I could hear the church bells ringing
they pealed aloud Your praise
the member's faces were smiling
with their hands outstretched to shake
it's true they did not move me
my heart was hard and tired
their perfect fire annoyed me
I could not find You anywhere
could someone please tell me the story
of sinners ransomed from the fall
I still have never seen You, and somedays
I don't love You at all
the devoted were wearing bracelets
to remind them why they came
some concrete motivation
when the abstract could not do the same
but if all that's left is duty, I'm falling on my sword
at least then, I would not serve an unseen distant Lord
could someone please tell me the story
of sinners ransomed from the fall
I still have never seen You, and somedays
I don't love You at all
if this only a test
I hope that I'm passing, 'cause I'm losing steam
but I still want to trust you
Now, I know that after being AWOL for over a month it's sort of innane for me to ask you to read a mass of complicated lyrics right off the bat, but please give it a try.
Don't worry. I'll wait.
Have you done it? Good. Now, what did you think of them? If you're a Christian, you were probably angered by them, or at least frustrated that someone could write such a thing. Perhaps you compared this to your own church, to the blue-green carpet that you tread on every Sunday, or perhaps you matched certain smiling, hand-shaking members' faces with those of people in your own congregation. I know that I did all of these things, except I pictured the church much whiter and with a giant pair of bells that clanged from an imaginary tower, a la 7th Heaven (yes, I watched it... ages ago).
Anyway, the point of this was that those lyrics were written by a Christian. And not a former Christian, or a Christian in the vein of Britney Spears (who claims the label but does not live the lifestyle), but a real, honest-to-goodness follower of Christ.
His band is called Pedro the Lion, although from what I've gathered, the band is (was; it's now defunct) mostly a platform for David Bazan to write and sing his own songs. David is the Christian, and the author of these lyrics that really captivate me. They make me wonder if he's writing from his point of view, as a Christian who's disillusioned with Christianity and having trouble finding God at all (I have certainly felt, even in my new relationship with Him, as though He is "unseen and distant" (while knowing, still, that He's not)). The other alternative would be that Bazan's lyrics are a sort of fiction about some other person who doesn't yet 'know God' and is searching, but coming up empty.
I happen to believe that it is the first interpretation, but I can easily be swayed. The point, for me, is that it could be that a Christian wrote this song about his own feelings, that a Christian can honestly say to God, "could someone please tell me the story of sinners ransomed from the fall? I still have never seen You, and somedays I don't love You at all."
Is that sacrelige, or is it something that we fear more; honesty?
Why are our praise anthems so cheery and upbeat? Why is it that we always sing about our unfailing love for God, about our 'til-my-dying-breath' devotion to Him? Can't we see that even as we sing, our promises are being broken?
We will never be devoted to God, never in the way that we claim, until the earth is devoid of Satan and sin's power. Actually, I retract that statement; we will never be eternally devoted to God until we are dead.
This is why I don't like Christian music. Ignoring the fact that most of the music is lifeless and not unique, a parody of chords that we've heard a thousand times before, mainstream music that bears a 'Christian' label does not fit my life. I am all too aware of my shortcomings, of my tendency to whore myself out to any god that gives me a buzz, be it jealousy or greed or television or food, to ever believe that I could dedicate my every breath and action to God. I would love to dedicate my every breath and action to God, but I cannot. So I'm a bit reluctant to sing about it (especially when He's right there, and even more aware of my shoddy track record of promise-keeping than I am).
I much prefer non-Christian writers for my worship music. Excepting bands like Jars of Clay, and those old standard hymns that never fail to break my heart, I find my favorite worship choruses to be written by people who never knew Christ.
I love to sing lines like this to God, things that I can really get behind and feel honest about.
three years, brokenhearted
now her ghost is finally gone
I'm done with broken people
this is me I'm working on
good love is on the way
I'll be lonely but I know I'll be okay
good love is on the way
To dissect this for you... the first two lines mean, to me, that I've been walking around like a ghost for most of my life, brokenhearted, and that finally all traces of my former self have left me alone (the 'her' is me). The next two lines are saying that I'm done putting my trust in people that are just as broken, if not more so, than I was. They say that I am thinking for myself, and of myself, when I put God at the forefront of my life, and focus on Him instead of external supplies of love and comfort. The last lines, the chorus, are pretty self explanitory. Good love comes only from our YHWH, who is Love itself. And, even though He is with me always, I know that I will be plagued by loneliness for chosing this road, and I know that there are times when I will feel completely in the dark and without a companion. But I know that, wherever I may be, I will always be 'okay,' always at least know that God is for me, even if I may feel that He's hovering above the ozone layer, out of reach.
Those are from a John Mayer song (obviously). I think that this guy is so close to God, at least some of the time... some of his songs talk about aching for something that's missing from his life, and I can see exactly that it's a God-shaped hole that he's staring at. I pray for him... he gives me such comfort and amazing lyrics that I hope that he finds the same Love I've found.
Now, I am not saying that I dislike worship at my dear church... because I love it. I am so blessed to be able to praise God with a pair of sticks in my fists, and to sing to Him as well. Some of the lyrics to the songs that we sing on Sunday really resonate with me, and most of them just cause me to meditate on their meaning, even if it isn't something I entirely agree with. Regardless of how I do it, Sunday morning is always a time of great worship for me.
I just like to throw existentialist questions at you late at night.
David Bazan is a pretty cool guy. It makes me sad that most people will never hear his take on Christian rock while bands like Stryper will leave an indelible mark on America.
This is a quote from an article on / interview of Pedro the Lion (David Bazan). The entire piece can be found here.
In addition to their music being limitlessly cheesy, Bazan believes Christian rock bands are wasting their time preaching from beneath a hot spotlight when "the basic act of being creative glorifies God."
Goodnight.
- Mood:
chipper - Music:To Hell With The Devil - Stryper
I had 6 papers to write for Monday. 2 have been written, and 4 have not. I was supposed to have 7 papers, but I decided somewhere around Saturday that I wasn't going to have enough time to do any extra credit. And my ninth grade teacher's voice is ringing in my ear... I know I should write out those numbers because they're less than ten. It's just proper grammar, really.
I miss ninth grade English. My teacher was a beast (or, at least, we all thought that she was because of the homework she assigned us... and her grading standards are like tender cupcakes compared to the year-old-fruit-cake of Gordon professors' expectations), but I really liked her. Granted, I had the highest average in the class, but I could always write things and get good grades on them by the skin of my teeth. We had 10 vocabulary words every week, and I still remember some of them. I remember learning about the historical prologue to Animal Farm, and hearing her sing 'Beasts of England' as she understood it. I remember reading Romeo and Juliet aloud, acting it, really, and having her stop us every five minutes to explain what we'd just said. I remember the days when she was off at a hospital, those days when we had a substitute who knew nothing about Shakespeare; those days we would read pages upon pages, act them out, and have no idea what we'd just read.
I remember her being disturbed by my short story; it was about the beginnings of a serial killer, who was always being pushed around by thugs because he was slight and listened to The Smiths. In the story, he killed one of his tormentors by locking him inside a warehouse and setting it on fire. I told, as vividly as I could imagine, how the victim felt, and apparently it freaked her out. That's one of the greatest compliments I've ever gotten... that my words had touched someone so deeply that it had affected them, it had scared them.
I remember how the short story was supposed to be seven pages long, at most, and I remember the feeling in my stomach when I saw that mine was 10 pages. I remember how I edited it, whittled it down even though I knew that not a single piece could really be removed. When I finally couldn't take anything else away, I moved the margins out. They were... .5 inches? It was pathetic, but she never specified about the margins. I fit the whole thing on 7 pages, and she accepted it. I got a very good grade, and that compliment, but with a note: margins??
I miss loving to learn. Granted, the rest of high school was pure hell that would make Dante shiver, but Ms. Adams' class was amazing.
Gordon has sort of sucked my love of learning out of me. I just want to finish, get a cheap degree, and start living a life free of classrooms and midterms and a, b, c, or d questions.
I hate that this has happened, but I'm staring down the barrel of a loaded Western Civilization final, and I just do not care at all. I cannot pick up a book to study, and I can barely eke out these papers for it. I know that I will be miserable tomorrow, stressing and having no clue where to put any of those old, dead people's names.
But, at the same time, this is freeing. For so long I have been bound inside the invisible walls of academia... I have cared so much about getting into a good college and having good grades and being a respected (fill in the blank) that I have probably developed an anxiety problem. When I used to have nightmares as a kid, the most frightening ones would be about showing up to school and not turning a paper in. When I misplaced my homework, I would break down and cry. I have never gotten below an A in any class.
Here I have lost any joy in learning that I had. I used to LOVE going to Sociology at JCC, sitting and learning and acing the tests because I was SMART and I paid attention in class and I read the required reading and memorized a few terms. Here, I have to break my back; the catch is, I know that I'm smart. I know that this should be easy for me, or at least it shouldn't be this hard. I want to go back to loving class, and telling my parents about what I've learned, and singing songs to Vitarelli babies about different theories and concepts that I've mastered (Landon will have much knowledge of Marx and Durkhiem by the time he's in kindergarten).
I am so excited to be going home. I am excited to have a life again, to be helping people and driving my car and reaching out to the world around me. I cannot wait to worship properly, to sit behind my kit and just let go, to do something that's always come easily to me, and to do it well, and to praise the LORD with it.
There has been one class here that I've really loved, and that's Old Testament. I have completely been enthralled by it since the first day, and it's the only class I've got a secure A in (I also did the Honors Option, and don't have to take the final exam!). I know that this problem I'm having here isn't about a lack within myself... this is a problem with teachers and staff and textbooks and cirriculum. Gordon is trying to hard to be an academically rigorous institution (their words, not mine) that they are missing the ENTIRE point of academia in the first place; that is, to set a person's mind on fire.
I really love Old Testament God, possibly more than I love the New Testament One I've known all my life. Old Testament God seems so much more mysterious, awe-inspiring, and passionate. I love that He gets angry, I love that He laments, I love that He rebukes, and I love that He puts His heart out there for Israel when He knows they'll just step on it again.
When He knows I'll just step on it again.
If people really knew YHWH, they would be madly in love with Him. You can see glimpses of His love, His person, in movies and books... He is in all of those epic love stories, all of those things that you admire about selfless, romantic, lifelong love.
I wish someone would write a book about Him. Maybe then you could understand what I mean.
(by the way, SONG OF SOLOMON IS ABOUT HIM AND US.)
Now, to write a paper and hopefully start my 10 page one for tomorrow.
- Mood: loved
- Music:Waiting On The World To Change (acoustic, feat. Ben Harper) - John Mayer
Then the guitarist began to strum a few chords, and the words for "God Of Wonders" came up. I was excited; my church had worshipped with this song just hours before. My mom had screwed up the first chord on this very song just hours before. I started to sing, and a strange sensation filled me; I was connected, by this song, to my church, worshipping a God that connected us both in several other ways. I felt tears in my eyes, and suddenly I noticed that my hand was raised above my head (I was packed in tightly with girls from my floor, so I didn't have a lot of room to flail about). In the darkness I sang, and focused on the words and the mangitude of God's love for me, that He would comfort me with this song and the knowledge that it was used at LBC that same day. I started to cry, and raised my other hand, careful not to whack my dear friend Emme.
I don't usually raise hands, ever. But tonight, before the first chorus was sung, both of my hands were up and facing the ceiling which seemed to become transparent as I stared up at it. I closed my eyes and just sang, because, for once, I knew the words. For once, I felt like I was home. I cried like a baby.
The Catacombs music group did something a little different, though... they sang another chorus towards the end of the song. It was different... it caused me to open my eyes and look at the words projected onto the screen, illuminated against the stark black of the room.
At that moment I noticed my hands, my arms which were starting to feel heavy and tired. I noticed the position that they were in... it was rather strange for the circumstances... they were held straight up into the air, hands open... as though I was two years old again, looking up at my dad and wanting him to pick me up in his arms and give me a hug, to make me tall like he was, to just hold me. I was in that exact position, an eighteen-year-old girl... my body language spoke clearly: "hold me."
These are the lyrics that were new to me, the ones that we don't sing at church, the lyrics that were being sung in the dark chapel by hundreds of faceless students lifting their voices to God.
precious Lord,
reveal Your heart to me
Father hold me, hold me
The song ended soon after that, and I was sobbing. Tears are blurring my vision as I write this... it was possibly the most beautiful experience of my life, certainly the most amazing experience of my walk with God.
He orchestrated this, every detail. I pondered that amazing thought over and over again in simple language that broke my heart with each repetition. When the last chords were played, I knelt down on the floor when everyone else sat to pray. I was crying, not sobbing but shaking with sadness and happiness and unworthiness. My nose ran, and I kept thinking about God's promise to annoint His children with oil on their heads, as a shepherd does with his flock. I felt my tears roll down my forehead and over my scalp, dampening my hair and becoming my own strange oil of protection. I have never felt like this in a crowd of people... so alone and so close to my Abba. I never thought that I would experience this with a crowd of people, but I did. I felt Him right there, His arms around me, the firmness of His neck between my arms. I felt my tears melt into His hair. I could smell Him.
I kept rocking back and forth on the ground and thinking... Daddy, I'm so sorry. Daddy, I've let You down.
Abba means Daddy in Hebrew. So often we treat God with formalities... we call Him Yahweh or Father or Lord, and even Abba, but never Dad or Daddy or Pop, when the people of the Bible were saying "Daddy" when they spoke His name. Abba, Father is kind of redudant, but it sounds beautiful to me... Daddy, Father... it holds a closeness that we're often afraid of. If we treat God as our Daddy, as our Father, than we have to deal with Him in every aspect of our lives, in every trial and struggle and area that we could hide from an orthodox policeman-of-the-universe God.
I don't think that we are afraid of showing our sins to God. I think we are afraid of the changes that He will make in us if we give our lives to Him... we are not afraid of confessing sins, but we are terrified of giving Him those areas that harbor sin, those comfortable places that we go to hide in. If God is our Daddy, our Father, our Papa... He is everywhere and casual and cares not that we don't sin, but that we live a different life, a life apart from sin, a life that has no relation to sin. And that is frightening when our lives are built on sins, our happinesses hinge on sins, our wordly knowledge is only of sin and other gods.
I don't usually raise hands. I don't usually write these things down. But tonight was different, amazing, and such a reassurance to me. I hope this is to you, too.
- Mood: ecstatic
Natalie, you must understand me.
Anyway... most of the songs were new to me, which was okay, but there was one song towards the end that was really quite boring to listen to but had these amazing words that really called me on all of my crap.
To you I give my life, not just the parts I want to
To you I sacrifice these dreams that I hold on to...
Your thoughts are higher than mine
Your words are deeper than mine
Your love is stronger than mine...
To you I give my future
As long as it may last
To you I give my present
To you I give my past
While, yes, the chord structure was not that of, well... any secular artist (do praise chorus writers get together and decide, at a conference or something, that they can only use these five chords to write songs in the following calendar year?)... the lyrics spoke to me. They said, and I quote...
"Natalie, shut up. You think that you have to decide right now whether you'll be a Sociology major or an English major or, at this rate, a WHINING major. God knows, and has always known, how He wants to use you, and thusfar His plan has far exceeded your expectations. Now, because you're at a new school and, for the first time, are questioning these plans that you made and your need to live in Ukraine, you think that His plan is suddenly going to suck? You think that you need to get involved now, and worry about things that won't even matter until next semester, and probably not until next YEAR? Yes, those graduation school applications are scary, but don't worry about them. Don't let that be a reason to rule out Sociology, either. Just shut up, stop trying to rule your life, and let God do what He's done so well these past few years."
The song, thankfully, went on awhile, and the music wasn't inspiring me, so I could listen to all of the words that the lyrics were saying.
Catacombs is really amazing. It was true worship, and I wish so badly that LBC could experience it, the darkness and the lack of microphones and nice starched clothes and the fear of standing out by singing too loud.
That's how worship is going to be in Heaven, folks. I just wish you could all experience it here.
Oh, and I have my first Christian / Muslim Relations class today! I am so excited! I have 50 pages left to read of this book by 6PM tonight, but I am still SO EXCITED! I hope I can learn some Hebrew while I'm here, and possibly some Arabic or Persian or Hindi. Urdu? Ugh, there are just too many languages. Am I the only one that was happy about the tower of Babel incident?
I love you all (especially my favorites... you know who you are).
- Mood:
anxious - Music:Jezebel - 10,000 Maniacs
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