Sparkle

Mat Kearney is a poet.

mat-kearney-21

When I first opened his album Bullet, in 2004, I was completely overwhelmed at his acoustic stylings, playing against spoken words and great hooks. And then I dissected each song, and was drawn into the music.

I burned it, though, played it until I was no longer interested, until I picked up my acoustic and learned a few of the tunes, and that catapulted my interest again. This week, the album is once again spinning, and this time I was drawn to his song “Girl America.” The song itself, as well as Bullet, was repackaged into his second album, Nothing Left to Lose, and right now, I am awaiting his third album, and trying to be patient.

When you first listen to his song Girl America, you’re left a bit confused. He speaks the words so fast, and the chorus and the bridge, the songful parts of the tune, are good, and you start to wonder a little. And then you break apart the song, find the lyrics from a Google search, and realize that the song itself is quite powerful. And quite poetic.

I’m not sure what he planned for this song. I’m not sure if he thought he was writing something so poetic and contemporary and raw. And maybe, through the fiasco of the last presidential election, with all of the image and pomp and American degradation, this song speaks to me even more now. I’m not sure, but I have found a new realness in this song that was somehow missed in all of the previous listens.

Click here for his site, and listen to the song by shuffling through his tracks in the music tab at the top. Then read these lyrics, and then maybe you’ll see America in a much different way.

**********

Girl America
by Mat Kearney

My girl America is just a youth in this world,
Her smile is more precious than the sparkle of pearls.

And though her age reads, she’s just a young girl,
The age behind her eyes show the pain that she’s swirled, through the hand that’s been dealt,
Though it’s quiet as kept,the weight that she felt last night when she slept,
And as she crept into the dreams of the things of her past.

Seems to have grown so fast, way beyond her own class,
Though they’re right there with her, her brothers and her sisters.
A natural born leader even when her peers dis her.

My girl, she’s at a crossroads, people praying for her.
Some are preying on her.

Magazine ads, sex, drama, smoking marijuana,
Longing for a father to call her “daughter.”

She’s part of a generation longing for reconciliation,
And this future that they’re facing and this poison that they’re tasting,

My girl, I know this love you’re chasing.

****

My girl America’s crying when she’s lying on her bed at night,
I can see that she’s screaming when she’s dreaming for her freedom.
My girl America’s dying while she’s trying just to stop this fight.
Don’t stop believing, my girl America.

****

Boys with hungry eyes have been beating her door,
Telling her that’s what she’s for, trying to rob at her core,
Then leave calling her a whore, but still she knows there’s more.

I know she knows there’s more because there is a voice she can’t ignore,
‘Cause it was founded in the foundations, from the day of her creation.

“In God we trust” engraved on the treasures of her nation,
And the void that the boys can’t fill,
With the tipping of the bottle or the popping of the pill.

But still most of her friends don’t care as they glare,
Ready to drown down the funnel as they frown down the tunnel.
They stumble and they tumble breaking down into rubble.
My girl America, stop! Can’t you see?

It’s not the circumstances that determine who you’re gonna be,
But how you deal with these problems and pains that come your way.

It’s for you that I pray with hope for a brighter day,
And so I say, your deliverance is coming.

****

My girl America’s crying when she’s lying on her bed at night,
I can see that she’s screaming when she’s dreaming for her freedom.
My girl America’s dying while she’s trying just to stop this fight.
Don’t stop believing, my girl America.

****

Faith like a child from your first birth.
You left it in the dirt on your worst hurt.
And I see each tear and every scar,
The hands that have held you where you are.

And I can see we’ve strayed so far.
A king born under that morning star.
As a crown of thorns was placed to erase
Each tear that’s touched your face.

And his palms and sides were pierced with spears
He hung in love just to draw you near
My girl, out of this whole world,
Can’t you see this is where we started?

****

My girl America’s crying when she’s lying on her bed at night,
I can see that she’s screaming when she’s dreaming for her freedom.
My girl America’s dying while she’s trying just to stop this fight.
Don’t stop believing, my girl America.

**********
Powerful, isn’t it?

Room

The Christmas Celebration in Bagdad included a poster of Jesus.

Joy to the world, the Lord has come!
Let earth receive her king!
Let every heart prepare Him room, and heaven and nature sing!

That may be possible …

The following story is from CNN, and you can find it here.

And maybe, just maybe, every single heart can prepare him room.  Even the heart which has never believed.

Baghdad Celebrates First Public Christmas Amid Hope, Memories
by Jill Dougherty
CNN.com

From a distance, it looks like an apparition: a huge multi-colored hot-air balloon floating in the Baghdad sky, bearing a large poster of Jesus Christ. Below it, an Iraqi flag.

Welcome to the first-ever public Christmas celebration in Baghdad, held Saturday and sponsored by the Iraqi Interior Ministry. Once thought to be infiltrated by death squads, the Ministry now is trying to root out sectarian violence — as well as improve its P.R. image.

The event takes place in a public park in eastern Baghdad, ringed with security checkpoints. Interior Ministry forces deployed on surrounding rooftops peer down at the scene: a Christmas tree decorated with ornaments and tinsel; a red-costumed Santa Claus waving to the crowd, an Iraqi flag draped over his shoulders; a red-and-black-uniformed military band playing stirring martial music, not Christmas carols.

On a large stage, children dressed in costumes representing Iraq’s many ethnic and religious groups — Kurds, Turkmen, Yazidis, Christians, Arab Muslims not defined as Sunni or Shiite — hold their hands aloft and sing “We are building Iraq!” Two young boys, a mini-policeman and a mini-soldier sporting painted-on mustaches, march stiffly and salute.

Even before I can ask Interior Ministry spokesman Major-General Abdul Karim Khalaf a question, he greets me with a big smile. “All Iraqis are Christian today!” he says.

Khalaf says sectarian and ethnic violence killed thousands of Iraqis. “Now that we have crossed that hurdle and destroyed the incubators of terrorism,” he says, “and the security situation is good, we have to go back and strengthen community ties.”

In spite of his claim, the spokesman is surrounded by heavy security. Yet this celebration shows that the security situation in Baghdad is improving.

Many of the people attending the Christmas celebration appear to be Muslims, with women wearing head scarves. Suad Mahmoud, holding her 16-month-old daughter, Sara, tells me she is indeed Muslim, but she’s very happy to be here. “My mother’s birthday also is this month, so we celebrate all occasions,” she says, “especially in this lovely month of Christmas and New Year.”

Father Saad Sirop Hanna, a Chaldean Christian priest, is here too. He was kidnapped by militants in 2006 and held for 28 days. He knows firsthand how difficult the lot of Christians in Iraq is but, he tells me, “We are just attesting that things are changing in Baghdad, slowly, but we hope that this change actually is real. We will wait for the future to tell us the truth about this.”

He just returned from Rome. “I came back to Iraq because I believe that we can live here,” he says. “I have so many [Muslim] friends and we are so happy they started to think about things from another point of view and we want to help them.”

The Christmas celebration has tables loaded with cookies and cakes. Families fill plates and chat in the warm winter sun. Santa balloons hang from trees. An artist uses oil paint to create a portrait of Jesus.

In the middle of the park there’s an art exhibit, the creation of 11- and 12-year-olds: six displays, each about three feet wide, constructed of cardboard and Styrofoam, filled with tiny dolls dressed like ordinary people, along with model soldiers and police. They look like model movie sets depicting everyday life in Baghdad.

Afnan, 12 years old, shows me her model called “Arresting the Terrorists.”

“These are the terrorists,” she tells me. “They were trying to blow up the school.” In the middle of the street a dead “terrorist” sprawls on the asphalt, his bloody arm torn from his body by an explosion. Afnan tells me she used red nail polish to paint the blood. A little plastic dog stands nearby. “What is he doing?” I ask. “He looks for terrorists and searches for weapons and explosives,” Afnan says.

Her mother, the children’s art teacher, Raja, shows me another child’s display called “Baghdad Today.”

“This is a wedding,” Raja explains. “Despite the terrorism, our celebrations still go ahead. This is a park, families enjoying time. And this is a market where people go shopping without fear of bombings. This is a mosque where people can pray with no fear.”

In the middle is a black mound that looks like a body bag. Policemen and Interior Ministry forces surround it. “This is terrorism,” she tells me. “We killed it and destroyed it, and our lives went back to normal.”

A Christmas tale perhaps, I think, but one that many Iraqis hope will come true.

Confused

A neighboring church hosted a group of bell ringers from a local university to perform a concert in their full and beautiful auditorium. Exquisite woodwork adorned the foyer, and once inside, my eyes were treated with a Christmas tree, tall and adorned in white angels. Candles burned before every stained glass window. As the concert began, the minister stood before us to pray that we would receive the gospel in the bells. Soon after, a group of people walked into the nave of the auditorium, singing a carol and playing their brass bells in perfect timing, soon arranging themselves at the altar of the church, and playing Christmas carols in beautiful music.

But the prayer of the minister, a simple prayer with eloquent language, broke my heart. I received the gospel that night, and was again, reminded, that Christmas is a celebration much larger than ribbons and bows.

And yet we continue to celebrate a practice of excess during this most wonderful time of the year, for Americans will spend close to $450 billion this year for gifts to be unwrapped on just one day — gifts which will lose their meaning quickly in the mix of other gifts you and I will open.

Just a tenth of that amount could provide clean water and food for the starving of the world for an entire year. Some estimates say that one could stretch $40 billion over two years, and still provide enough sustenance for the starving.

The recipients of our gifts are people with means. They have an abundance of gifts under a tree in their home, and have spent much money to give, so much so that the practice of giving is really nothing more than the practice of trading. We exchange gifts with similar costs, and feign surprise when we unwrap a package and discover an item disliked. We have displaced the specialness and warmth of giving a gift with the thought and guilt of doing the same. Long gone are the days when one person holds some special place in our heart, and we treasure the time and the day when they can open a gift given with such thought.

We give our children the idea of gift-giving because of obligation, while on Christmas morn, there are some in our world without food and water, and we forget those people, once we are taken and consumed with an excess of things beneath a tree and the food on long tables. We participate in conversations when families are long gone, when we silently complain about the gathering of our family, or the time we wasted when giving a better gift.

We have sorely, and to our demise, confused the meaning and thrust of Christmas with packaging and tape and plastic cards.
__________

I want to encourage you, today, to visit a website. Called the Advent Conspiracy, it is a movement designed to spur our thinking about Christmas, about our worship, about our expenses, and about true giving. I’ll say no more here, in hopes you visit, and spend a moment of your time there, today.

You may just change the way you see Christmas. I hope you do.

Franklin

I teach a course on American history at our local college.

time_cover_ben_franklin_520

Benjamin Franklin, by Michael J. Deas

It’s an interesting subject, and one with a myriad of details. Of the more fascinating periods in American history is the revolutionary period, and the situations and histories of the founders.

A little bit of research will also uncover a very unique reliance upon God in the formation of the United States. They were keenly aware of the circumstances of their rebellion against Great Britain, and drew from a vast array of philosophies and ideal in creating something entirely new.

I wanted to introduce those themes to my course, and in my own lectures I drew extensively from the following article in this part of the course, and I will include, today, the first portion of it.

It’s a great read, for sure, and a great insight into the minds of the founders, and their reliance upon the hand of God in the forming of the first free society in the history of the world.

The article, published in The New American in 2002, is entitled The American Miracle, and is written by Dennis Behreandt. The portion below details the writing of the Constitution of the United States, and the unagreeable nature of the men who convened to write the document. Benjamin Franklin, the first American statesman, saw the disagreements, and had a unique proposal. Here it is, in the words of Behreandt …

Our War for Independence seemed destined for failure. But with the intercession of providence at key points, the American cause succeeded in spectacular fashion.

The creation of a new government hung in the balance. After almost five weeks of intense study and debate, of yeas and nays, of discord and acrimony, the convention was at a stand-still. Except for Rhode Island’s, all the states’ delegates, composed of the leading professionals and intellectuals

of the day, had met at the Philadelphia State House in May of 1787 in hopes of addressing the shortcomings of the Articles of Confederation, under which the young union of 13 former colonies operated. Despite these delegates’ intellectual brilliance, despite their patriotic diligence and goodwill, the convention had produced nothing but discord.

… By the end of June, the stalemate had solidified. On the 28th of that month, Benjamin Franklin, concerned that the convention would end in failure, prepared to address the delegates. Franklin was America’s elder statesman. At 81, he was the oldest delegate at the convention and, during his long life, had achieved a degree of fame and acclaim greater than any other American save Washington. His genius was wide ranging. A noted inventor, he famously studied electricity along with geology, agriculture, astronomy, and meteorology, among other subjects. He had distinguished himself as a printer and journalist and as a diplomat. Now, he addressed the assembled delegates.

Franklin’s words, like those of the other delegates, were carefully recorded by James Madison in his famous notes on the convention. “The small progress we have made after 4 or five weeks close attendance & continual reasonings with each other–our different sentiments on almost every question … is methinks a melancholy proof of the imperfection of the Human Understanding,” Franklin sadly observed. “We indeed seem to feel our own want of political wisdom, since we have been running about in search of it. We have gone back to ancient history for models of Government, and examined the different forms of those Republics which having been formed with the seeds of their own dissolution now no longer exist. And we have viewed Modern States all around Europe, but find none of their Constitutions suitable to our circumstances.”

Franklin continued:

In this situation of this Assembly, groping as it were in the dark to find political truth, and scarce able to distinguish it when presented to us, how has it happened,

Sir, that we have not hitherto once thought of humbly applying to the Father of lights to illuminate our understandings? In the beginning of the Contest with G. Britain, when we were sensible of danger we had daily prayer in this room for the divine protection.–Our prayers, Sir, were heard, & they were graciously answered. All of us who were engaged in the struggle must have observed frequent instances of a superintending providence in our favor. To that kind providence we owe this happy opportunity of consulting in peace on the means of establishing our future national felicity. And have we now forgotten that powerful friend? or do we imagine that we no longer need his assistance?

I have lived, Sir, a long time, and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth–that God Governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow can not fall to the ground without his notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his aid? We have been assured, Sir, in the sacred writings, that “except the Lord build the House they labour in vain that build it.” I firmly believe this; and I also believe that without his concurring aid we shall succeed in this political building no better, than the Builders of Babel…. I therefore beg leave to move–that henceforth prayers imploring the assistance of Heaven, and its blessings on our deliberations, be held in this Assembly every morning before we proceed to business, and that one or more of the Clergy of this City be requested to officiate in that Service.

Franklin’s motion was adopted that day, but the effect was gradual. A few days later, on July 10th, George Washington, who presided over the convention, still fretted over the outcome. In a letter to Alexander Hamilton he wrote, “I almost despair of seeing a favourable issue to the proceedings of our Convention, and do therefore repent having had any agency in the business.” But the convention continued and compromise began to follow compromise and at the close of four months the delegates closed the convention in triumph.

Madison records that upon concluding the proceedings Franklin turned “towards the President’s Chair, at the back of which a rising sun happened to be painted, [and] observed to a few members near him, that Painters had found it difficult to distinguish in their art a rising from a setting sun.” Now, Franklin said, “I have the happiness to know that it is a rising and not a setting Sun.”

To Washington it seemed that God had positively influenced the proceedings. A few months after the convention’s close, he wrote to Marquis de Lafayette, “It appears to me … little short of a miracle, that the Delegates from so many different States should unite in forming a system of national government….”

Prayer was presented as the simple solution to such a complex problem. In the textbook I use for the course, Franklin’s plea is interpreted as a silly solution to serious squabbles. But the words of Washington are touching.

He perceived the authoring of one of the foremost pieces of government ever established as nothing short of a miracle.