Profound Cries of Joy and Sorrow

Every rose has thorns


I was reading Ezra today and these words leaped off the page at me:

(Ch. 3) 11 And they sang responsively, praising and giving thanks to the Lord,

“For he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever toward Israel.”

And all the people shouted with a great shout when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid. 12 But many of the priests and Levites and heads of fathers’ houses, old men who had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice when they saw the foundation of this house being laid, though many shouted aloud for joy, 13 so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping, for the people shouted with a great shout, and the sound was heard far away.

I could write pages and pages about these last two verses, but I will just write a few thoughts.

[Context note: these are the Jews coming back to their land after a few generations of captivity in exile. They return from Persia to rebuild the city, starting with the temple. The central role the temple played in their lives and their relationship with their God defined them as a people somewhere in their core.]

Knowing this, it makes perfect sense that the young who had heard all these stories about their people and their past would rejoice at the thrill of rebuilding. Juxtapositionally, the older generations are weeping because they have a relationship with the temple from the past and have personally suffered the loss in some way–they know what the former glory of the temple was and mourn the loss of that.

All of this mixed together is life. All of this mixed together is what it is like to be in relationship with someone…with God…to be a person of faith…to strive for what is good and not necessarily what is easy or safe.

I suppose that journeying with God…with the Good…with anything meaningful…will entail this mix of joy and sorrow. I suspect it doesn’t have to be this way. It just happens to be.

“I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the horses the new strength of fear for the last mill so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.”
― C.S. LewisThe Chronicles of Narnia – the Horse and His boy

Impressions from Pearl Jam’s Lightning Bolt Tour

Once upon a time, I could control myself

My first take on Pearl Jam’s Lightning Bolt Tour in Los Angeles

My wife wanted to go see Pearl Jam. After a long and “very rigid search” for tickets, we made it in.

Keep on rockin' in the free world...

Our view during the last encore

I’ve been a fan for so long I was excited to see them. I will write more later but I just had to revel in the nostalgia a bit.

[Read more…]

Usefulness of Frailty

Usefulness of frailty

Blessed are the shallow
Depth they’ll never find
Seems to be some comfort
In rooms I try to hide

Exposed beyond the shadows
You take the cup from me
Your dirt removes my blindness
Your pain becomes my peace

Frail, Jars of Clay

[Read more…]

Fight to Live

“We live to fight another day.”

Living to Fight, to Live

sebo106 / Pixabay



This old expression makes sense if your purpose is to fight. When it’s us-against-them time and your objective is to win, this gives you reason to rejoice. But what if you are fighting for something else?



I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say, “We fight to live another day.”



Pi in the Ski

[This is an old post that never actually went public. I’d like to open it up to review–and criticism. Don’t read this if you get extremely uncomfortable looking down from the edge of a great height, looking into a bottomless hole, or thinking about forever.]

I saw Life of Pi last night and knew it was heavily philosophical in nature. (Well, anything with an irrational number that is, paradoxically, one of the few universal constants we can find, in the title even) is bound to be a mindjob. Knowing nothing about it other than that it was a story about a boy surviving at sea with a tiger in a small boat–and heavily recommended by my wife ;-)–I was eager to sink my teeth in.

If you haven’t seen it, I will now give some MAJOR SPOILERS!!!! So read at your own risk.


Did you see the MAJOR SPOILERS warning? I shall forthwith assume you’ve seen the movie too…


Ok, what happens after this, I wash my hands of.

First, let me say I liked the movie quite a lot. But I think people who like the film will naturally have wildly different reasons–indicator of a great story. I want to share the stream of thoughts that came after watching it.

Pi was a microcosm of what I’ll call optimistic existentialism. That is to say, the noble character of Pi who had hope and love for the world, and a hunger for truth and justice, found himself slammed into the absurdity of the real–or at least what seems “realer.”

I’m defining absurdity here as utter meaninglessness. Even though any death or tragedy is a painful situation, we can face situations in which someone suffers or dies for the sake of a loved one or the greater good much more easily than facing someone’s suffering or dying for no conceivable reason at all.

Pi saw purpose in life; he saw more than most. When it seemed like purpose was slipping away, he went and looked for it. But as hard as Pi looked, I couldn’t shake the feeling while I watched film that the writer of the story reveals where he falls in this spectrum. He tried to have a poker face but he had a few tells, and they always pivoted around the tiger.

The first encounter with the tiger, Richard Parker, entailed Pi looking into his eyes and seemingly into his soul, but the father proved to him that he’s just a senseless carnivore. That powerful scene split the audience well. (“No, he did connect with Richard Parker! His Dad messed it up and distracted him!” “No, the dad saved him by showing him the connection was an illusion!” and so on.)

He cannot be tamed, but he can be trained…


Did I want to believe that the tiger wouldn’t have taken his hand off? Sure. There was magic happening in that look–why was the tiger looking at him and not just at the meat? His father felt differently of course, seeing nothing more than a tiger about to tear his son’s hand off, driven by pure instinct.

That is an ANGRY cat



This dynamic came up again and again through their relationship on the boat, but the most telling event (to me) was the stars scene.

Richard Parker stares off into the night sky, and Pi asks him, “What are you looking at?”, half annoyed and half desperate to know. Slowly–very slowly–Richard Parker gazes down into the water. Pi looks to see what the tiger is staring at, almost as if he is beckoning him to look. In a dreamlike state, Pi sees all the way down and all the way through. Like looking into Krishna’s mouth, he sees the whole universe. All his experience, all the animals and people that died in the shipwreck, his mother, his family, and at the very bottom–the deepest point on the planet Earth–is the wrecked ship that he had left behind. Their tragic end. He had left one ship to end up on this tiny boat. Floating to who knows where?

Staring into the abyss

What I think the movie is “about” if you could say that is that no matter what worldview you hold, you will have to encounter and deal with the absurdity of life and purpose. How does this stuff with no apparent hope or purpose not overwhelm the quest for life and goodness? People come out on the other side with different views but they have to go through it nonetheless. It’s not that life and purpose are absurd, but that their endurance through all the absurdity does actually occur always has and always will be debated, and it seems to me that personal choice plays a big role in which way a person goes. I believe in the end that they are real and that there is a Glory, so real and so good that it’s own existence is even more important than anyone’s experience of it. But that doesn’t mean that the pursuit of it may not have points along the way that go pitch black.

The two interpretations of the story of Life of Pi–one with the face-value story of the animals and the lone boy on the boat, and the other with the bitter but more plausible account of the few survivors and the boy having to kill the cook–could be summed up as the amazing/hopeful story and the horrific/cynical story. My bottom line is that both of these stories fit the human experience at times and there can still be a greater Good at the bright end of it all. God is.


Is he floating aimlessly through the ocean? Through the sky? Through the world? Through space and time?–does it make a difference?

I think when you’ve thought about this and looked at it honestly for a while, then you can completely understand what Nietzsche was talking about when he said that if you stare into the abyss long enough, “the abyss stares back.” But staring into it doesn’t mean it wins. Or that it is ultimately all that there is. That is up to each of us.


P.S. When looking for images for this blog, I came across this:

Something to think about.


Given that I have exactly 5 minutes at this moment I will be parsimonious.

“The light has gone out of my life.”

When Teddy Roosevelt wrote this in his diary, on the day his mother and wife died in the same house, what was it that prompted him–compelled him–to trudge on in the darkness?

Was it faith? Fear of falling? Hope? Vision for the future? Whatever it was, I think it’s somewhere in everyone’s soul. I want to find it in mine.

Sometimes when I think I’ve found it I lose track of it again. Like a tiny stone dropped in the carpet.