David Crowder* Band’s 2012 magnus opus, a 34-track, double CD musical requiem to their career as a band, and to the painful necessity of death preceding (re)birth. Your ears, and your soul, will thank you with a deep sigh of gratitude upon a listen.
:::
I have so much to say, a cauldron of words swirling just beyond the tip of my tongue, frustratingly out of reach. And yet I have felt speechless these past few months, unable (unwilling?) to form words into
sentences, and sentences into paragraphs, a building, unified cohesion of thought that seems far too neat and tidy for a decidedly messy, chaotic season internally, and throughout our world at large.
On the deep losses of Orlando, Florida early Sunday morning, and the insanity that continues unabated, ever increasing, within a gun culture that espouses violence and prejudicial extremism at every turn, the ‘freedom’ to purchase, carry, arm, and use military-grade weapons with ease influencing at minimum the worst loss of American life since September 11th, 2001, regardless of ‘reason’ or ideology (Why? Lord, have mercy).
On the numbing loss my wife, and I to a much more removed extent, have experienced over this past year while trying to fall pregnant with our second child, and repeatedly miscarrying. (Why is the gift of life such a struggle?).
On the deeply unChristian, immoral, racist, prejudiced, violent, shameful, completely dysfunctional, power-hungry American political system, and the maddening, fearful experience of watching from afar as your country of birth tears itself apart at the seems over a presidential election, wondering if it is even possible to put it all together again (Where do I belong? What place is home? Where are ‘my people?’ And how do I find the courage and discernment to thrive as a struggling follower of Jesus in the midst of such a toxic environment?).
On the frailty of life, and watching my Dad cross over to a more elderly stage of need much more quickly than we ever anticipated, a sober diagnosis our new reality (How many moments fully present do we have left with each other?).
On the ongoing struggles of the young adult democracy I now proudly call home, desperately trying to sort itself out from a past filled with an apartheid system of evil inequality, racism, and separation of ‘the other,’ while at the same time realising that most people are trying their best to provide for their families and love their neighbours, and yet repeatedly falling into mistakes stemming from a sustained lack of character, leadership, integrity, and maturity focused on ‘the good of the other no matter my own personal cost’ (Will South Africa ever thrive? Will its diversity help or hinder it, unify us or serve as a stumbling block for our downfall, something we simply cannot navigate with the nuanced complexity mature, selfless love alone can bring?).
On the wild joys, and trying struggles, of fumbling around in the parenting of a toddler literally learning how to form her words, naming her rush of feelings and thoughts in a seemingly never-ending wave of energy (Have you ever wanted to simultaneously hug your child in a futile effort to slow her explosive growth, while also wanting nothing more than a full night of sleep apart from her presence, usually at the same exact moment of time?).
On the continued vexing struggle to find a healthy vocational identity and lasting meaning in the midst of my work, never having ‘enough’ and yet continually reminded of the entitled abundance I have grown accustomed to within my own unique context (What am I ‘called to do?’ What if my calling struggles to support our family financially? Will I ever be satisfied in my work, or is that impossible? Am I a unique failure in this, preferring a paralysed, victim mentality instead of a slowly growing peace with what I do, and who I am?)
On the continued discomfort and dissatisfaction I feel within my faith in Jesus Christ, realising I am
changing (hopefully for the better!), desperately hoping that God is not as nervous with this diffused growth as I am, wondering where I fit within the Kingdom of God that is growing unaware all around us, even though it often feels as if the opposite is true, and the darkness is overcoming the light (Is God scared of my shifting belief? Is this purposeful? Am I maturing into spiritual adulthood or something else entirely? I certainly hope the former, and yet fear the latter).
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Do you feel at all like this in your own unique way? If so, perhaps the following lyrics can give voice to
your speechless cauldron of words, as they (slowly) are to mine over the course of today:
Oh great God give us rest
We’re all worn thin from all of this
At the end of our hope with nothing left
Oh great God give us rest
Oh great God do your best
Have you seen this place it’s all a mess
And I’ve done my part too well I ‘fess
Oh great God do your best
Could you take a song and make it thine
From a crooked heart twisted up like mine
Would you open up Heaven’s glory light
Shine on in, give these dead bones life
Oh shine on in, give these dead bones life
Let it shine, let it shine
On an on, on and on, come to life
(David Crowder* Band, Oh Great God, Give Us Rest)