Embracing the Shadow

I'm respectful of therapy and make use of it, but I want to use it now as a point of comparison to transformation. Much therapy today is a needed way of dealing with our problems. On the level that we can solve problems, most problems are phychological in nature. But, in fact, most solutions are spiritual. Therefore we have to eventually move from trying to solve them (which is good and needed) to knowing that we cannot finally solve them at the level that matters. Maybe we can only forgive them, embrace them, or weep over them.
- Richard Rohr. "Everything Belongs"

January 25, 2009

I do not want to present an overly romanticized vision of this whole thing, as, for one thing, I am convinced that a more consistent pro-life ethic would allow us to be moved to wonder (and repentance) far more often.

But this morning, I caught a glimpse of Eden and the New Jerusalem as my son, Corbyn Davis Ryland was born at 7:56 a.m. He was 6 lbs. 3 oz., 20 in. long.

I was also profoundly aware of the already-but-not-yet nature of our current existence as I watched my wife labor (a term that I am now sure is a euphemism) to usher him into this world, and could not help but remember (employing the full Christian sense of the word) the woman I heard mourning the loss of her infant 10 weeks ago in a hospital chapel.

The moment was incredibly unspeakable.

To a ...

You never were normal
but you never knew
That you shouldn't function
like normal folks do

Chalk lines on the asphalt
still no one would talk
Though some read the story
in your tip-toed walk

Your mom shut her eyes
but saw it for sure
Just re-wrote your ending
her sorry-sincere cure

We all remained silent
tongues tied by consent
And maybe that was best
time then was better spent

Mobile: standing and walking
you were able to feel
Emotion in ignorance
though no less real

But the day that they told you
you were a sick boy
a switch flipped inside their heads
that made you unlike their stout son
now you're dependent, decrepit instead

the words, "you sick" didn't do a thing
to wound your fight and confidence
it was the tone of their voice, and loss of your choice
that distressed your belligerence

so late the next evening
when you were not looking
defense slipped out the back door
and left you alone, like your mother's first lover
whom she never sees anymore

since the day that they told you
that you were a sick boy
it's happened just as they've said
you've proved nobody wrong
just showed 'em all right
affirming their arrogance
and promoting doctors to prophets
and by eighteen you will be dead.

Just for Kicks and Giggles

Amy and I are fast approaching the arrival of our son (the due date is 1.29) so I thought it would be fun to hold an impromptu internet pool for our friends who are not close enough/around enough to take part in the one we have going. So, post you best guesses on (1) when the baby will arrive, (2) what he will weigh, (3) how long he will be, and (4) what he will be named. The person who comes the closest in the most categories will receive kind words and blessings in an upcoming post (don't get too excited...many have already guessed).

Here's a hint on the name: it is biblical, but it is not a biblical name.

Grace and Peace.

...

i want to rupture this
but i'm not sure
why
or what this is

i want to break free
of _________
that weights on me

this condition, this order, this extension, this chaos
this introspection
this...
what?
this circumstance, this system, this emphasis,
this holy mess
this thought process
this!
this?

maybe it's sin
a sojourning symbiote leeched deep within some dark
cavern of my soul
that mistakenly feels adopted and at home
as i join an autocatalytic process of fun death

i'd confess it
and concede to your work if only i knew...
what?

maybe it's me

i would bust this thing that confines
me to mediocrity
and explore the possibilities
of who i could be
if only i could define



maybe it's these people
who limit our potential
and repress our passion
with their liberation
pessimism
and sensibility
is "it" mediocracy?

or,
maybe it is
just me
laziness, apathy
(intertia)
l..e.t...h....a.....r.......g...
y

Den of Robbers

The clouds will scatter,
Yet the rain will fall.
"A known mystery will drive it all,"
I proclaim in praise.

Yet,
When I question what the skies can see
Because grace showers on my enemy,
All these words I've spoken
Return to me in silence
To remind me
Of the eucharistic promises I've enacted
And then broken.

This is Not Going to Work

(selling non-success)

What if
we fail?
What if
our selfishness,
dullness,
hurts,
foreign ideals,
cause us to turn
not to you
but upon each other?
What if
we allow
the nothing of our fears
to drive
the glorious something
of the love
that binds us
away,
until we fall
apart,
s ------c -----a ------------ t

--t-----------

--------- e-------
----------------------r--------

?

"What if?"?
is there any other way?
didn't you yourself
fail?
can we do differently
than the first
and still bear their name?
(for the point of bearing that name
is to remember and proclaim
that that name
is not the point)

if so,
then use our brokenness,
(the absence that by its non-being
praises that which is)
as you used
the scattered twelve.

Wow

This has nothing to do with poetry, but I'm just going to put it out there anyway. If you need/desire a theological deconstruction of this rubbish, ask and I'll be happy to pull out my ax. But I'm pretty sure that won't be necessary.

You may want to cover you computer in some sort of protective plastic before you click here.

Holy Saturday World

It's a nice heartache
She found there;
It's a new mistake
Done with her same old flair.
So she'll come back alive
With Christ-like scars
To pharisaical eyes
And dead mylar hearts.

She found her life on the other side of the grave.

You've been born again;
Have you ever died?
'Cuz she died more than once
Back when she killed them
With love and a clutch.
Now doubts can occupy
The same space as her faith,
Like the grave that held life.

In sacred silence we wait

In a Holy Saturday world
Where reason's crushed and uncurled
Until the holes in our systems provide
Glimpses of redemption.

It snowed the day
They lifted the lid
And found him hidden away
In the [mud and grit].
They had his friend drag him
Like Simon's cross
Across the pot-holed yard
To the furnace door.

He descended to hell. His ashes fell with the flakes

In a Holy Saturday world
Where reason's crushed and uncurled
Until the holes in our systems provide
Glimpses of redemption.

Is there any way around hell, in this foolish story we tell?


(Copyright 2008)

Poetry and Subculture

For a bit more on what I wrote about in the last post and hope to do a bit of in my next few posts, see here.

Poetry and Theology

I love theology. Yet, I am sure many are grateful (or would be, if they took to time to think about it) that God did not give us the Scriptures in the form of a systematic theology textbook. Instead God gave us a collection of stories and poetry and letters - and, often, it is difficult to tell the difference between them - that themselves are not the point but beckon us to Someone greater behind them.

I have been thinking about this quite a bit lately and what it means for my own theological exercises. I have come to the conclusion that essays, treatises, and systems simply do not cut it. They are good. Often necessary. But they themselves are a step to something greater (noticing a pattern?). I am convinced of the necessity (owing a great deal to the very types of essays and articles and books I am now proclaiming insufficient) of incorporating the arts into our theological work. Music (for a GREAT paper on the theological nature of music, see here) and poetry and sustained silence must be a central part of our reflection and spiritual discipline as they often say more than a whole library of the works of brilliant loquacious puffs ever could.

So, I am going to do something over my next handful of posts that is not easy for me. I am going to share the fruit (hopefully this is an appropriate metaphor) of my recent theological reflection: my poetry. I pray these are true to both appellations; that they are both theology and poetry. I also pray they will in some way be edifying to you, the blogging body of Christ.

I would love to engage in any conversation they may spark. And always remember that perhaps the point of our words is to allow us to articulate their inadequacy.

NOT ABOUT A GIRL (I had thought this would be obvious...)

Senses recalled in my head:
Your smell. It might drive me mad.
Soft touch upon my hand;
Sufficient strength to:
Stand me up,
Strangle me.

Dreams find you waiting there,
So far away, again.
I span the distant land
Reaching out to take that same

Offered pierced hand;

The thought of which grips my throat.
But it's your eyes that steal my breath,
And turn cool night to burning day.
As my skin begins to peel

I realize unrequited love will kill.


(Copyright 2008)

It's a Boy!

My kid has a penis! Granted, it's not very big right now, but we did see him display some amazing dexterity, picking stuff up and such with it. He's going to be trouble.

Now, I'm not going to make a habit of publicly showing off my kid's genitals, but, so everyone can wonder with us, here are my boy's boy parts:

Youtube Crystal Ball

I believe I may have been granted a glimpse into my future.

*Update* Youtube keeps trying to take this video down. Perhaps they are scared of it's mystical powers. So here she is:

Eschatology of Being Right

I hope entering into heaven (eternity, the new heaven and new earth) is a transformative, revelatory event, and does not simply afford me the opportunity to say, "I told you so."

This Really Is Our Baby

Amy and I just got back from our first ultrasound. We are told (by the Doctor herself and the caption on the pic) that this is our baby. There is only one. Which is both a relief and letdown.

We also heard the heartbeat.

It was sort of a liquid percussive sound. It was strange. And that little thud just changed my life. This whole thing just got a lot more scary and a lot more beautiful. In other words, a lot more real. This isn't life in the abstract "vote pro-life" sense. This is an actual peanut-sized life inside my wife. And I helped put it there. How ridiculuous is that?!

Father's Day

As you all probably know, this Sunday is "Father's Day." I could rant about how such holidays (holy-days) have no ontological reality, but are grounded in a secular ecclesiology, being simply manufactured by rebellious authorities in attempt to co-opt our bodies and souls into a narrative other than the Christian story.

I could. But I will not. Because I want to celebrate it. And I want you to congratulate me (or even send me presents). Because I'm going to be a dad!

Yes, my motives for celebrating and sharing are entirely selfish.

Amy and I have had our first doctors appointment. We're about seven weeks along and everything looks good. No, that is not our ultrasound. But we are having one next week to see if we're having twins, since they run in my family (sort of).

Our due date is January 29. So, we're enjoying every Friday and Saturday morning (our days off) we can between now and then, because after that, it doesn't matter what day it is, sleeping in will be a rare treat, like being moved by a Cameron Diaz movie.

Well Give You Six Bibles For Your Homes and Gardens

"When the European missionaries came (to Africa)...the Africans had the land and the Europeans had the Bible. The Europeans asked the Africans to close their eyes in prayer. When they said amen and opened their eyes, the Europeans had the land and the Africans had the Bible. But the Africans got the better end of the deal (Tutu) concluded, because the Bible then gave them the rational to ask for their land to be returned and their rights to be respected."

- Desmond Tutu, as paraphrased by Brian McLaren in The Last Word and the Word After That

From Our Cold Dead Hands

"Sometimes the value of a thing lies not in what we get by means of it, but in what we pay for it - what it costs us."
- Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols

I have no doubt that the way I am about to use this quote is unfaithful to the way Nietzsche originally intended it. But little bones of scripture have for years been lifted from the ribcage of a lamb and used as vertabrea to build a serpent. So I am claiming this method for the lamb.

What does Jesus, what does Christian discipleship, cost us?

Nothing. It is a free gift.

No. This Jesus who requires nothing of us is indeed an idol. Nietzsche was more right than he knew. Let's get beyond the easily regurgitated Sunday School answers and the abc's of salvation. What does it cost us? What does it take from us?

Our sinfulness.

The gift of God's Son wrests this from us; and yet it is so precious to us.

Movie Meme

Wil's meme

1. One movie that made you laugh
Iron Man

2. One movie that made you cry
A Thief in the Night (I was in first grade at a Christian school in Texas when they made us watch this terrible - yet, to a first-grader, terrifying - precursor to the Left Behind dribble).

3. One movie you loved when you were a child
Raiders of the Lost Ark

4. One movie you’ve seen more than once
Pulp Fiction

5. One movie you loved, but were embarrassed to admit it
Music and Lyrics

6. One movie you hated
Almost Heroes

7. One movie that scared you
The Descent

8. One movie that bored you
Doomsday (Neil Marshall, I thought you were better than this)

9. One movie that made you happy
Tender Mercies

10. One movie that made you miserable
The Serpent's Egg

11. One movie you weren’t brave enough to see
None really...unless you count high school boys trying to sneak into Showgirls. I wasn't down with that.

12. One movie character you’ve fallen in love with
James from Ratcatcher

13. The last movie you saw
The Black Dahlia

14. The next movie you hope to see
8 1/2

15. Your favorite movie (I added this one)
Persona

Death Metal Puppy

My description line above promises some metal. So every now and then I have to come through. Enjoy. Throw your neck out.