The Story of Your Life, Part Five

It happened one night, it was a dark and stormy night, it was the best
of times, it was the worst of times. No matter how it begins, everyone
has a story to live. This series looks at the story of the Christian
life. Part Five talks about the tests we encounter along the way.

Podcast: The Story of Your Life, Part Three

It happened one night, it was a dark and stormy night, it was the best
of times, it was the worst of times. No matter how it begins, everyone
has a story to live. This series looks at the story of the Christian
life. Part Three focuses on Crossing the Threshold–taking the first step
of the journey–and the factors that often stop us.

And, I share my secret fear in this episode.

The podcast runs approximately 11 min.

 

 

Podcast: The Story of Your Life, Part Two

The story begins. We’ve been called to a grand adventure. It’s what gets us involved in our neighborhoods, our country, and the world. Part Two of The Story of Your Life looks at the Christian’s Call to Adventure, the catalyst that starts our story.

 

 

Watch Part One

Podcast: The Story of Your Life, Part One

It happened one night, it was a dark and stormy night, it was the best
of times, it was the worst of times. No matter how it begins, everyone
has a story to live. This series looks at the story of the Christian
life. Part One reviews the overarching narrative in which
we play a part.

The podcast is just under 6 min.

 

 

Tension and Release

My piano teacher used to say this over and over and over again until
I could feel the tension and release in my shoulders. Tension and
release. It’s what music is built on. You can’t have the resolving
chord without that on-the-edge-of-your-seat V7 chord (although perhaps
Debussy would disagree, but even he has tension and release, and often
in the V7-I sense, so we won’t go there). It crosses boundaries into
every genre, whether a big Berlioz piece or Wagnerian epic or a Bach
pastoral.

It’s the same with stories. Tension and
release. You can’t have the resolving end without the obstacle that
needs resolve. You can’t have a protagonist without some sort of
antagonist.

At some point growing up–I’d like to think
it was early on being the prodigy that I am–I began wondering how this
relates to eternity, when God sets all things right and restores
everything to pure goodness. Music with no tension? Then how can we
have a Beethoven’s third? How can we have stories?

And more importantly, was all of this planned? All of the evil and sickness and disease and wars?

This weekend, I watched a movie called Equilibrium (and talked about it indepth here). It renewed some thoughts in me I haven’t thunk in a while. Thoughts about true peace and beauty and harmony.

I
believe that God did not wish for it, but He knew. He knew before He
created us that in order for us to love Him freely, not as puppets (but
as real boys), not as robots, but as humans with free will, He had to
preserve that choice. Even though He knew exactly where that choice
would lead. I’m not saying God wants us to suffer or that He enjoys the
disgust in this world. I’m no sadist, and God isn’t either. I don’t
want pain or disaster to fall on me, my family, or my friends, and
neither does God wish to see His creation, those He loves more than I
can imagine, hurt. But how could we love Him if we had no capability to
say no?

The sad thing, we did say no.

Here’s
the amazing thing to me: He saved the best for last. The Garden of Eden
is incredible, true, but the end, the next earth, fully restored and
beautiful, is even better. So amazing that John in Revelation 19-22 can
barely find adaquate words and metaphors to describe its shimmer. The
next earth makes Plato’s Utopia look like Auschwitz.

Imagine,
as the Lord crafted this earth, declaring it good, He knew that it
would turn and destroy and be destroyed. He knew about the tsunamis and
polution and oil spills and hurricanes. As the Lord made the animals,
slick and beautiful and playful, he knew they would slaughter one
another and be slaughtered, stuffed and hung on walls and in bellies.
As our God breathed life into man and woman, He knew He’d watch His Son
take his last breath because of this humanity.

And He
knew that a more magnificent earth is in store, and that the lamb would
lie next to the lion, and that this humanity would be at peace again.
He knew beauty would reign again, and when it did, it would be better
than the first time.

Why would my God give me something better after I did this to Him? That’s a grace I don’t understand.

But
this brings me back around to my first question (I like circles better
than lines, I think): what about the eternal, when heaven comes down to
earth, and we all reside in peace and beauty and perfection, when evil
(the antagonist) is completely wiped off the face of the–well, I was
going to say earth, but universe, or eternity fits better–what happens
to music and stories then? Will we not know them? If there’s no more
tension in life, does that mean there’s no more tension left to be in
stories and song?

I don’t know, but I have a feeling it
relates to that phrase "He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,
and death will not exist any more – or mourning, or crying, or pain,
for the former things have ceased to exist” (Rev. 21:4, NET). They won’t exist (thankfully), but does that mean we won’t remember them? I don’t know. In Lord of the Rings,
Sam tells Frodo of all the stories they’ll tell in the shire about
them, the heroes Frodo and Sam, when all is right again. There will be
no more sorrow, but they’ll tell the stories. I can’t help but wonder
if that is what it will be like. When everything is right and there’s
no more sorrow or death or evil, we’ll tell the stories, not to revell
in the evil, but to delight in the good, in God’s victory, His love for
us and our love for Him. In the transformation from war to peace, from
tsunamis to surfing, from safaris for shooting to safaris for petting.
We’ll tell the stories and play the music.

Which means, our stories and music and paintings are a foretaste because don’t we already know the end?

ABA or CBA or ABCDEFG?

There’s ABA, or American Booksellers Association (also a musical term describing ternary form, American Basketball Association, or Baseball perhaps, and American Bar Association, but although I am a musician, I’m not speaking of the first, and I’m neither a basketball player, baseball player, or lawyer, so that rules out the rest), and there’s CBA, or Christian Booksellers Association. It’s about publishing, fyi. The question is, which one do I got with?
I’ve vacillated between the two, and it has to do with philosophy, both of them good and desirable.
Let me preface by saying I don’t like the term "Christian fiction." How do you determine which fiction is Christian and which isn’t? Then there’s the corollary, is it Christian enough? Then you get into wars of all sorts of things from cursing and drinking to the theology of angelology and trinity (which is dealt with less often than the former). And then there’s the question of a non-Christian writing a work that reflects Christ more than he or she meant, and so is that Christian? I don’t like these questions, and someday I’ll talk more about that, but for now, know that that is not my ish here.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled program:
On the one hand, there’s the philosophy of Christians being in the world. Salt and light. Christians being present in the ABA world. Talented, beautiful, and Christian. This is the philosophy I typically strive to live. Does it matter if I’m a Christian playing Mozart or a non-Christian playing Mozart? No, not really, as long as I’m playing it beautifully. I think Christians should be in normal life, not in a bubble. Business women CEO’ing a dot com company or lawyers prosecuting and defending or musicians playing Mozart and writing original songs or writers coming up with stories that can be read by anyone who knows the language. This would be the world of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Flannery O’Connor.
On the other hand, Tevye, there’s the philosophy of Christians, who believe in the Creator God and His Imago Dei in every human, standing up to be patrons of the arts, including writing. Showing the world that we care about beauty, that we see the horrors and the death and the evil and all the wrenching of lives and relationships and all the effects of the Fall, that we believe in reconciliation and redemption and hope. Showing the world that we don’t want to just fight them. We want to lead them. As a group. As the Church, the Body of Christ. This would be the world of J.S. Bach and Handel.
See what I mean? Both are beautiful stances, in my opinion. So the question remains: which one for me?
I think at this point in time in my life, I’ll pursue CBA. There are problems, as there would be if I chose ABA. There are things that frustrate me. Heck, that’s life. But I’m passionate about writing. I’m passionate about Christ. I’m passionate about what can be. There are those who are passionate about writing, passionate about Christ, and passionate about what can be in the ABA world. Perhaps that will be me someday, another day.
Who knows.

Good Morning, Baltimore

I pull out my handy-dandy Nancy Drew notepad that goes everywhere with
me and flip to some notes from my Chicago trip. I pass through the name
of the porta potty company in South Shore Station that would make for a
good title of a new mom book (Oui Oui Enterprises), through notes on
the man snoring beside me in the Metra station and the butterfly that
got trapped in the bench area with me, through a dazzling first line
and brilliant character sketch, and I get to this: why I write.
Sometimes when the words don’t come and the rejections do, I remind
myself.
I write because when I meet Mr. Windsor, the retired
professor from Czech Republic with the wandering eye, Einsteinian hair,
and reading glasses, which sometimes hang from his mouth and sometimes
dangle on his chest from a rope, people need to know that he hops up in
a moment’s notice to help a kid with math problems or play Sorry or
take you for a ride in his blue classic Mustang convertible. I write to
introduce you to Marnie when she shows up on my doorstep with luggage
held together with duct tape and three kids, one of whom makes no
decision apart from Magic Eight Ball. I write because Itzel needs us to
be there when she encounters her abusive father and faces the Mayan
prejudices and sets out to save the world, or at least San Tomás.
I write because I read.
I write because I love the wooden smell of paper and the click-clack sound of keys.
I write because I want to learn.
I write because I want to communicate.
I write because I want someone to understand (although I don’t want anyone to see through me).
I
write because although I love my life here on the Island of Misfit
Toys, I know there is a Charlie-in-a-Box and a crying doll and a polka
dot elephant who want to feel the love of a child with wrapped-around
arms.
I write because I dance.
I write because I love.
I write because I sing and love music and rhythm.
I write to belong.
So tell me, why do you write?

(Note: I realize that the title has nothing to do with the post, but I saw Hairspray
this week – although I missed the sing along showing unfortunately -
and the songs are running through my head. In fact, I’ve never been to
Baltimore.)

The Whys, Wherefores, Thithers, and Hithers

“Popular culture believes that the function of the artist
is to entertain. Artists are told that to be political or the challenge
authority is an abuse of their gift. How fortunate for our common
humanity that so many through history have refused to acquiesce! I
believe that art is a prime facilitator of truth, and those who have
come to embrace this have always enhanced our humanity.”
Harry Belafonte

“One
either serves the whole of man or does not serve him at all. And if man
needs bread and justice, and if what has to be done must be done to
serve this need, he also needs pure beauty which is in the bread of his
heart…[We need] courage in one’s life and talent in one’s work.”
Albert Camus

“The church has a prophetic role to speak the truth when no one else dares to.”
Archbishop Pius Ncube

“When
the one who gazes upon [sic] myth suddenly, in dreadful recognition,
cries out, ‘There I am! That is me!’ then the marvelous translation has
occurred: he is lifted out of himself to see himself wholly."
Walter Wangerin, Jr.

A
good book is first and foremost a good story. I am not suggesting that
we offer up our writing on silver platters of platitudes.* On the other
hand, what makes a good story, aside from personal preferences of it
makes me cry, it makes me laugh, or it makes me think, it makes me
forget? Perhaps a story is good because it contains the truth (or
Truth, I might even say). This does not mean that it is chalked full of
the four laws, the Romans road, or Christian conversions (although it
will probably have a conversion, if we are to follow Joseph Campbell’s
understanding of a hero), but it will reveal something about this world
and humanity, both of which are beautiful and revolting and in need of
redemption and reconciliation. Again, I draw you to Campbell’s
understanding, which includes a “resurrection” and a “return with the
boon.” (Take, for example, the show Lost and its character
development. Narrow down to Charlie [who, sadly, is no longer with us]
and his development from a party-hardy rock star to a husband and
father figure who willingly sacrifices his own life to save in
specific, Desmond, Claire, and Aaron, and in whole, the crash
survivors.) Inherent in every story is the possibility for truth.
Why
do I write? I have a whole slew of reason, and perhaps someday I will
share them with you, but first and foremost, I write to serve the
Kingdom of God.
With fiction? some may ask. (None of you
would ask this because if you are reading this blog, you are most
likely interested in fiction from a Christian point of view, but, hey,
it’s fun preaching to the choir sometimes.)
Of course. What better
way than with story? Stories give us our identity. If my identity is
with Christ (and I assure you it is), then my stories will reflect
someone who is commanded to love the Lord her God and to love her
neighbor as herself. So what if I mix sarcasm with trust issues and
quirky characters with fighting a sweatshop factory? (Double, double,
toil and trouble.) So what if at times I don’t even mention God’s name
(like Esther) or other times have a communion scene (I’m referring to
an actual communion scene with wafers and wine)?
How about Dickens,
who, through humor and intricate story, wrote about poverty and the
work-houses and the foibles of the “respectable” nobility, turning
upside down the understanding of what it means to be charitable?
Or Poisonwood Bible or Beloved or To Kill a Mockingbird or The Count of Monte Cristo or Quaker Summer or Uncle Tom’s Cabin
or any book that resonates in us more than amusement. What it comes
down to is this: whether a literary, Pulitzer Prize contender** or a
vacation beach book, our writing matters and has the power to change
the world.

*Which makes me think of platypuses
**On the Waterfront, anyone? (I could’ve been a contendah.)