folks,

two confessions to make: 1. i think switchfoot’s latest album is outstanding. i know it’s a bit like saying that you’re into brittany spears or something but seriously, it’s good. and i like it.

second, i loved Blue Like Jazz, and Prayer and the Art of Volkswagen Maintenance (is it pretentious to call it by its original title?… regardless, i never actually read the updated version)… and then Searching for God Knows What was alright and To Own a Dragon was decent…BUT his new book is just superb and has me thinking all sorts of crazy thoughts.

“But it’s like I said before, about writers not really wanting to write. We have to force ourselves to create these scenes. We have to get up off the couch and turn the television off, we have to blow up the inner tubes and head to the river. We have to write the poem and deliver it in person. We have to pull the car off the road and hike to the top of the hill. We have to put on our suits, we have to dance at weddings. We have to make altars.”

Well played Mr. Miller. Well played.

A little known fact: this famous scene was filmed about 10 minutes from where I type, in St. Catharines, ON.

“Come back, don’t leave me, come back”.

They don’t make ‘em like they used to.

It looks as though my time in Sarnia is coming to an end as I’m hoping to be in Toronto for the foreseeable future beginning in early January.  Now it is true that I haven’t really been around Sarnia for a continuous period, in fact the longest stretch I’ve been here without going back to the GTA for some reason or another is probably about 16 days.  However, as I think about moving back to Toronto I am certainly going to miss going to work in the morning at theStory.  I have a desk, in an office, along with five other desks that are occupied by generally five others.

By moving to Toronto I face the prospect of working alone at Starbucks, or in a library or anywhere except the place that I’m living- wherever that may be!

In Sarnia, we get coffee together each morning, we generally eat lunch together and we certainly have a good many laughs each day.   Here’s the cast of characters…

Troy is what I like to call ‘my new find’.  He is the the creator of Trantz Photography and just about the nicest guy ever.  At this very moment I am at theStory and Troy is practicing his new hobby of dj’ing with a little device he bought on ebay.  He’s quite good at taking pictures and you should make checking his daily photo blog part of your internet routine.

I swear Nathan looks exactly like this every single day.  He runs Storyboard Solutions which constantly has folks bringing their laptops in to theStory, although secretly Nathan wishes that he could just build like 100 websites and live off the money that comes from hosting those sites.  He would then spend his time starting a home for the homeless but, due to copyright infringement he would not call it L’arche for the Homeless.  Nathan is also an Epiphaneia original and is one of the pastors at theStory.

Darryl is the resident emo- has been for years.  He drops by to play music or work on EP design stuff when he isn’t hangin out with his wife in Michigan or working at BP in Sarnia.  Darryl is fiercely loyal and wears tight jeans and when no one else around here cares that the Leafs have turned their season around- one person remains who can speak intelligently about the boys in blue: Darryl. Cole. Silvestri.  He is also a member of Driving on City Sidewalks which in case you hadn’t heard was featured in Relevant Magazine. Ya.  We’re friends.

On the left we have Daniel Slade.  I’ve been sharing a room with this lanky Ukrainian/Canadian/America mut since June 09 and only one time did I get mad at him for being too loud late at night.  And that was like four months ago.  And there were Germans in the room too, so it hardly counts.  He’s a keeper.

On the right we have Joe Manafo.  Nathan Colquhoun has been saying for years that Joe and I were essentially the same person but we didn’t find out how right he was until I spent time here.  Par example:  Sunday night at 12:15am we are all at someone’s house watching some British tv show.  Joe says “I need to go home and go to bed – can someone give me a ride”.  Nathan (typical Nathan) says “just stay for one more episode”.  Dan says “ya, just stay”.  Chris says “Joe, I’ll take Dan’s car and Dan can go with Nathan” while Chris thinks “thank the good Lord I can go to bed now”.  On the way out Joe and I ‘high fived’ for thinking the same thing. We. are. the. same.   Joe is also just straight up cool and good looking and incredibly talented- for real though, that’s not just a compliment because we are the same.  Joe and I also like to fight for Nathan’s time; he’s like the pretty girl in jr. high, which is remarkable considering the way he looks everyday.

I am certainly tempted to stay in Sarnia just to work here, except that Toronto is calling my name.  Maybe I need a work co-op or something…do those even exist?  C’est tout.

For nearly seven years I resisted the opportunity to play The Settlers of Catan.  From what I knew of the game it sounded extremely lame and I thought that it was the first step to concocting some ultra-ego that had magic powers and would have me permanently living in my parent’s basement.  It also seemed extremely addictive as folks at school could be found ‘trading ore for wheat’ (did i mention it sounded lame?) until all hours of the night.

This week I finally played Settlers and at first I was slightly disappointed in a ‘my streak of not playing this game is over’ kind of way.  However I have to admit that I actually like it in a ‘gosh i enjoy trying to build up a settlement’ kind of way.  I’ve played it three times in four days and I’m not ashamed to admit that.

My same logic for Settlers has applied to other popular activities that my friends have been in to, including their undying commitment to the world of Lost.  So far, I haven’t cracked but on more than one occasion I’ve thought of snuggling up with J.J. Abrams and co. to see what all the fuss is about.  Maybe 2010 is my year.

It’s like apocalyptic literature, except it’s kind of folky.

Swing, like a chariot
At the trumpet call
When we’re all unsaved, swing
Like a wrecking ball
Like the heart of god
What a mystery
Filled with the wedding feast
For the snakes and beasts
With the angel teeth, swing
Come and carry us
Come and marry us
To the blushing circus king
And dance like elephants as he comes to us
Through a fiery golden ring
With a violin and a song to sing
As he brings for us our wings
Now he’s one of us
Plays the tambourine
Breaks the bread for us
And sings
Will you wait for us
Will you stay for us
Will you grace us everything
You’re a wrecking ball
With a heart of gold
We will wait for it, swing
Like a chariot
Swing it low for us
Come and carry us away
So we will become a happy ending
So we will become a happy ending
Fire come and carry us
Make us shine or make us rust
Tell us that you care for us
We need to hear a word for us
Let your body stand with us
Or let our ribs return to dust
Chariot you swing for us
We think that you can carry all of us
So we will become a happy ending
So we will become a happy ending
So we will become a happy ending
So we will become a happy ending

I’m sitting in a room with three others.  Three of us grew up in a church where they thought people who didn’t speak in tongues weren’t Christians.  One of us grew up in a church where they thought people who spoke in tongues weren’t Christians.  Now we all think that we had no idea what we were talking about.

i attribute the following roles to my people in sarnia
joe: father
nathan: jealous brother
daniel: servant (intern!)
darryl: friend, possibly family member, possibly servant

I played (fairly) competitive volleyball on Tuesday night for the first time in about 6 months and by the end of the 2.5 hour marathon I thought my legs were going to collapse. I actually felt pretty good yesterday but today- today my legs feel like ground beef.

The moral of the story is that I should play volleyball more often. Or perhaps it’s that I should never play volleyball again. I can’t decide.

The end.

It struck me while living in Palestine that one of the main differences between Islam and Christianity is the notion of grace in the latter.  All of the posturing and right action among my muslim friends gave me the prevailing notion that it meant something; that in some way they were crossing off the t’s and dotting the i’s, and in some way earning God’s favour. Of course Christians do this as well, with our ideas of “finding God’s precise will for my life”, (really, will that please God?), doing devotions and err on the side of caution when it comes to any issue that might be considered a gray area, lest we upset God.

In my early twenties I remember being fascinated with God’s faithfulness and I suppose in many ways I still am, which is why I have a particularly soft spot in my heart for Hosea. I love that story.  Inevitably this fascination expanded to include the notion of grace which, in my mind used to be the equivalent phrase for “God isn’t pissed off at me anymore”.  Hurray for grace!

Lately though I’ve been thinking that grace is much more about God’ action out of love revealed in Christ; “behold the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” Of course this action has been completed in full, on the cross at a particular point in history which covers (i think) the past, present and future. This, I think means that yes, God not only isn’t pissed off but he was waiting for this exact moment when Jesus fulfills the law and pays the price in full.  There is now no condemnation; only grace is left.

This notion, that all has been paid and grace becomes the rule, not the exception is something that I think we’re called to model as Jesus people and especially in the church.  Even as I type this I know I lack congruence between that idea and how I live, but I feel I ought to try and do that.  If Jesus says I can’t remember your sins yesterday, today or tomorrow aren’t we to do likewise?

Of course my Muslim friends are close- closer than I ever imagined to experiencing the grace of Issa.  It’s right there on the tip of their nose- but it doesn’t make sense to them, or to me for that matter that God isn’t in the business of creating a superhuman race of uber disciplined religious fanatics.  That’s why the tax collector got it.  It’s why the prostitute got it- because they knew they had nothing to bring to the table and the recognition that you have nothing to offer is when grace begins to take root.

Aaron Espe says it like this…

I fell on my face again.
I swear it never ends,
I guess I am your replica
and just someone who pretends

I fell on my face again,
so I tried to make amends
but it only put me on the floor,
begging a forgotten friend

Grace, what a lovely thing. 
Grace, what a lovely thing. 
Grace what a lovely thing,
You’ve got me on my feet again.

Fall again, I can feel it, please don’t let me. 
Fall again, I can feel it, please don’t let me.

Grace, what a lovely thing. 
Grace, what a lovely thing.
Grace what a lovely thing,
You’ve got me on my feet again.

I’m watching the Terminator with friends.  I hate the Terminator but I like my friends.  This is love.

Actually, technically I’m blogging while they watch the Terminator.  This is being disengaged.