A Monster of a Thought

Excerpt from the David Crowder and Mike Hogan book, Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven but Nobody Wants to Die. A conversation between David Crowder and his bandmate Mike Hogan:


a friend of mine, t.d.oakes, emailed me. remember him? he’s from Kentucky. always comes and hangs out when we’re up that way :DAVID

HOGAN: Yeah, absolutely.

Well, in this email he was talking about the hallel, you familiar? :DAVID

HOGAN: I want to say yes, It sounds really familiar…

well, hallel consists of 6 psalms that are recited at the Jewish celebration of Passover, a group of songs really, you know the recitation of “his love endures forever…” well that’s part of it. so you get the tone, now this might be a little crazy, but follow me…ok? :DAVID

HOGAN: Yeah.

so the night of the last supper…:DAVID

HOGAN: Yeah.

we can, with a fair amount of safety, assume that Jesus recited the hallel with his disciples the last night they were together, the night before…:DAVID

HOGAN: Oh that’s cool.

no, that’s not the cool part. I mean, I guess that’s cool, but here’s where this is going…so if we believe that scripture is inspired by God, that it is God-breathed, and if we believe Jesus was divine, that he was God incarnate, then…:DAVID

HOGAN: Oh man! I totally see where this is going!

!!!!....would it be unreasonable to wonder whether God breathed out a song that he knew he would later need in his human form? Did he know that something as simple as a bit of art could help shape the reality he saw with his human eyes and heart, that in a moment of such weight and enormity, it could make all the difference. :DAVID

HOGAN: No way! that is a monster of a thought. that God wrote a song for Himself? knowing He might need it? knowing the power art holds for us humans!?!

i think it’s a beautiful thought in the least. and if I let my mind play it all the way out, it makes Christ much more vulnerable and accessible than I’ve thought of him in a long time. I mean, to think he could need a song as much as I do sometimes? That is comforting. :DAVID

U2 ME2

10/9/09…I have found my faith has taken a serious blow over these last months. I attended a U2 concert with David and Mike this past Tuesday. After standing in line for hours, we found ourselves 3 rows from the front of the stage. In an arena of 80,000 people we were within mere feet of reaching out and touching the Edge. That was cool. I can’t say the music was exceptional as I prefer the earlier U2’s raw edged sound that was captured on their CD, Under a Blood Red Sky. However, being that close to the band was an unbelievable experience. To see the humility of Larry Mullen, the ever present coy smirk of Adam Clayton, the guitar mastery of the Edge, and the grandiose over the top Bono was surreal.

I must say I can relate to U2’s song, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” It is a testament of becoming a zealot for Christ and then realizing at some point that the answer was not found in and of itself in giving your life to Christ. The zealousness is replaced by a hard dose of reality, one suggesting that everything is against you; including at times the church, sometimes those closest to me, sometimes my own Christian brethren, and worse of all, myself.

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for and never will on this earth. I remain a lost pilgrim trying not to attach himself to this world. What a daunting journey.

Part 17 of 18: A Homeless Journey Looking Back: Douglas

6/7/09…Another distinct personality I met in the first few months was Douglas. We only met twice, the first time at the Opportunity Center and then a second time when I went down there on my own one night later to deliver some food and clothing. Serving God on Wednesday nights with all the churches is one thing, but it is a whole different experience when venturing into the city on your own. However, during the first couple of weeks God was moving my heart and when I came across Douglas one night, I could not turn my back on his clothing requests. The winter temperatures were going to be in the teens and he was pleading for something warm since he lived out of his car. So on a Thursday night, I head downtown somewhat lost because I am not from Jackson, Mississippi nor do I really know the location of the Opportunity Center. Douglas tells me to meet him at 8:00 pm and says I will know it is him by his green car. As I ride through Jackson, I am asking God for his protection, and yet I wonder if this is the same prayer many residents pray every day who live within these impoverished city limits. After a couple of wrong turns, I find the Center, spot Douglas’s car, and pull up beside him in the dark of night. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one other person there who is rummaging through a dumpster.

Douglas sees me, and steps out of his car to greet me. I notice a Bible lies on top of his backseat. His car is dented all over, no hubcaps, stuffed with things, and dirty from lack of washing. This is where he will sleep tonight. I notice he is a thin man with his cheeks sunken in probably indicating he is a lot younger than he appears to be. I wish I could remember the details of his story but it is months later as I am writing this and I cannot. Yet, the memory of this encounter stays with me. Douglas is gracious, thankful, and warmly receives me as we talk. The reason I remember Douglas is because of this; he says he appreciates the street ministry people. So many times he sees people come, drop off clothing or food, and then leave without actually speaking to anyone. But us, we actually try to learn their names and talk with them.

After more dialogue with Douglas who references God on many occasions, I ask him if I can pray for him. He says yes so I do. He asks me for money for gas so he can look for a job and keep warm in his car, but unfortunately I did not bring any with me. I tell him I will come by tomorrow night and bring him a gas card. And so I do, except he is not there and I never see him again. This is the toughest part about this ministry. Many times after making a connection with someone, we never see them again after 2 or 3 times. They move on. Out loud Malcolm says this is a good thing because it may mean they have found a job or housing to get off the streets, but deep down inside I struggle that this is truly the case. I hope Douglas is ok.

Part 16 of 18: A Homeless Journey Looking Back: Priscilla

6/7/09…There are many people I have come across since joining the street ministry last October. I distinctly remember my first night. As a first timer, there were jitters. I was unsure of what to expect. All of us gathered in a circle at the Eudora Welty library; members from Broadmoor, New Jerusalem, Parkway, Pinelake, and Southside churches. Malcolm asked the group if there were any first timers and I timidly raised my hand along with some others. Then he proceeds to tell me it is not exactly safe what we are doing. My eyes widen a little bit. He says make sure we stay with the group and do not wander off. Do not offer any money because most of the time it will be used to buy drugs. Pray with our eyes open. And do not argue with anyone if they start ranting about a subject. Uh oh, what have I got myself into? With that said we break, climb into our church vans, and head into the night.

Priscilla was the first person I encountered. I was just standing there after exiting the van at the Opportunity Center. She walks up and begins ranting at me. In between praises to God, she curses like a sailor; pretty good at it too. Clearly she is drunk as she slurs her speech, wobbles on her feet, and widens her eyes at me when she speaks. Over and over she keeps telling me she needs to get home. After a lot of questioning by me and evasive answers by her, she stumbles into confession and admits she needs to get home to drink. What I find funny about this experience is she seems to take a “liking” to me if you know what I mean. Kind of hard to share about Christ when someone is sweet on you and redemption is not exactly what is on their mind. As she devours a sandwich, I try to listen but I am lost in her conversation which jumps from topic to topic. The night is coming to an end. Graciously Southside church volunteers to give her a ride home. So with a few more praises to God, and a few more curse words, she locates the van across the parking lot. However, she refuses to go unless I take her by the arm and escort her like a prom date to the van. Ummm…Malcolm failed to warn me about this type of danger, of which I later laugh to myself about.

Opening a Car Door for a Woman

5/31/09…Interesting thought; do I think opening the car door for a woman ever gets old for a woman? I wonder how a woman would respond to this question? In the same way, does saying the same prayer asking God to bless the food I am about to eat ever get old? Hmmm, seems the trick is not doing it out of habit but out of love I suppose, maybe even sometimes doing it when I do not feel like doing it or trying to persevere when it does indeed become a habit.

I wonder, how do I keep worship fresh? I suppose if my love or care for a woman is not evolving, then I will stop opening the car door for her, or I will do it out of a feeling of duty or obligation, or indeed it may become just a habit with no meaning behind doing it for her. It would seem this would also apply when praying to God asking Him to bless my food? Do I do it because of my love for Him, or out of duty or obligation, or maybe indeed just a habit with no meaning behind the prayer.

I read Revelation 4:7-8 and John, after being transformed by the Spirit and seeing the One on His throne, said he saw four living creatures around the throne of God, and John said “And they do not rest day or night, saying: Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, Who was and is and is to come!”…Wow! Their love for God is so strong they never tire of repeating the same words, day and night, day and night, day and night, over and over again, and they never rest. Maybe the same could hold true for me. Indeed, I imagine if I was standing before God, I would be dumbfounded by His glowing glory, and I might just stand there for eternity saying, “I ,I ,I…” and never being able to finish the sentence because the beauty of who He is, is so encompassing and powerful before me that my mind is unable to create words to verbalize the moment…and so I can’t, I just sit there for eternity saying, “I, I, I…” eventually turning into “You are, You are, You are…” and never quite finishing the sentence because no word has ever been invented to describe being in the presence of God.

Ask

5/30/09…Galatians 5:16-17 “I say then: Walk in the Spirit, and you shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh. For the flesh lusts against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; and these are contrary to one another, so that you do not do the things that you wish.” It seemed fitting that these were the first words I read after my morning rescue time. I am asking God to show me who He is in a creative way, in worship today, and I believe He will.

Father help me see You with my eyes, or touch You with my skin, or hear You with my ears, or smell You with my nostrils, or taste You with my tongue. In the moment, alert my senses. Oh Father, I desire.

I quiet my mind.

An image soon appears. Where it comes from I do not know. I imagine the two of us walking side by side in a grassy meadow with my hand in His, so peaceful, and so still, and in the next instant I imagine us walking through black and red clouds with my hand still in His. I felt He may have said, “Go to the mountain, remind yourself who I am.” Was it Him? I am not sure but surely there can be no negative to climbing a mountain and experiencing His creation…of this I am sure.

In Mississippi, there are no mountains, but the Carver’s Gap blue ridges remain fresh in my memory. One day soon I hope to return.

Father help me restore myself to You, and purge my life of those things which are not walking in the Spirit. I pray You will guide not only myself but my fellow believers in the Jackson Street ministry tonight, and show us the wonders of who You are in our service to You. Alert our senses in worship as we once again embark into the dark shadows of a Wednesday evening.

Grasping

5/24/09…And now I understand. I understand why the Israelites wanted a King. In Your distress, You shook Your head because they did not understand. Israel was much better off to have You as a King even though they could not see or touch You versus one of their own which they could see and touch. Why? Because a human is flawed and will always be flawed. Even after You did great and wonderful things for the Israelites, for them it was not enough. Instead they desired to see and touch You, because there remains this inherent need in us. That is why You said it is not good for man to be alone…but even sending a woman was not enough. Oh woe! My ancestors demanded a King, and You relented, all the while knowing it was going to be a roller coaster ride, a train wreck, and one more way we let You down in our humanity. What must You be thinking? Our Creator, it is so hard for us to understand who You are because we cannot see or touch You. Even after You reveal yourself, we begin questioning was that really You?

Father…in Your grace, You have allowed me to better know You. At times I have felt the Holy Spirit, You, speak to me in my mind. I have seen how You engineered circumstances. I have experienced two manifestations of You…and now, I want to see and touch You, and because I cannot, I begin to doubt those things of You. Did I really hear You speak to me? Was it really You who engineered those circumstances? My tiny mind is unable to grasp who You are so it would rather grasp what is in the world.

Squash

5/24/09…Father, I am sorry. Help me write words that will help my soul grieve before You. Oh how I want to feel You again. I miss You so much, and my knowledge is my pain. How can I ever feel worthy to know You again? Each day that passes is another lost opportunity. It seems I am writing more about how I used to know You versus how I am knowing You. This troubles me greatly…

I am hungry, so I wash the dirt off a yellow squash. My fingers hold it under the faucet and let Your living water wash it clean, no more sin held against me. I dry it and place it on the cutting board where I take my knife and I cut the squash every ¼ inch or so, and lay out its pieces like a fan spreading out. All these pieces represent the repulsive and wonderful parts of me. I place a bowl of milk by the cut up squash. Milk is sometimes all the nourishment I can take, even though I would rather have solid food. Next, I pour out corn meal, solid food, in a pile which also seems to represent the pouring out of an hourglass, for it seems my time here on earth is slowly running out. I take one piece of squash, dip it in the milk and wet it well, and then I take the squash and dip it in the solid corn meal, coating it well on both sides. The squash has started with milk and it seems the squash received the milk very well because when the squash is dipped in the solid corn meal, the meal abundantly sticks to the tender sides.

And then I throw it into hot oil…hot oil burns, and scalds, and blisters skin. It cooks, and it cooks slowly. If I am not careful the oil will burn the squash black. Seems the hot oil is this world, is the devil, and is my selfishness. Sometimes I think the squash does not stand a chance. But You are the cook, and always You seem to be minding the time the squash sits in the oil, ever aware it takes the Love of a Father to prevent the squash from becoming a scalded black piece of charred flesh, useful for nothing. All the while I am cooking, You know this is not what You had in mind. You never wanted me to fry did you? You wanted me to enjoy Eden, and an intimate relationship with You, and I messed it all up didn’t I?

Father, help this squash…he really does love You.