This was gas for the fire of my self-exile. I have a life filled with the most wonderful family imaginable, caring friends, compassionate colleagues, and work centered on communing with the Living God and ordering the community of his people. Yet I was completely alone, cold, and blind.

In September 2008 I found a voice for my much-needed prayer. I was watching Saturday Night Live when Kings of Leon, a band I had only known from the pages of Rolling Stone magazine, began playing "Use Somebody." At first I just liked how they sounded like early U2 and were sort of raw and exposed. Then came the first line: "I've been roaming around always looking down at all I see. / Painted faces fill the places I can't reach. / You know that I could use somebody...someone like you."

That was it. God was a lover who seemed to be utterly ignoring me. And my true life, hidden in God, was as far away as he was. On it went: "Off in the night while you live it up I'm off to sleep / waging wars to shape the poet and the beat. / I hope it's gonna make you notice... / someone like me."

Over the next months I clung to this song like a security blanket. "You know that I could use somebody" was my constant plea to God to throw me a line before the dark waters engulfed me for good. And yes, it was that bad. But the song carried me along until the sun began to shine, and the waters stilled. Now the song is getting a lot of radio-play, but my heart doesn't ache so much when I hear it. Instead I just love how tight the bass and drums are in the second section. I'm thankful to have had Kings of Leon as prayer partners.



Technorati Tags: kings of leon God use somebody

Manna-Eating Pelicans!

While we technically have a few more weeks until summer ends, I can sense the turning of another page. It has been a wonderful summer for my family and me—busy, but enjoyable. Despite the busyness, I got to have some great summery moments.

One such moment occurred when we were at the beach. Each morning I would let my wife and daughter sleep in while I slipped out early for my quiet time. I’d walk down to the pier and sit out over the water, reading my devotion book and Bible and prayerfully enjoying the differences between the Pacific Ocean and central Texas.

The first morning, I watched huge pelicans circle the water then dive straight down and SPLASH!...breakfast. As I sat there in the morning quiet, I heard someone sneeze. It sounded like they were under the pier. I looked down into the water and there was a seal. Of course I said, “God bless you.” Over time, I looked out to see the seal’s family, paddling and rolling around, playing and having their breakfast.

My devotional reading that first morning was the story from Exodus 16 about God providing manna for his people. Each day every family gathered as much as they needed for that day. It melted away with the sun’s heat and they were forbidden from gathering for the next day, with the exception of the Sabbath. They were simply to trust that God would take care of them from one day to the next.

As I read this, I looked out on the pelicans and seals—and now there were 4 dolphins rising and diving not 100 yards out. I reveled in God’s care for his creatures. These sea creatures didn’t worry about tomorrow. They simply came out to see what the Lord had for them today. I could feel God smiling at his creation. I could also feel Jesus saying, “If the Father cares so much for these, will he not much more care for you?” Today, I'm determined to dive in…SPLASH!

Confessions of an Ex-Inglourious Basterd

I just went to see Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds, in all its bloody, quirky, fiery beauty. As with most good art, this film left me satisfied yet troubled to confront my own bloody, quirky, fiery beauty.

First, the movie is a great piece of filmmaking. Tarantino is at his best, showing his trademark style of being as much a cinema fan and afficionado as a solid and visionary director. The guy has chops, and there are plenty of original as well as reverential choices he makes throughout. It is impossible not to get swept up in the sheer joy Tarantino obviously has in the journey of his film. And there are a number of solid performances of surprising depth and even understatement--a lot of closeups and dialog displaying Tarantino's (also the writer) brilliant ear for language. Inglourious Basterds is a beautiful, complex, troubling and even humorous piece of art.

Like some of the paintings I recently saw at the Getty museum in L.A., the film was not just pretty to look at; it really challenged me. I'm troubled by the joy I felt watching Nazis getting maimed and killed in the most horrific ways. I was cheering on the basterds as they scalped one Nazi or beat another with a baseball bat (these are in the TV ads, so no real spoiler). After all, they're Nazis--they've got it coming, right? Right?

In some ways I felt this was something of a cultural catharsis. Tarantino is going back and rewriting history in what my angry flesh feels is a very satisfying way. Seeing swastikas burn and get carved into...well, I'll have to stop lest I get into spoilers. But you get the idea. There's a strong feeling of satisfaction, even relief, at some of the most evil people in history getting what most of us feel they deserve.

But throughout the movie, there was always my underlying value system reminding me that that's not how Jesus handled the evil people around him. "Oh, Robert! You didn't go and take Jesus to a Tarantino film, did you? You were so happy with the violent come-uppances before you dragged Jesus into the whole mess." Well, I tried to leave him at home, but he just insisted on coming along. He's like that sometimes.

Anyway, there was all kinds of Old Testament stuff going through my head in my attempts to rationalize my elation. Little Quentin has nothing on the Judges or any number of Old Testament figures exacting the Lord's vengeance on those who would thwart his will. Just picture Ehud confronting fat King Eglon, coldly whispering in his ear, "I have a message for you from the Lord," and then thrusting his machete in the king's gut so deep that the fat swallows the handle (Judges 3). Tarantino wishes he could write so well.

So, I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I cheered on the destruction of Nazis. I was not overly-sensitive to the violence, just enough to assure myself that I'm not a serial killer. But Jesus was there with me in the form of the Holy Spirit, reminding me that my sin is no less sinful than that of Hitler himself. Nevertheless, it is paid for. And even an inglourious basterd like me has been given the right to be called a son of the Living God...and vengeance is his!

Technorati Tags: inglourious basterds jesus pop culture

Permission to Slow Down

In a few days my family and I are going on vacation. It’s time to slow down and notice things. That seems to be what summer is about. The Gershwins said it best in "Porgy & Bess": Summertime, and the livin’ is easy. The smell of mowed grass and barbecue, the feel of the sun’s warmth, the glorious sight of baseball under a blue sky, these are a few of my favorite things! Whether packing in as many vacation experiences as possible or just sitting on the porch watching the sun go down each evening, summertime is a time to notice life. It is a time when we let life happen, rather than trying to force it into our own daily constraints.

Typically, the worst part of summer vacation is that it ends. So, here are a few summer ideas that might work in autumn, winter, and spring.

1) Let life happen. Make plans and work hard, but enjoy the passage of time.

2) Rest. A key about summer is that it seems to give us permission to relax, but God already gave us not just permission, but a command to rest. After all, he did!

3) Notice things. Each season has its own sights and sounds and smells that are the stuff of life. Make time to take it all in.

4) Enjoy loved ones. Family reunions, cookouts, ballgames, and vacations don’t have to end with the summer. Whatever it is, it should be shared with the people we love.

5) Worship. God made all of these seasons for his glory and to enrich our lives with their beauty and the lessons they can teach about living more faithfully in the process of life, death, and resurrection.

And right now it’s summer; so fire up the grill, pour the lemonade, and PLAY BALL!

King of Pop vs. King of Kings?

(Disclaimer: I'm a lifelong fan of Michael Jackson's entertainment--from J5 as a kid in the 70s on up. See this post. But I'm also a pastor who "conducts" funerals and memorial services, which I believe are to be acts of worship of the Triune God. And I'm always considering the questions below. So, please indulge me with a little grace here.)


It was interesting to watch the memorial service for Michael Jackson yesterday. It was mostly a beautiful celebration of a sometimes beautiful, oftentimes odd life. One of the things that stood out most to me was a sort of back-and-forth between messiahs: Jesus and MJ.


There was Mariah Carey singing her rendition of “I’ll Be There,” yet almost putting the words in God's mouth, even singing a “thank you, Jesus” at the end. You had Lionel Richie just coming right out with the song “Jesus is Love”—and he tore it up! And, of course, Stevie Wonder was in another world with his “Never Dreamed You’d Leave in Summer,” but especially his powerful dirge “They Won’t Go When I Go,” which had the entire Staples Center hypnotized.


And there were other moments throughout the service, with gospel choirs and preachers and mourners pointing to Jesus as the true source of comfort and hope.


But behind it all—songs and sermons and soliloquies—were images of the dearly-departed, often in cruciform pose. There were words of the special burden Michael had, to be such a pure man-child in such a fallen world. And, of course, there were the songs—ending on an appropriate note with “We Are the World” and “Heal the World.” The whole thing was beautiful, albeit confused and unusual—like the one memorialized.


Not wishing to trample the man’s grave, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to think that MJ may have carried a bit of a messiah complex (as well as Peter Pan/arrested development issues), which was only enabled by his entourage and many of his fans.


But it all brings up the interesting question of the role and activity of Christ in culture (about which H. Richard Niebuhr had much to say). Is it beautiful to sing “we are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving,” or is it idolatrous? Is it right to tell people to “heal the world, make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race,” or is it deluded? And if it’s wrong, are there levels of “wrong-ness”—i.e. are such songs at least better than the death and lust and destruction sung about by so many others, or is it all idolatry and sin? In the end, is there room for both the King of Pop and the King of kings?

Technorati Tags: michael jackson christianity pop culture

Believe in Anything

I couldn’t help but notice the headline in USA Today a while back: Psychics Make a Fortune During Uncertain Economic Times. The article goes on to say, “Anecdotal evidence indicates that psychics, astrologers, palm readers, Tarot card shufflers, numerologists and other paranormal specialists have become the rage as investment advisers and brokers appear clueless. After all, if the times aren't normal, why not try the paranormal?”

One would think our churches would be bursting at the seams these days. Those who have placed undue hope in money and the material have found their foundations shaken if not crumbling. This would seem the prime time for folks to turn again to the eternal Lord of heaven and earth, the one true God, the Ancient of Days who is the same yesterday, today, and forever…right?

G.K. Chesterton so perfectly said, “When people stop believing in God, they don’t believe in nothing—they believe in anything.” It saddens me that it often seems to be the poorer segment of our society that spends the most money on the lottery. Likewise, it is sad to see people so desperate for security and hope and, well, money, dropping their dough on what is only evil and opportunistic.

The article continues, “Nina Melrose, 42, a Dallas soothsayer who reads palms and Tarot cards, advises clients on which stocks to buy, basing her picks ‘solely on my psychic ability.’ She declined to say how prescient she had been. Others steer clear of specifics. They offer common-sense advice—at rates up to $5.75 a minute—that some people wouldn't need a mind reader to provide. Valerie Morrison, who charges $85 a half-hour, has increased her schedule from three days a week to five because of rising demand. She tells clients to buy gold and silver, sell their antiques and pass up new clothes. ‘Anything they can do where they can put cash in a safe,’ she says. ‘If we just hold tight, we're going to get through this.’”

People seem desperate for answers and, even more, for hope. Where is the church? What are we doing during all this? The world needs good news. And we’ve got the best news ever!

Technorati Tags: psychic religion spirituality

Michael Jackson and Track Spikes

Jeff Richardson could moonwalk in his track spikes. That did it...Jeff was officially the coolest guy in Jr. High! When he wasn't beating everyone on the track, he was midfield, dancing to Thriller on somebody's boom-box. The students' interest drifted from their teammates' events and crowded around the main event: Jeff Richardson popping and breaking and doing the moonwalk in his track spikes.

Then there were the garage parties. We would get together after school on Friday and decorate someone's garage with posters and tattered old rugs and christmas lights. A garage or shed became our own little dance club, away from parents and teachers and the disconnectedness of small-town life. What was happening in a garage in Memphis, TX, population 3417, was also happening in LA or Manhattan or Paris or Berlin: people dancing to Michael Jackson.

I couldn't do the moonwalk in track spikes, but I could do it in my sock feet on my grandmother's kitchen floor...and occasionally in those garages. And I could pop. The best song was "Wanna Be Startin' Something." The beat would just get into you, the strings lulling you into a trance. And there we'd be, carried away into our own little universe. Jeff Richardson wasn't around for these dances. Even in 1983, our black friends lived literally across the tracks and we didn't see them again until school. "Mama say mama sa ma ma coo sa..."

In the end, we don't remember our icons as they were at their time of death or even as they were in their heyday. We remember them as they were in our cars and our bedrooms, in theaters and our living rooms, in small-town garages and at track meets.

Technorati Tags: michael jackson music