Today, I posted the song Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons on a music blog I host with friends: www.songsworthwakingupto.com.

(If you're unfamiliar, we daily share songs that we feel, for whatever reason, merit starting your day listening to. It's my homepage. It should be yours as well.)

As I listened to the song and connected with it, I realized that I had some thoughts I wanted to share, but felt that my blog was a much  more appropriate venue. 

This song stirs me and it grieves me.  The tune evokes a deep passion and resonance, yet I am all too familiar with the brokenness to which the lyrics point.  We are all broken and shadows of who we are made to be. My story is a story of wounding and being wounded; it seems that every relationship I have is marred with the pain of being cut as well as cutting.

We live as tragic beings. 


This song connects with me on such a deep level because it elicits a question (often in the form of multiple questions) that I find foundational to the human experience: "Why are things broken?"

(Why are things off? Why am I off? Why do I get the nagging sense that things are what they're fully supposed to be? Why do I feel disconnected to God, to others, to nature, and, frankly, even to myself?)

We see the violence within the world and we ask these questions. We see the violence within ourselves and we ask these questions. We see pain, failed relationships, wounds, poverty, addictions, etc ad nauseum, and we ask again and again and again these same questions.

We grieve the human existence, and we do so because we know that things are quite right, not what they're supposed to be.  There is something within us that points us back to when things were right, did make sense, were in order.

I find it appropriate that this song is posted on a Sunday, which at least in our culture influenced by Judeo-Christian thought and practice, is a day of spirituality and religious pursuit. It is a holy day. If our theology and spirituality are to have any sort of weight in our lives, if they are at all going to inform the way that we think about how we live, then they must speak to the reality of the evil and brokenness that we are far too intimate with.

So, I offer these words by Frederick Buechner as a sort of meditation or reflection in light of the tragedy of today's song:

And finally the Gospel itself as comedy - the coming together of Mutt and Jeff, the Captain and the Kids, the Wizard of Oz and the Scarecrow; the coming together of God in his unending and glory and man in his unending littleness, prepared for the worst but rarely for the best, prepared for the possible but rarely for the impossible. The good news breaks into a world where the news has been so bad for so long that when it is good nobody hears it much except for a few. And who are the few that hear it? They are the ones who labor and are heavy-laden like everybody else but who, unlike everybody else, know that they labor and are heavy-laden. They are the last people you might expect to hear it, themselves the bad jokes and stooges and scarecrows of the world, the tax collectors and whores and misfits. They are the poor people, the broken people, the ones who in terms of the world's wisdom are children and madmen and foods. They have cut themselves shaving. Rich or poor, successes or failures as the world counts it, they are the ones who are willing to believe in miracles because they know it will take a miracle to fill the empty place insider them where grace and peace belong with grace and peace.

~ Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth

As this is my 3rd blog in a row in which the catalyst is an interview, I should probably start with a little-known confession: I love celebrity interviews.

Or, if they aren't bonafied celebrities then at least individuals who are a highly successful in their field... successful enough to be giving an interview.

The reason I like them is that most are incredibly thoughtful & insightful, as well as experienced & weathered (yes, we can all name the exception with ease!). Success and notoriety change you, and though we sometimes see the messiness of that result, it also tends to deepen and teach at an incredibly rapid rate. Anyone who has been a success in their field for any length of time typically has some profound things to say.

So I like celebrity interviews, especially ones that give a picture into how they think and see the world. Fascinating stuff.


...
A couple weeks ago I read James Cameron in Time Magazine's 10 Questions:

Do you have a formula for creating a blockbuster film? —Michael Lawrence, Nashville

I have principles, not a formula. You create interesting characters. You put them in a story that has a number of dilemmas. Once you have the audience on the character's side, you challenge that character. You try to create one or more emotional, epiphanous moments within a film. And you provide great visuals.

For some reason Cameron's response reminded me of the ideas in Donald Miller's insightful book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years*: If you lived your life as a story... would it be compelling? would other people want to read it? would other people be inspired by it & follow your lead?  How would your life change if you rearranged your life so that you were living a truly good story?

Something about the intersection point of Miller and Cameron reminded me that, in addition to our lives being stories, people really are reading them.

People are watching you, observing what you're doing & how you're responding to the situations of your life. People are learning from you. They are learning both what it means to be human, as well as what it is to live well.

Hebrews 11 is a laundry list of those who have gone before us setting an example of what it means to live well in faith. To live well as a human.

Hebrews 12 then starts with the bold words: "Therefore, surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us..."

Therefore, in light of the example of those who have gone before us... those who have lived a blockbuster story... those who have taught us what it is to be fully human... let us... live.
well.
full.
alive.
present.
as our true selves.
loving.
gracious.
inspired.
bold.
risking.
creative.
beautiful....

We are surrounded by that cloud of witnesses. And, for others, we are in that cloud of witnesses.  I think I'd like to live with both in mind.


* I should probably mentioned that my experience with Miller's book primarily comes from a sermon I heard him give at Mars Hill in Grand Rapids, Michigan. As I've skimmed the book, it seems to be a pretty good explanation of his entire thoughts, but I wouldn't want to misrepresent myself! or, more importantly, Don M.

I couldn't leave my comments on Desmond Tutu's response to the question Have you ever had doubts about your faith? to just one post. I have another thought, not on the nature of faith as before, but how that faith is expressed and lived.

Simply, faith ought to ever be authentic. Deeply authentic. Sometimes that means we can do nothing but smile fully & joyously laugh at the beauty of it all. And other times it means being uncomfortably raw and broken before both God and our friends. Messy. Like, to the point of "oh shit, did she just say that?!?"


For me, this is one of the reasons I think cussing is not only fine, but a healthy expression of the human experience. For whatever reason we have reserved these words for the extreme. And life, not to mention the tension of faith, often pushes us to that place. The everyday words just won't do, so we go to our reserves and pull out the big guns. Utilizing these words helps us convey the depth of our emotion surrounding the situation, even if they don't result in clarifying our articulation of what is happening.

You can argue that cussing isn't the only way to express ourselves in these places and I agree. But honestly, I have been surprised again and again by the space that cussing seems to allow. How often my use of those words seems to create a spiritual and emotional space within the person I am talking; it is almost like my cussing allows them to be more fully human showing both the heights of their beauty as well as the depths of their ugly. Beauty and ugly that we all have. Beauty and ugly that we all need show from time to time.

So, maybe you should cuss a little bit more


And maybe I should cuss a little less. My issues is that they roll of my tongue so damn well.

In a recent issue of Time magazine, Archbishop Desmond Tutu was featured in their section 10 Questions. To the question "Have you ever had doubts about your faith?" Tutu responded:

Doubts? No. Anger with God? Yes. Plenty of that. I've remonstrated with God quite frequently and said, "What the heck are you up to? Why are you letting these oppressors get away with this injustice?" But doubting that God is good? That God is love? No. 

His answer particularly hits home because a few years ago I was asked by a friend a very similar question to which I replied a simple "no."  As I reflect, frankly, my answer saddens me. How utterly incomplete it was, especially in light of the deep place in which my friend was asking.  My simple response included none of the tension that I experience as a daily part of my faith. The deep groaning questions that at times are so deep and painful that they remain unutterable and instead bounce around within my depths as an unnamed longing.  Most of these seem to be the sticking place between what I believe of God's character (and thus what I perceive will/should be God's action) and what I experience happening both in my life and in the world.

Tutu's response is a much better articulation (go figure... there are reasons why he's the archbishop). He simply but profoundly expresses what I think is a key component of faith: believing in who God says God is and holding that belief despite evidences to the contrary.

a month ago, with the evening dark & cold, a 7p return from work would be accompanied by my declaration that my day was basically over and all i could really do was relax for a little bit and then crawl into my warm bed.

today: i promptly threw on my running shoes to go for a jog before stopping by a friend's and stealing a piece of pecan pie.


oh what a little sun & 80 degree weather will do.

and i much prefer the latter!