Last week I mentioned new music by Caedmon's Call and Chris Rice. A couple of days ago, the Musician who is the Man (Andrew Osenga) completed a cool summer EP inspired by visitors to his web-site. He sent a call out for people to submit ideas. Then he wrote some songs. Then he encouraged people so send in some "web background vocals." Then he put it all together, using PhotoShop to make an "online virtual" cd booklet. Then he put the six-song set up for download for free on his website. Granted, he would love donations (which is something I need to do), but still. The music is great. Very acoustic, very vocal, and very enjoyable. It's amazing what you can do with technology these days!

You can check out the download here.

I suppose I'm two-parts British, really, in the way I think. What I call "fatalist" with Douglas Adams side of me ends up being "realist" when it comes to the thinking of C. S. Lewis, G. K. Chesterton, and J. R. R. Tolkien. The difference, really, is faith. On some level, Lewis and friends are just as "fatal" in their thinking: they know that man is the problem and that as good as this world is, it's also a mess without the intervention of some outside force. Enter belief in a transcendant yet personal God.

These three guys, Lewis, Chesterton, and Tolkien, represent a way of thinking that both acknowledges the problems of the world yet offers hope for something more that has meaning. Not only that, they are each informed with a sense of classicism and Romanticism that definitely goes in and out of style. Each writes in a tone of authority that also draws you close and bridges distance. Each takes images and makes them come to life in a way that is unexpected but totally normal. Story, for them, seems to be a way towards redemption. Whether it is Thursday having the image of the Man who was/is/will be Sunday or Niggle painting his leaf or the narrator trying to come to terms with the beauty of the High Countries, each writer found an effective vehicle to remind us of what is most true about the world.

Now that I'm writing this, it seems kind of strange and disjointed. Ah well. All I know is that the words of these three writers centers me in the human story in a way that no other non-biblical writing has. They remind me that the journey is difficult because that's the nature of it all. They remind me that sin and human nature are real. They remind me that inns should be comfortable places and that walks through the countryside should be cherished and that just as there is great evil in this world, so is there an even greater good still. There is the long defeat but also the promise of farther in and further up. And those are good things to be reminded of.

Well, it's summer-time. And with the larger amount of downtime that I am afforded by teaching comes the curse of too much time for self-reflection. It's a gift and a curse. Now, luckily, self-reflection is part of the program for me this summer as I seek to rethink some things in terms of teaching talking and being. So, as time and chance allow, I'm trying to revisit things that have shaped me. A lot of times this comes "bubbling up" in the context of where my mind or tv remote wanders.

Arthur Dent and the Doctor. I've been on something of a British kick lately. It's something that goes back a good number of years, actually. There's a part of me, I believe, that is British in that Fatal Optimist kind of way. This is a little different than another part of me that is another kind of British (more of that some other time). Part of it goes back to watching the old Doctor Who series a number of times growing up when it was on PBS. Then, in middle school, a friend introduced me to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series of books. Both of these things did a good bit to shape my thinking. What's strange is that in both of these series of stories, the main character has experienced great loss (Dent loses his planet; the Doctor loses his entire race). That's the fatal part. The optimist part comes in with the idea that, regardless of how absurd the universe can be, there's something amazing out their to be experienced. And the universe is something to be traveled through and experienced, often with a rag-tag group of companions with their own unique perspectives.

I find that there are a lot of accidental fatalists out there. Accidental is maybe a wrong term; I just think a lot of people don't know any better (some say the idea of progress for ALL people is pretty much dead), and don't see much beyond what's in front of their faces. One thing that strikes me as sad about the part of my imaginative past that is British is that this strain is pretty much athiestic. Richard Dawkins (of The God Delusion) had a huge impact the the Hitchhiker's writer, Douglas Adams. In his stories, God pretty much disappears in a "puff of logic." In the Doctor Who series of things, God is pretty much absent in order to make room for a world in struggle between chaos and order (and no one wants God popping up to set things right).

So today this was the part of me that kind of surfaced. Not the athiest part, mind you. But I have revisted some episodes of Doctor Who and looked through an old Douglas Adams book. I also get a taste of it in the books of Jasper Fforde, but maybe that's reflection for another time. I love the archteype of the universal traveler, the lonely wanderer. Not that I want to be one, mind you. But this is the part of me that knows there's a lot to experience and see out there and beyond. The question is, how do you get out there? And how do you help others see everything for all that it is?

Reflective Quote for the Day: "There’s a lot of things you need to get across this universe: warp drive, wormhole refractors. You know the thing you need most of all? You need a hand to hold. The Doctor

I took my copy of Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz with me to last night's grad party. I had to have something to do on the bus over, you know.

While on the bus, a guy sat down beside me who was reading John Eldredge's Waking the Dead, which is my co-favorite Eldredge book. We talked a minute about Eldredge's most popular book, Wild at Heart, which I loved on my first reading but then distrusted on my second reading.

Anyway.

I take BLJ in with me. A number of the people I sat with recognized the book and asked me about it. Told them that I was revisiting it, looking over my notes from the first or second time that I read it. Everyone spoke very highly of the book, how solid Miller's ideas were (though one mentioned that she didn't agree with everything, which is fine). It was interesting to see people's reaction to the book. It presents quite the challenge to the believer raised in the institutional church.

I wish I could say that my life reflected the same kind of authenticity that Miller presents in the book. And I wished that I lived with the sense of "this is it" that Waking the Dead presents. Granted, I also wish I took the words of Jesus as seriously as I could.

That's the crux of it, really. Taking Jesus at his word. These other authors are good. They help us remove some of the cultural clutter that gets in the way. It's not gospel, by any means. But it does till the soil of the heart that needs to receive words of good news frequently.

So I'm listening to some songs that I downloaded at some point in the past but never listened to. Good lyrics from Anberlin's song "Paperthin Hymn:"

August evenings
Bring solemn warnings
To remember
to kiss the ones you love goodnight

You never know what temporal days may bring
So Laugh, love, live free, and sing
When life is in discord
Praise ye the Lord

Tonight I went to my first-ever grad party. Back in the day of my high school graduation, I remember that we had a party at church after graduation, and that was pretty much it (except for Dad needing to go to the ER, but that's another story). So it's been interesting to be in a culture where grad parties are a big deal: rent a nice banquet room, have a sit-down dinner, do a slide show, etc.

So I get to the location (a community center) and on the bottom floor reclined on a bench I see a familiar face reading a familiar book. That's one reason why I will miss the class of 2007: they read. This young lady was waiting for a martial arts class by reading Douglas Coupland's Microserfs. It was really nice seeing this graduate. She told me that later on, a half-dozen other grads would be in the same class, so I decided to make sure that I stopped by later.

I went upstairs to the party and was welcomed by the grad, and then I sat at the "adult" table with a co-worker and her family. Then I saw some other grads and they waved and I waved and walked over and talked to them. Did that a number of times; it felt so normal. We had a nice dinner, and then I went back downstairs to catch my other former-kids hitting each other with sticks (I kid you not).

This past week I made two commitments: one, to be less sarcastic, and two, to be more excited when I see my friends. I'm not necessarily doing too well on either account, but times like tonight make me want to do the second one better. Not to read too much into my former-students' reactions, but it was cool to be waved at and talked to and to have the chance to laugh with a group. It was weird to "catch up" on "old times" already. Heck, one former grad even had her lip pierced. Whodathunkit?

Tonight is one of those nights where I will go to bed thinking that these four years were enough, that this group was the perfect cap-off. I'm not sure how true that is, but that doesn't make the feeling go away.

I've been thinking a lot about words lately, and whether or not they really have power anymore (if ever). I know the answer to that question, but I don't always live by that answer. Still. . .

I've been revisiting some old favorite books and came across this quote just a minute ago. Thought I'd share it tonight before hitting the sack. It's from Donald Miller's first book, Prayer and the Art of Volkswagen Maintenance. Forgive me if I've shared it before.

Do waves lap up on the shore to dazzle neighboring waves? Do mountains life their summits to endear other mountains? Do birds command the sky to transcend their flock? If it is the whole of life to bring glory to God, have I not wasted my efforts in ill motive? And how does one revive sincerity on its deathbed? And how does one become something never practiced? How does one begin to love God? That is, after all, the goal of my journey; to find a Joshua Tree within this desert, hang a rope from its limbs and do an end to my old self, never again to impress with false righteousness; to become something new, a new creature whose heart beats sincere.