I haven't had a substantial update in a while, huh? Well, I promise one will come soon. It will involve the unveiling of my latest celebrity abducteevictimobsession crush, and related thoughts on God. (Hint: she's my profile picture now.)
In the meantime, here are two songs that I really dig at the moment. The first is a fun, cute little diddy from She & Him, and the second is a new Jon Foreman song (with his handwritten lyrics underneath) that gave me goosebumps and tightened my throat on the way to work this morning.
Who: Sleeping At Last What: Concert ($10 per ticket, small service fee) When: Sunday, April 6th, 7:30 p.m. (doors open at 7:00 p.m.) Where: NYC, The Canal Room (they rarely come to the NYC area!) Why: To watch an awesome band, to hear awesome music, and to enjoy some company in New York on a Sunday evening
If you're interested, let me know by commenting below or emailing me (jhahn221@gmail.com).
Feel free to extend this invitation to others as well.
(If you want to listen to some of their music, let me know.)
I saw Michael Clayton the other night, and I must say that it was one of the better films I've seen in recent months. Though I have yet to see Atonement (and have no plans to watch it), of all the Academy Award-nominated films of 2007, I probably enjoyed Michael Clayton the most. I still think No Country for Old Men was the most "rewarding" film to watch, Juno was the sweetest, while Daniel Day-Lewis absolutely dominated my attention and awe in There Will Be Blood. But, without a doubt, Michael Clayton = great movie. The last scene makes you want to pump your fist like Kobe:
What I want to focus on, however, is the opening scene of the film. It's enthralling. (By the way, Tom Wilkinson is brilliant in this movie.)
(Warning: some foul language is used in this clip.)
Moments of clarity like that are probably rare for most people, but it's something that is hugely desirable to me. Most of my waking hours feel "muted," if that makes sense...almost as if I'm congealed in a thick layer of fat, which is only melted away for moments at a time, just a few times a month, and still only in part.
Tonight, I had one such moment. It occurred after I came home from playing two and a half hours of victorious basketball, took a hot shower, and sat down at my desk with a cup of Darjeeling tea and a bowl of warm yaksik. For the first time in a while, I was satisfied, spent, and at peace; in other words, I think I tasted real joy.
After this breeze passed (rather quickly, I might add) two other such moments of clarity that happened earlier in my day came to mind:
- I read this passage from Suite Francaise in a crowded Barnes and Noble, and for whatever reason, it smote me:
Silently, with no lights on, cars kept coming, one after the other, full to bursting with baggage and furniture, prams and birdcages, packing cases and baskets of clothes, each with a mattress tied firmly to the roof. They looked like mountains of fragile scaffolding and they seemed to move without the aid of a motor, propelled by their own weight down the sloping streets to the town square. Cars filled all the roads into the square. People were jammed together like fish caught in a net, and one good tug on that net would have picked them all up and thrown them down on to some terrifying river bank. There was no crying or shouting; even the children were quiet. Everything seemed calm. From time to time a face would appear over a lowered window and stare up at the sky for a while, wondering. A low, muffled murmur rose up from the crowd, the sound of painful breathing, sighs and conversations held in hushed voices, as if people were afraid of being overheard by an enemy lying in wait. Some tried to sleep, heads leaning on the corner of a suitcase, legs aching on a narrow bench or a warm cheek pressed against a window. Young men and women called to one another from the cars and sometimes laughed. Then a dark shape would glide across the star-covered sky, everyone would look up and the laughter would stop. It wasn't exactly what you'd call fear, rather a strange sadness--a sadness that had nothing human about it any more, for it lacked both courage and hope. This was how animals waited to die. It was the way fish caught in a net watch the shadow of the fisherman moving back and forth above them.
- For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven. - Matthew 5:20
(Can't you kind of imagine Jesus pointing at himself as he said, "your righteousness"?)
That verse struck me, and for brevity's sake (and due to the late/early hour) I will just paste what Matthew Henry has to say about this verse, because it so succinctly describes the pointed sword that poked at my heart:
"...and yet our Lord Jesus here tells his disciples, that the religion he came to establish, did not only exclude the badness, but excel the goodness, of the scribes and Pharisees. We must do more than they, and better than they, or we shall come short of heaven. They were partial in the law, and laid most stress upon the ritual part of it; but we must be universal, and not think it enough to give the priest his tithe, but must give God our hearts. They minded only the outside, but we must make conscience of inside godliness. They aimed at the praise and applause of men, but we must aim at acceptance with God: they were proud of what they did in religion, and trusted to it as a righteousness; but we, when we have done all, must deny ourselves, and say, We are unprofitable servants, and trust only to the righteousness of Christ; and thus we may go beyond the scribes and Pharisees."
For those who don't know, I used to have a dog named Jordan. He was a Miniature Pinscher and I loved him dearly. I would post a photo of him here, but I don't have any electronic copies available.
I don't know why, but my mind took me to his part of Memory Forest tonight, and I recalled something that I had not thought of in a while.
Jordan was mischievous, and that was good most of the time. It made for fun play, and it was one of the things I miss most about him. However, when he would go on walks, his penchant for shenanigans would sometimes get the better of him. For instance, like all cartoon (and real life) dogs, he loved bones. There were a few times when Jordan would find a stray bone that probably found its way out of a neighbor's garbage container. He would quickly snatch it up into his mouth and immediately strut straight for home.
When we got back home he would stand still with the bone in his mouth, waiting patiently for me to open the front door so he could have his way with it inside. But the thought of all the bacteria on a bone whose origins were wholly unknown to me made me wary of allowing this. Though part of me did want to give in and let Jordan experience what must have been a foretaste of his perception of heaven, I cared too much to risk something bad happening to him. So, I would carefully try to take the bone from his mouth.
Little did I know, he was incredibly passionate about bones. The first time I tried to pry it from his little jaws, I reached down slowly and he immediately let go of the bone and bit my hand, breaking the skin and drawing a faint dot of blood. I was shocked (and in pain) since I had never felt nor seen him bite anything with such unbridled angst before. Still, he dropped the bone and my mission was accomplished. (After that time, I opted to use either my shoe or a stick to pry bones from his teeth instead of using my bare hand.)
It occurred to me that there is an enemy in whose jaws I was once caught up in. My plight was helpless, and I could do as much as a bone could in a dog's mouth to break free.
For he has rescued us... - Colossians 1:13
But there was a hero that came to my rescue. He extended his bare hand towards the enemy's jaws. This presented an opportunity that the enemy could not let pass by, so he clamped down on that hand with all his might, and drew blood in the process. However, in doing so he was consequently required to let me go.
My hero had given me freedom and life at the cost of his very own blood. He took my place in the enemy's jaws.
I look beyond the empty cross forgetting what my life has cost and wipe away the crimson stains and dull the nails that still remain...
Yet, here I am, freed and made alive, mimicking what the enemy had done. I cling to dirty, harmful, inferior objects as if they were better, and when I see that pierced hand draw near to take them away, for my good, I snap at it. I cannot seem to shake myself free from loving all that I should hate, from thinking my desires better than his. I realize that I cannot deny my part in his murder. I am imbued with horrible guilt.
But I, too, must also let go of the very things that demand my demise and destruction whenever I strike his loving hand. And with the order of things now turned upside down, victory, not defeat, is tasted every time this process must occur. Life, not death, is brought forth. Light, not darkness, gains further territory. Each and every time I am somehow absolved and freed (again) from the death that once had me clenched in its jaws.
I bite. I let go. He is bitten. I am freed.
But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed. - Isaiah 53:5
