Life slows down
When your eyelids weigh 40 pounds,
And you don’t say the profound things,
The witty things,
That are on the tip of your tongue,
Because all your concentration goes
Into keeping your eyelids
From crashing into your cheekbones
And leaving those bruised-black circles
Under your eyes.
But soon you will look like
A night watchman at noon
Or like Bill Clinton
During the Lewinsky era.
Fatigue: It’s just a matter of time.

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The full title of Eugene Peterson’s classic on spiritual formation is a small book review in itself, and sheds some light on his thesis—namely that to doggedly follow Jesus is to defy the conventions of our society. Check out the complete tagline:

A Long Obedience in the Same Direction: Discipleship in an Instant Society

You just scan the book’s spine, and Peterson is already up in your face, softly but sternly suggesting, You’re probably going about this “spirituality” thing in the wrong way. You smile pleasantly and nod. Then you get past the introduction, and feel his fingers on your jugular. If you’re serious about this, some things will need to change; otherwise, just shut the book, ok?

Admittedly, I’m overstating the polemical tone of Peterson’s writing, but I’m doing so to mirror the book’s fundamental message: Slow down, forget religion-in-a-box (1.5 hours, once a week), and start plodding. Excellence is never quick and dirty.

Sometimes you read a book so needed, so deliciously counter-cultural, it makes you want to jettison everything else on the topic in your library—is there really anything left to say? For anyone consumed by doing everything yesterday—including learning how to act like Jesus, which I should have mastered last year—this may well be one of those books.

Peterson paints a picture of what Jesus-discipleship could really look like, and the travelogue is enough to make an explorer out of you. He fleshes out the panorama with contemplative writings on the “Songs of Ascents” (Psalms 120-134 in the Bible), which form a handbook for life on the road, the road toward Jesus.

The spirituality Peterson espouses is dynamic, straightforward and refreshingly “un-produced.” Combine this direct approach with a highly perceptive mind and you have a classic. Initially rejected by 17 publishers, this was Peterson’s first published work: a bracing discipleship text I would recommend to anyone.

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The internet has a strange reciprocity all its own.

Every month or two I cave in and binge on my favorite coffee website, CoffeeGeek. As I related on this blog a couple years ago, I used to think I was well-versed in all things coffee until I stumbled onto CoffeeGeek. Now it's obvious to me that in coffee, as in most other pursuits, I'll remain a life-time learner. I have a few things down cold (marriage, parenting, humility) but coffee isn't one of them. Ha ha.

So as I am reading articles late last night, learning about E61 brew groups and espresso pressure valves, what do I see but a sidebar article on Jars of Clay, one of the few "Christian" bands I can't help but listen to.

Turns out the Jars are java devotees, even though it sounds like they buy too much Starbucks bean. And this mention of the Jars in turn reminds me of The Long Fall Back to Earth, their independently-released record that dropped a couple months ago.

And I thought, Just as noteworthy as the fact that the Jars are coffee geeks is the fact that The Long Fall Back to Earth is an excellent album deserving of accolades. And oh yeah, I was going to write a post about this album a long time ago.

So here I am, trying to make up for lost time and expired good intentions. The Long Fall Back to Earth seems like a lock for my Top 10 list this year, as the Jars capitalize on their large fan base and renewed creative freedom. The resulting record is lyrically-savvy, catchy indie pop with staying power.

Prior to their bluesy/folk album, Who We Are Instead, Jars of Clay admitted to listening to a lot of Johnny Cash. My guess is that prior to this one, Death Cab for Cutie got a lot of play time. However, the Jars remain their own animal. Dan Haseltine's lyrical abilities seem to only get better over the years.

I am taking this moment to whole-heartedly recommend both The Long Fall Back to Earth and...coffee.

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Over the last several years, I developed a habit of extracting a few favorite quotes from every (quotable) book I read. Some books don't contain a single quotable line...and some of those make best seller lists.

I sorted the quotes topically and collected them in a searchable Word document, which steadily grew until it contained thousands of incisive, inspiring pieces of wordsmithery.

When a half-forgotten phrase came to mind this morning, I opened my Quotes document to track it down, and realized I haven't made any new entries for months. Life has been a whirlwind lately, and some healthy habits of thought and reflection have fallen by the wayside.

I need to get 'em back. So here I am, documenting my intention to slow down and enjoy the benefits of an examined life, with the help of the Holy Ghost. I leave you with a bit from a great book I discovered a couple years ago, Telford Work's volume on prayer. This one definitely pertains to Kansas City church planting:

A minuscule seed in a field, a pinch of yeast, a treasure chest in a field, one pearl, a net in the sea—none of these impresses except by its smallness. Yet each is powerful—in some cases more powerful than the thing it inhabits… As a little signature unleashes vast executive power and a tiny key opens enormous gates, so symbolic actions here lead to momentous actions elsewhere. - Telford Work, Ain’t Too Proud to Beg

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While I don't hand out book accolades right and left, I also don't like to judge a book too quickly. I typically give a novel 50 pages to win me over or lose me forever. It really shouldn't take an author 50 pages to hit his stride, but some books do get out of the gate more slowly, right? (J.R.R. Tolkien, I'm looking at you.) It's the rare story that explodes out at you right after the intro.

However, The Night Watchman is one of those books.

A throwback novel in terms of style and motif, Mark Mynheir's The Night Watchman is a convoluted murder mystery with a hard-boiled, down-on-his-luck detective. If you're a fan of film noir or classic murder fiction, you know the recipe: a tough, likable protagonist with a tragic back story tries to overcome big odds to prove his life is still worth living.

The Night Watchman isn't what you call an original, genre-bending work of fiction. But Mynheir does plenty of things very well. He develops his characters carefully. He pulls of his protagonist's tough, wry voice without falling into cliché. He weaves faith into the story without forcing the issue. And he writes a first chapter that's impeccably timed and yanks you headlong into the story.

If you're looking for a detective story with heart and a good first-person voice, The Night Watchman is well worth your time.

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Every once in awhile I meet someone who goes through life with a look of mild perplexity on his face--not fear, not discomfort--but a head-cocked attitude of incredulity, as if his whole life he'd been watching a film that did not quite render accurately on the big screen.

For decades now he has been watching this movie, and there is a lingering sense of something off-center. Perhaps the camera is not capturing it all. Or the aspect ratio is haphazard and cropped the edges of the picture. Maybe the details would appear if viewed one frame at a time.

Because the film has surreal undercurrents. Something more than the color tones. The figures are occasionally blurry. The plot lines do not always resolve. And every so often he snaps to attention and remembers it is his own life, and the lives of those around him, that provoke this vague sense of disquiet.

He is living out a movie that does not quite render.

I like to consider this phenomenon as evidence of a better world, an eternal kingdom that is on the way but hasn't yet arrived. It's absence is so strong that everything currently present is colored by it. It's possible to go through one's entire life missing it, and looking at the present world quizzically, and wondering why the images and plot lines don't quite resolve.

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I realize I may have been the only one in the Midwest watching the NBA playoffs, but since the Magic bounced my Celtics a few nights ago, I thought I'd take a moment to pass on a tribute to my favorite current NBA player, Paul Pierce.

At KU, Pierce was a nonchalant assassin. Sometimes he would disappear, his squeaky sneakers the loudest part of his game, apparently from boredom. But Pierce was consistently underrated and unrecognized, and eventually that got to him. When he got fired up, Paul Pierce was an offensive machine, sinking daggers and slashing to the rim with an uncanny ability to frustrate defenders and a remarkable feel for momentum and timing in a game.

Pierce's career in the league is likely winding down, but Upon Further Review have crunched the numbers for us, proving that despite his lone championship ring, Pierce is in very elite company indeed.

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Thought I'd put a plug in for the new website for our church plant in downtown Kansas City, Crossroads Church. Check it out:

Crossroads Church Kansas City

We've tried to incorporate some social media--Facebook, Flickr and Twitter--to add some interactivity. Also, we didn't want Crossroads to have a Mr. Milquetoast look with little doves and crosses in the header. Instead, we're trying to mirror the vibe of urban Kansas City. Feel free to send comments or suggestions my way.

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