theo|digital

So, I went to the Sufjan concert last Thursday night (awesome bad phone picture to right), and even though we’ve barely made it through week five of the semester, it was the best night of it.

It’s probably predictable with my personality that what I like best about concerts is the personal connection I feel to the artist. When I reflect on that, I always feel disappointment, because I know the connection I feel isn’t mutual: that’s how the stage works -> outward. But intimate identification via eyes, lyrics, unscheduled spontaneity… I tend to rate the experience not on the volume of the music, but of the exposed heart.

Ben Folds, for instance, was stunning – and even interactive and funny. But you got the feeling that he did this every night – the same jokes, the same routine.

That’s probably not fair. I imagine most artists do that.

Oh yeah, Sufjan.

It’s just that: he pulled it off. Perhaps it’s partially do to his voice: he has it controlled to be soft and clear – in purposeful contrast to his sophisticated time signatures, dictionary lyrics, and multi-part melodic motifs. Even surrounded by his precision production, I felt, sitting on the house-right ledge in the Canopy Club, that he was giving us a fascinating and personal look at himself.

Between songs, Sufjan and his band jumped up and down like cheerleaders in orange and blue, executing planned cheers, but giggling as they did. It’s like the material still felt fresh to them – that they enjoyed it, even if the heat was getting to Sufjan later in the night as he wiped the sweat from his forehead between verses.

(Come Feel the) Illinoise is so fascinatingly crafted, it even gives long time musicians a chance to stop and absorb the scene. At times the eclectic layers make Radiohead look like a I-IV-V pop band. When the band launched into “The Tallest Man, the Broadest Shoulders” – Sufjan’s cheery electric guitar player clapped her hands above her head: *clap*… *clap clap* … *clap* … *clap clap*. She got instant participation from a fully invested crowd, but the time was so complicated, that most people couldn’t keep the clapping up when she returned to playing her guitar. It made me laugh at ourselves.

oh yeah, death cab. Ben me got tickets for Oct 13 at Foellinger. Nice.

Okay. It’s interesting how old the idea of blogging can seem to me, yet I still run into people (even my age), who don’t understand the word when I say it. Huh.

That aside, I still feel like I’m getting a handle on how to do this.

To that end, I’ve decided to have my blogs match my brain: split and confused at all times. I’ve re-purposed this blog to become my simple personal and ministry update area. News. Quick Thoughts. Pictures.

And I’ve added something new: tohaveminematch.blogspot.com

The “to have mine match” blog will carry the burden of my heavier abstractions on sin, grace, community, religiousity, and the escape from the evangelical church.

cool.

We just spontaneously sent a crew of students down to assist with relief efforts in Baton Rouge. I wrote an announcement article for www.illinilife.org – check it out. This is really cool.

The adrenaline of life is source of both purpose and pain. It strains my heart, but makes it alive. I wonder if love and purpose – these two streams – run at different speeds. Love is slow, timeless. Purpose is accomplished, quick.

I run at both speeds. I need them both. And any overdose of one tends to hurt me spiritually.

Life accelerated on Tuesday. It was the day we “report” back to campus: the day we start intensive preparations for new student week, which now begins tomorrow. And I’m already pretty exhausted!

The last four days have begun with two hours of packed time with my campus team – six of us praying, conferring, planning, and brainstorming. And then full days of phone calls, e-mails, organizing, writing: readying the major events that accompany the arrival of the new freshman class of 2005. I think I’ve put in 12 solid hours for the last four days – whew. Right now it’s almost midnight, and I finished up about 10 minutes ago.

It’s worth it, though. I may not know them yet – but some of my new best friends are lying awake tonight in their upstairs bedrooms – anticipating the biggest change of their life tomorrow morning. I’m one of those who believes in God-orchestrated “chance meetings” – and this next 5 days will be full of them.

I hope there are many who will find a home in our family here on campus. Find God in the midst of the other people. Find out how big Life really is.

Here we go.

In recent weeks, the flow of selfishness has been so strong that today – for a few minutes – I felt completely unworthy to be leading in this community. My inability to quell my criticism, my untempered greed. Fortunately, my pride returned me to a sense of self-security, my resilient self-image responsive to the way I numb my spirit if it causes emotional distress.

To want to know the heart of God?
To have mine match?

I’ve learned this. When I am faltering, it’s not my heart that is attacked. It’s my heart’s desire. It’s not my character that is assaulted. It’s my desire to have character. It’s the word “want” tentatively inserted with a quiet question mark that slips in and begins the poison.

When my own passion fades – then I’m the one making the choice to slow the journey. I am not Pilgrim hindered by peril, sword, and beast. I am hindered by self-inflicted leak in my own resolve. I take a rest stop on the path because I want to.

This is how it feels to be held back on a spiritual journey. The spiritual lactic acid. After running 15 miles, you start to wonder why you wanted to run the marathon in the first place. What was the point?

So my response to my heart isn’t to beat it into submission, but to remind it of the God whose unimaginable peace, satisfying justice, love-that-works-right-every-time is ready to make mine more like his. And how I WANT this.

Walked out of the house yesterday morning, but this wasn’t the first thing I saw as I approached my car. I couldn’t put my finger on it – it just felt not quite right. When I tried to open the car door, I discovered that it was already unlocked. Dang – I thought – I forgot to lock it up. Then I saw the wires hanging where the radio should be, and the contents of my glove compartment scattered on the floorboards.

At first I thought it was my fault – leaving the car unlocked on a dark city night. It took me five minutes to look back and realize my back passenger-side window had been smashed. The back seat layered in shredded glass.

It was odd thinking about the man who was in my car, going through my things.

I’m not sure why he chose to break in my car. Of all the cars on the street: my 1989 Olds instead of the two Lexus SUVs halfway down the block. And my radio. It’s only a year old, but it was installed at circuit city. I literally walked into circuit city and said, “what’s the cheapest model you sell?”

The cop that took the phone report said a crack addict will take anything – even if it means selling it for ten bucks. I don’t know if a drug addict took my radio, but it cost me a lot more than my theif will get for it.

So I have to replace a CD player, about 20 CDs, a 6-pack of colorado beer (a gift for a friend I was carrying in the backseat), and a broken car window. Maybe don’t have I have replace all of that, but those are the things that have been taken from me, plus about $5 cash.

The calm suprised me. My last few days have been hurried, tired, bitter. Materialistic and distracting. And as I cranked my radio-less car – hearing the outside sounds clearly from the broken back-right window – I felt like God had slipped into the car and sat down nearer to me than we had been in two whole weeks.

I don’t know exactly what that is, but I think the nearness of God is worth a broken window and a stolen radio.

Chicago neighborhoods: Corner pubs. Cracked sidewalks. Earings. Fearless pigeons. Wrinkled Greek men; gold chained latino machismos. Theaters with one door. Red brick salt box houses. Spanish in bursts like water cannons.

And me drinking house blend, self-consciously hoping I’m interesting enough to fit in this City Jam Session, this mish-mash of notes and beats.
Jason D my Chicago buddy just bought a new hip two-flat in Wicker Park… within walking distance of *three* Intelligensia refill stations. I’m staying with him for two weeks while I’m up in Chicago visiting friends and ministry partners. Sweet.