Echoes and Moments

The Winter Solstice has passed, and light slowly returns to the world. As the heavens point us to the distant hope of the renewal of life through the changing season, so we await the coming of our Lord in flesh among us. He comes quietly, in poverty, obscurity, and the fragile vulnerability of naked childhood. Tonight, I'll share a prayer for this time from one of my favorite authors . For all voices yearning for salvation, all hearts eager for the revival of the Spirit, we rest our hope on the Promise of Israel's pilgrim nation from long ago: O Wisdom, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with your strong yet tender care: Come. O Sacred Lord of ancient Israel, you showed yourself to Moses in the burning bush and you gave the holy law on Mount Sinai: Come. O Flower of Jesse’s stem, you have been raised up as a sign for all people; kings stand silent in your presence; the nations bow down in worship before you: Come. O Key of David, O royal Pow

For the past years my weapon of choice on a Sunday morning has been the electric guitar. Hold onto what you're thinking; my favorite songs to play at church aren't guitar-solo filled, effects laden rockers. No, I love the music at my church because we choose to incorporate many contemporary black Gospel songs into our normal weekly mix. Today many of these songs have crossed over into the "mainstream" of Sunday worship sets, mostly thanks to the popularity of dynamic leaders like Israel Houghton, Kirk Franklin, and Fred Hammond. It seems funny how electric guitarists seem to carry the stereotype of vain, overly cerebral, or pedantic musicians, especially when applied to church worship situations. I confess I've had my moments in any and all of those categories. Lately, my antidote to any guitar ego is worshipping alongside a choir, when all instrumentation serves to support the soaring harmonies, and never the other way around. Rhythm is emphasized over melody f

Call them stacked enchiladas, if you prefer. It's a casserole: that perfect microcosm of New Mexico itself - a curious amalgam of different cultures blending through the centuries into a pan full of flavor. It is the flavor of home, and a simple dish that I make often for friends, or, like today, celebrations. It's an easy dish that cooks up in about an hour and a half, so you gabachos from the midwest can enjoy it just as much as mi familia over here in California and New Mejico. If you're looking to spice it up this holiday season (well, let's face it, real green chile isn't spicy at all), consider this heart warming dish to bring to the next potluck. I'll share the recipe: 1 large yellow onion 2 cloves garlic 1 can cream of mushroom soup 1 can (7oz) diced green chiles 1/2 tbsp Mexican oregano (whole leaf) 1 tsp cumin 2 tbsp olive oil 3/4 cup water corn tortillas jack cheese (optional) shredded chicken, cooked Dice the onion and garlic cloves

I'll give you a picture of my decision-making process. First, let's get things straight. Here is how I feel in the hands of my God at times like these: Being a missionary isn't as easy as you thought, eh, Batman? This month in particular I have faced questions about the future. I don't think I'm alone when I write that every instance I attempt to face a big decision as an emerging adult, I find the inner noise violently thrust upon me. Today, at the grocery store checkout, I could hardly mutter a response to the friendly gentleman next to me in the checkout line; the thoughts are that deafening. As the questions run amok, as I attempt to reflect on past, present, and future, my body experiences the response. My temples feel the heat of the blood flowing and tension begins creeping up my neck to settle conveniently in my jaws. My shoulders tense and I experience lingering pain from a back injury from a few years ago. This link between our bodies, minds, a

There is no wilderness so terrible, so beautiful, so arid and so fruitful as the wilderness of compassion. It is the only desert that shall truly flourish like the lily.    - Thomas Merton I can't say anything about love that hasn't been said before. But what helps keep me going when I feel dry is the reminder that we are all called to see the desert with eyes of hope. It is this hope that Isaiah recognizes when he describes the vision of God's kingdom. Isaiah 35:1-2 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;      the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; it shall blossom abundantly      and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,      the majesty of  Carmel and  Sharon. They shall see the glory of the  Lord ,               the majesty of our God.  May our eyes see the goodness of the Lord, even in the desert!

Sunset over central New Mexico, from atop Sandia Crest, August 2011. In my house there remains a recurring conversation about our dreams. As we arise in the morning, readying ourselves for the day ahead, I hear the now familiar question, "How did you sleep?" now paired with, "Did you have any dreams?" At times this question is hard for me to answer. Many times we awaken with the last glimpse of our dreams fading into the morning, and nothing is left but that feeling of mystery. It seems all detail of the arc of the dream has been left behind in the night. At other times these dreams are vivid and remain with us and allow us to process our unanswered questions, our longings, anxieties, and even hopes. The  popular culture  of my generation certainly has an interest in it. Still, I find I can connect more with those dreamers that remind me of my own roots, who therefore give me ground to engage an ever present struggle to carry the rich history of my family wi

I find it necessary to reflect on my relationship with the sporting world, especially as Facebook and the Twitterverse blow up with the praises of the San Francisco Giants. Don't get me wrong. I love San Francisco. It is my favorite city on earth, ahead of Madrid, Washington D.C., Barcelona, London, and Paris. Sports are about engaging in the tribal struggles that we humans have always needed to vent our aggression. All allegiances are about sticking through the tough times and celebrating the good. For that, I appreciate all my friends. But I must say, because I was brought into this world on the other side of the Bay, I'm going to have to agree with this guy. Yes, there's no such thing as a bandwagon fan in the Raider Nation. And thank the Lord for that.

Most nights I enjoy reading on the front porch of our house, especially when the cool night air sets in and my body rests easier after a long day among so many people. Today I read a woman's words that spoke to me through her experience among the marginalized in Latin America. Tonight her words hit me with the characteristic precision of a prophet and the earnest honesty of a poet. Though she wrote these words only a few months after I was born, they ring with the truth of so many gone before us. It was just what I needed to hear. I'll share an excerpt below, from Penny Lernoux : I feel like I'm walking down a new path. It's not physical fear or fear of death, because the courageous poor of Latin America have taught me a theology of life that, through solidarity and our common struggle, transcends death. Rather, it is a sense of helplessness--that I who always wanted to be the champion of the poor and am just as helpless--that I, too, must hold out my begging bowl; t

I wanted to briefly thank those of you who have read some of these words I choose to share with you as a part of this blog, as well as those of you who have chosen me to represent the mission of Jesus as a partner in your prayers and your finances.  I have noticed a few anonymous donations come in over the past few months. Although I may have spoken to you at some point, may know you, or may never meet you (however we may share in this crazy and beautiful family that God invites us into), know that I deeply appreciate your gifts, as well as the faithful witness you provide me through such a simple act as donating a few dollars. Many of you support me in ways I will never experience consciously, but I get the feeling sometimes that heaven's energy is a little closer due to people like you! I hope that my choices for the sake of the unbreakable and eternal Kingdom of God can be my thank you. Of course I wish I could do more, and I always strive to do more. But in the meantime, I

A note: Names have been changed to protect the identities of those mentioned in these stories. ~~~ Today marks a particular observance in the Western Church that invites you and I to share the unique grief that the mother of Jesus experienced throughout her life. There are various reflections on scripture, works of art, and prayers that help people through this process, but I find that the stories of the students I meet through my work in campus ministry provide me with an easier understanding of such grief. One story a student shared with me provides an arresting reflection on the powerful narrative that the Gospels provide. I first met Candice early last year in much the same way the newer students in our fellowship would meet her. She approached our outreach table confidently, gave me a look up and down, and said, "Hello, sexy b*tch." My colleague, engaged in conversation with another student, didn't blink despite Candice's forward and completely inapprop

I'm home after our first day of New Student Outreach (NSO, for those fluent in InterVarsity acronyms).  Spending the day meeting new students and connecting with old friends is one of my favorite times as a staff worker; there is a joy that I look forward to every time I jump in my truck and make the 30 minute journey down the coast to Hancock College. Unfortunately, as an extrovert, I find that I tend to overdraw my bank of energy and need a quick nap and prayer time to re-orient myself in the midst of my day. Today I read a beautiful prayer that my Dad gave me recently; it's one I treasure because it helps me understand a little better how much of a joy, how serious, and how desperately inadequate I am at saving any of those students in the same way that Christ actually saves them. It's from a book called Let Us Be What We Are   by a Catholic lay writer famous for his devotional materials. I'd like to share it with you, now! In my spiritual notes the other da

This poem is inspired by my recent relapse into the post rock records I loved when I first came to college, plus those old psychadelic rock, classic rock, and glam rock records I loved to mime on guitar.   Our mind's web reaches to the far ends of the deep. Space, A place where the paintings turn to dreams And the light unshielded shines. Out there no thought can break what is not matter, what cannot be pierced, And though I fire these questions like volleys They are lost without an echo, without a tracer to guide the next shot. I am sick as I search for you, the great Dreamer whose masterpiece weaves through all thoughts, and binds what I thought was clearly meant to fail, This experiment I secretly feared was doomed from the start. But the Breath spells hope in those cold deep spaces, in The darkness no soul can bear, Your silence breaks in like a tornado It repairs all my engineered disasters, that I a happy fool, spend these eons to make.

Transition can bring out some creative ways of viewing your life decisions. Since I'm young and (partially) unemployed, I face many difficult questions about what I want my life to look like, the goals I want to achieve, and the hopes that I have to remain unflinchingly faithful to Jesus along the way. Such questions can test the limits of my sanity. A recent conversation with my Dad reminded me that the ancient Greeks had two ways of viewing time, and it is why there are actually two words in the New Testament for time: chronos and kairos (yup, I know, nerdy professor stuff, but I love it!). For a description better than any that I could give, read this great article  by an Orthodox priest describing the two. Basically, chrono s is the quantity that describes, days, years, decades, millenia, eons. But kairos is different, it is eternity encapsulated in the moment, a perpetual "now." I know, I don't really get it, either. The way the author describes kairos

Note: friends, I originally wrote this as a journal entry on August 1, yet hesitated to share it because it is a very personal entry, even for me. Don't worry, there's nothing graphic or revealing in here, it's just good to let you know that this is pretty raw stuff straight from the heart.  It's okay, because you're probably not going to read the whole thing, anyway! At El Morro National Monument, New Mexico Today I found out I did not get a job that I applied for, one that seemed to match my skills and experience in natural resource management very precisely. I did everything to the best of my abilities and even surrounded myself with the prayers of those closest to me. I got a great recommendation from the CEO of the nonprofit I interned with as a student, typed the best cover letter I could muster, and even gave them electronic and physical copies of my resume. You know, all the stuff the university's career services and those industry professionals

It is late, but I have been up because I can't go to sleep. Unfortunately, I didn't get a job that I interviewed for, and it has been the latest in a laundry list of frustrations that have marked 2012. I will post an entry that gives you a better idea of how I'm handling this, but beware, it's long and personal. Don't worry, I'm okay. In the meantime, join me as I pray with the words of Thomas Merton: "My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.  I do not see the road ahead of me.  I cannot know for certain where it will end.  No do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will, does not mean that I am actually doing so.  But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.  And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.  I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire, and I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.  There

The past few months have been a blur of activity in Karl’s universe. I’m sure many of you can empathize with me in experiencing those times of life when you’re not sure how such a short span of time could have passed so quickly and could have contained so much. Since June I traveled to a staff conference, mailed resumes and applications for various jobs, contemplated my future with campus ministry, moved from my cramped apartment into a new house, and taken a short trip with my family overseas to Spain. I am overjoyed by these opportunities and wouldn’t trade them for anything. God reveals the scope of his love through each new person, place, and thing I happen upon. Needless to say, there are times that I feel distracted, disconnected, emotionally anemic, and lost amidst all the responsibilities I’ve inherited. I experience a looming anxiety regarding the decision I must make next year about choosing to pursue campus ministry or furthering my own education. I face constant rem

A few highlights from the trip my family and I took to that wonderful place called España.

I frequently lament the constant lampooning of Christian culture via broad-stroke mockery that seems to pervade the media these days. While some of today's music has the guts to give religious credit to the complexities of a moral lifestyle (I'm thinking of U2, any other obvious ones?), the average character on TV with spiritual convictions ends up being bigoted, ignorant, and intolerant. See Joe Hart from Glee , Kristin Wiig's character from Paul , and the evil warden in Shawshank Redemption.   I can normally get over this, because my favorite TV characters are far from the ideal spiritual role models , and some of them even have  some serious issues . Yet lo and behold, I just happened upon a delightful show that, after first viewing, promises  a refreshing and sympathetic look  at the life of a clergyman in modern inner-city London. If you're like me and love the smug charm and quick wit of those programs from the other side of the pond (I'm talking about Sherl

The voice of the Celtic Christian tradition whispers to me like a cool wind across the windswept sea where it was born centuries ago. I admire its elegance, its simplicity, and the gentleness of its prayers, uttered since Saint Patrick took the great leap of faith to witness to his former captors on stormy Eire. I think that few traditions continue to touch people at that level of immediate vulnerability: pointing beyond the veil of our own experience, while richly engaging the senses at the same time. Such a gift from a land that has known more suffering than peace, that has known more strife than joy through its history. An excerpt from the prayer book I use in my daily devotion time, The Divine Hours  by Phyllis Tickle: I should like a great lake of finest ale For the King of kings. I should like a table of the choicest food For the family of heaven. Let the ale be made from the fruits of Faith, And the food be forgiving love. I should welcome the poor to my

This week I'll include some visual highlights of our annual trip to Catalina Island, where we take students to study scripture manuscript style over Spring Break. This year I had the privilege to lead folks from four different campuses in the second half of the book of Mark. It was a moving experience and was especially resonant because the week coincided with Holy Week in the liturgical calendar. I could always say more, but I'll let some of these pictures do the talking.

A beautiful song that gives words to some of my thoughts and feelings during this season, as only the guys from Jars of Clay can do. Lyrics: Take Take till there's nothing Nothing to turn to Nothing when you get through Won't you break Scattered pieces of all I've been Bowing to all I've been Running to Where are you? Where are you? Did you leave me unbreakable? You leave me frozen? I've never felt so cold I thought you were silent And I thought you left me For the wreckage and the waste On an empty beach of faith Was it true? Cuz I...I got a question I got a question Where are you? Scream Deeper I wanna scream I want you to hear me I want you to find me Cuz I...I want to believe But all I pray is wrong And all I claim is gone And I...I got a question I got a question Where are you? Yeah....yeah And where...I...I got a question I got a question Where are you? Where ar