The Search

Thanksgiving

November 14, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Why do I always forget how blessed and lucky I am? Why do I always have a hard time recognizing the many things I should be thankful for? How every little thing in my life—both easy and hard, painful and pleasurable—has been orchestrated by God to form a purpose far grander than my own ambitions?

I think part of it is that I’ve grown up in a world of entitlement. Ours is a world of debilitating entitlement. We are raised to assume that we have the inalienable right to be happy and healthy, that we are entitled to money and security and insurance and freedom to do and say whatever we want. We think it’s our prerogative, our destiny, our right. And so when good things happen to us we’re liable to shrug it off as “our due” instead of being humbled to a place of deep gratitude.

But newsflash: we aren’t entitled to anything.

EVERYTHING is a gift from God. Every good thing is a grace, given not out of obligation but love.

When I realized this, it was so utterly freeing. It allowed me to pull back from my life and see it from beyond my own small sphere. Turns out I’m just a miniscule part of a much bigger picture; turns out there is a purpose to my life, but it has much less to do with my immediate satisfaction than the success of the “bigger picture.”

Occasionally I have moments—little God-given epiphanies—when all of this hits me like some sort of heavenly ton of bricks. Last Saturday was one of those moments. I found myself in a five star hotel, eating amazing (and free) food, interviewing the filmmakers of The Road (a film of extreme deprivation, by the way: It really makes one thankful for what we have). Then I met a fellow journalist who—in a roundabout way—might be responsible for starting the chain of events 6 years ago that eventually led to me being allowed to write a book about hipster Christianity. It was a weird and wonderful experience of grace—a “full circle” moment of connection in which God opened my eyes to just who carefully he crafts every detail and weaves every occurrence in life together for his good.

In that moment, I was overwhelmed with thanksgiving, and it was such a sweet feeling. To be humbled to that point of immense gratitude and smallness is nothing like the blow to pride you might take it to be. On the contrary, it’s the fullest and happiest I’d felt in a long time. To realize that I have no right or entitlement to any of this—five star hotel film journalism or whatever the case may be—and yet have been given it in so deliberate and complicated a manner… it’s just so much to take in.

I think it’s true that, as John Piper often says, “God is most glorified when we are most satisfied in him.” And maybe that is where the fullness and joy of thanksgiving comes from—we are feeling the spilling over of God’s glory. His pleasure in our satisfaction is compounding our joy.

The funny thing about grace is that it just keeps coming, even when we don’t recognize it or pridefully mistake it for something we deserve. Of God there is so much to know and love and fear and wonder about. But on cool November mornings like this, in my warm house with some coffee on and the residual smell of bacon in the air, there’s nothing sweeter but to know that he gives. And he gives and he gives.

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Precious

November 10, 2009 · 6 Comments

I really wanted to like Precious. Everyone is talking about it this awards season as the movie to beat. It’s been a festival favorite. Oprah produced it, etc…

And it is definitely a good film. But it’s certainly nothing like “the movie of the year.”

Precious is the story of an obese, illiterate 16-year-old black girl in Harlem with a lot of problems. Her mother abuses her in every sense of the word. Her father rapes her (and gets her pregnant twice). She is HIV-positive. Her firstborn child has Down syndrome. And the list goes on… Her life is bleaker than you can possibly imagine.

The film does its darndest to rub our faces in the squalor and pain of Precious’ life, and indeed it succeeds. We cringe, grimace, shout at the screen in horror (the middle-aged Oprah-watching white woman next to me shouted “Oh my God!” at least a dozen times during the film), and wonder when and if things will get better for Precious.

Eventually—like, by the very end of the movie—Precious takes some steps (with the help of her nice lesbian teacher and a social worker played by Mariah Carey) to improve her condition. She takes ownership of her life and grabs hold of the faint light at the end of the tunnel represented by her getting a GED. The movie ends with Precious having escaped the horrors, thank God. We can leave the theater feeling okay about the world, after having seen it at its ugliest for the better part of two hours. We are empowered, inspired, hopeful. Hooray for the triumph of the human spirit! Precious: you go girl! Oprah: Thank you for reminding us about the resiliency of humanity.

I’m probably being a little too cynical. The movie does have value for showing how one might recover from a life of tragedy and abuse. It does offer us a model of how education, friendship, and determination can help turn a life around.

But my problem with Precious is not that I disagree with what it’s trying to do or what “lessons” it is trying to convey. My problem is with the execution.

Precious is overwrought and clunky. There are needlessly incongruous “fantasy” sequences dropped in throughout the film that feel tonally and stylistically abrasive; the editing/pace feels occasionally haphazard; and sometimes Lee Daniels’ choices feel not just heavy-handed but downright graceless. A scene of Precious absconding with a bucket of fried chicken and running down the street shoving greasy chicken in her mouth, for example, plays for laughs but lacks any true empathy or nuance.

A film like this would be more effective, I think, without such an ungainly commitment to in-your-face shock value. It’s a shocking-enough subject matter without the scenes of fried chicken larceny. Flags should be raised when the award for subtlety in your film goes to Mariah Carey.

That said, Precious is worth seeing. Though far from perfect, it’s an interesting and provocative look inside the depths of a life that is familiar to too many in this world. We should watch it to empathize; We should watch it to remember that people like Precious exist everywhere, and that they need our love.

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The Box

November 8, 2009 · Leave a Comment

I didn’t think The Box looked that great from the trailers. The premise was brilliant but, well, Cameron Diaz was the star…

Alas, The Box is actually quite entertaining and surprisingly thought provoking. It has a great spiritual/philsophical/sci-fi craziness vibe to it (similar to Knowing, which I suggest you rent soon if you haven’t seen it). If you liked Richard Kelly’s earlier films (Donnie Darko and Southland Tales) you will like this one too. Plus Win Butler of The Arcade Fire composed the score! And it’s great.

Here is an excerpt from my CT review of the film. Click here to read the whole thing.

The Box has one of the most intriguing, if deceptively simple, loglines of any movie this year: A normal family in 1976 suburban Virginia minds its own business at home until a strange box appears at the doorstep, along with a strange proposition by a mystery man. The mystery man, Arlington Steward (Frank Langella, fresh off his Oscar-nominated turn as Richard Nixon in Frost/Nixon), wears tailored suits, has a horrifying face (half of it is missing), and changes the lives of Arthur and Norma Lewis (James Marsden and Cameron Diaz) forever.

You see, the box at the doorstep has within it a button. According to Steward, if the Lewis family presses the button, two things will happen: 1) someone in the world who they don’t know will die, and 2) the Lewises will receive $1 million in cash. Arthur and Norma have 24 hours to make the decision. Thus begins a compelling sci-fi melodrama—based upon Richard Matheson’s short story (and 1986 Twilight Zone episode) “Button, Button”—that is full of moral dilemma, high concept philosophizing, pop culture pastiche, and oodles of Sartre references.

Nothing much can be said of the rest of the plot, save that it has something to do with NASA’s Viking Mission to Mars and includes Kelly’s usual cadre of quirky scientists, brooding youngsters, self-reflexive Americana (evinced in framed wall photos of President Ford, bicentennial footage of the World Trade Center towers, etc.), and obscure/outlandish sci-fi theories such as Arthur C. Clarke’s “Third Law”: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Suffice it to say, The Box is out there and full of “like nothing you’ve seen before” imagination. If that sort of messy, unpredictable movie excites you as much as it does me, you’re in for a treat. For those who prefer order and narrative cohesion, The Box will be a bit of a chore to sit through. The film overreaches, to be sure, taking us in enough multifarious directions to make even the most daring postmodern get a touch of vertigo. But if this sort of “all in” commitment to anarchy is the film’s biggest fault, it’s also its biggest asset.

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We Have a Book Cover!

November 5, 2009 · 6 Comments

Ladies and gentlemen, readers and passersby: My book has a cover!

HIPSTER CHRISTIANITY: When Church and Cool Collide also has a release date:

August 10, 2010.

That’s still 9 months off, but fear not! You can already pre-order a copy on the Baker Books website as well as Amazon … so get it while you’re thinking about it!

Also, if you are excited, intrigued, maddened, or disturbed by the idea of this book, feel free to talk about it on your blogs, twitter, facebook, etc… You know, viral style. I’m not above flat out asking for a little promo help!

In coming months I’ll post excerpts and teasers from the book on my blog, so be looking for that. Other websites and fun things are also being developed.

The book has been a major labor of love and I’m SO excited to get it out there for you all to read. I’m excited for the conversations that will come. Thanks for your support and interest, and stay tuned for updates!

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Best TV of the 2000s

November 2, 2009 · 19 Comments

In 2020, will there be TV anymore? Who knows. But on the off chance that the death of television hasn’t been greatly exaggerated and is indeed imminent, we can at least celebrate the good twilight years that were the 2000s. In case TV fades into oblivion or merges with the Internet or something, this wasn’t such a bad decade to have ended on.

Here are my picks for the best TV shows of the decade:

1) Friday Night Lights (NBC, 2006-present): This show, based on a movie that was based on a book, became the best adapted television show of all time. More than a high school football show, FNL is beautiful rendered, stunningly mature look at Middle America. It’s close to perfect on almost every level and one of the great dramas of the contemporary network era.

2) Lost (ABC, 2004-present): There’s nothing else like Lost on TV, though there have been plenty of imitators. The Twin Peaks-esque sci-fi mystery show has gotten better in its five seasons, and its time-traveling, shape-shifting perplexities only get more interesting. This is to say nothing of the insanely perfect ensemble cast and memorable characters that have compelled audiences to truly care and watch, sans irony, for all these years.

3) Arrested Development (FOX, 2003-2006): This show might be the most tragically short-lived and under-seen on this list. But it’s also the best comedy. Hands down. If you haven’t seen this show (which launched the careers of people like Michael Cera, Jason Bateman and Will Arnett) you must get on it right away.

4) The Office (NBC, 2005-present): Though the British series is hard to top, the American version (which at 6 seasons is now a much more substantial body of comedy) quickly became one of the best comedies of the decade, capturing the zeitgeist of the YouTube era better than any other show on TV.

5) Mad Men (AMC, 2007-present): This is the show that got hipsters obsessed with television again. It’s a show that has so much indie cred: It’s bleak, sexy, fashionable, 60s lux, and on AMC! But it’s also just really great, nuanced, challenging TV. This show offers television what Don Draper’s vodka offers his martinis: Top shelf quality.

6) 30 Rock (NBC, 2006-present): As richly intertextual and self-reflexive as Arrested Development and with a cast equally as brilliant, 30 Rock just might be the comedy that saves NBC. It’s been a slow gainer since its low-rated first season, but it’s only gotten better with time.

7) The Wire (HBO, 2002-2008): I read something once that said that after watching The Wire, there’s no way anyone could watch CSI: Miami without stabbing their eyes out with a fork. And I think that’s about accurate. The Wire is HBO’s verite show about urban life in Baltimore, and though I’ve only seen the first two of its five seasons, I can understand why the critics frequently hail it as one of the best television shows of all time. It’s gritty, prestige TV of the finest order.

8) American Idol (Fox, 2002-present): This is the show that has dominated the decade in ratings and reality TV trends. After Idol came all the other dancing, performing, talent shows. But Idol’s contribution was also to the emerging landscape of “convergence” television in general—perfecting the art of audience interactivity, product placement, and trans-media storytelling (a live show, a concert tour, single available on iTunes, etc). It’s not Citizen Kane or anything, but it’s a ridiculously well-oiled machine of moneymaking pop entertainment. And I applaud that.

9) Friends (NBC, 1994-2004): Yes, this show was on in the 2000s, and while it might not have been the best years for the show, it was still pretty darn good post-Y2K. By the end the six “friends” had become icons getting $1 million a piece for each episode. The show was THAT huge.

10) Laguna Beach (MTV, 2004-2006): Before The Hills became a parody of the genre, there was the exquisitely rendered, truly original reality/soap hybrid Laguna Beach. Its celebration of conspicuous consumption and rich white American youth ushered in a new era for MTV and the youth culture at large. Real teens acting like actors playing real teens, driving Range Rovers and wearing Stella McCartney coats… GREAT TV.

Honorable Mention: The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Chapelle’s Show, Da Ali G Show, Dexter, South Park, Rome, Prison Break.

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Friday Night Lights Season Four Kicks Off

October 28, 2009 · 7 Comments

The fourth season of Friday Night Lights premiers tomorrow night on the 101 channel of DirecTV (for those of us fortunate to have DirecTV… I bought mine solely for FNL). I urge you to watch it if you can! Find someone with DirecTV! Or search for it online. Or wait until 2011 and watch it on NBC. Just don’t miss it!

I still marvel at the number of people I know who have yet to see an episode of this fantastic show. These are people who like Mad Men and Lost and appear to know good TV when they see it. Alas, they’ve somehow missed what is certainly one of the best shows on television.

Well it hasn’t been because of any lack of promotion on my part. Over the years, I’ve written numerous blog posts and articles about this show. Among the things I’ve said:

“Every now and then a network show comes along that redefines the medium’s artistic horizons and proves that cinema has no monopoly on forward-thinking style in the world of moving images. Lights is such a show… Beyond the technical aspects, perhaps the chief appeal of Lights is that it is not condescending to middle America, even while it relishes in pointing out its quirks and contradictions. For those of us who hail from (and adore) the sprawling rural midsection of this country, it’s rare to see a portrayal that gets it so right.” (“Still the Brightest Light on TV“)

“This show—unlike most other hour-long dramas on TV—is not about plot twists and cliffhangers. Its greatness comes from how mundane it is—how it captures subtle beauty in the everyday occurrences of this sleepy little Texas town.” (“Friday Night Lights is Back“)

“When I think about Friday Night Lights, I think about my memories, and I think about my hopes. But I also think of Thomas Hart Benton, the plains, adolescence, Aaron Copland, thunderstorms, Dairy Queen, and struggle. Not many T.V. shows (or anything really) stir up such a complex array of emotions or feel so utterly relatable.” (“Why You Should Watch Friday Night Lights“)

Anyway, in case you remain unconvinced, here is a sampling of some of the endless raves reviews critics have given Friday Night Lights over the past three years:

Tom Shales, Washington Post

“Extraordinary in just about every conceivable way—but especially in the quality of its cast… “Friday Night Lights” is great, heavy-duty, high-impact TV.”

Mary McNamara, Los Angeles Times

“With any luck, popular success will follow the critical, because pretty much everyone who sees “Friday Night Lights” falls hard. With its fuzzy lighting and slow-as-a-summer-night cadence, it’s the antithesis of many of the slick hyper-dramas ruling the airways. It attempts to show life for folks who live without a freeway or a subway, complete with ugly violence and choked-back silence.”

Tim Goodman, San Francisco Chronicle

“Friday Night Lights is not good. It’s great… If viewers get over their preconceived notions about what they think this series is about and actually give it a shot, they’ll be as stunned as everyone else.”

Adam Buckman, New York Post

“The best live-action show about contemporary life in America that is currently on the air.”

Robert Bianco, USA Today

“Lights has a rare ability to portray life in small-town America without being condescending or sentimental.”

Bill Simmons, ESPN

“It’s the greatest sports-related show ever made… Every nuance is nailed, every hug seems genuine, every fight makes sense, every sarcastic barb and flustered reaction ring true. If there are better TV actors than Kyle Chandler (Coach) and Connie Britton (Mrs. Coach), I haven’t TiVoed them.”

Matt Roush, TV Guide

“Friday Night Lights moves me like no other show. It reminds me of where I came from and of what it truly means to keep one’s eye on the ball. And yet, as wrenching as the show can be, it’s also terrifically entertaining, with plenty of dry wit, edge-of-the-seat suspense, sexy romance and even the occasional laugh-out-loud moment.”

Maureen Ryan, Chicago Tribune

“I not only think it’s the best show on network television, I also think it’s as good as The Wire… This extraordinary drama lets us peek inside the lives and the minds of people who aren’t any different than we are, who are struggling with the mundane and major problems of real life. And it’s done with such subtlety, surprising wit and grace, that at the end of every hour, I devoutly wish it wasn’t over.”

American Film Institute—Television show of the year (2006):

“FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS is a celebration of America – its hopes and dreams, its heart and its heartland. Rare is the show that presents family and faith in such an authentic way – rich with emotion and illuminated by the pulse-quickening thrill of football. Peter Berg’s small town tale is one with community at its core, but universal in scope – the struggle of winning and losing, the drive to reach for more and the challenge of seeing a future beyond the glare of Friday night’s lights.”

Peabody Award (2006):

“No dramatic series, broadcast or cable, is more grounded in contemporary American reality than this clear eyed serial about the hopes, dreams, livelihoods and egos intertwined with the fate of high-school football in a Texas town.”

If you are still unconvinced to at least give this show a try, then I don’t know what to say. You’re missing out!

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A Serious Man

October 25, 2009 · 1 Comment

I didn’t think the Coen brothers could top No Country For Old Men, their Oscar-winning masterpiece (which I wrote about here). But A Serious Man comes awfully close. This is a film unlike anything the Coens have ever done, and yet it fits perfectly into their oeuvre. It’s a film about God, man, and the peculiar way that the two relate. And it’s a film that will haunt and provoke you far after you leave the theater.

Stylistically, Man is further proof that the Coens are among the most masterful directors working in Hollywood today. Few other filmmakers are as skillful at the art of employing editing in the service of suggestion and insinuation. As in No Country, the Coens let much go unsaid in Man… and yet so much is implied. So much is clearly hinted at. The Coens’ impressive restraint and pervasive ambiguity only adds to the provocative, head-scratching, deeply unsettling quality of this film.

A Serious Man, as you’ve probably heard by now, is a sort of modern day Job story. It’s a movie about a Jewish physics professor named Larry Gopnik who lives in 1967 suburban Minnesota with his wife, daughter and son. Larry is an upstanding guy—moral, loving, even-keeled. He doesn’t even like hearing people curse. But inexplicably and tragically, things start going very wrong in Larry’s life. Bad things… one after another. His wife divorces him, a student tries to blackmail him, his brother gets in legal trouble, someone tries to sabotage his tenure, his health might be in jeopardy, etc. As the film progresses, the bad stuff keeps coming, and poor Larry doesn’t get a break.

A Serious Man is a funny film (in a darkly humorous, pitiful sort of way), but it’s also full of important, distressing existential questions. Namely: Why does bad stuff happen to good people? If there is a God, why does he seem so cruel and unresponsive sometimes?

These questions are set against a strikingly Jewish backdrop, mixing a sort of Old Testament monotheistic covenant mysticism with Yiddish and American Jewish cultural tropes. The film opens with a curious, comic/horrific prologue that appears to be some sort of old Yiddish folktale. It has nothing directly related to the film proper, aside from establishing the Jewishness and darkly comic tone from the get go. The prologue also, importantly, establishes what seems to be an acceptance of the supernatural—which lends credibility to the ensuing film’s apparent belief in God-ordained calamity.

When the bad stuff starts happening, Larry goes to talk to the local rabbi to get some insight and counsel about why his life is crumbling all around him. But the rabbis (he ends up talking to two of them) offer Larry little in the way of comfort. One of them tells Larry to “look at things with fresh eyes” and the other regales him with a bizarre story about a dentist who sees a Hebrew message in a patient’s teeth. In another scene, Larry’s son goes to see a very old rabbi who manages only to quote Jefferson Airplane and say “be a good boy.” So much for wisdom and insight from the clergy.

Or maybe “be a good boy” is really all we need to hear. Perhaps, at the end of the day, the “why me?!” cry is simply that of a pitiful sinner who just needs to make better choices.

As much as A Serious Man is about the seeming injustice of calamity befalling a blameless, morally upright man (Larry=Job), there are definitely moments when it seems like actions have direct consequences—that the bad things happening are in fact a punishment for wrongdoing.

The Coens have charted this morality territory before. Many of their films (like No Country, Burn After Reading, Fargo) feature characters who are mostly very nice, normal, moral people. But because they make one or two mistakes, or get caught up in the mistakes of others, they have to pay. So it is in Man. Larry only falters a few times in the film. He peers over at a female neighbor sunbathing in the nude; he tries marijuana; and at the end of the film, he does something small that immediately makes him pay in a big way.

It may not seem fair that such minor offenses justify such massive punishment, but this IS God we’re talking about. Yahweh. Hashem (as Larry calls Him in the film). He does what he wants, and his justice will prevail. Even if it doesn’t quite make sense to us.

The film is rooted in this sort of quintessentially Jewish version of God—a God who is in a love/hate relationship with his chosen people (Jews) but has a propensity to be silent, distant, scary and wrathful. He’s a god who demands sacrifices in order to be approached, obedience in order to be appeased.

It’s almost as if God is a negotiator—that He demands something of us in order to bless us, and that if we hold up our end of the bargain he’ll hold up His. Read Torah, live rightly, “be a good boy,” and God will bless you. If not, watch out.

“But God is not a negotiator,” writes Miroslav Volf in his book Free of Charge:

It is true that Scripture portrays God in ways remarkably similar to that image. In the Old Testament we read, for instance, “If you will only obey the Lord your God … all these blessings shall come upon you and overtake you, if you obey the Lord your God” (Deut. 28:1-2). Yet before the commandments were given to the people of Israel, God delivered them from slavery in Egypt. But it wasn’t to get something out of them. They were delivered for the simple reason that God heard their cries of affliction, kept the promises made to their ancestor Abraham, and through deliverance and faithfulness wanted to manifest the greatness of God’s love in the world… God’s goods are not for sale; you can’t buy them with money or good deeds. God doesn’t make deals. God gives.

The thought of a loving, free-grace giving God is mostly absent in A Serious Man, but it’s fairly understandable. It’s hard to grasp this sort of God when your life is falling apart at the seams for no just reason.

Larry is a physics professor who believes in cause and effect and preaches Newton’s law of motion (every action has a reaction). He assumes that choices have consequences and that the universe corrects itself in a very logical way. He trusts the math. But there are also things in physics that push the boundaries of our intellect (e.g. Schrödinger’s “cat is dead and alive simultaneously” Paradox and the Heisenberg Principle) and require us to admit uncertainty.

Perhaps this is why Larry, like Job, never curses God even through all his suffering and hardship. God, Hashem, is grander than and beyond our intellect, and his actions sometimes defy our understanding. Larry, the rabbis, and everyone in A Serious Man are pretty stumped about what God is actually doing. But they continue to worship Him, fear Him, and pursue righteousness because of Him. Because He is God. And our ability to understand Him doesn’t change who He is.

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Our Inconsolable Secret

October 23, 2009 · 4 Comments

In response to my last post about Balloon Boy and our human obsession with being recognized and affirmed, Christianne—a faithful and wise reader of my blog—offered a comment that was a helpful corrective to my admittedly harsh rhetoric about how things like Facebook and Twitter are “silly” attempts to “get the attention of other people who are just as weak and attention-seeking as we are.” Here is part of what Christianne wrote:

But where you look at the behaviors we exhibit en masse on Facebook and Twitter and land at exasperation, I look at those behaviors and land at compassion. Yes, I agree with you that we are broken and need something more than our broken selves to heal one another. But the answer isn’t pasting knowledge on ourselves about Christ’s sufficiency, even though Christ’s sufficiency is real and true. People need to experience real love to counter the false loves they’re finding elsewhere to fill a vacuum. And the love of Christ does not become real by being told it’s sufficient and to just believe. It becomes real, in some ways, through Christ-followers who demonstrate the kind of love and compassion Christ would if he were here, walking among us, today.

I think this is very true. It’s easy to say that Christ’s affirmation and love is sufficient, but in reality it’s a bit of an abstraction and it’s hard to experience in practice. Christianne is right. God’s love can and does manifest itself in humanity—through our mothers and brothers and friends and lovers. Certainly we experience the heavenly ideal of unconditional love in bits and pieces—however imperfect—in our human brethren. It’s right to seek it, to appreciate it when we find it, and to recognize God’s grace in it.

I suppose my vitriolic, exasperated tone with regard to Facebook and Twitter comes from the fact that I see this type of “love seeking” as such a pale substitute for the sorts of “heavenly” connections I know exist. It’s sort of a mudpies-when-we-could-be-at-the-sea sorta thing, to reference “The Weight of Glory.” Sure, social networking websites can provide transcendent, unconditional, life-affirming connection at times. But just as often it seems to be a disappointment and a distraction. Too often I realize that with all the time I spend seeking “friends” and “comments” online, I could be praying or reading God’s word. When I’m feeling the need for connection, it’s easier to pop onto iChat and get some instant conversational attention from a friend. It’s so convenient, in fact (and offers such immediate return), that it becomes harder to justify chatting with God who is silent and mysterious.

On a good day, it’s easy to see God speaking to me in the chats and emails and conversations with the people in my life. It’s wonderful to feel his love in things like the weather, coffee, and a text message. But on bad days—on glass half empty days—it becomes painfully clear that no one can ever live up to the standard of love we are wired to seek. We were made for something more than this earth can satisfy. Everyone, at one point or another, proves to be a disappointment. Everyone we love will, at one point or another, cause us pain. We are all so broken; so inexhaustibly frail.

This doesn’t mean we should hide away from it all, shun human contact and pray all day and night in solitude (though maybe it does… monks seem to think so). On the contrary, I think God wants us to love each other, to experience his love in and through community. And thanks be to God, this world and its inhabitants can frequently offer us glorious glimpses and blips of existential satisfaction that can amount to something very near sustained joy or stasis. Very near… but never all the way there.

As is typically the case, C.S. Lewis expresses it most eloquently, as in this passage from “The Weight of Glory”:

When I attempted a few minutes ago, to describe our spiritual longings, I was omitting one of their most curious characteristics. We usually notice it just as the moment of vision dies away, as the music ends, or as the landscape loses the celestial light… For a few minutes we have had the illusion of belonging to that world. Now we wake to find that it is no such thing. We have been mere spectators. Beauty has smiled, but not to welcome us; her face turned in our direction, but not to see us. We have not been accepted, welcomed, or taken into the dance. We may go when we please, we may stay if we can, no one cares. Now, a scientist may reply that since most of the things we call beautiful are inanimate it is not very surprising that they take no notice of us. That, of course, is true. It is not the physical objects that I am speaking of, but that indescribable Something of which they become for a moment the messengers. And part of the bitterness which mixes with the sweetness of that message is due to the fact that it so seldom seems to be a message intended for us, but rather something we have overheard. By bitterness I mean pain, not resentment. We should hardly dare to ask that any notice be taken of ourselves. But we pine. The sense that in the universe we are treated as strangers, the longing to be acknowledged, to meet with some response, the bridge some chasm that yawns between us and reality, is part of our inconsolable secret.

I did not intend my balloon boy post to be an invalidation of this very human “inconsolable secret.” Rather, I was simply trying to explore how this pining—this acute awareness of our “stranger” disposition—evinces itself in our contemporary experience: in the news, in technology, in everything.

The “glory” Lewis talks about has everything to do with the human desire for affirmation and recognition—the Platonic notion of thymos. Lewis describes glory as the fact of being “noticed” by God. We want to be known by Him (1 Corinthians 8:3, 1 Corinthians 13:12), and we dread being cast away from Him (“I never knew you. Depart from me…” Matt 7:23).

At the end of the day, it is this deep, unrelenting desire to be fully known that drives everything we do—the loves and satisfactions we seek in both good and bad places. But we can only really be fully known by God. And this is the burden of glory. This is the weight: that we live in a world that teases us with glory, offers us a taste, but never completely satisfies.

It’s not something that should defeat or exasperate us. We should acknowledge the tension and let it enliven us, spurring us on toward hope and future glory.

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There’s a Balloon Boy Inside All of Us

October 21, 2009 · 4 Comments

Last week the world watched as a homemade balloon carried a helpless little boy named Falcon Henne off into oblivion. Every news channel was following it in real time, as the nation held its breath over the fate of little Falcon. It was as if we were watching Baby Jessica in the well all over again. Everyone was hoping for the best but fearing the worst. Balloon Boy Falcon was lighting up the Twitter trends. For a few hours, the nation was utterly compelled.

Fast forward a week. Turns out the whole thing was a hoax. Little Falcon was hiding in his family’s attic, instructed by his creepy cultish parents to participate in a little something “for the show” (apparently they wanted to add some media manipulation to their resume in hopes of being featured on a reality show). Meanwhile Falcon has forever been saddled with the “balloon boy” albatross and the distinction of being the only six-year-old to vomit live on The Today Show during an interview with Meredith Vieira. All because his parents are so obsessed with becoming famous that they were willing to whore their little son up to the God of live-via-satellite simulacra.

The Balloon Boy incident is simply the latest reminder that our culture is utterly, aggressively, dangerously obsessed with fame.

These days, it seems like everything else one might do with one’s life is nothing next to that most valued of all achievements: notoriety. And increasingly, fame can come without doing much of anything anyway. It has become an end unto itself, a commodity of attention to which nearly everyone compulsively clamors, grabbing for it and gathering it whenever and however they can.

What’s up with this?

Why do we all obsessively check Facebook to see if someone has commented on our status or photo? Why do we measure the success of our existence by how many retweets it gets? Why do we Google ourselves?

It’s because we all want to be recognized; to have our existence affirmed. It’s a very basic human trait, actually. On Abraham Maslow’s famous “hierarchy of needs,” just above meeting basic survival/safety needs is the need to belong, to be loved, to be accepted, etc. And once we find “acceptance,” our next pursuit is usually to be “affirmed,” respected and regarded in a way that builds our self-esteem.

To put it simply, humans act in a large part for the acceptance of their peers. They want to be noticed. Humans are an image-conscious creation. Once our basic needs are met, we become increasingly concerned not just with ourselves, but ourselves through the eyes of others. Our own evaluation of self-worth is inextricably bound up in what others think of us.

“Do people like me?” is not just a question that the Michael Scotts of this world constantly ask. It’s the core existential hangup of nearly every human who has ever lived. I’m not sure we can change this aspect of our self—this insatiable desire for recognition. Plato called it thymos, and it’s been around for a long time.

But even if we can’t totally rid ourselves of the urge for fame and recognition, I think we can—and should—try to keep it under control. It’s healthy to want to be loved, to want to be affirmed. But where is that affirmation coming from? Other people? Tabloids? Google analytics? The number of Twitter followers we have?

I think we have to consider that sometimes it’s just silly to go around trying to get the attention of other people who are just as weak and attention-seeking as we are. If everyone in the world loved me, how much is that actually worth, at the end of the day? Would it really make me happy?

As a Christian I believe that my ultimate value comes not from any earthly thing. I believe that my worth is found in Christ, who had nothing to gain from me and yet gave it all to save me. He sought me out and affirmed me as valuable, even if I don’t understand why or how. To know that, to believe it, is to be at peace with worldly anonymity. It’s freedom to live and create and strive for purposeful things without obsessing over who’s paying attention—to take risks and make mistakes, to be unattractive on occasion, and to take joy in flying in our little homemade balloons… even if there are no cameras around.

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Songs for Fall 2009

October 16, 2009 · 14 Comments

Because “Autumn” in L.A. is negligible at best, I have to live my seasons vicariously through media. I tend to make music playlists, for example, to play in my car or iPod whenever I want to feel like I’m living in some crisp, fall-like place. I do this for other seasons as well. It works fairly well, I think.

Anyway, the following is my “Autumn 2009″ playlist. Buy these songs!

“Kettering” – The Antlers: If you haven’t heard The Antlers CD, Hospice, I highly recommend it. Gloriously mournful and utterly moving.

“Inside It All Feels the Same” – Explosions in the Sky: Explosions in the Sky makes music that I will always associate with fall, maybe because I’ll always associate them with Friday Night Lights.

“Someone Else’s Life” – Joshua Radin: Achingly romantic song that brings to mind autumn in New York (mostly because of its use in the movie Adam)

“Guilty Cubicles” – Broken Social Scene: Aptly used in the film Half Nelson, this song has one of the most curiously appropriate titles ever.

“Pulling Our Weight” – The Radio Dept: A fall mix would not be complete without some neo-shoegazer lamentation from The Radio Dept!

“Don’t Bother They’re Here” – Stars of the Lid: Minimalist instrumental to pop on the headphones when on a bus driving through the Cascade Mountains on a rainy November day (as I did last year).

“Ohio” – Damien Jurado: Harmonica, acoustic guitar, and Damien Jurado singing about going home. What more could you ask?

“4 Minute Warning” – Radiohead: The best song off of In Rainbows Disc 2. Cryptic, sullen, worn out in all the best ways.

“Constants Are Changing” – Boards of Canada: The title says it all.

“Diamond Heart” – Marissa Nadler: This thoroughly seasonal song is about missing your love through the fall and winter… and scattering a loved one’s ashes in the snow.

“Mexican Blue” – Jolie Holland: Epic, simple love song that gets better and better with every year. Highly suggest checking it out.

“We’re Gonna Pull Through” – Over the Rhine: A song of hope in a season of dark nights and cold days.

“Monoplain” – Susan Enan: A beautiful, quiet, heartbreaking gem from an under-appreciated Irish singer/songwriter.

“Guaranteed” – Eddie Vedder: One of many great songs from Vedder’s spectacular Into the Wild soundtrack.

“The Golden Day is Dying” – Hem: Nearly acapella and full of gorgeous harmonies, this song from Hem is exactly as the title would imply.

“Curse Your Branches” – David Bazan: It’s a song about red, orange, and yellow leaves. Well, not exactly. But it’s still pretty autumnal.

“Happiness” – Riceboy Sleeps: Excellent post-rock minimalism from the Sigur Ros frontman Jonsi.

“Gentle Moon” – Sun Kil Moon: Beautiful song from the classic Sun Kil Moon album Ghosts of the Great Highway, a quintessential coldweather album.

“Dear God (Sincerely M.O.F.)” – Monsters of Folk: The first and best track on the collaboration album from Conor Oberst, Matt Ward, Jim James and Mike Mogis.

“Search for Delicious” – Panda Bear: My new favorite Panda Bear song. It is so understated and yet so expressive–in a cold, urban sort of way.

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