Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

A boy can dream.

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Once I knew what I was looking for, I found it

Today was our Youth Sunday service.  This is where the youth of our church conduct and lead pretty much every aspect of Sunday morning worship.  There may be an adult or two behind the scenes doing something, but for the most part the youth run with it.  Without fail, it's always an amazing worship experience.  It's one of the very few times I fear for my job security.

But something was up this morning.  Something was afoot.  And I couldn't put my finger on it.  It's just that folks were acting strange around me.  I sat with the youth and adult advisors running through things in the sanctuary early in the morning, just kind of hanging out; and I got this strange feeling that I wasn't wanted there.  I can pick up vibes like that.  So I went back to my office to look through the morning bulletin.  And that's when I was struck by the title for the anthem the kids were going to sing.  It looked pretty hifalutin' for a youth-led worship service:

"I ancora haven' la t ha trovato che I' ricerca di m."

French, perhaps?  I checked Google Translate.  No luck.  By that time the worship service was almost about to start, so I left the office and headed to the sanctuary to sit with my family (a rare treat).

Turns out it's Italian for "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" - a U2 classic.  That's what they were singing.  And while it fit in perfectly with their worship theme of having questions and doubts but remaining strong in the faith, they also did it as a surprise for me.   You don't have to know me very long to pick up on the fact that I'm a pretty big U2 fan.

They did great.  Apparently they had worked on it for weeks; with the help of some adults and our new music director.  All without me finding out.  You gotta like that.  There were about 25 of them singing and playing away.  It was priceless the way they smiled at me as the song began; as I made note of the familar chord progression and remembered the service theme and kind of put two and two together. 

What was really amazing was hearing our young people sing it.  As I mention in this previous blog post, contrary to initial impressions, this song is really a song of tremendous faith and belief, despite the title.  Or actually, because of the title.  We're faithful, we believe, but we're not satisfied.  There's still work to do.  We still haven't found what we're looking for.  To have our youth up there singing this was an amazing testimony.  It got some rare Presbyterian applause at the end.  And I wasn't the only one who found myself a little teary-eyed.

I encourage you to check out the entire worship service HERE.  At the very least, devote the next four minutes of your life to listening to our Beacons singing this song below.  Thanks, guys, for the surprise!  In so many ways, that is something you never fail to do.

Beacons "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" by stevelindsley

And all the nations shall stream to it....

Doing some sermon prep this morning for the first Sunday of Advent (hard to believe it's almost upon us).  I'm working on Isaiah 2:1-5, which talks about a mountain and a house and the fact that everyone wants to go there.  One line is sticking out to me: And all the nations shall stream to it.  What a thought.  It's amazing how fractured our world is right now.

Anyway, sermonic musings aside, it made me think of one of my favorite U2 songs, and one of my favorite performances.  Vertigo tour, 2005.  The cool light backdrop scrolling flags from every nation on earth, as Bono and the boys sang boldly about a future with promise and hope.  If there ever was an instance of the Good News being proclaimed in a rock concert, surely this was it.

*******************

He'll settle things fairly between nations.
He'll make things right between many peoples.
They'll turn their swords into shovels,
their spears into hoes.
No more will nation fight nation;
they won't play war anymore.

(Isaiah 2:4-5, The Message)

(click HERE for video if it doesn't show up.)

We Still Haven't Found What We're Looking For

Ah, the things that'll pop up on YouTube.  Below is a clip someone recorded at this past June Massanetta Middle School Conference (which I blogged about here and here) of the musical benediction for the closing worship that week.  Todd Davidson (the keynoter) came up with idea of the "Big 3" (the term used for the rec, music and keynote leadership team) singing U2's I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For.  If you know anything about me and my love of all things U2, you know it didn't take much to convince me to go along.  Perhaps it was providential that all three of us, including rec extraordinaire Julie Beichner, played the six-string.

It's dating me a bit - I do have a birthday coming up this week to remind me - but I remember when this song came out in the late 80's and the band - Bono especially - got a huge bad rap.  To some it appeared that the man and band who had successfully meshed rock and religion on their two previous albums (War and The Unforgettable Fire) was now taking a step back, plunging from faith into doubt.  Why, after all, would a Christian ever sing a song about not having found what they're looking for??  

The assumption, of course, is that a person of faith has acquired everything they need (thus the common expression in certain circles, "I've found Jesus") and that they're completely satisfied; that their end-goal has been reached.  Honestly, it's a dangerous assumption to make. 

The truth is that Bono wrote this song as a proclamation of steadfast faith, not doubt.  Huge faith.  Faith that is big enough to admit that even when we become "believers" we're still not where we need to be.  We have to become "followers" as well.  And that's not an easy thing, to say the least.  Because when believers make the transition to being followers, they quickly realize, as they look at the world around them, that it is broken and fractured.  And being a person of faith isn't about just getting what you need.  It's about bringing it to the world - and not in a "hit-it-over-your-head," "I'm-right-and-you're-wrong" kind of way.  It's caring about anything and everything around you and wanting to make all the wrongs right.

A few years ago I preached a sermon where I actually sang the first and third verses of this song and then followed it up with this:

The Apostle Paul preaches that “love is patient and kind; that “it does not insist on its own way” and that “it is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.”  And yet we look at the way humanity often takes that love and twists it into something else entirely, where at best it is self-serving and at worst it is downright harmful.  And so we admit – we still haven’t found what we’re looking for.

The prophet boldly proclaims that one day “the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.”  And yet our world is torn apart with war and strife, where reconciliation between hostiles is a rarity.  We even throw children into the mix – not as leaders in peacemaking, as the prophet envisions, but as victims caught in the crossfire.  So we still haven’t found what we’re looking for.

Jesus was, among many things, a healer.  He returned sight to the blind man, life to Lazarus, and serenity to the man possessed.  And yet so often we fail to see the needs of the person right in front of us because we are focused on our own.  We are ignorant, for example, of those who die of the treatable AIDS virus in Africa – as U2’s lead singer puts it, a football stadium of people disappearing each week.  We still haven’t found what we’re looking for. 

Our Bible speaks of God doing a “new thing” in our midst – one where, as Revelation puts it, every tear will be wiped away and there will be no mourning or suffering.  All we need to do is turn on the TV and watch the news, any time of day, to shake our heads in disgust and mumble under our breath that no, we still haven’t found what we’re looking for.

Todd talked about this in his keynotes that week at Massanetta and reiterated it again right before we sang this song (the YouTube clip apparently cut it out).  So closing the conference with this folksy sing-a-long was, I thought, a stroke of genius.  These are middle-schoolers who are so much more astute than we sometimes give them credit for.  They see the state of the world.  They're also growing up in a North American Christian mindset that does a wonderful job of emphasizing the importance of being a believer, but does a pretty lousy job of teaching folks how to be followers. This song sent them - and all of us - back home with the knowledge that we still haven't found what we're looking for. And as odd as it may sound to say, I can't think of a more faithful, inspiring and hopeful message to leave on.

I'm writing again

Well, I guess it's official. After an over ten-year hiatus I'm finally back to writing songs.

The last time I wrote music and assembled a collection of original tunes was in early 1999.  That's when I traveled to Asheville, NC to record and release my second CD in three years.  I wrote a few songs after While I'm Here with every intention of heading into the studio a third time.  But a number of things happened that kept me from doing so. 

The short answer is "life."  The long answer is that my wife and I welcomed our first son into the world.  Which I wouldn't trade for the world, you understand.  But it changed things, as those sorts of things always do.  For one, I lost my music space.  What had been a spare room to house all my music equipment in and crank out a few new tunes quickly became a baby nursery.  When instruments are stored away they're not so easily accessible - out of sight, out of mind.  I also lost my weekday alone at the house, when the wife would work and I had my pastor's day off.  I used to spend a fair amount of that day strumming the six string, tickling the ivories, singing at the top of my lungs and not worrying about who might hear me.  The arrival of the bundle of joy put an end to that.

My songwriting took another hit when the family made the move up Highway 52.  It may sound strange, but something about cranking out a sermon every six days has had the effect of exhausting the "creative muse," if you will.  Again, I wouldn't give up my weekly preaching for anything, but apparently it came with a price.

So that was it.  Since then I've been out of my rhythm, out of a few different kinds of "space," and the songwriting has suffered.  Occasionally I hear a tune in my mind, usually first thing in the morning when my brain is fresh and all is quiet.  But within a matter of minutes as the hustle and bustle of the new day descends, the song is lost.  And it's not like I want to come home from work and ditch family time to lock myself in the bedroom with the six-string.  It's all about priorities, and the fact is there are new things in my life that are higher up the totem pole.  So for nearly a decade, the songwriting has laid dormant. Sometimes I even wondered if I had lost it altogether.

Until a month or so ago, as 2010 rang in and my upcoming music-based sabbatical inched closer.  It was almost as if the anticipation of three months spent listening to and writing music was waking the creative muse from her hibernation.  The breakthrough continued as I began planning music for the Massanetta Middle School Conference.  I've already mentioned in a previous blog about my skepticism regarding most praise & worship music.  Part of the solution, I decided, was to write some of my own.  I don't want to give away too much here - things are still in progress and a lot can change in the next few months.  But the plan is to compile a five-song EP in some format; original tunes that will work well in a songleading environment.  One is a co-write with fellow Mayberry musician Jerry Chapman, two are older originals I'm dusting off the shelves, and two more are brand-spanking new tunes. 

The main thing is, ten years removed from my last serious effort, I'm doing some things differently this time around.  I'm listening to music with a particular ear toward song structure, melodies and rhythm, looking to find what musical identity fits me best (U2, Kings of Leon and David Crowder Band are getting a workout on my ipod).  I'm trying out some new ways of writing - not going to the guitar as is my habit, but beginning with rhythms and bass instead.  I'm inviting some others to join me on the journey - the aforementioned Chapman and fellow bandmate Doug Davis, who in addition to being a phenomenal songwriter himself also happens to have a pretty sweet studio where I'll do the recording. 

But the biggest difference, if I had to guess, is simple: I'm trusting myself more.  I'm not nixing a melody or chord progression just because I don't fall in love with it immediately.  I'm not getting frustrated when the song doesn't materialize as quickly as I want it to - I'm granting it more "space" to form on its own. There's an inherent fear in songwriting when you hit those road blocks along the way and that little voice inside you wonders out loud if you've still "got it."  I'm choosing not to listen to that voice anymore, which is a big step for me.

It's exciting.  I've had a blast playing covers for the past eight years and plan to keep it up.  But it's also good to know there's still some music left in me that is uniquely me.  We'll see where this goes.  For the time being, it's good to be writing again.

In case you missed the show....

8:30pm this past Sunday night.  I logged on to my laptop in anticipation of U2's YouTube-streamed concert, live from the Rose Bowl.  All the publicity had drilled in my head 8:30, 8:30, but instead of hearing the crowd roar at the opening number I was subjected to the background music of a rolling prelim.  And it was then I realized: 8:30pm. Pacific Time.  Oops.

Three hours later, there I was, tucked in bed for the night with laptop on my chest.  I watched it until 1am, although I confess to dozing off from time to time.  Hey, I'm only human. How pleased I was when the entire concert was back on YouTube the next day, and presumably for many days in the future. Now I get to watch it in a full state of consciousness.

So here's my take on the whole "U2 360" circular stage and the "Claw" or "Spaceship" or whatever you want to call it: I'm not the greatest fan of the approach.  It smacks of excess that runs the risk of becoming the show itself, rather than the music.  Honestly, it reminds me in many ways of the PopMart Tour a decade ago that contributed in large part to the band's perceived demise, before All That You Can't Leave Behind rescued them.  It's just hard for an audience to connect to four small guys on a huge stage, no matter how big the video screens are.  I much prefer the Elevation or Vertigo tours which took place in smaller arenas rather than football stadiums, void of the over-reaching flash and glitz this tour has.  A much more intimate feel, relatively-speaking.

But the music....well, that's a different story entirely.  Thank God for the music.  And yeah, I know, the album didn't sell all that well in the States (although I was quite fond of it).  Nor was there a single that latched on to radio playlists for any decent length of time.  But the reality is that U2, in my opinion, is beyond that.  I just don't think they need a hit single that gets plays ad nauseam in order to stay relevant.  That may sound kind of silly in a business that's all "what-have-you-done-for-me-lately," but I still believe it's true.  Over the past three decades U2 has proven that they know how to make good music that speaks to the heart and soul.  Even if it's performed on a ridiculously huge stage.

I missed them when they were in Raleigh a few weeks ago (good thing too, as apparently a significant number of fans missed the entire show due to traffic problems - I mean, how back would that suck??)  They just announced more U.S. dates next summer.  I hope to be at one of them.

In the meantime, take a couple of hours and enjoy the show.  Some highlights: Magnificent, Mysterious Ways, I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, Sunday Bloody Sunday, Unknown Caller, Where The Streets Have No Name.  And how about The Unforgettable Fire and Ultraviolet (Light My Way) - when were the last time they played those live??  Watch it below or click here for a larger screen.

Apparently I'm "Dad" now

It happened in the car the other day when I was driving the elder home from swim team practice.  It was around 6:47pm EST.  Mark the time.  It is the moment when my son, from the back seat of the car over my right shoulder, asked me what we were having for dinner that night.  But it wasn't what he asked me but how he asked me that caught me unprepared:

Hey Dad, do you know what's for dinner?

I was getting ready to tell him that Mom was fixing her wonderful spaghetti until time as I experienced it came to a screeching halt:

Dad.

Dad??  What was that?  DAD??

I mumbled the answer to his query but my mind was barely on topic.  It was hopelessly stuck in that moment 15 seconds prior and the noticeable change in nomenclature.

Dad.  Not Daddy, but Dad.

There come many moments in parenthood when you realize that your children are growing up.  When they first really smile at you as an infant and you know it's not the gas.  When they take their first step, say their first word (or something close to one).  When they walk through those school doors for the first time.  For the most part, though, you are semi-prepared for these shifts; so you learn to receive them with grace and thankfulness.

But no one told me about the day I wouldn't be "Daddy" anymore.

It's not like I thought I'd be one forever, of course.  Never pictured my high school graduate giving me a big hug and saying "Thanks Daddy."  Never envisioned his mother and I paying a visit to the family in their new house, our grandkids running around, and him saying "Welcome to our home, Daddy."  I knew the switch was inevitable - just not this soon.  Nowhere near this soon.

I mean, I've been "Daddy" ever since this little fella came into our lives six and a half years ago. Even before he could say a real word he was blabbering it's close derivative: Dada.  That's been my primary identity all these years - but apparently no longer.

And don't try to tell me the two are the same, cause they're not.  "Daddy" is the stuff of skinned knees from falling off the swingset, playing pretend rock band with a broom and pots and wooden spoons, and reading "Guess How Much I Love You" at bedtime.  "Dad" is something else entirely.  "Dad" is all about car keys and allowance and grown-up privileges.  Dad is how you're introduced to your child's significant other when they enter the picture.

Ugh.  When exactly did this happen?  What event precipitated this transformation?  I was chewing on this furiously as the car made its way home.  Maybe it came from school and being there with other kids, most of whom are a few years older than he - maybe he picked it up there?  Maybe from some TV show, perhaps?

And then it occurred to me that the truth of it all is that the kid is growing up.  He'll be seven in September - hard to believe.  We'd been to the dentist earlier that afternoon and he's got four loose teeth.  They were telling me not to freak out when the permanent ones come in and they look huge; adult teeth situated inside the head of a small but fast-growing boy.  He's playing t-ball and is signed up for the swim team.  He's talking about having sleepovers with his best buddy.  He's telling me what songs he wants on his ipod when he gets one (which is not anytime soon, I can assure you).  He's talking about Jesus and God being the same person and the difference is that Jesus "is kind of like a Transformer" - pretty astute theological thinking for a kindergartner, I thought.

My boy is growing up.  And I love it; I really do.  I love how our relationship changes and grows with age, and how we talk about different things now, more in-depth.  I love how we can have a real conversation about death and dying after watching Marley and Me; how he actually offers legitimate gift ideas for Mother's Day, how we can go from simply memorizing the names of the four dudes in U2 to which songs are off which albums and what instruments are played.  I'm not one of those parents who mourns every corner turned as their child moves forward on the path of life.  I'm a sentimental guy, but I'm also a realist; and I feel it's better to celebrate the changes rather than get all bent out of shape over them.

Still, there's something about suddenly being "Dad" that's just freaky.  Could he not have given me a heads-up, perhaps?  Hey, just wanted to let you know - from now on you'll be "Dad" and not "Daddy."  Would that have helped?  Probably not.

I guess there are worse things I could be called.  Never been a fan of "Pops," and "Old Man" is even worse.  There will probably be a time or two in the heat of the moment when I get called some unrepeatable name, so I better be thankful it's not that.

But still: Dad. Sheesh. The boy's growing up on me. They weren't kidding when they said not to blink.

Magnificent

Check this out, folks: the official video for U2's Magnificent, filmed in Morocco where the band recorded their latest album, No Line On The Horizon.

I'm not crazy about the radio edit version, but that's the way things are in the music video biz. The sheets are cool, although I don't quite understand what they're all about.  Here's one interpretation I found intriguing.  Any other thoughts?

If you're interested, you can always read my review of the album here.

I heart NPR on St. Patty's Day

A few days ago on St. Patrick's Day I was packing my bags and making my way through Louisville traffic to the airport to catch a flight home.  If I had known where to tune in to the Lousiville NPR station (or how to operate the search function on the rental car radio, for that matter), I might've heard this interview with producer Steve Lillywhite regarding his work with U2's latest album No Line On The Horizon (which, incidentally, I reviewed here).  It's a cool interview that gives some pretty interesting insights into how the album came together.  For instance:

• "Magnificent" was originally titled "French Disco."  Whew, that was close.
• The album was essentially the product of a "six-piece band," with other producers Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois donning instruments and contributing a lot to the overall sound.
• Going back a few years to The Joshua tree, there were two version of "With Or Without You;" and it went down to the wire as far as which one would make the album.  I just can't imagine that song being any different, you know?
  
• "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" originated as a simple lyric in a verse.  Someone said they really liked that particular phrase and they wound up crafting the whole song around it.
•  Bono reads lyrics off his laptop in the studio, changing the lyrics as he goes along.

Speaking of lyrics, one of the things that struck me was Steve's description of how the lyrics are developed.  Bono writes them, of course, and then shares them with the other guys.  But if one of them doesn't like it, it's back to the drawing board.  Wow - I've never heard of a band that has full veto power over the lyrics.  Lillywhite says "it's the most dysfunctional family you'll ever know, but it's a family."  How cool - no egos to get in the way.  Guess that's why part of what's allowed them to make great music for 33 years.

Pretty cool - what I would've given to have been able to sit in on just one of those sessions.

I enjoyed the interview so much that I listened to the next one on NPR: a report on why we shouldn't shampoo our hair as much.  Hmm.  Gotta give them props for covering the spectrum there....

The sermon I keep preaching and why

Up until about four years ago I lived with a sort of unspoken fear as one who preaches for a living.  I guess it's the same kind of fear a songwriter encounters well into their career, or a writer after they publish a few books.  I had a fear that I was starting to repeat myself in my sermons and that this was a bad thing.  At worst I wondered whether the proverbial well was running dry and people would eventually catch on and tune me out.  I have a sneaky suspicion this fear is shared by others who step into the pulpit on Sunday mornings.

That fear was abated about four years ago in one of my doctoral classes.  I can't remember what the class was, but at some point my professor Craig Barnes shared a story about being at his father's bedside not long before his death.  His father was a pastor as well; and in one of those sacred moments where father passes on timeless wisdom to son, Craig's father said, "Son, every preacher basically has three sermons in them, and that's it."  I remember a sense of relief rushing over me when I heard this - that it's okay when we as preachers find ourselves returning to the same overarching "themes" from time to time.  In, fact, it's almost something we should embrace.  If one believes, as I do, that sermons are essentially three-way conversations between pastor, parishioner and God, then it makes sense that the One who enacts the conversation (that'd be God) keeps leading the other two back to the same place.

With that in mind, there's no question what the recurring theme in my sermons is:

Exile.

It comes from the Old Testament, some 500 years before Christ.  The nation Israel was defeated by the powerful Babylonians, carted off to live in "a strange and foreign land" that was not their beloved Jerusalem.  To understand the significance of exile is to understand the depth of their loss.  For the Israelites Jerusalem was more than just a place on the map.  It was the embodiment of their faith and belief in God; their very soul.  The two were intertwined so tightly that to be separated from Jerusalem felt like being separated from God.  This kind of thing is hard for us to understand in our day and time, when places of worship are practically at every corner (well, at least in the southeast).  But for them it was spiritually devastating.

I find the theme of exile so pertinent in our day and time.  Call it postmodernism at its most pronounced.  There is a sense that more people are feeling "adrift" these days, like a boat lost at sea.    In the past our culture was, generally speaking, full of people who had a sense of some anchor in their lives - be it religion, family, employment, something.  Now look.  A recent study shows that America as a whole is becoming "less religious (it's a little more complicated than that, but that's it in a nutshell).  We all know how hard it is to keep a family together these days.  And with the economy in shambles and millions upon millions losing their jobs, the days when one's career or 401K served as the bedrock of financial security are long gone.

Exile.  We don't like it.  We've lost our bearings in unfamiliar territory.  And perhaps the worst part of it is that we don't know when it will end.  We have no clue when we'll go "home," if we can ever really go home. We encounter feelings of sadness, melancholy, even anger and rage.

Bono once described the psalms as the "blues of the Bible" - and perhaps no psalm captures the hopeless sensation of exile more acutely than the opening verses of Psalm 137:

By the rivers of Babylon -
there we sat down and there we wept, when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there we hung up our harps.
For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth,
saying, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"
How could we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?
(Psalm 137: 1-4, NRSV)

This image of people so distraught, so overtaken by hopelessness, that they can't even sing songs and resort to hanging their instruments in tree branches is one that has always stuck with me.  As a songwriter it's hard for me to imagine being so utterly despondent that you get no pleasure in pulling out the six-string and plucking a few tunes.  The "song" just isn't there, and you don't know when it will come back around.  That's what exile can do to you, if you let it.

So I find myself returning to this theme of exile in my sermons, whether the scripture verses are about them specifically or not.  Perhaps there's a personal reason for this (we preachers preach out of our own experiences, you know) and I find myself in tune with these feelings of not quite being "at home" - a work in progress, if you will.  And maybe I also find myself drawn to the theme of exile because of the many people's lives that I'm immersed in - family, neighbors, church members, friends, musical kindred spirits, students, community members, fellow church workers and servants, etc.  People who sense at some level that they are not quite where they want to be, or need to be; and that they must spend some time in the wilderness figuring out who they are and whose they are before heading back home.  And even when they do return home, it's never quite the same way they remembered it.  It's home, but it's a different home.  It's more about a feeling of familiarity than turning back the hands of time. 

I imagine exile will always find a way into my sermons - and I'm cool with that.  And thankfully I think my congregation is too (they've never told me otherwise).  For me the notion of being on a journey is so much more important than just reaching the destination.  When it comes to matters of faith, I believe it's okay to hold things near and dear without feeling like one has fully "arrived."  I'm reminded of this every time I hear (and perform) one of my favorite U2 songs.  The verses speak of someone who has seen and done it all, who has been to the mountaintop, who believes in "kingdom come," who's been set free.  And yet each time the verse concludes with the emphatic and somewhat disconcerting line: I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

A friend of mine once lamented that Bono & the gang had renounced their faith in this song - because, as they put it, "a believer is someone who has found what they're looking for."  Really?  We may have "found" God (although I prefer to think of it as God finding us), but it's only the beginning of the journey, not the end of it.  As people of faith our search is supposed to ultimately lead us to the kingdom, and we certainly aren't there yet.  We live in a world where a child dies from hunger every three seconds, where a minority possesses a majority of the world's resources, where war exists and where we are slowly killing our earth.  As people of faith especially, we have not found what it is we're looking for.  We are a people still searching, still finding our way and trying our best to follow the one who has gone before us.

We are a people in exile.  So until something dramatically changes in our world, I imagine that this theme will keep finding its way into my sermons, one way or another.  And I'm cool with that.  Because it's where I am.  It's where we all are.