Bird Songs: Creation at Play

I have been feeling the need to get away and collect myself for a bit, so I decided to take this week and drive down to Toccoa, GA and spend some time with a group of my old college friends.  Toccoa is beautiful this time of year.  It is right on the edge of the southernmost Appalachians.  The area is full of dense forests, mountain streams, and plenty of waterfalls.

Yesterday I decided to take a walk in the woods and try to get some thinking done.  The forest canopy was thick and all along the way I was sung to by choruses of birds.  As I walked along the forest path along gentle streams and amidst wildflowers blooming, I could feel my spirits lifting just being outside in creation.

Maybe you believe in a higher power, maybe you don’t.  Regardless, looking at nature you’ve got to appreciate how excessive it all is.  There are so many textures, sounds, colors, it is mind boggling.  I remember reading once that the human brain must quickly develop an ability to focus on certain details, or else our minds would overload.  We are never, it seems, wholly conscious of everything that is going on, everything that we could be aware of.  A grown oak tree has millions of leaves.  The natural world has an absurd amount of detail.

I was taking all this in when I heard the laughter of my favorite bird, the Pileated woodpecker.  If you’ve never heard their call, it is really quite thrilling and nearly impossible to mistake (worth checking out online). The German theologian Jergen Moltmann once said, “Creation is God’s play, play of his groundless and inscrutable wisdom.  It is the realm in which God displays his glory.”  I can believe that when I hear the Pileat.  Incidentally, in the southern Appalachians, Pileated Woodpeckers were sometimes referred to as “The Lord God Bird.”

The creator was at play when he made the world.  It was frivolous, excessive, an act that needed no purpose, justification, or motivation.  From Moltmann again, the creator “did not have to create something to realize himself.  As we were saying, he has brought forth his creation to enjoy it.”  And the creation, in turn, enjoys itself.  Why does a Sparrow sing or The Lord God Bird laugh?  It sings itself.  It needs no reason to sing.  It sings to enjoy its song, to delight in its very existence.  The bird’s only purpose, if it can be called a purpose, is to take joy in its existence, in the existence of the creation surrounding it, and in the existence of its creator.  The birdsong is the vehicle which The Lord God Bird uses.  This is the demonstrative joy of existence.

But existence itself, the creation, is marred.  When we speak of joy we must inevitably speak of sorrow.  The birds have forgotten how to enjoy humanity and we have forgotten to enjoy The Lord God Bird.  Pain and death are realities, and they are found in birdsong.  For each laugh that The Lord God Bird lets out, there is another song of sorrow heard with equal frequency.

So we humans must learn remember to make song, to find joy in our very existence, in the existence of creation, and in the existence of the creator.  We do that through play, through creativity, through purposeful living, through listening to birdsong.  We also sing our sorrow, and there must be a place for that.  Andrew Bird, so aptly named, demonstrates demonstrative joy in existence.  I finally realized why I like him so much.  His lyrics may not necesarily have purpose or meaning that I can fully understand, but his songs are like beautiful games to me. Again, Moltmann says, “a game is meaningful within itself but it must appear useless and purposeless from an outside point of view.”  His songs pervade joy, and in an instant, sorrow.

I am sparrow, myself I sing.  No more is needed.  This post is a conglomerate of thoughts inspired by Jurgen Moltmann, Annie Dillard, Andrew Bird, and of course, The Lord God Bird.

an end of the year post

In less than 50 words, here was my year:

• graduated from college
• started graduate school
• moved to PA
• began work at Starbucks
• dropped out of graduate school
• quit dating deanna
• wrote a lot
• read a lot
• painted some
• still a pacifist
• met some great people and made some new friends

Best books I read this year:

• Dandelion Wine
• For the Time Being
• An American Childhood
• Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
• Watership Down
• The Omnivore’s Dilemma
• Sex, Economy, Freedom and Community

Favorite Music Albums:

• Tennessee Pusher, Old Crow Medicine Show
• Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
• Andrew Bird and the Mysterious Assortment of Eggs, Andrew Bird
• A Ghost is Born, Wilco
• Drunkard’s Prayer, Over the Rhine

Most haunting quote of the year that I will take with me into 09:

Cry the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear.  Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire.  Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley.  For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

I hope two-thousand and nine is a year of:

• writing
• painting
• quiet

Mount Washington Winter Travels

I’ll be taking a break from my series on young evangelical identity to share a bit about my Christmas trip. This Christmas my whole immediate family, my two parents, my older brother, my older sister and her husband and niece, and myself, all got together up at the house we grew up in back in Cato, New York. Since the seven of us hardly get to be together, seeing as we all live in different areas, it is always special to all be in the same place.

I was the last of the family to arrive late Christmas eve. I volunteered to work Christmas Eve at Starbucks because I was under the impression that I would be earning time-and-a-half. I didn’t find out, of course, that I would not be until after the schedule was already posted. I was scheduled to work a ten hour shift and close the store at 7:00PM. I wasn’t able to hit the road until around 7:30PM, so I didn’t get home until a bit after 1:00AM Christmas morning.

Last to arrive, first to leave, Jeremiah (my sister’s husband) and I had made plans this Christmas to travel to New Hampshire and climb Mount Washington, the tallest mountain in the Northeastern United States. We were going to leave Christmas evening around 6:00PM travel about seven hours to a hotel in New Hampshire, crash for the night, and then head to the mountain early the next morning. In the morning we’d head to North Conway, rent the last of our equipment, and head up the mountain. A couple hours from the summit, we’d camp. The next day, weather permitting, we’d head for the summit. If all went well, we’d head back to New York after summiting and hiking back down.

Mount Washington is actually the sight where the fastest wind speed was ever recorded on earth’s surface back in 1934. The mountain is known for its wild wind speed and shifting weather patterns. Knowing these details, and others, our biggest concern for the trip was weather, which was, of course, completely out of our control. My brother-in-law, Jeremiah, spent some time last summer at AMS training in mountaineering. He has even been picked to be part of a team to summit Denali (Mt. McKinley). He and I decided to do this Mt. Washington trip in order to help him get ready for Denali next summer. We’d been planning the trip for months, gathering equipment, making arrangements…

The best laid plans of mice and men…

Everything for our trip was going perfectly well…until we left. We pulled out of the driveway at right around six. Minutes down Watkins road (the road I grew up on) our car’s dashboard lights went out. No big deal right? Just a short of some kind…We were driving my mom’s Subaru Outback, so we decided to give her a quick call to see if this was ever an issue that she’d had and whether or not she had any tricks to get them to come back on. Dashboard lights are kind of essential for driving at night, it’s important to see how much gas you have, and your speedometer. Well, we called and she had nothing for us, so we fiddled with some things and were able to figure out a way to get the lights to come back on if they were to go off again (which they did, naturally). Under normal circumstances, you’d think nothing of your dash lights having a short circuit, especially in a ten year old car, right? Well, hindsight is proved 20/20; the dash lights were an omen, an omen that we turn around immediately.

Would that we had heeded!

Our next incident was not for a good 45 minutes down the road. Heading east on New York’s Thruway, Jeremiah suddenly realized he forgot his orange fleece jacket, an item made essential due to the cold temperatures we were expecting to face. He asked me to call the house and maker sure he’d forgotten it. Phoning my father, it was confirmed. The jacket was hanging in the kitchen. Jeremiah would have to rent a new jacket or something comparable in North Conway.

All in all, the forgotten jacket was not a huge deal, but added to the dash lights, it was another omen of our ill luck, or absence of luck.

During the course of the conversation with my father, I began to feel a bit nauseous. I asked Jeremiah to stop at the next thruway rest stop. An hour into our travels, we stopped at a thruway stop. My head was spinning, I knew I was about to vomit, I only hoped that I would make it to the restroom in time. Once in a stall, I immediately and violently began vomiting. It felt like gallons. It felt like I vomited all of Christmas dinner. It felt like I vomited all dinners from previous Christmases. It felt like it would never stop. But, the flow did stop eventually and suddenly, and afterward I felt like a million bucks. I wasn’t sure what that was, but I knew I felt fine now, and so we pressed on. I told Jeremiah about getting sick, but I seemed fine and felt fine so we figured whatever it was had passed.

So we drove on into the night anticipating the glorious mountain…

For another hour…

Until I had to vomit again…

And then the diarrhea began…

Three hours from home, believing ourselves halfway to the hotel, we discussed the best course of action. I felt better after using the bathroom, we were both sure I’d feel fine in the morning. We’d be kicking ourselves if we turned back now and then I felt fine the next day, so we decided to continue our journey.

Crossing into Vermont we left the interstates behind and began traveling on smaller state routes. Vermont and New Hampshire aren’t the easiest states to get from place to place in. We wound through hills, forests, and miniature towns. This part of the trip seems dreamlike to me; my mental energy was all focused on not throwing up and not excreting diarrhea in my pants. At one point, while I was anxious to find a gas station, we past three that were closed for the night. Finally, we had to pull over and as the car was coming to a stop I hung my head out the moving door into the winter air and threw up in someone’s driveway. My body lurched, convulsed; all that came out was water, but I continued to vomit about every hour or so.

Not to belabor the tale much further, we finally rolled into our hotel at close to two in the morning, day after Christmas. I threw up for the last time immediately after I made it into the hotel bathroom. I’d spend the entire night waking up every 30-40 minutes for diarrhea though. After struggling through the night, Jeremiah and I decided to return to New York with our tails between our legs. Even if my diarrhea were to stop, I was dehydrated and exhausted from the night before. We were demoralized, but we had little choice. I grabbed my cell phone to call home…

Which is when the next series of unfortunate events began…

My cell phone, which I’ve had now for almost two years, has never had a problem holding a charge. I even brought a spare charger with me, but my phone picked now, picked today, picked this hellish voyage to stop charging.

And then we noticed the car’s tires were low…

And then we were cut off by crazy New Hampshire drivers and nearly killed…twice.

And then the check engine light came on…

And the diarrhea kept a’flowin’.

I am happy to say that we did finally make it home, each in one piece, more or less, and actually in decent time (on the way back). We enjoyed looking at the countryside; I’d like to visit Vermont and New Hampshire sometime when I am healthy.

What was I saying about the plans of mice and men? Oh yeah, they often go awry, as this story demonstrates. Sort of like my post-college plans. Pretty much everything that could’ve gone wrong with Jeremiah and I did go wrong. All my post-college plans have likewise dissolved.

I dropped out of graduate school. My girlfriend of about two years and I broke up a few weeks ago. The art program(s) I was working on have fallen through for several reasons. I’m definitely not at the place I planned on being. But, I suppose ounce you quit vomiting at least you can enjoy the journey. Back when I was reading For the Time Being by Annie Dillard I learned that the Talmud contains a prayer of thanksgiving even upon learning of bad news or evil. When seeing a deformed human being, for example, they would mutter something to the effect of, “Blessed art Thou, LORD our God, Master of the Universe, the only true judge.” I’m not sure if that is exact, but the principle is there: they try to make sense of life’s sorrows, and try to cultivate a sense of gratitude for any and everything that comes their way. They cultivate an attitude that God uses everything for his ultimate redemptive purpose. I think that is a virtue worth cultivating.

So, as disappointed as I was not to get to the summit of Mount Washington, “Blessed art Thou, LORD our God, Master of the Universe, the only true judge.” I got to spend some quality time with my brother-in-law, and I got to see my family (including my beautiful 11 month old niece) for longer than I expected to. I didn’t die.

And, though my post-collegiate plans have all faded, I’m learning a lot these days. I’m making some great friends. I’m reading some great material.

May you enjoy a quiet mind this New Year!

young evangelicals: an identity crisis (part 2 – nature)

I fully intend to explore this topic more fully in subsequent posts, but I’m itching to get something out before I explode.  Aaron Pluim was definitely correct in his assertions that we write (or blog) in order to achieve some level of catharsis.  I write to clear my head most of the time.

Allow me to get back to the point: I’ve been thinking about nature ever since I was a child.  I was raised in the beautiful hills of upstate New York’s Finger Lakes region.  I spent hours and hours in the maple wood forest behind my house.  My dad’s hobby/art has always been vegetable gardening.  I grew up, consequently, and incidentally, much closer to nature than many of my counterparts:  a majority of Americans live in cities and suburbs.

The topic of nature has had renewed personal interest with me because of several recent developments in my life.  For starters, I just moved from the southern Appalachians of Northeast Georgia (where I spent four years of college), to an urban setting just outside of Pittsburgh.  I can no longer walk out my door and encounter nature in the form of running water and mountain trails.  I’ve also been reading Annie Dillard and Wendell Berry, who both talk frequently about creation.

In Dillard’s For the Time Being I encountered a certain term for the first time: panentheism. Unlike traditional theism that espouses that God is totally separate from creation, or traditional pantheism that equates God with creation, pan-en-theism appears to be some form of hybrid.   God has created all things, and is in all things, while at the same time preexisting creation and remaining distinct from creation (wow, wrap your head around that…so much for plain talk about religion!).

I don’t really know much about panentheism.  I’ve started discussing the topic with some eastern orthodox believers.  I think, and you’re welcome to correct me, that the eastern and oriental orthodox christian  traditions hold to beliefs comparable to panentheism.  I also think, incidentally, that Wendell Berry holds a comparable stance toward nature.

So what?  Well, think about it, doesn’t the notion that God is part of his creation (which makes sense from a creator/creation, artist/art standpoint in my mind), and that the creation is somehow part of God, have drastic implications on how we treat the natural world?  Wouldn’t we quit poisoning the planet?  Wouldn’t we sorrow for what we’ve done to God’s living, including plants, animals, and his physical creation?  God created the world and called it good.  An artist creates a painting and finds value in it.  In both situations, a part of the creator has merged with the creation.  To trash the creation is to insult and reject a part of the creator.

Perhaps it is the protestant traditionally theistic view of God and Nature that has allowed us to become so divorced from the natural world.  If God created the world and no longer has a vested interest in its vitality, then why wouldn’t we rob creation to shit (which is what we are doing, and whats worse, we’ve come so far we don’t know how to revert–that is pointing the finger at myself here too).

That’s enough for now…

If I Hear Obama Is a Socialist One More Time…

It will probably be tomorrow…

Tonight Casey Fenton of http://caseyfenton.net/, two other coworkers, and myself, went to Moon, PA to experience some Hometown Pizza.  For anyone who has heard the hype about the place, it’s overplayed.  As Casey put it, it’s like the Napoleon Dynamite of the Pizza Place world.  Assuming, of course, that there is a Pizza Place world.  I guess it would be called the PP world for short.  Not to be confused with any other PPs out there.  Anyway, the pizza was good, but nothing to rave about.  I’m not going to tell you what we did afterwords, it is too embarrassing (has to do with words/minute).  After all that, Casey encouraged me to take up blogging again, so thus this post.

Did I tell you I work for Starbucks?  I’m a barista.  I make a nickel over minimum wage and I am underemployed.  That makes me a statistic.  Apparently one in nine folks in the US are underemployed .  All this talk about the economy collapsing…I wonder when it will keep people from coming to Starbucks and paying $1.96 for a 20oz cup of coffee.  That translates (and you can check my math) to something like $12.54 (US currency) a gallon for coffee.  And we complain about $2.50 a gallon for gas!  Isn’t coffee considered a renewable resource?  All I’m saying is: someone is making a killing.

So far I’m not feeling any economic backlash.  I’m not starving to death.  I’m warm enough most of the time.  I can afford to pay for my student loans.  I’m raking in the dough from my English degree.  English majors are always in high demand, so I’m not worried.

I’m reading For the Time Being right now, again by Annie Dillard.  I’ve decided to knock out all of her books.  I’m in love with her, I think.  She is 68 by my math, though I could be wrong.  If you’ve never read anything by her, get off the internet and get to your public library.  Start with Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.  If you’re not smitten, then reassess your life.

Summer 2008 So far

The summer is just about half over (June, July, August) and it is high time to analyze it.

Places I’ve been:

• Philadelphia, PA
• Aliquippa, PA
• Pittsburgh, PA
• Cato, NY

Things I’ve Read:

• Dandelion Wine, Ray Bradbury
• The Maytrees, Annie Dillard
• Fresh Wind Fresh Fire, Jim Cymbala
• Being White, Garrus & Shraup
• A Bunch of grad books

Things I’ve done:

• Started fishing (I’m horrible)
• Hooked my first worm
• Lost a lot of lures (five I think)
• Still no fish
• Fished illegally
• Visited home in NY

Jumped off a pier into Lake Ontario

Watched fireflies

Caught fireflies

Looked at lot of stars (millions)

Saw shooting stars (five)

Spun around under the stars until I fell over

Learned to juggle with apples

Played lawn games (ladder golf, bocce, frisbee, whiffle ball)

• Visited a Byzantine Catholic mass

smelled of incense all day

• Road my bicycle
• Started work at starbucks

brewed lots of coffee

drank lots of espresso

• Fell in love with frozen yogurt
• The same with Deanna
• The same with Ethan
• The same with summer
• Discovered Craig’s list (thanks Erika)
• Held my niece Shannon and laughed at her a lot
• Remembered I hate large crowds of people
• Bought a miter saw !!!

Music of Summer 2008:

• Fleet Foxes
• Luxary
• Low
• Wilco
• Radiohead

I’ve been thinking about seeing

This past week was spring break. I drove down to Orlando with my girlfriend to spend a few days together with my brother and sister. It was a much needed break from school. I brought all kinds of homework with me (and managed to do none of it) as well as one book for pleasure. I decided on Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. Dillard might be one of my favorite living American prose writers.

Pilgrim is a series of reflective thoughts that Ms. Dillard has while living by Tinker Creek in Virginia. It is brilliantly written and filled with profundity. It is unpretentious, easily accessible, but deep as anything I’ve read. Although not spiritual in nature, its theology is profound. Dillard packs nuggets of truth in a stealthy way that takes your breath away.

In chapter two, entitled “Seeing” I read this paragraph that made me literally stop and pause. I read it while waiting for Deanna at the airport, and I had her read it while we drove in the car together.

I’ve been thinking about seeing. There are lots of things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises. The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand. But–and this is the point–who gets excited by a mere penny? IF you follow one arrow, if you crouch motionless on a bank to watch a tremulous ripple thrill on the water and are rewarded by the sight of a muskrat kit paddling from its den, will you count that sight as a chip of copper only, and go your rueful way? It is dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won’t stoop to pick up a penny. But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. It is that simple. What you see is what you get.

What a great way to start of Spring break. For the past week, I’ve been surrounded by pennies, by little things that have been planted in my life that bring life. My sister had a baby two months ago, and my little niece Shannon is an awe inspiring little creature. Every child is a wonder!

Tuesday Deanna got up at 5:00am (are you kidding me? On Spring break?!), drove an hour and a half, and planted ourselves on the Atlantic shore just to catch the sunrise. Unfortunately it was cloudy, but man we had a great time watching the world brighten up, and that on a cloudy day!

Later that same day we went on a hike and watched birds, a family of raccoons, beautiful butterflies, and trees that looked like they could come alive and teach us great mysteries.

Yes, the world is full of wonder, but we so seldom look at it. I’m presently struck by a memory I have of walking down a sidewalk in Aliquippa. I was on my way to visit Cecelia. The sidewalk was crooked and bent, broken and in disrepair. But out of this cement ruin there was a great big maple tree, growing practically out of the sidewalk itself. I imagine a small maple seed falling into a crack, and then years and years later, it burst forth into this magnificent tree. Human infrastructure can not hold back the power and wonder of nature. And there is so much we do not know about the tiniest maple seed!

And I’m reminded of Cecelia, who I was going to visit that day I saw the maple tree. Cecelia is a 56 year old women I met in Summer 2006. She had a stroke some years back so she stays inside most of the day. I met her one day when I was angry to be passing out fliers, hot from being in the sun, and fighting a cold. The last thing I wanted to do was to knock on another door and talk about day camp, but I begrudgingly knocked on her door, hoping no one would answer. But I met Cecelia that day, and fell in love with her. She has become a grandmother to me (all my grandparents died when I was very young). How many Cecelias are there out there that we pass by every day?

I’m trying to learn how to see.