Why is U2 so cool?

About a week ago, someone asked me what I see in U2.  It wasn't some denial about the band's quality of music, or of their basic talent.  Instead, the questioner was prodding me to find out why I felt that this band deserved some additional honor aside from the occasional listen.  

It is funny how some questions get stuck in your head, you know?  I mean, of all the questions to get stuck on, why this?  So this weekend, I found myself on YouTube checking out their Concert videos.  I have long maintained that live performances are a truer judge of a band, and usually contain an organic quality which surpasses the studio tracks, so live stuff it was.  I was looking for something that could lend clarity to this nebulous "like."  

I confess that I can't quite nail it down.  It was an interesting search which spanned over 25 years of the band's existence.  I got to see "baby-faced Bono" and the "receding hair line" Bono.  I got to see the same songs performed over the course of these decades with varying points of emphasis and evolving presentations.  It was interesting, even uplifting.

And maybe that is what I would stick with.  By and large, U2 has always been about more than the music.  Their messages ring of more than lust, like, or the latest fad.  

One of their earliest songs "40" is still a staple in their concerts.  It is an adaptation of Psalm 40, and it is beautiful.  On one of their more recent albums, the song "Yahweh" calls on the Lord by His intimate name, and cries out for the redemption of the entire life.  "Sunday Bloody Sunday" recalls the terror of an Irish Massacre, and cries out "no more!"  

Bono confesses a longing that the pleasures of this life can not fill, that he anticipates will be quenched in the eternal hereafter in "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For."  If you can watch the rendition wherein the choir sings a Gospel version with Bono and not be stirred... 

Of course, "Where the Streets Have No Name" never ceases to affect me deeply.  The long musical intro is enough to provoke great emotion.  It's about the Heavenly city, the place where we can finally touch the Flame.  Can you remember when U2 played this song at the Superbowl halftime while the names of the 9/11 victims scrolled on the enormous screen behind them?  Could any other band have even attempted that without coming off shallow or overdone?  I watched it live on the television and nearly wept.  Do you remember hearing Bono PRAY as the song began?  

Now, believe me that I am not saying that everything they have ever produced is somehow sanctified, or that I like all their songs.  Instead, they find ways to get a Christian message into the mainstream pop music world, and they have done this for a quarter century.  They use a distinct artful sound, and have outlived the shallow, one-album-wonder status of so many chart-toppers.  

Their lead singer proclaims his faith in Christ, swaps personal effects with the Pope, and meets with heads of state on behalf of the third world African nations...  asking the wealthy nations to forgive debt which can not be repaid, and instead reach out in the name of our Lord with even more help.  He does not consider himself a holy man, but preaches a social gospel nevertheless.  

So... is that my final answer?  I can't say.  There is something about them that resonates in me, and maybe that is enough.  I like to think that it isn't so subjective, but it may be so.  Instead, I would suggest that there is something about them that, qualitatively, sets them above.  

And I just like how they sound.    

      

In a world of hunters and small block Chevys...

A few nights ago, I was able to enjoy a treasured chat session with one of my brothers from back at Bible College.  It has been almost 2 years since my attendance at Multnomah Bible College, but it seems a vague memory at times.  Speaking with my friend harkened me back to that time.  It wasn't quite such a lonely planet there... 

You see, he and I share a certain mental aptitude that is sometimes misunderstood or even ridiculed.  Words like "smart, genius, brilliant, bright, gifted" can sound like they might be compliments, and mostly they are meant as such.  But there are times that these words are nearly derogatory.  

"That guy is too smart."  "He is SOO smart."  "That guy is one of those geniuses."  "We can't all be so brilliant."  "You sound like some kind of genius."  "I'm not a genius like YOU."  "Good grief, you are brilliant."  "You are way smarter than me."  It goes on...

These may seem innocuous at first, but when a person hears this enough, it becomes nearly sinister.  To be honest, there are times when someone says these things, and you nearly wince.  It throws cold water on what could otherwise be a nice conversation. 

But why?  Why does it have that effect?  How could it?

Well, my friend understands how it is.  He is a very bright guy who is stimulated by deeper things.  He and I discussed Theology and Hermeneutics and topics for Doctoral Dissertations.  We enjoyed the electronic "talk" and both came away a little reassured.  

In most conversations we encounter, the topics are superficial and incredibly awkward to partake of.  Most social functions are tough to engage in, as we are not interested in hunting, fishing, most TV programs, pop music, most of the books on the current best-seller lists, or small block Chevys.  Believe me that we ache for connection, but alas, the outlet is not a match for our power cord. 

Even attending church is incredibly tough most weeks.  It is usually marked by grating songs of questionable theology or lyrics, contrived social times, poorly worded prayers, and anemic messages which starve from lack of preparation and are chained to three point outlines instead of the text.  In the words of my dear friend, "at church I sit on the sidelines until a tough issue comes up, at which point I am called on for a few minutes of contribution before I return to the bench."  

I liken it to a gorgeous woman who nobody talks to all night at a gathering, but suddenly, someone calls her over to their group.  She knows this is probably going to be odd, but out of a need to connect, she surrenders and joins their circle.  Then, she is asked to stand there quietly while they look at her.  When they gaze their fill, she is dismissed.  That is how being "the smart guy" feels much of the time.

It is as though you are a stranger who speaks a foreign tongue.  You are in a marketplace, without the local currency.    

It is so terribly lonely.  That is what my friend was suffering from, a malady for which we both needed treatment.  You see, he and I were nearly neighbors and we shared many a discussion.  We challenged each other, but mostly just liked one another's company.  At times, our words were few, but the fellowship was deep.  Sometimes, it was enough to walk together and look at squirrels playing in the trees.  When I moved back to Colorado, these precious times were taken from us.  

My friend's heart is far larger than his intellect, but most never see past the latter...  I feel that I could, and that he returned this humane service.  May his tribe increase!

I love teaching

I love teaching.

This evening I watched one of my favorite films, "The Emperor's Club."  Being that the movie revolves around a virtuous, much-beloved teacher, and that the ache of my heart is to be a great teacher, it strikes a chord deep within me.  It is a movie that plows through so many themes and deep issues, it provokes me anew each time I see it.  At parts of the film, I find myself filled with longing, and at other times, I find myself literally in tears.  

At the outset of the film, the teacher is standing in front of his class on the first day of school.  He is teaching Western Civilization at a private prep school, teaching the next generation of America's leaders.  He declares boldly that, "Great ambition and conquest, without contribution, is without significance.  What will your contribution be?  How will history remember you?"

As I stand in front of my small class, a small part of a school that we could hardly call prestigious (yet), I wonder whether I communicate such profound truths to my class.  I wonder whether I challenge them enough, both academically and ethically.  What kinds of people will they become?  What role do I play in this?

I don't know if other teachers go through this... this... agonizing, but I do.  Will my dear students make an impact?  Will they realize even a portion of their potential for the glory of our Lord?  Will they serve their fellow man?  Will they leave the world a better place for their having lived?  

I find myself worried that some will try to find their happiness in money, instead of in the presence of the One who is the fountainhead of all joy.  I worry that they will seek after fame, for fame's sake, and never defer the honor they receive to the One who deserves all honor and glory and praise.  I worry that they will surrender to the sense-dulling rush of the modern world, instead of being still and knowing who is Lord.  

It boils down to that simple question, you know...  namely, "Who is Lord?"  In my thinking, that is really what that teacher is asking in his questions.  Who are you serving?  If you serve yourself, you can only ever be ambitious and proud.  The odds of such a person contributing much of anything is slim.  By definition, they only take.  

This all may sound preachy.  It may even sound accusatory.  It may feel as though I am pointing my long, bony finger at my class, but that is so far from the truth.  Instead, I feel the uncomfortable impress of these questions on my own heart each day.  What is my contribution?  

It is here that the plot thickens, because to achieve the greatest effect, it can not be my effort at all.  The largest contribution that I can make is letting the Lord work through me.  I must be ever vigilant so that I do not chase after vanity, but serve as a conduit for a Greater Mind.  "Though a grain of wheat fall and die..."

So do you see my conundrum now?  I agonize over what actions I can take, what words I can speak, to help my students see past themselves.  In so doing, am I so self absorbed that I cripple the process before it begins?

Sigh.

I love teaching.

A warm house and breakfast waiting...

What is devotion?  What does that mean?  

No, I don't want the definition out of a dictionary.  I wonder about this.  You see, I am married, and I have been for about 12 years now.  I love my wife dearly.  No, I love her fiercely.  Yet, it is tough to try to sustain yourself on such an intense feeling.  Sometimes the mundane dulls down the flames to some really nice embers...

There was a time where I thought such a state was utterly wrong.  I felt as though true love and devotion should always be maddeningly passionate.  Of course, this was long before I was married myself.  I listened to a married man tell me these things, and I dismissed him out of hand for such silly talk.  Now, I feel that I have a little better notion of what he was trying to tell me.  

My Grandfather has been dead now for...  nearly 20 years.  As he was a father figure to me, I find myself thinking of him often.  He was married to his one and only wife for more than 50 years, right up until the day he died.  His widow, my spiritual giant of a grandmother, left us in the summer of 2007 to join him...  She never remarried; his until the end of her days.  

One might think that this is devotion, and it is.  It is a beautiful story.  Sharing your life with someone is devotion, but it still seems too abstract to me; too theoretical.  I find myself wanting some kind of how-to manual, something more nuts and bolts.

Over those long years, Grandma and Grandpa developed their habits of living with one another.  It happens to any couple, I suppose, and it is here that I feel the embers are kindled.  You see, after Grandpa retired, he diverted a good deal of his attentions to taking care of Grandma.  He awoke every morning and made her breakfast.  In the long Minnesota winters, he rose early in the morning, descended the stairs into the basement, and stoked the wood stove to ensure a warm house for Grandma when she arose.  A warm house and breakfast waiting...  

There is a beauty here that makes me think I am getting close to an answer.  What could be more common than bacon and eggs in the skillet?  What could be more matter-of-fact than starting a fire in a cold house?  Yet it is not these activities that define this devotion, but the intention behind them.  You decide that you will give yourself to someone through thick and thin.  You make up your mind that you will serve them and meet their needs as best you can.  You may find yourself in great and terrible straits, clinging to one another.  Sometimes it's as simple as getting up and trying not to burn the bacon.  

For some reason, this resonates with me.  The everyday things imbued with the deep dignity of a steadfast heart: the common sanctified in love, the heroic sacrifice of the dutiful life.  

One winter morning, Grandma woke up to a cold house.  She rolled over in bed, to find his body present, but his spirit gone.  Devoted to the end...

To be or not to be... Dad

Today, was/is Sunday.  The missus and I slept as long as the kids would let us, got up, and went to church.  I lovingly clutched my stainless steel coffee cup, read my Greek New Testament, and tried to listen to the sermon throughout the service.  

As we were leaving the Big House (as I like to think of it), I realized that it was ridiculously nice outside.  Blue sky, warm, western Colorado...  For those cold souls who haven't seen it, I just don't have words.  

We got home and had a little lunch, and an uncomfortable thought began to occur to me.  I am a part-time teacher at that private school my kids attend, and I am behind on getting all my grading done.  However, this is one of those days that a good dad would probably find some kind of outdoor activity to partake of with his family.  Lo, as Frost saw the two roads diverging before him, so was I... 

I have a long history of replacing the best with the good and getting wrapped up in anything but being a dad.  I have had good jobs full of responsibility, challenging classes at college, ministries, etc...  All seem to cry out with great needs or great challenges...  All good things, but not best...  

Responsibility...  the disapproval of my unrelenting students...  the pressure...  I should be grading stuff... 

But... the sun is shining.  The kids haven't seen much of the sick dad-guy this last week...  Growing up fast... 

We went to the park.  Nononono, We WALKED to the park.  And the kids climbed some trees...  It was cool.

Therapy... and fathering?

This weekend, I have getting my feet back under me after a week of illness.  It has been a pretty miserable week, let me tell you! 

So on Saturday, the family patriarch (Big Papa) came to me and informed me that a small landslide had blocked a steep, narrow road which had been pioneered up a mountain several years ago on his property.  He had discovered it while out riding his ATV.  He asked me if I might be interested in using a piece of equipment to go clear this off for him.

Being a man of insight and wisdom, he knows that this is all the invitation that I need to go operate equipment.  Of course, I said yes.  Shortly after, I was on a hillside operating a Cat 430E backhoe, assaulting a pile of mud and debris.  The stuff was sloppy.  The road was treacherous as a result of ice.  The mud on top of the ice didn't help.  My young son was sitting on my lap.  It was several hours well spent.  

Some men get crazy about hunting, or fishing, or a small block Chevy...  For me, it's the love of the yellow iron.  It always has been.  The nostalgia gets pretty thick as I remember sitting on my own father's lap as he operated a John Deere Grader back in Northern Minnesota.  Dad was a pretty amazing operator, and I got to go share in that with him.  

Will my boy remember this weekend and those couple hours with me?  I dunno.  Knowing how bright he is, and how well I remember things from that age; probably.  Even if he doesn't, I will.  It will mean something to me as I recollect that I tried to share these things with him; that I tried to share some of my life and joys with him.  If there is one great truth that I have been introduced to it is this: fathers teach their sons what they know (whether they realize it or not).  

At one point, I let the little guy take the sticks and throw some dirt around.  He did me proud with his abilities... He is digging away and declares rather precociously "Dad, this is one of the coolest days of my life, ever."  

Yeah, I think that he will probably remember.

  

A Warm Welcome

Friends,

Thank you for stopping into my Blog.  I feel that I must begin with several confessions and disclaimers.  

First, this is my first blog.  (Blush.)  In fact, I have only ever read a few blogs, and those have been on varying topics of varying value.  If you see any glaring deficiencies which expose me to the world as a blog virgin (Blush, Blush), let me know.  PM, email, whatever...  

Second, I have begun this blog somewhat against my will.  Oh, I haven't a gun to my head or anything, but I have had several people ask me to begin this.  Some have asked for deep insight into the art of writing, or Modernity, or literature, or the Holy Scriptures.  I am not sure that I am up for any of them, but here is a place for us to come and share with each other.

Third, I expect all responses or replies to maintain respectful tones and appropriate language.  We can be real (I hope), and we can even agree to disagree about whatever we begin here.  However, do not be vulgar, crass, or blatantly disrespectful to fellow bloggers.  That will get you run off my blog on a shutter.  We can express disapproval or disagreement in civil terms.  

Fourth, I hunger for real interaction here.  Anyone who knows me knows that I like to talk.  That said, on this blog, I am also hungry to listen.  We may not come down to solid understanding on every issue or idea.  We may never agree.  You may not change my mind.  Fine.  Let us reason together.  Let us "feel" together.  Let's be real together.

In the immortal words of Big John McCarthy...  "Let's Get It On!!"