Happy Revolution Day

After a little consultation with a friend, I decided this doesn't really sound all that negative (and I think it's pretty good :), so I'll post it.  Happy New Year!

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Date: December 31, 2011
Listening to: fireworks, absurdly bassy music, and the other noises around my apartment.

Tonight will be one of the toughest nights of my time in Costa Rica, I think.  I’ve never been that big of a New Year’s person, but I’ve never spent one without family and friends.  A year ago, I spent what will probably be the best one of my life staring into the eyes of this girl I barely knew who, God knows how or why, had agreed to fly to Nebraska and come to a wedding on under two weeks’ notice.  It was all so strange - how do you introduce a girl you aren’t dating to your family under those circumstances?  Needless to say, she fit right in no matter which house, church, bar, or reception hall I threw her into.  She was unflappable and seemed like she was actually enjoying herself.  I guess the rest is history.

I was listening to a recent “Stuff You Should Know” podcast on daylight saving time (no, there’s no “s”) when something perked up my ears.  Apparently, some of the major opponents to this shift were farmers who appealed that “God’s Time” shouldn’t be meddled with.  At first, that seemed to make sense to me, but then I started to think about it.  Time, at least as far as the daylight saving variety is concerned, was not invented by God but was certainly based on creation.  The rhythms of life are based on the sun, the seasons, and the obsessive human need to organize.  I suppose that makes sense; Genesis seems to indicate that we were made in the image of a being who organized the creation of everything into seven distinct days.

The difference I see between God’s time and Man’s time is not repetition, but rigidity.  I’m not going to go into long-day creation or anything like that here because I don’t need to.  What “clocks” does God (or nature, if you like) provide humanity?  I see two: rotation and revolution.  The day and the year seem quite regular to the observant human being.  The same goes for the phases of the moon and the tide of the oceans.  Throughout the history of the world these markers seem to have dictated almost every important activity within our control.  Every morning, the sun comes up, and every night it disappears again.  It gives our world order, the fourth human necessity, and makes a scary world feel slightly more predictable.  Yet even this obvious and consistent measure of time is flexible.  How terrified must our ancestors have been to notice the days were contracting and expanding before they realized the cycle would repeat itself?  “This will never do,” they said.  “We need something more regular.”

You see, we’ve never been all that good at accepting change or disorder, especially when it lies outside the control of our species or ourselves.  God knows that, which means he knew it before time came to be.  Why, then, did he tilt the earth’s axis and confound our internal clocks?  Why did he make planets that spin backwards?  Why can water be supercooled or superheated, and why on earth does the platypus lay eggs?  I believe the answer isn’t all that hard; I think he wants us to remember who we are.  We didn’t make the earth, the sun it spins around, the force which holds the two together, or the tilt we see as a flaw in the system, and therefore we don’t get to make the rules.  We are not the masters of this universe, and even as amazing as Apple makes our ingenuity look, we never will be.  Those things are the way they are to remind us of two things: one, that all our creative, observational, communicative, and other capacities are imperfect, and second, that they come from a perfect source.

So as this year, an imperfect measurement of a once perfect world, passes into its successor, take a moment to reflect on your place in its story.  Think of your years in the context of natural history.  Feel small.  Relieve yourself of the perception that you are in some way more significant than your neighbor, and then consider a simple fact: despite your smallness, your weakness, your faults, and your pains, the being and force behind the creation of everything - everything - loved you enough to come into a dusty world and die an excruciating death at the demands of people just like you out of the extreme desire to offer each of us salvation.  Christ isn’t just the reason for the Christmas season; he’s the reason for every season.  After all, they were his idea.

You Never Miss It 'Till It's Gone

12/6/2011
Listening to: Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No. 3 - Klavierconzert, Op.30

Well, the ICE finally shut off my internet account.  I’ve tried to pay them twice, but each time the agents have told me different numbers or information that I need in order to do it.  Here’s hoping I can figure it out tomorrow and post this sometime in the near future.  It’s strange; I think I’ve actually used the internet more here than at any prior point in my life.

Hi, Laura!

I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea recently, particularly over the last weekend.  By all accounts, the Valparaiso University Chorale gave a wonderful performance in their first Christmas concert since I left the ensemble.  Many of my friends were there and jealousy doesn’t begin to describe my emotion concerning my absence.  I think it’s more like heartbreak.  Even after deciding to essentially major in choral singing, I never valued those people or that music to the degree I do today while I was an active member.  I thought the emotional highs (and lows), the physical gratification (and exhaustion), and the spiritual edification (and quandary) I experienced were the result of great music writ large.  While that is certainly true to an extent, I never sufficiently valued the people with whom I worked and the degree to which they contributed to that experience.  It is pure, unadulterated synergy when the fervor of Berlioz, the profundity of Bach, the lyricism of Brahms, the grace of Parker, the clarity of Shaw, the intricacy of DFC, the love of a national hero (Ballou) set to music, or simply the shimmering beauty of a perfectly tuned open fifth (or minor second) is cooperatively realized by the minds, bodies, and souls of more than forty other individuals singularly devoted to that mutual objective.  Sharing the experience with your best friend(s) is a privilege beyond words.  It is a life I covet daily and a memory I hope I will never forget.

As I believe I mentioned in my last post, I’m not exactly sure what it is I’m doing here.  I don’t say that out of any kind of spite: I’m feeling lost but trying hard to enjoy the view.  I have spent more time thinking about theology, politics, and my true sense of self than I ever did in college, something I did not anticipate.  I feel like I’m spending less and less time at the church even though my hours are static because I am struggling to feel effective in that capacity, while I look forward to my three weekly classes as the highlights of my week.  I would have predicted the reverse.  Rather than engineering a six month personal mission, I feel like I’m along for a ride on someone else’s bike.  Pedaling isn’t doing me any good and I don’t feel like I have much control, but I nonetheless get the feeling that my destination is intentional.  I’m even ambivalent about coming home - on the one hand, I miss my family and friends more than I previously knew to be possible.  On the other, I don’t feel like I’m leaving a legacy worthy of the 2.5 months I’ve invested here.  All in all, I’m very excited about it, but it’s not without its hitches.  Confused yet?  Me too.

This picture actually from Madrid, but
it gives you a good idea.

Again, I’m sure that all sounds much more gloomy than I intend.  The weather is finally becoming sunny (yes, it’s turning into summer down here) and the town is dressed to the nines for Christmas.  Just this evening I walked through San José’s parque central and marveled at the work done by whoever had decorated that part of town.  It’s beautiful, though I certainly wish the light were bouncing off a fresh bed of snow at times.  Maybe even the internet going out on me is beautiful.  Maybe I’ll start running every morning or playing my guitar every afternoon as a result.  Maybe I’ll finally catch up on my Bible reading.  Maybe I’ll re-learn Lao Tzu so I can talk about the intersection of Christianity and Taoism with my boss.  Maybe.

One celebratory note: on Sunday, Job and his family gave a little farewell concert at another little Lutheran church nearby.  He is a Peruvian pastor who has been finishing up his studies at the Universidad Biblico Latinoamericano since April and he’s returning to Peru the same day I return to the USA (though he won’t be coming back in January).  While we’re sad to see him go, I’m excited to hear about his future exploits in his home country and Wendy, Katis, Prax, and myself were privileged to play Salmo 8, Clama a Mi, and several other songs with him and Gabriel another time on Sunday.  You can see videos by clicking on those titles.

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Ok, now I'm sitting in an internet cafe in San Pedro.  Gregorio and I are going to the ICE tomorrow to try and fix my lack of internet - we'll see how that goes.  I'm feeling a bit better than yesterday, partially because I did take that early morning run a few hours ago.  Unfortunately, it hasn't been perfect; today was also the first day I've gotten fed up enough to kick out my entire English class over their lack of attention.  Anyway, I'm very excited to say I'll be coming home in 7 days.  If I'll see you then, see you soon!  If not, thanks for reading.