seeds [part three]

After a summer-long hiatus from West Coast precipitation, it was really only a matter of time before the skies clouded over and the rains began. Summer rains are not so bad, though. There is still warmth in the air, and with the lack of any sort of moisture for months, the grass is in desperate need. So is our garden. While we've been enjoying the vegetables of our labour, we admittedly haven't been paying much attention to its nourishment and replenishment. For good reason, though; in lieu of catering to the growth of our garden, Susan has been busy looking after the growth of a different sort of seed.

It's clear that I am amazed by the growth of our plants from tiny seeds to their present state of, what seems like, taking over the garden. Thousands of leaves, plenty of blossoms and countless root systems developed, all from what once were seeds. And there will probably be a hundred tomatoes grown, another hundred blueberries, hundreds of peas, a couple dozen carrots, and plenty of squash by the time our summer winds down. It's still a mystery to me. Yet, even more mysterious is the growth that began a mere 13 weeks ago. From a seed infinitely smaller than a pea pod, a child has begun to form. While we have the awesome responsibility of ensuring that the right foods are eaten, the appropriate medication is taken, and as little possible stress is experienced in order to provide the best environment for our child, we ultimately know that his (her?) formation is out of our hands. Like the rain falling on our garden outside my window, it is only God's provision that will allow our child to shape and develop.

And by all accounts, all is well. We watched our baby in action earlier this week, moving around and getting comfortable inside his temporary home. (For the sake of this and future posts, our baby is a "he" until we see otherwise). Though he is only three inches in length, most of his parts are there. Already. He has fingerprints. He has nerves. Reflexes. We watched his heart pounding inside his tiny frame. A mystery, and a miracle, at its finest. Perhaps the only greater mystery is how it can be denied that what exists inside Susan's body is a living child.

Three months down. Six to go.

on direction

Direction
--not intention--
leads to destination

--some sage advice from our pastor the other day.

When my internal ponderings unhinge themselves from thoughts of work, marriage, home, etc, I consider, once again, my role as an employee, husband, man, Christian, [soon-to-be-father]. The thoughts come not in a narcissistic, egotistical manner, but in a more rounded set of introspections as one who finds himself in a vast, fallen, sometimes harsh and always complex world. In truth, the questions always (must?) come back to me and what my role within this framework is to be. Am I holding up my end of the bargain? Am I just doing and not being? Is waiting a good thing?

A series of questions crossed my train of thought the other day via a sermon:

What path am I on?
Where does it lead to?
Is that where I want it to end up?

All the best intentions will never lead to desired destination. I can intend to drive from A to B, but without direction, I'll likely end up at Z. To some, direction comes easy. For me, not so much...but that is changing. On top of these questions have come a number of challenges:

A challenge to be wise.
A challenge to be a man.
A challenge to be Godly.

I'm learning that without wisdom, I have no direction. And I am no longer just leading myself. My "i's" have become "we's." The easy thing to do is just let things be and see how they work out. But I know that's not what is expected of me, as a husband, as a Christian, as a man. So what's left? To pick up the pieces. To pick up the pieces of the past, examine them, rediscover them for the misdirection they have offered, to put them back down. And then to walk on. Lack of direction has left me with nothing but dreams and intentions. These, too, I must re-examine for their worth and potential, and then do with them what is best--what is manly, wise, and Godly.

Direction
--not intention--
leads to destination

We had a bird, briefly. (Or, the misadventures of Sweets)

We had a bird, briefly. To Sweets, a poem:

Oh little bird Sweets,
how bitter did you tweet.
You were a beautiful hue:
white and turquoisy,
'til you got stuck to some glue.

Your feathers ruffled,
and your colours muffled.
So back to your friends you go.
Tweet little budgie,
a party for you they will throw.

seeds [cont'd]

I just started a class on the Gospels today, and one of the first assignments was to read through the book of Mark. Since this whole garden thing started, I've noticed more and more the amount of times the idea of seeds and planting is written about in the Bible--either in actuality or in imagery. My ears have become more attuned to any mention of seeds and planting than they've ever been. It's kind of like owning (or previously owning) a Suzuki Swift. Every time I pass another Swift, I notice it. It's not intentional; it just happens because I was associated with that type of car and immediately take notice of it. Yes. Reading about seeds and planting in the Bible is kind of like owning a Suzuki Swift.

Jesus said, "The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground. He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how. The earth produces by itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come."

Now I know there are scientific and biological reasons for plants growing and sprouting the way they do. Our beans and our onions are doing this, but my naivetée in the science of plant growth renders me astounded by the fact that actual plants are sprouting out of what were once tiny seeds. I sleep and rise night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; I know not how.

It seems that one of the current fashionable ideas about the kingdom of God is that it is 1) a present reality and 2) a future reality--that the kingdom of God is here now and is coming soon. It's a complicated theological idea, but one that, even in this short parable, seems to hold some truth: the kingdom of God is a present reality as it grows and ripens and will be a future reality when it reaches full maturity. The coinciding fashionable idea about the kingdom of God is that we are a part of it--that we are in this kingdom even now, and we are a part of its growth and maturity. There was a time when I thought I had all that figured out, but in a sense, I am relearning what this means--that it is more than simply doing what is right but in believing what is right. The "doing" is nothing without a solid foundation of faith. I think. But if there is no faith, than what is the point in doing? Right? All that to say, that this kingdom--this present and future reality--must grow out of something, just as seeds grow out of soil. Maybe faith is the soil from which this kingdom grows.

What if Susan Boyle Couldn't Sing?

By now we've all heard the story, we've all seen the video, and if we're the sort of person, we've cried the tears. But, as Dennis Palumbo asks in The Huffington Post, What if Susan Boyle Couldn't Sing? What a great question.

Palumbo writes, "the unspoken message of this whole episode is that, since Susan Boyle has a wonderful talent, we were wrong to judge her based on her looks and demeanor. Meaning what? That if she couldn't sing so well, we were correct to judge her on that basis? That demeaning someone whose looks don't match our impossible, media-reinforced standards of beauty is perfectly okay, unless some mitigating circumstance makes us re-think our opinion?"

I don't know what my natural reaction would be to the video, had I not watched it already knowing the outcome. But I can guess that Palumbo is right--that had she not been able to sing so well, I would have felt justified to judge Boyle based solely on her looks. Sad, n'est pas? How is it that I--that we--have gotten to a point where looks are all that matter? And I say 'we' because, from the amount of hits her video has received on youtube, it seems that all of us with an internet connection or any access to the media reacted the same way to watching Susan Boyle walk on stage as Simon Cowell and the rest of the audience did. "Don't judge a book by it's cover" is the absolute basic lesson we can all learn from this episode. The cliché doesn't give any justice to the fact that we all, on a daily basis, are quick to judge. And worse yet, we are all capable of justifying it. Truth be told, however, it's easier to judge than to blindly accept.

So what more could we learn from her if the beauty of her voice hadn't blinded our vision? Jean Vanier, in his book, Becoming Human, offers an answer. He suggests that fear is the basis of our prejudice and exclusion. "When we have constructed our lives around particular values of knowledge, power, and social esteem," he writes, "it is difficult for us to accept those who cannot live by the same set of values. It is as if we are threatened by such people." We are threatened by those who don't live up to our "media-reinforced standards of beauty" because it is easier to look down on them than to relate to them. For in relating to them, we become them. And in becoming them, we recognize that on the most basic level of our lives, we are all human. We are all the same.

That is the deeper lesson that can be learned from Susan Boyle. Yes, the story is a feel-good one. It's a story that leaves us full with some sort of joy and contentment. But I don't think it's because we've all taken a bite of humble pie. For when the next contestant walks on stage who looks like Susan Boyle and sings horribly, we will only validate our initial derision, forgetting that Susan Boyle ever existed.

seeds.

We planted a garden a few weeks ago, Sus and I. It was one of those early spring days with a bit of summer flavour--flip flops and all. Perfect for an afternoon of planting. Neither of us have really tended a garden before, so this garden of ours is really an experiment in many ways. It's an experiment in tending nature. It's an experiment in discovering what can grow in our garden. It's an experiment in quantities, as we have no idea how many plants a bag of seeds will bring us--though it did take a little while before I realized that we had enough seeds for several feet of rows, not inches, as I had misread. And it's an experiment in patience.

Today we've begun to see the veggies of our labour. Little green shoots of carrots, onions and peas have emerged from their darkened slumber, breaking through the soil. Grasping their first breath of sunlight. It's a beautiful thing. I am quite amazed by this whole phenomenon called gardening. Three weeks ago the tiny seeds we delicately dropped into little holes in the soil seemed incapable of anything, let alone anything the size of a carrot. Yet, the beginnings of real vegetables are poking through. That vegetables actually grow from seeds only millimetres in diameter confounds me. I know there's a lesson here.

pockets of sadness.

Listening to Q yesterday, one of the guests said something quite profound, though I'm not sure he realized it. He was referencing an interview earlier in the week with Charles Montgomery who suggested that Vancouver ranked low on the "happiness" meter. So a few days later, this guest, in the midst of a rant on how great a city Vancouver is, despite the statistics, mentioned that within Vancouver there are "pockets of great sadness." Those words immediately resonated in my mind. Pockets of sadness. He, of course, was referring to the Downtown East Side.

But in his study, Montgomery wasn't talking about the amount of happiness on the East Side, where one might expect there to be a deep level of disatisfaction in the poverty-stricken neighbourhood. He was talking about the upper-class West side of Vancouver. His study ultimately reveals that "the richer the city you live in Canada, the less likely you are to be happy." We've all heard these studies before, and we've all heard the cliché: money doesn't buy you happiness. And as much as we know it's true, we all have this built-in, media-driven tendency to buy the next best thing that will truly make us happy, don't we?

But are the pockets of sadness really in the areas where we find the greatest amount of need? Or are they in the areas where we find the least amount of want?

The Beatitudes

"God blesses those who realize their need for him,
for the Kingdom of Heaven is given to them.
God blesses those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
God blesses those who are gentle an lowly,
for the whole earth will belong to them.
God blesses those who are hungry and thirsty for justice,
for they will receive it in full.
God blesses those who are merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
God blesses those whose hearts are pure,
for they will see God.
God blesses those who work for peace,
for they will be called the children of God.
God blesses those who are persecuted because they live for God,
for the Kingdom of Heaven is theirs."

non-emergent

The one hour time difference has brought some minor changes to my morning commute. Six o'clock is once again shrouded in darkness, though by the time I leave for the bus at seven, a bit of light begins to filter through the black. And on the kind of mornings we've had over the past week (bitterly cold and brilliantly clear), the sunrise is in its full glory by the time I start heading Northeast on the skytrain--the perfect vantage point from which to view the silhouetted frames of Mt. Baker and his mountainous friends in the far East. I've taken to simply enjoying the morning nature show from the skytrain until we start heading West and the sunrise continues out of sight--at which point, I pick up whatever free newspaper I'm handed on my way into the 22nd Street station. Or I continue reading my book of choice for the daily commute.

I just finished the book, Why We're Not Emergent (by two guys who should be) by Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck. It was lent to me by a friend in perfect condition though now, with a bit of travel under it's belt, I've managed to dog-ear the corners. We had gotten to talking about the Emerging Church Movement and, after explaining a bit of my experiences and questionings in the past, I soon had this book in my hands. Limitied to one hour a day on the bus and skytrain, it took a while to get through the book, but on finishing it I thought I'd offer my unprofessional critique. I often read books uncritically and never actually process what I'm reading, but I want to change that. I'll start with this book.

Within the first chapter I realized that I may relate more to this book than I anticipated. DeYoung is a Reformed pastor in Michigan--the mecca state of the Christian Reformed Church--so he immediately gained my attention. Kluck, a sportswriter, attends the same church as far as I could tell in their writing, so it is obvious that the criticisms in this book towards the emerging movement would be Reformed in nature. DeYoung does an excellent job of thinking critically through the printed words (ie. books, blogs) of some of the major emergent leaders: Brian McLaren, Rob Bell, Leonard Sweet, Erwin McManus. Though (unfortunately) neither author ever had a conversation with any one of these guys, DeYoung is able to pick apart what he believes to be theological unsound statements and beliefs held by the emerging movement. And he does this well, challenging the movement to stop asking questions in some key issues of Christianity [around the foundational aspect of Scripture (The Bible tells us what is true. Our thinking about God, ourselves, and the Word should start with the Bible and never contradict the Bible. In that sense, what's so wrong with calling the Bible our foundation?), the desire for Christ over doctrine (Once we say something about why Jesus is glorious and what His life was like and what it accomplished, aren't we settling back into dogma and religion again? The Jesus-versus-theology mantra is centuries old, and it makes no more sense and no more converts today than a hundred years ago.), propositions, hell, salvation, and others] and to start providing answers. There is too much confusion in all this questioning, and there are some absolute truths that we must hold on to, he might say.

I had a tough time getting through Kluck's writing. While DeYoung wrote from a more theologically sound view (the advantage of being a Reformed pastor, I'm sure), Kluck attempted to draw his reader into various anti-emergent conversations he's had with others along the way. It was distracting and lacked what one might call a Point. And maybe that was his point--to show that non-emergent folk can have intelligent conversations and learn from them, too, just like their emergent counterparts. From the start though, I was distracted by his writing, I wasn't looking for the [churches] with the biggest projection screens, the coolest "gathering place," or the best film discussions, and then proceeding in the same chapter and the next to explain how movies such as Rebel without a Cause, Jerry Maguire and Thank You for Smoking are relevant to his discussion on being non-emergent. That and his use of Wikipedia as a source for his understanding of what "futurist" means. All that to say, if you want to learn from this book and gain some valuable, theologically sound insight into some concerns about the emergent movement, read the chapters written by DeYoung, who finishes the book (and this short book review post) well:

In the end, it all comes back to God. We become what we worship. If God is relational, inviting, and mysterious overwhelmingly more than He is omnipotent, just , and knowable, then the gospel becomes a message overwhelmingly about community, inclusion, and journey. But if God is overwhelmingly holy, righteous, and graciously sovereign, then the gospel becomes a message about sin, justification, and undeserved mercy. To borrow from Jonathan Edwards, what we need to recover is a vision of God in all His "diverse excellencies."

Brandon.

we watched a documentary last night on the fifth estate. when the story of Brandon Crisp came out late last year, i remember feeling a sense of disbelief that a 15 year old boy would run away from home over having his video game taken away. disbelief and sadness, actually. at the time there was speculation about foul play, but when the story wrapped up in the news three weeks later, Brandon's body had been found at the bottom of the tree he fell from. this story breaks my heart.

perhaps a natural reaction to a story like this one is: who's to blame? the parents? call of duty 4? the video game industry? Brandon? to be honest, i'm not sure anyone is to blame. this story is the tragic result of a perfect storm combining all these fronts. that said, however, i am a little disappointed with the entertainment software association (esa) and major league gaming (mlg). while the documentary intentionally left the viewer with a sense that both organizations are solely to blame, it at least opened my eyes to what goes on behind the scenes in the video game industry--and perhaps some things that need to change.

regardless of how a mature-rated game ended up in the hands of a 15 year old, it is obvious that the rating system does not work and is not at all taken seriously. and i don't think it ever will--it's too late for that. but while the esa and mlg portray their organizations as the providers of entertainment, it is clear that they really don't care and are content with the lack of ratings accountability. and it's not because they just really love providing entertainment for a generation of teens and young adults. it's because that generation are easy targets for marketers which, in turn, makes them a huge profit. why try to fix something that's broken in your favour?

finally, let me say this: i love video games. when my brothers and i were growing up, we would go out and rent the latest console (back in the days when the n64 was the coolest) and spend the entire night playing the latest video games. just a few weeks ago we did the same. i know how addicting video games can be. and i know that if we had an xbox 360 , xbox live and call of duty 4 at home, i would have no reason to leave the house. it is that addicting for me. in that sense, i understand Brandon's obsession with the game. but matthew bromberg (mlg) is right: ultimate responsibility should lie in the hands of parents who should have the most say in how their child spends their time--an increasingly difficult task in a world where teens can find their sense of belonging as much on a soccer field as in an online community.

there are no simple solutions to make sense of Brandon's death.

to view the full robbie cooper video, 'immersion', click here. To hear an interview with him on Q, click here.

a red light day.

Some days it seems like all I come across are red lights—literally and figuratively. I must have been stopped at 75% of the intersections I came across along my delivery route today. And right now I am being stonewalled by a homework assignment that I simply cannot wrap my mind around.

I'm going nowhere,
All the lights are changing green to red.

--David Gray

a year of waiting.

It's the beginning of February and I'm just now getting around to writing about last year. 2006 was a year of completion. 2007 of experiencing. 2008 was, if I were to put into one word: newness. I think. It's the first word that comes to mind, but it was chased into my head by another word: commitment. Newness is fitting though, what with a new job, a new wife, new home, new school ... new life. Instead of turning a page to a new chapter, it's almost like I finished the prequel and cracked open its sequel. And within this first chapter of newness is a deep awareness commitment. No longer can I get bored and move on--of these new experiences, I'm in it for the long haul. This is the first chapter of many, and I'm eager to see what happens. Which brings me to 2009. This time, I'm not going to look back in January 2010 to figure out what the previous year was all about. I already know what 2009 is. 2009 is a year of waiting. ...let me backtrack a few weeks.

New Year's Eve was spent on a little plot of land called Mayne Island, between the Mainland and Vancouver Island. A few folks from our Bible Study got together for a few days in order to ring in the New Year with a bit of a spiritual focus. Somewhere between reminiscing the year gone by and thinking about the year to come, 2008 slid into 2009. Champagne was opened, glasses were clinked, the Happy New Year song was sung. My wife and I kissed.

The Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says, 'Only in returning to me and waiting for me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength.' But the Lord still waits for you to come to him so he can show you his love and compassion. For the Lord is a faithful God. Blessed are those who wait for him to help them. [Isaiah 30:15,18]

January 1, 2009 began with those words and with a challenge: are we willing to actively wait for God? Even more so, are we willing to actively wait for [and within] His will? Patience is a lost virtue in our society. Perseverance, non-existent. And I've grown accustomed to pursuing the next best thing to come along. But with all the newness begun in 2008, it strikes me that each new circumstance carries with it a long-term commitment. We don't know exactly what we're waiting for, but waiting patiently is what Susan and I felt called to in this new year. In time I will be finished school, Susan will be ready to move on from her job, and we are open to whatever possibilities are open to us. And the hard part . . . the really hard part is ... waiting.

one month 'til...

first thought.

Somewhere in the semi-state of consciousness between turning my alarm off and slowly slipping out of bed this morning, a thought crossed my mind:

Through the eyes of the innocent,
softer, and deeper, is love.

hope.

The fog has settled into the city. For days now a thick cloud has enveloped the shoreline of the Fraser River, plunging any bridge that dares to cross it into a vast expanse of gray. And now, with one out of the three main bridges into the city closed for an estimated four weeks, the amount of cars disappearing into the fog on the other two bridges has doubled in capacity. It's a commuting nightmare.

But, there's hope--a silver lining on the fringes of this endless Vancouver cloud. Surely, Barack Obama will swoop in to save the day for the overanxious, claustrophobic bridge commuter. We've pinned all our other hopes on this man for the regeneration, regrowth and replenishment of this world, so why not add a bit of traffic to his endless list of "We Can's." [fingers crossed] Yes, he can!

Today marked the inauguration of America's 44th President. I managed to catch Obama's swearing-in and speech on the radio between deliveries this morning and was quite impressed by his on-stage charisma and authenticity. In commentary after commentary on the event, one word re-emerged time and again; a word that contrasts--like Obama's smile--the prevailing attitude otherwise portrayed by the media in this "global economic crisis:" hope. I'll readily admit that I am just one more person who has jumped on the Obamawagon, but I struggle to not pin my hope on a President. It's too easy to step back and expect the leader to do all the work while we reap the benefits. And I think Obama understands that, which I think is why I like him. He touched on every popular 21st Century topic in his speech, from the environment to love to cooperation to responsible economic leadership. And he made it clear that it is not his sole responsibility to work these things out. His words, though spoken to the citizens of America, resonated around the world: "What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition...that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world. Duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task. This is the price and the promise of citizenship."

Not only does he believe in the possibility of equality, he knows that we all play a role in achieving equality. Words like that can too easily be missed in the hype of a misplaced hope.

snowcouver?

It's raining in Vancouver. Hallelujah.

In years past, perhaps my number one complaint about living in 'Raincouver' is just that--the rain. Not this year. With the rain comes some sort of semblance to life once again. I walked on pavement today, perhaps for the first time in a month. Add to that joy, this: the buses are on time, the skytrain is back on its normal schedule, and I'm not pushing our car out of another snowdrift. [We'll not mention who exactly put the car in the drift in the first place]. But this oft-repeated predicament on the snow-covered side streets of Surrey raises a fundamental question in my Ontarian mind: why am I stuck in a snowdrift on a street...again? Back in Ontario, this was never a problem. It was a cycle as simple as this: 1) Snow 2) Plow 3) Repeat.

Vancouver, however, is not known for this white, fluffy precipitation. In a city not used to massive amounts of snow, little resources exist to deal with it when it piles up on city streets. Here, the cycle looks a little lacking: 1) Snow 2) Repeat.

As the snow continues to pile up on the streets of the city, nothing but the smooth summery tires of civilian transport exists to crush it into oblivion. Plows are few and far between here, something everyone east of Abbotsford must be aware of. Heck, in Ontario, my siblings and I even had pet names for each type of plow we'd watch pass our home. They were the A&W burgers of the street: there was Papa, with it's crew of double-bladed, highway-clearing Papa friends; Momma took to the main city streets, leaving a trail of salt in her wake; Sister took care of the side roads; and best of all, there was Baby. I remember hearing the constant drone of Baby as she tumbled up the sidewalks of Grimsby, leaving nothing but a clean patch of cement for the foot commuter. Alas, this family of snow-crushing machinery only exists in areas where...well...where there's snow. A lot of snow. The highways of the Lower Mainland are lucky to have Sister scrape over them.

It seems the snow was a short-lived (albeit month-long) adventure. It won't take long to get used to the rain. I heard my first complaint about it at work today: 'When's it ever going to stop?'