mediumessage :

It’s hard to find the line between relevancy and entertainment in a culture who's language of communication is visually stimulating media. The ever changing church leads me to questions of form and content. If the naked truth of Jesus does not suffice, and a message of grace and love for a broken world is not enough to reach this generation, then isn't the shift to new and more relevant forms communication just a facade? If a man with a God given message of truth and love is no longer enough, then are we trying to reach a generation who has and will continue to accept a relevant medium, but not the message? It's not that they don't undestand a plain and simple message. And it's not they can't listen... it's that chose not to. What is more relevant than what is most needed? And what is more needed than a message that is true; a message that is unchanging, unwavering, unbreakable, and most importantly; undeniably different from the paper and plastic life being sold and/or shoved down the throats of a generation that knows little else than consumption? This is the concumption-concumed generation, of which I am an active member. This is my struggle; how to break into a generation that only wants, and only knows entertainment ... without just simply entertaining them. As much time and energy as we might spend creating programs and events that fit the visually over stimulated culture and its subsequently visual language of communication… is this still taking the easy route? I do believe that relevancy to the culture is important; in fact; I believe it would be counter productive to fight that cultural relevancy. As my world changes, so does its forms. Yet, this is only a productive tool if the medium does not become the message. If we find people in our churches who WOULDN'T be there if the video illustrations, cool lighting, intermission with snacks, snazzy pamphlets, and sweet sounding music were not ... we've found ourselves in this very dangerous position. I'm looking for the fine line. The fine line between relevancy and a message drowned out by lights, noise, and flashy images. It seems the truth of the matter is a gray area, but blurry as it may be, I know there is a place between the two. A place I may one day put my finger on.

THE FLIP SIDE IS:

Simply entertaining is not a problem found exclusively in emergent environments. When I look at the traditional church, I still see a subtle struggle between content and form. Is the traditional church just practicing some outdated forms of entertainment? I’m searching for the point where the music fades. That place “Beyond the music, beyond the noise”. The questions are the journey, the search: the adventure, the answers: the treasure.

waiting to become ...

How long will I wait? How long will I wait for my vision to hit the page? How long will I wait for coffee shop conversations, video games, and someone to drive? It seems I will continue to search for myself, even after I have found myself. I know who I want to be, and I know that in some way the "who" is what I am now. I can taste it, because I’m as close as I have ever been to the day I become. Any closer and I would be what I have yet to become. Yet, I find myself trapped in what I was, and am, or what I never should have been, but what I had to be … waiting for who I am to be who I am in the moment. I need to become me.

ships under stars .

ride this hand to love and flat land,
and wrestle with the letting go
of all the things that I don’t know.
some ships sail so seek the things unseen.
sun stars and sand, follow flow and learn to lean.

yellow butterfly.

the butterfly yellow, over the waking waters shimmer,
sunlight's the beams over the waters wake as it glimmers and rides.
shimmy shakes and glides,
the white lights, and soft sights all painting pictures for my eyes.
the butterfly water shines like yellow.
sitting near silver shiver shores on sunday i sat mellow.
soft citrus tastes and some soggy sand to bellow.

the aforementioned affirmation of the formed and reformed.

two yellow butterflies,
splitting up, to roam cold hills.
two wings are one,
sitting close,
with wet window sills,
and home so soon ...
so south on wind it flies,
you're changing blocks,
beneath the pale blue skies .

words to inspire ...

what is inspiration without subsequent action?

piano man .

a piano man,
a singer and,
a voice that never comes.
lost days of my youth,
the dreams,
the love and slums.
and if piano music spoke to me,
this song would rattle drums,
have one last look at yesterday,
take a step too far and pray.
the memoirs line the dusty box,
with one warn out key to play.

tick sick soldier tock ...

teeter-tottering to the tick-tock of the clock.
just counting down the seconds,
until the second that we talk.
old organs beckon as we walk.
cus he's just such a sick soldier,
with some several skin diseases,
and some severe sedentary hereditary illness,
old books to fulfill this,
this world he appeases.
but he keeps rolling slowly,
steady on for the four fathers,
or even just the few fathers,
and any others that he pleases.
the broken places, token face.
the love he chases, spoken race.
so which or what way would his world take him and when,
before the future fizzles out in front of him,
which weathered fortress holds a friend.
when where to be is hard to see.
then what to do, is asking you.
and options range from A to B,
then scrolling through means 1 to 2.
and where is this girl?
that everybody talks about,
but nobody knows,
the one i always seem to dream about,
the one that never seems to show.