Monday, October 11, 2010

Learning from Seasons

Spring, Summer, Fall, & Winter…

I think there’s a lot to be learned from our seasons of weather. I’m not the first to think like this, but it just really hit me hard today as I was biking down an autumn stained bike path in Fredericton, New Brunswick.

The eccentric design of this universe is arranged in just such a way so that different regions of the earth’s surface experience different tendencies in temperature based on their relative tilt away from or towards the Sun.

Do we ever ask ‘why’ anymore? I’ve lived 24 years on this planet and I’m still discovering ‘new things’ that have existed right under my nose this entire time. The Lessons of Seasons is one of those ‘new things’ in my life right now.

I recognize that the cycle of seasons has an immeasurable number of practical reasons for existing; reasons that no doubt testify to a creator. The seasons of time proclaim design like a royal trumpet procession. But I don’t think that’s their only purpose. I think there’s more than a seasonal testimony of a creator. I feel compelled to daydream about the similarities between our human existence and the nature of each of our seasons.

Fall.

The Lesson of: A Beautiful Death.
I’ll start with Fall, because that’s where we are right now, and this is the launching pad that inspired this train of thought.
In my mind, a ‘beautiful death’ seems more like an oxymoron than a compatible combination of words, but when I think about Fall, that word choice seems best to me.
My explanation of this might have to start with a bit of self-defense… I promise you, I’m not morbid. I don’t think death, in general, is beautiful, nor do I think it’s good.

I think there’s no more potent reminder of the brokenness of our human condition than the constant reality of ‘death’. Whatever form it comes in, it is a consistent pestilent threat that lurks on the edges of all things good. It is an inevitable right of passage that all living flesh must endure (in a sense), but I still refuse to submit to the temptation of utter depression. I think that would be a nearsighted misfortune…that would be to miss the beauty.

So how does ‘beauty’ fit into… The ugliness of death? I guess I’ve lived enough seasons to hope and trust in the rebirth of Spring.
If there was no spring, we would be right to fear the temperature drop that happens in the fall; if trees did not survive the winter then the yellow colored leaves would earn the tears of the tenderhearts; and if butterflies never emerged from the slumber of a cocoon then the caterpillars that crawled into them would surely deserve our sympathy.
But that’s just it… that isn’t the way things work. Spring restores the warmth, it sprouts fresh leaves, and the time in the cocoon even imbues the caterpillar with beauty; transformed into a new creation and ready to fly.

If fall was the only season, creation would be a downer. It would be a constant display of decay, a reminder of death’s power. But with the expectancy of Spring, the Fall season is robbed of its sting. Suddenly the temporal nature of this ‘death’ is strangely comforting because we know that as the old passes, the new will have place to sprout up. Renewal is on its way.

I like fall. It’s a reminder that some things are temporary. At the same time, it reminds me that we are wise to be expectant; to foresee the eventual rebirth, and to live in light of this new life. In my mind Fall and Spring compliment each other; they give each other meaning. While new life is more obvious in the spring, the fall speaks to me more about expectant faith. Despite all the evidence of decay and death, I feel encouraged that there will be rebirth… there will be a season that’s just as persistent, just as trustworthy, and just as certain as this visible presence of death.

So I think I did a lousy job at justifying the ‘beauty of death’… It seems more like I find rebirth to be beautiful. But I think that it’s not simply the rebirth I like… I like that there’s a time to suffer the absence of leaves. The yellowing leaves are beautiful because they cause me to deal with the reality that death is near… I guess I like to see the beauty in the midst of the death. Let me put it this way: Death is like the gateway to rebirth, I like the whole process. I don’t like one more than the other, and I find it impossible to segregate the two pieces of the relationship. I just know this: if trees never lost their leaves; if new leaves just sprouted up amidst the full foliage, we would probably forget to appreciate the leaves. The yellow, red and orange colored leaves call out to me. They beg me to appreciate them before they go.

I guess I’m just thinking today that Fall is really really beautiful even though it’s laced with death (or slumber, if you prefer that term).

I think Death can be beautiful because it teaches me to hope beyond what’s immediately available before me. It forces me to appreciate the moments I have before things change in unpleasant ways. Death makes life worth living. It inspires urgent appreciation. It teaches us to enjoy our pleasant circumstances while we have them, and to hope for rebirth in the midst of our difficult circumstances. It gives us the chance to enjoy the rewards of taking a substantial risk. It even gives us a way of measuring value too.
(I think this last paragraph could use a lot of unpacking, but I already feel like I’ve written too much for now).

Till the next time I write, I’ll be watching the leaves change, and listening to Jon Foreman.

Peace and love.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

This is my life




I get to spend time with students like these all the time...

I am too blessed.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Hobbit time...


My acting debut is on the horizon...

Read this article HERE that basically says: Blah blah blah, Brady will be America's Next Top Hobbit.

See you in New Zealand, P.J.

The Jesus Nature

Just thinking about Jesus this afternoon.

This morning I read a bit of G.K. Chesterton's, Orthodoxy.

This quote stood out to me.
'For Orthodox theology has specially insisted that Christ was not a being apart from God and Man, like an elf, nor yet a being half human and half not, like a centaur, but both things at once and both things thoroughly, very man and very God.'
(Orthodoxy, 98).

So this is the visual lesson I thought I'd share with the blogging community.



Not Quite Jesus...



Still... Not Quite Jesus...


So my curiousity is: How do we even begin to understand the 'very God and very Man' nature of Jesus?

Friday, October 1, 2010

Imagery that Finds Me (part 1 of 3)



Sometimes I’ll see things that cause me to think about life in a different way. Occasionally I remember these inspiring images.
Here are a couple moments I had recently.

Have you ever been stuck somewhere with very little money and an insatiable zombie-like hunger that hijacks your brain so that your only intelligible thought is ‘MUST FEED Nowwwww!!!’ … Ever been there?

Whether this moment happens in a dorm room, or downtown, or (as in my recent experience) on a 12-hour ferry ride from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland, wherever you are, you will surprise yourself at your own shameless resourcefulness.

Scrounging for change in the black-hole-abyss of the nearby couch cushions, asking strangers for charity while trying to look as pitiful and infantile as possible, subjecting yourself to ridiculous humiliation because your terrible friends were clever enough to capitalize on your need for money and food by making you do embarrassing things to entertain them… We all have our favorite methods, but we all get there in the end: we are compelled by our hunger, and we desperately work towards getting what will satisfy.

How Awesome is that moment when you walk up to the Vending machine with exact change? You know that all that ‘hoop-jumping’ you’ve just endured will soon be worth it because your hunger will soon be neutralized by tasty, unhealthy treats from the magical drug dealer from CandyLand: Mr. Vending Machine. (seriously, he is like a drug dealer isn’t he? You always find him in some dimly lit back hallway, loitering near the arcade room).
But when hunger strikes, suddenly he is your favorite old friend.

This is where I get angry…
There are few things I hate more in life than the moment when I make my selection at the vending machine… and my treat…gets…stuck.




Oh, I hate, hate, Hate this! This boils my blood.
Let’s face it. The only reason any of us would even condescend to using the vending machine is because we are desperate for food. And then when our last resort option backfires on us… Gahhhhh! No amount of warning labels can prevent me from at least attempting to dislodge MY lazy Treat free from its stupid little perch.

So I went back to my seat on the ferry after this happened to me the other day… and I was grumpy. I was angry (I don’t really know who I was angry with… I suppose… the ‘Vending Machine Union’ would have to take the brunt of my wrath), but out of the depths of my misery came this startling glimpse of a divine perspective… A thought pierced my self-pity and replaced it with awestruck humility.

‘This must be what Jesus feels like when he sees people living in bondage…’

That shotty vending machine was transformed into eye-opening imagery regarding the nature of Christ’s redeeming work on the cross. I know the image is kinda bizarre, and perhaps seemingly irreverent to compare the cross to a vending machine, but in that moment… in the midst of my hunger and my disappointment, the similarities spoke to me in a big way.

Everything I experienced in my little adventure with the vending machine was merely a glimpse; a quiet remnant echo of his deafening battle cry; it was a miniscule comparison to the epic story of human history.

- I was hungry for food.
But God was hungry for intimacy.
My hunger pains for that food doesn’t even hold a candle to the heart-wrenching Longing that God had to be reunited with his people and his creation

- I went looking for money.
But God went looking for the lost, that one sheep, the sick, the oppressed, the vulnerable, the lonely, the hurting, the weak, the marginalized, the outcasts, the despised, the unwanted, unlovable, and the untouchables… But as I became humiliated in exchange for meager earthly wealth and riches… The King of glory traded up the immeasurable riches of heaven in exchange for the humiliation and poverty of entering into our messy existence.

- But this is my main point… this was my epiphany out in the quiet nighttime reflections amidst the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
I felt frustrated because I didn’t get the candy bar that I paid for. I could see it hanging there, belonging to me rightfully yet still it was trapped there and I didn’t get to enjoy it.

How much more frustrating must it be for Christ to watch human beings living in bondage… He went through so much to get us. He suffered and endured so so much and still… Seriously? Even after all that, we’re not coming down from our stupid little perch? We live in our bondage; refusing to submit to the one who bought us by his blood. That must boil his blood. He must hate, hate, Hate how so many of us stay behind the glass. But instead of an ambiguous undirected hatred like mine (sorry ‘bout that Vending Machine Union) I’m sure that God’s anger just burns ferociously towards Satan for his life-stealing treachery. If we’re the candy, and Jesus is the fat kid who loves candy, then Satan is the sleazy manager who closes the snack shack and replaces it with a shotty vending machine. And not that Jesus (aka. Fat boy) can’t break the glass and snatch all the candy out… but he refuses to steal because he’s good. Even when he pays for all the candy and most of it stays where it shouldn’t… he won’t push the vending machine on the ground because that would put him in the wrong. I even go so far as to suggest that the annoying little sticker that demands no one even jostle or tip the machine is probably comparable to the nuisance of ‘free will’. He could have all the candy if he was willing to disregard that little sticker… but Jesus has more self-restraint than I do, he doesn’t even punch the glass… but boy, I bet he wants to.

All this is to say that My anger over being refused my rightfully paid treat at the vending machine got me thinking about how much Jesus has to be angry about when he sees person after person living in bondage to sin separated from him when he knows full well that he paid for them and they deserve intimate communion with him.