venue change

The venue for next week's show changed. Details above.

my first presidential rally

I went to a Barack Obama rally downtown today.

This doesn’t mean I support Obama, nor does it mean I support McCain. I’ve assumed the stance of an Independent this election, though my voter registration card (and brief voting history) would tell a different story.

This was an experiment in observation.

I’ve never seen a U.S. President (or candidate) in person.

Perhaps, when Palin and McCain come back around, I’ll see them, too, though last time, I opted for Jim, and I wasn’t disappointed with that decision.

The gates opened at 7:30 a.m., and by the time we arrived at 7:40, we were about a quarter mile down from the entrance and wrapped around a corner, amongst a sea of people. The political evangelists must’ve arrived at 5 a.m.

I guessed early on that about 80 percent of the people in line were under 25, but the age diversity leveled off as the morning went on and the crowd got bigger. I commented how young people (myself included) have little historical perspective, something my Dad has been quick to remind me of during our lively exchanges this season.

My generation has been too busy having everything handed to us on a silver platter.

Obama’s speech was set right outside city hall, with a couple kids hanging on GR's giant signature artwork while Secret Service guys kept watch on the roofs of surrounding buildings. Someone opened with a prayer, throwing out a heap of pious language that sounded distant, like the monotone King James Scriptures read to us in Sunday School.

A few local politicians spoke; a small plane buzzed overhead, dragging a sign to vote for another local politician. Time passed, I sent photos and emails as a play-by-play of sorts.

The crowd got excited.

They chanted for Obama and change.

They waived signs.

Obama was introduced by a local blue collar worker hit by these hard times, who, bless his heart, made a few nervous mistakes telling his story, “My husban—wife,” and, “I’m looking forward to retiring my wife…retiring with my wife.”

We’ll give him some grace. I’d probably stand up there and just stare at everyone.

Sometimes I can't even play a guitar in front of people without shaking.

Obama came out to energetic music and an equally energetic crowd. Hands holding cameras and cell phones flooded the air. He spoke about the bailout plan, the bleeding auto industry, economic policies, health care, government reform, Iraq, hitting all the stops on the campaign trail.

If you watch the news, the media is pretty much predicting an apocalypse.

The debate on Friday night literally put me to sleep after an exhausting week of work. I’ve been having discussions with people I trust, talking politics over hot drinks, reading a book or two, watching the news, paying attention for the first time in years.

But something doesn’t sit right with me on either side.

I will vote on November 4.

But we’ve pigeon holed each other. I don’t like labels. It’s like playing the gnome game at a carnival. You can hit some issues right, but others inevitably pop up.

Honestly, I wish there was more to say.

I thought the rally would be a bit livelier, but it is West Michigan.

I thought there would be better stories to tell.

But if you’d heard one speech, you’ve heard them all.

I felt like I could lip synch portions of it.

I’d feel the same for McCain and Palin.

After the rally, someone said they experienced an emotional, not rational response to Obama’s speech. We've become enamored with the idea that either candidate will make everything new.

Maybe those of us who hope in Jesus have lost hope in real change. Obama made a comment saying that we are the change. We control our own destiny.

For some, it’s easier to believe in a tangible in-the-flesh politician than a Jesus who rose from the dead, and called the rest to do the same, spiritually speaking.

But I guess we’ll all have our say when November comes.

heaviness

I've been wrestling with responsibility in recent days. What is our response when someone asks us for money to buy food, and if we can't come up with the resources, others may suffer, possibly starve, potentially worse?

The Believers Share Their Possessions

"All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they shared everything they had. With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and much grace was upon them all. There were no needy persons among them. For from time to time those who owned lands or houses sold them, brought the money from the sales and put it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to anyone as he had need." (Acts 4:32-35)

Creative Christian Solutions (adapted from Culture Making):

"In feature after feature of Roman culture, Christians, animated by a powerfully different story from their pagan neighbors, were boldly creative. Their lives simply did not look like their neighbors'. But they were not cut off from their neighbors--the culture they created was public and accessible to all. ...

At least two major epidemics claimed up to a third of the population of the Roman Empire in the first centuries of the Christian era. In the face of terrible conditions, pagan elites and priests simply fled the cities. The only functioning social network left behind was the church, which provided basic nursing care to Christians and non-Christians alike, along with a hope that transcended death. 'Many, in nursing and curing others, transferred their death to themselves and died in their stead,' the bishop Dionysius wrote. ...

The church had no magic or medicine to cure the plague, but it turns out that survival even of a terrible disease has a lot to do with one's access to the most basic elements of life. Simply by providing food, water and friendship to their neighbors, Christians enabled many to remain strong enough to their own immune systems could mount an effective defense. ...

The church would grow not just because it proclaimed hope in the face of horror but because of the cultural effects of a new approach to the sick and dying, a willingness to care for the sick even at risk of death." (Culture Making by Andy Crouch)

two meetings

Last night there were two political discussions happening in our city. The first was team McCain and Palin, who held a town hall meeting at GRCC.

The other was Jim Wallis, the founder of Sojourners magazine and prominent author, who held a different kind of town hall meeting at Calvin. We went to see Jim.

Among other points, Wallis' lecture called Christians out of partisan politics, out of one-issue voting, and pointed us toward a Kingdom perspective that is highly engaged in politics, but also activists in three areas: as individuals, as churches, and finally, through political action. The real election, he says, is on November 5, a phrase very similar to Shane Claiborne's take in Jesus for President.

He argued that historically, any significant change is rooted in movements, and these movements are driven by great spiritual awakening. Until "religion" impacts society, it's not revival. When the "winds" of public standards and morality and beliefs change around a politician, he will likely follow, to appease the masses.

He talked about Martin Luther King, Jr. and William Wilberforce, among others. He did not speak of Barack Obama or John McCain or Sarah Palin or Joe Biden. There were no endorsements to be found, only the endorsement of a King and a Kingdom.

Speaking to a majority of college students, he exhorted our generation (XY), to clear up the confusing perceptions preying on Christianity, from scammy television evangelists to highly-charged political talking heads who have confused the cross. It was cold water to hear Wallis speak of political possibility, how new issues of life and justice are emerging, why the old system may be breaking apart.

He said the church has often asked its young people (and old alike) for the "edges" of their lives, and that's what they've received in return. All the right words and motions, yet so little action.

But Wallis has also traveled the country and the world, taking the pulse of a new generation that wants to give everything to the One who calls us from the place we were, exhorting us simply, saying, "Come, follow me."

odd jobs

I've seen a lot of weird stuff, including an older woman screaming at Cam in foreign tongues in the middle of a crowded Prague train station. Last week, in the Keweenaw Peninsula (the northernmost tip of the Upper Peninsula), the fellas and I came across an attractive young woman at work.

She was a petite brunette dressed in brown Carhart overalls, t-shirt and rubber boots, chewing tobacco and digging in the back of a utility van, helping her partner hose off a grease bin in the parking lot of a dodgy-looking-but-surprisingly-delicious four-star restaurant at midnight.

Quite standard, really.

courier show: spread the word

love // politics

people in
pairs;
triplets;
together: creating

me: alone
waiting;
or procrastinating

it’s hard to tell

when
you’re
lost

somewhere
between
the wilderness
and the city
is where i rest

yet unrest
has uprooted
this loneliness

this
strong
desire

to know
and be known
to love
and be loved

==

as the wind blows
past these trees
shaking leaves of

green

the breeze of august
will chill september
and reveal majesty

while the day of
labor reminds us
to lay down our arms

and
rest

==

i return to the same woods
where i wept over her
but discovered it was me

memories of gethsemane
where the Savior’s blood
dripped red
with anguish
‘take this cup’
He screamed
inside His soul
but drank it up

anyway

to
simply
save
the
world

==

so for now i find perspective
in the unexpected
words that fall from the
sky and land in letters
that speak of hidden form
like a mirror looks back
and says ‘there’s more’

than
what
we
see

like the unseen
beauty and chemistry
of a triune King
with a big k
unlike the little ones
on the television

spitting chunks of fools’ gold
into the hands of beggars
who wanna rule the world

the return of the courier

Courier's back. After Dan’s overseas summer adventures are closing in, while drummer Andy’s wrists are back in good shape.

Saturday, October 18 from 7-9 p.m.

Dillenbeck’s Coffee
1059 Fulton St W
Grand Rapids, MI 49504

It’s free. It's fall. It’s for you.

dos años

We started our company two years ago today. 730 days have come and gone.

On our first day, we went to Starbucks; I slammed a gigantic venti coffee.

It kept me wide-eyed all night. Enough for some poetry to leak about the pressure and fear I was feeling after taking in all the beauty and adventure of Europe.

It would be a lie to say fear is gone. It feels like a century or an hour has passed.

I’ve been shattered into pieces, reassembled and broken again. I’ve stood tall and bowed low, cried in desperation and smiled in adoration. I’ve asked God to come in, slammed the door, and then asked Him to come in again.

We’ve told good stories, failed on others, fought a lot and laughed a little. We captured a vision flying over Africa and imported it into the U.S. We moved from a tiny room to a big studio in a former ghetto, where redemptive threads abound.

I’ve been poor. I’ve been rich. I’ve made debts. I’ve paid debts. Then I’ve made more debts. I’ve blessed. I’ve cursed. I’ve closed deals. I’ve lost deals. I’ve fought off vultures and pirates who smelled cash and blood.

I’ve found everything meaningless. I’ve found everything meaningful.

the tire story

Many I know, myself included, seem to be lying down in a spiritual valley. This is nothing new, playing dead, seeing only brokenness, forgetting where we left the ointment.

On Sunday, a friend of our neighbors strategically planted his car in front of the driveway exit. I was flying solo to the beach to repent and think and pray and sleep, and his garbage parking job set me off. I swore and stood proudly by my car until he came outside.

“Do you need me to move my car?” he says.

Great observation. I nod. “Thanks.”

I typically execute the signature Austin Powers move to drive out, but his car was blocking the turnaround. In haste, I exited in reverse, cranking my tire into the cement barrier on the passenger side.

My car could be sold on the Taco Bell Value Menu, so I move on.

The car was favoring its right side, which isn’t extremely odd. But it wasn’t good.

No. Flat tire? I pull over. Yes. Flat tire. More swearing.

Thinking through options, I take a quick inventory. Clunky, broken speaker in trunk blocking spare. I disconnect it and move it to the back seat. Bad jack. No money. Dirty trunk. Tire place across the street. Yes, across the street. The same place where they sell large bags of onions and bicycles and treadmills. Brilliant.

I walk over, see the “CASH ONLY” sign, and start the short walk back, defeated.

I’m not a cash man. “Carriere!” I hear a voice. It’s Amy, strategically driving past.

“I have a flat tire,” I yell, pointing to my car in the parking lot across the street, adjacent to the Burger King.

She comes over; I lament, but say little else. Then I ask her if she has money. She has cash. I walk over to the tire guys. I tell them what’s up. They tell me to drive it over. I tell them there’s no air and I don’t want to destroy the tire. I suggest I borrow their jack and bring the tire over myself. They concur.

I jack the car up. I take off the lug nuts. It’s stuck. Really stuck. I start kicking it and swearing. Amy watches. I look up. I kick some more. I put on a shoe so I can kick harder than I could with flip-flops. A couple people in the parking lot next to us watch. I kick.

I walk back over. “It’s stuck,” I say. They say they’ll be over in a minute. I repeat the same sequence as above. More kicking. Twenty minutes goes by. I walk back over. A new guy comes. He says I’m missing a lug and points to the center. I feel stupid.

I drive it across the street.

Turns out I wasn’t as stupid as he thought. All they needed was a large sledge.

They knock it off with ease. They fix the problem and speak Spanish, show me the dreaded disarray of my tire and offer to sell me a new one for $25. I explain that I’m poor and lie and tell them my tire is under warranty. I’m wretched. There’s no warranty.

They charge me $10, and I’m grateful it’s not $70.

I give them Amy’s money, shake hands, and we drive to the freshwater sea.

Until now, I haven’t given it much thought, since it’s embarrassing to recount the string of sins accompanying the whole ordeal. But there was provision and planning and lessons there, despite my shortcomings.

Had my anger not fueled a hasty exit from my driveway, I wouldn’t have sliced the tire nozzle. If I didn’t walk to the tire place at that exact moment, Amy wouldn’t have seen me. If she didn’t have $10, I would’ve likely spent more and swore more.

But the solution was right there, all along, across the street.

Despite my stubbornness and foolishness and trying to fix it on my own, I eventually recognized my situation for what it was, and found help.

And the solution to this isolation and ungratefulness and sin is right there, too, the same place it’s always been, at the intersection of the cross and the empty tomb.

another girl (a song)

another girl
falls through the cracks
and fades away

another dream
comes crashing down
as i awake

another word
of sympathy
falls from a friend

nod and smile
you know this heart
has got the bends

without you here…my love
without you here…my love

all this crashing
of these cymbals
just leaves me dry

while pious words
and broken body
they make me sigh

so fix my heart
to wait on You
and not rely

cause my own
ability
is running dry

without you here…my love
without you here…my love

//friday morning duck-and-cover

the meter maid
hunts lawbreakers
puts a green slip on their hood

while i sit here
and close the blinds
not doing the things i should

you know i’m a salesman
but i don’t wanna
sell you what you don’t need

but let’s tell your story
if it’s worth telling
and if we all agree

i know this friday morning
duck-and-cover
will pass away until another

morning comes
when i just wanna
sleep til saturday