The audacity of the world! Billboards litter the highway, traffic continues its normal course, Christmas music persists in radiating from the radio. There is no cessation, no pause, no moment of respite for the tragedy that has so freshly occurred. The irreverence of life to persist without reflection on your passing into eternity is inexcusable. You were so vibrant, so full of life and laughter–now silence.

You were only 62. You didn’t smoke, you didn’t drink, you lived healthier than most Americans, you were the best of us, yet cut short. Meanwhile, those guilty of genocide live to be 100. Dictators into their 90s. People undeserving of continued breath still roam this earth. My soul resonates with the frustrated lament of the Psalmist: “Meanwhile, I’ve kept my heart pure for no good reason; I’ve washed my hands to stay innocent for nothing. I’m weighed down all day long. I’m punished every morning.”

And it would be easy to sit there, but the Psalm continues: “If I said, “I will talk about all this,” I would have been unfaithful to your children. But when I tried to understand these things, it just seemed like hard work until I entered God’s sanctuary and understood what would happen to the wicked.”

You see Mutti, unlike the evil of the world, your legacy is one of lasting, positive change. You did not sit by as darkness and evil consumed your immediate world. Like a city on a hill, you shown the love of God to all around you. Like your name’s sake, you rose on the horizon of those around you, dispelling the gloomy night of the world. You had a genuine love for others, a concern for their needs, and passion to do all you could. You were a saint.

Not the miracle working kind, not the fire from heaven sort, but the kind of saint the world is in desperate need of. For you see, “Some believe it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. It is the small everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love.” Never did someone in my life demonstrate that truth more than you. The love of God shown so pure and genuine from you. A love that was compassionate, sacrificial, accepting, encouraging.

Your candle has been extinguished, but rest assured that you have lit so many other candles. Your labour was not in vain. Those you so diligently loved and cared for will carry the torch further to those around us. We will emulate your Christ-like love and compassion and passion.

I love you Mutti. I’ll see you again. And until then, I’ll march forward with the fire you helped flame in me, and so many others.

How odd is the realm of slumber–both sublime and remiss.

On the one hand, it is an escape. The world is full of woes and wants,

and neither e’er resolved.

But slumber is a pause from all the cares and sorrows thereby.

It is rejuvenating, invigorating, and in dreams, inspiring.

Transporting us to worlds of contemplation, imagination, and at times the divine.

On the other hand, it is a great waste.

All that could be accomplished,

All the good conversation ended,

All the fancies to be consumed must be paused for the bodily demand.

Some look forward to loved ones on the other side,

Others long to hear the “well done”.

I look to these as well, but am delighted that no longer shall my enjoyments, conversations, and merriment be ended by the tyranny of slumber.

Of all the realms we must endure while in this mortal shell,

none is as blessed and cursed as slumber’s realm.

A frozen creek: static in the barren woods.

In warmer, former days she babbled, churned, and even roared.

Now, she is deathly silent,

and the woods respond in like sullen slumber.

‘Tis not her fault she has succumbed,

for frigid air has assailed her for too long.

Her natural state is fluid and free, whimsy,

at times listless, but often impassioned and boisterous.

But, a northern, vicious wind has besieged and conquered her.

A nation too, like the creek, should be free, boisterous, and moving,

but frightful gales of division, maelstroms of uniformed–misinformed–hatred,

and blizzards of malicious ignorance have snatched the life from the nation.

The weather is untamable, but we are the vicious flurries,

we have halted our hallowed creek.

The longer the water is assailed, the more likely the ice is to crack–

but a nation is not a creek.

A cracked creek, when thawed, returns to her liquid course,

but a fractured nations is scarred, at least, and irreparable at worse.

For when our nation-creek is shattered, pieces are hurled to the nether,

never to return to the waterbed.

We are either the ruin or renewal.

It is within our purview to either fuel the cyclone of hate,

or thaw with radiant love.

Silence does not radiate love, but allows the tyrannical temperatures to plummet.

Inaction and silence are an apathy which is active.

One degree alone makes not the difference,

but as hate is infectious, love too is contagious.

Hate is a cancer that consumes and freezes;

love is a light which warms and dispels darkeness.

Thaw the creek on which we all are depend,

or the barren trees’ silence will be an eternal testament

to the nation that froze and shattered

by her apathy, ignorance, and hate.

In the Chaos and the Quiet

We are throbbing shadows in the faltering twilight–a human life.

Convinced, convicted, that we are shadows: symbiotic with cold, aimless existence.

Our very essence dependent on arbitrary light from elsewhere to flicker our momentary passing.

Without light from without, what are we?

No one pities the shadow when it passes.

No.

No!

We are not the shadows cast by the twilight,

we are the twilight in all its ineffable majesty.

We cast light round about to guide others to safety from the preying nightfall.

We radiate intense colour.

We emit the solace of starfall–an oasis of serenity in the dark.

Temporary, yet an indelible memory of rest to fellow sojourners in the dusk.

And not merely the tranquil twilight; the passion of dawn.

Temporal, passing, but irrefutable.

Vanquishing the night, defying it, casting a light which it will not last to see.

Churning out hope and light that others may traverse;

travel in knowledge, in safety, in confidence.

We are fleeting, but not as the shadow.

We are worth more, intrinsic, divinely woven–

brevity besieging the bereavement,

and yearning to blend with the summer breeze of humanity around us.

Let us be the passing light to one another.

Be the life-long moment of inspiration,

companions through this world,

until the next one dawns eternal.

What is this darkness? It is inexplicable, unreasonable, indominable. It is insatiable. Never enough. Always with cries of ‘nevermore’ echoed anew in the metamorphic wake of each catastrophic episode. So few, so few eschew with otherworldly fervor the ways of abyssal terror–the depravity of the soul of man. Hellbent on our own destruction, and the destruction that births hell for the living left “surviving” the out lash of the greed and fear of mankind.

Incorrigible greed–a country spanning 11 time zones, yet seeks to consume more and more without respite. The inexcusable irresponsibility of the “free world” to own up to the sins that built their might. They seek ways even now to continue dark deeds. The Melting Pot which finds dross everywhere to purge; willfully, gleefully refusing to acknowledge it compromises the very alloy that is its strength.

People everywhere unwilling to yield power, concede equality, for fear a successive group may rain down the darkness and depravity that has come before.

Where are the heroes of light? The humans that stood boldly against the darkness with what little light they had, in the imperfections they had, to refuse to let humanity be reduced to a zeitgeist of fear, and hate, and despair. Where are the philosophers, poets, prophets. These used to be the lighthouse besieging the waves of depravity to guide souls to a repose of peace. Instead, schemers, propogandists, and zealots stir up the storm of human darkness.

Can such darkness be withstood? Is the good of humanity lost? Why fight in the face of unceasing devastation?

No. No.

If there is to be struggle, let it be for peace. If there is to be tumult, let it be for reason. If there is to be zeal, let it be to see justice and equality. If there is to be passion, let it be for good. If there is to be an unyielding spirit, let it be for patience. If there is to be an indomitable force, let it be for the understanding of another’s mind.

I must be a hero of light. The darkness will not be impenetrable. It may claim me, as so many before, but I will go down like a phoenix, and out of the ashes of the blaze new heroes will rise, and the darkness will not overcome it. I believe in a God that seeks the good of all creation. Humanity above all is precious. I will be loving. I will be joyful. I will be peaceful. I will be patient. I will be kind. I will be good. I will be faithful. I will be gentle. I will be self-controlled. Against such there is no law. Against such the darkness has no power. I will fight that uphill fight, likely never seeing the benefit in my time, that I might leave a better world, and example of a better way for those behind.

It may be behind enemy lines; it may be the enemy behind friendly lines, but I cannot yield. I have been consumed by something other than the darkness of the world, and this beacon will defy the dark maelstrom–guiding as many ships to shore for as long as it stands.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

I peered too long in the mirror. My mind wandered, and I locked gazes with my reflection. The eyes are the windows to the soul, but instead of another to explore anew, it was my untamed wilderness.

At first, the insight was superficial. Covid, complacency, and a desk job have clearly proven we are closer to 30 than 20. We have managed to get back to a more comfortable body, but not too comfortable. We notice blemishes, but with no other soul viewing anything past clothing in our life, we are unconcerned.

Transfixed upon ourselves, deeper revelations overwhelm my psyche. We see the confidence, the flamboyance, the playful nature, the natural inquisitiveness. I am tempted to turn away in satisfaction, but tarry longer as the eyes in the mirror breach our outer defenses.

Doubt, concerns, anxieties, past mistakes, common pitfalls all rush to steal the mirth from the eyes I look upon in the glass. My instinct is to comfort, to humor, to flatter, to appease; but the visage is indeed a perfect image that suffers the same weakness and vices—we cannot be charmed or assuaged by our musings. 

Our stares begin to pierce as we introspect in this visual extrospection. People fear mirrors for the demons they may see, but the true fear, the fierce struggle lies in meeting our own gaze and searching our souls as a close friend, or intimate partner. We cannot hide ourselves from our own gaze, nor can we speak ill of the mirror, which only mimes truth. We may solely alter the truth it reflects.

I control my narrative. I may need others to encourage, to strengthen, to guide, to discipline, but I change the glass’ façade. We, the image and I, are counting on me to change those eyes. Joy or sorrow, weeping or reveling, are mine. For the both of us, I will endeavor to transfigure the soul that is reflected in our eyes.   

Here is the original piece I wrote a while back: https://epiphanyfromcacophony.com/2020/10/07/ghosts-in-the-ghetto-lyrical/

Truth be told, I don’t have a go-to Christian song when I am struggling, at least not that you’d ever hear in church. Don’t get me wrong, I am a worship leader; I love church music from hymns to contemporary and everything in between. The lyrics are inspiring and moving, but rarely capture the heart of the struggle. As someone who has struggled with depression and bi-polar disorder, songs like “Oceans” by Hillsong, the hymn “It is Well With My Soul”, and the gospel song “He Never Failed Me Yet” are spiritually motivating and refreshing, but they don’t explore, in my opinion, the hard fought struggle of the issues we often face. I do not know why church music shys away from this. The Psalms, Job, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and many more are raw and genuine. Maybe it is because church music is corporate, and therefore has to be more generic. I was asked the other day what my go-to song was by a church person, and I know they were expecting a church answer. In all honesty though, the answers are “Not Today” – Twenty One Pilots, “Migraine” – Twenty One Pilots,  and “Battle Symphony” – Linkin Park, amongst others. There are a few Christian ones, but definitely not “church music”.

These secular songs mentioned are real in laying out the struggle with deep seated depression, doubt, and self-worth. In each of the songs, an external person is required to pull the singer through. In “Not Today”, the singer is able to keep his inner demon at bay by:
“Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a sound” — opening up in honesty to the outside world for help.

In “Migraine”,
“And I will say that we should take a day to break away from all the pain our brain has made, the game is not played alone.” — A reminder that struggles do not have to be alone, and should not be fought alone.

“Battle Symphony”,
“They say that I don’t belong; say that I should retreat, that I’m marching to the rhythm of a lonesome defeat. But the sound of your voice puts the pain in reverse. No surrender, no illusions and for better or worse.”

In all scenarios, external intervention was required to overcome. This attitude would lend itself very well to adaptation in the church world, but I don’t hear it.

There are a few Christian songs that hit home with the personal struggle, and I do lean on those. They laud God’s work with us through the struggles, but you’d never hear them in church. “In My Room” – TFK (go listen to it),  “Falls Apart” – TFK, “I See Red” – TFK, and numerous songs by the Christian rapper Lecrae all vent the real struggle in an authentic way, and come out victorious because of God’s grace, Christ’s love, and the Spirit’s power. I am convinced I would not still be following the Lord were it not for bands like TFK (Thousand Foot Krutch), Skillet, Stellar Kart, and Lecrae.

This odd juxtaposition of generic, though inspiring, themes in church music starkly contrast the authors of Scripture who pour out their struggles in prayer and psalms. I know the purpose of worship music is just that: worship of God. That purpose often manifests in songs of testimony to what the Lord has done. Doubt, depression, and self-worth are all deep seated human issues, and the Lord has brought us all, and certainly myself, out of those pitfalls, or is working with us in those; myself included. That is testimony right there. That is praise. That is worship. Often, songs will mention, in the past tense, God gave the victory, but don’t mention, often enough, the difficulty of the struggle. This leads to people feeling like they are second rate Christians when they are struggling with these things–sometimes chronically. The Biblical authors address this deep struggle as well. Asaph in Psalm 73 (look it up), all of Job (hone in on chapter 19), Paul in Romans 7 (especially the back half), all get real about the struggle. The grace of God is not the alleviation from troubles, but alleviation in troubles.

The church ought not let the bards of the world speak better to triumph over hard-fought struggles than the muses of the Spirit. Part of that requires being open and honest about the difficulty of our struggles, or no one will feel led to reflect that in worship music. Two songs have encouraged me to do just that “Not Today” by Twenty One Pilots, and, to the church’s defense, “Truth Be Told” by Matthew West. As mentioned earlier, one important way the singer in “Not Today” overcomes wallowing in depression and self-doubt is:
“Tore the curtains down, windows open, now make a sound” — opening up to the outside world in an honest way. In “Truth Be Told”, Matthew West states the very sentiment I am preaching:

“Lie number one: you’re supposed to have it all together,
And when they ask how you’re doing
Just smile and tell them, “Never better”.
Lie number two: everybody’s life is perfect except yours,
So keep your messes, and your wounds,
And your secrets safe with you behind closed doors.
Truth be told,
The truth is rarely told.
I say I’m fine, yeah I’m fine, oh I’m fine, hey I’m fine, but I’m not–
I’m broken.
And when it’s out of control I say it’s under control, but it’s not–
And you know it.
I don’t know why it’s so hard to admit it,
When being honest is the only way to fix it.
There’s no failure, no fall
There’s no sin you don’t already know,
So let the truth be told.”

That is a breath of fresh air. I struggle, and we often feel a pressure in the church to “keep (our) messes and (our) wounds
And (our) secrets safe with (us) behind closed doors”, but “being honest is the only way to fix it”. Being honest with ourselves, in psychology or spirituality, is the first step to recovery. When we are honest that struggles are a struggle, and God pulls us through, all the more gratitude and praise will be due. So let the truth be told.