And just like that, U2 sings into my life yet again...

Of course I got "No Line on the Horizon" right as it was released.
From the song, "I'll Go Crazy if I Don't Go Crazy Tonight":
Is it true that perfect love drives out all fear?/
The right to appear ridiculous is something I hold dear


How I need that love, that acceptance, and to know that whatever risk I take, it's going to be alright, even if I look ridiculous. I see often Christians (myself included) not living out their lives because of fear of breaking some kind of moral code. Scripture is often reduced to some kind of moral do's and don'ts. Though morals are included, reducing Scripture to only a puzzle of morality stifles the life Scripture breathes and the very word of God.

Ok, so the last paragraph is loaded. It's a sign of my wrestling with Something greater. I'm afraid to even press further at this time because I know that I will have to eat my words because I don't act out on my intellectual belief....I don't "do"...I haven't risked enough yet. I fear even naming it, but I am afraid of something greater behind it.

All I know is that I can't move forward without dwelling in that perfect love that casts out all fear.

I have freedom, yet I don't act as if I am free.

My Church Is Historical

Sigur Ros and the Kingdom of God

I cannot expound better on this amazing Sigur Ros video. My M.Div. brother Scott Small did such an amazing job. Please follow the link. I'll re-post the video here.

May we be like children and let our Kingdom imagination take flight.



Scott's write-up: http://treasureeverywhereblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/rhythm-of-kingdom.html

Snowpocalypse becomes Slushnasty

I have hot water folks. Thank you for your concern!
Seattle is dirty and disgusting. Now I can't get back to my parents' house for Christmas.
I've been working a lot at my coffee shop. Person after lost-looking person comes in because they can't fly out of SeaTac airport.
I'm ready to crash.
Blessings on your Christmas Day. May it truly be about Jesus, Emmanuel, God With Us...and not stuff.

Living Without

It is currently 6:30 in the evening. Temperature: 26 degrees Fahrenheit. Seattle has nearly shut down. Because of the snow? That's not it. The roads are covered in inches thick of ice.

My low-income apartment in haughty Belltown has no hot water. We haven't had any for a week, except on Monday. Our Landlord is busy trying to get it fixed.

Twice this week I've taken a bath by boiling water on the stove...which takes a long time. Baths are my way of "taking care of myself", as they like to say at my school. I like candles, maybe a glass of wine, Sigur Ros playing, and a warm bath. Sometimes I forgo the first three for listening to a podcast of This American Life.

I usually don't mind cold water showers, but it's just unsafe in this weather.

I feel like a pioneer. Or, really, that I'm a person who just has had to learn to do without.

I go into work tomorrow at 5:30 in the morning. Wish me luck.

Another poem that I didn't write (but wish I did)

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

by Mary Oliver

My Rule of Life (work in progress)

Tom Cashman, my professor for "Prayer, Practice, and Presence" had us write a rule of life. He acknowledges that it is definitely a work in progress. So here goes:

I dedicate myself to the working out of love and justice in and through the church;
To read and wrestle with Scripture in an honoring way;
To live simply so that others may simply live;
To search for the handiwork of God in people and their artistic expressions;
To move past self degradation and authentically love myself;
And develop practical ways to receive affirmation and other kinds of love so that I may give love to cultivate peace in and through me.

An Important Decision

By the way, I am now a Methodist of the United sort. Yay!

Don't you wish your seminary was hot like mine?

Cool school, eh?

But the following one is more recent, and Dwight makes me cry!

mhgs what no. 2 from blaine hogan on Vimeo.

And now, for a treat...

I had this on my MySpace blog, but I feel that my favorite piece of Russian animation deserves to be shown again.


A similarity has been observed between the owl and myself. "What a weirdo!"

I didn't write this...

but it speaks to me. It was for my Spiritual Formation class on prayer taught by Tom Cashman, an expert in Celtic Christianity.

Enemy of Apathy

She sits like a bird, brooding on the waters,

Hovering on the chaos of the world’s first day,

She signs and she sings, mothering creation,

Waiting to give birth to all the Word will say.



She wings over earth, resting where she wishes,

Lighting close at hand or soaring through the skies,

She nests in the womb, welcoming each wonder,

Nourishing potential hidden to our eyes.



She dances in fire, startling her spectators,

Waking tongues of ecstasy where dumbness reigned,

She weans and inspires all whose hearts are open,

Nor can she be captured, silenced or restrained.



For she is the Spirit, one with God in essence,

Gifted by the Saviour in eternal love,

She is the key opening the scriptures,

Enemy of apathy and heavenly dove.



(Enemy of Apathy, from the song book, The Iona Community, 1988)

"Here's my version of it: internal whirlwind"

(That's yet another Bjork quote)

I am in a confused time as I enter my 2nd year at MHGS. I woke up in the middle of the night a few nights ago, and feel something different in my nefesh. I have an awareness of something different in me, an awakening of a sort. I cry just about every day now. Compassion is coming forth from a hard soil that was once stoic.
Pastor Crystal asked me to write something for the folks at First Church about being a new(er) face in the crowd. You could come this Sunday and read it yourself... or read the unabridged version below. Enjoy. Ask questions.

I’m exhausted. Not only have I just completed a year of intense soul-engaged studies at seminary, but I have also spent the last decade giving all I had to various churches and parachurch ministries. I know what it is to run on fumes, but I’m unsure what it is like to receive.

I entered this congregation as a woman wounded, cynical, diminutive, and mute. As I cowered in the back pew, Pastor Crystal began the service by saying “You are welcome here”. Me? Really? But you don’t know my story. I’ve been deeply involved in evangelical churches. I’ve been to Pentecostal churches, and even spent 3 years in an emergent church. I’ve been around the church block. I love those family members, but feel the anxiety and pressure of not doing or being enough. Am I really welcome midst my anxiety, doubt, angst, and bitterness?

Recently I had coffee at Uptown with Pastor Crystal and she asked what First church could do for me. The question took me off guard. It sounded so foreign and took a few days to begin to register its meaning.

I’m used to the sermon (which I’ve given on more than a few occasions) “What can you do to serve the church?” or “You need to get right with God”. Not that those aren’t valid messages. The reality is such that I come with great need, an empty void, and need nourishment. These people of First Church, this diverse congregation that spans generations, welcome me in the midst of my mess.

I quickly discovered that the whole congregation is on a journey. It must be difficult for the oldest church in Seattle, with their rich history, to be “on the move” in more ways than one. First Church not only wonders how to share God’s love in the rapid change of the postmodern era, but are physically in between places. We are a people navigating an era with far less “black-and-white” assuredness than before. I hope that we all attempt to live in the questions and embrace mystery. I look around at my fellow pilgrims on a journey. May we, weary from our wanderings, all find home in the arms of God.

Disappointment

After much sweat was spent, my school invited a new theologian into our school's community. She agreed. We just found out this week that Dr. Nordling rescinded from coming to our school.
Currently, Mars Hill Grad School has two resident Divinity professors: Dwight Friesen, a practical theologian, and Joann Badly, a New Testament scholar.
We need more. We need a theologian. We need a spiritual director type person, and an OT scholar would be good too.
Now we Divinity folks, the minority at our school, have a program with these two brilliant people....and a bunch of adjuncts. We went from 5 to 2 in the past year and a half.
I feel like we are a bunch of ugly puppies that no one wants to adopt.
So...Know any theologians? Send them to us.

The Summer Heat is Heavy

I am a Seattle Swede. 90 degree weather is not something to look forward to for us. Especially in my case, since I live on the top of an old brick apartment building.
As I write this, I sit in my underthings with the fan on me. The only lights are from my laptop, the city lights of my neighbor buildings, and the full moon currently residing directly above the Warwick hotel. My headphones cradle my head with Hungarian Eurotrash dance pop.
There really is no break for M.Div.s at my school in the summer. I still have one paper left, which directly afterwards is an intensive course for a week, then the fall.
I found an interesting picture. You can probably tell that Bjork means a lot to me; she is my high priestess. Her viking blood connects her to our past as scandinaviens and her avant garde vision makes her a prophetess. Someone recently told me that he sees me as a kind of Bjork for the church.
I can hope, can't I?

The Artistic Impulse,etc.

My class, Theology and the Artistic Impulse, has a blog. Its a fantastic course. I wish it was spread out over the whole term and not in an intensive format. We talk a lot about trinitarian theology and how it is revealed through the arts. Schoenberg thought he was all that and a sacher torte. The professor included a great lecture on how music reveals further understanding of the Trinity.

So last night was my birthday party. I think that I have a habit of over-inviting. I invited 35, thinking no more then ten would show. We had about 20. We descended on Cyclops, which is a bar about a block from the school (since I just got out of Hebrew class). It was good. I needed to feel loved. Danica and about 5 other Olympians came and fought rush hour traffic for my love. Tomika did my make-up. A good number of M.Div.s were there. Tim had a dream that he was going to dress up as David Gahan of Depeche Mode for my birthday...I'm disappointed he didn't. It was a good day.

31 doesn't feel terribly different than 30.

Life is hard

This has been a rough week. I worked 24 rigorous hours and tried to do my school work in-between those hours, couple with 2 2-hour classes.

It is quite difficult to balance seminary and work. As you can probably tell, Mars Hill Grad School is a community and an institution that really provides such support, depth, and life for me. I am a person that comes alive when exploring the profundity of God and creation. It has been difficult, but wonderful.

Work: I like coffee and I like people. I enjoy being a barista at the market. However, there is this corporate side to it that sneaks in. Wednesday was our new promotion launch. My manager was there all day and I felt the pressure to "upsell" (Do you want a muffin with your latte? Do you want fries with that?). I'm a barista and a seminarian, not a salesperson. Anyway, there were all these little things (and bigger things) that I'll refrain from saying that had happened that day. I was busy and had no rest.

I got off work that day at 2, went home and lied down for about ten minutes (Thank you God that I live in Belltown), and then went to school for my 3:00 class. My walk to the school was wearied, angry, and frustrated. I shot mental bullets at many passers by, especially tourists. (How dare they take up space and be in my way? How dare they look good and have a good time? I don't get such luxuries.)

When I got to school, Scott asked me how I was doing. He saw something was up. He invited me to sit down with him and I crashed in that chair in the lounge. I collapsed in tears and weariness. It was good to have him listen to me, especially since I live on my own and two of my dear friends are away.

I worked the next day, and it was hard again. That was Thursday. I spent the last half of Thursday and most of Friday recuperating: shades drawn, watching Lord of the Rings.
Hopefully I can catch up on homework today. However, my body (I think) has responded to my stress as I am fighting a sore throat.

striving to get by in pricey, pricey Seattle

The Flight of the Conchords sing my pain. At least they have synthesizers.

Sometimes I Feel Like This...

Further Proof That My School Rocks!

Not only will Mars Hill Graduate School be featured in this month's Belltown Messenger and on the front page, we were given a fantastic write up in the Seattle P-I!

I continue to hope and pray that MHGS continues to have a good impact on the Belltown community. MHGS, along with First United Methodist, are asking the questions and attempting to be Christ in this area of Seattle.

It's an odd community because it has many new condominiums housing the young and wealthy that live amongst such poverty. When things go well, the paper calls it "Belltown". When something criminal happens, its referred to an older name: the Denny Regrade.

This creates opportunity to bless both parties. May the Spirit grant us creativity and boldness in revealing the humanity of both groups to each other and let love pour down from the heavens.

Born in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time: The Tragedy of the East German Olympic Young Women

Brett and I watched this documentary last night on PBS. Secrets of the Dead: Doping for Gold tells the story of the young women of the East German Olympic team in the 70s. They were born behind the Iron Curtain, part of a country under constant surveillance of the Stasi while living in constant fear and paranoia. Gulags and disappearances loom as a threat to any person that disobeys the Soviet regime.
These girls were doped, mostly without their knowing, with steroids. This resulted in increased liver trouble and incredible masculinisation: deepened voices, pale pattern body hair, Adam's apples and the like.
These women suffer irreversible damage. Katerina (I believe that is her nam) is now in her 40s. She looks like a man. She said that she just stopped trying to wear feminine closthing since so many commented in public that she looks like a man. This breaks my heart.
Another figured that she was so far down the man path already, she had a sex change. Andreas married a former swimming medalist from the same era.
What broke my heart the most is what I now have led up to. A silver medalist swimmer of that era, an American, traveled to Berlin to make sense of this. She felt that, in a sense, she deserves the gold medal and wished that the gold medalist would give it up for her. That would be right to her. She met this woman. This East German woman suffered abuse under the communist regime and has incredible health issues as a result. The markings on her soul will be taken to her grave.
As the American medalist said "As an American..." it just ran fingernails over my inner chalkboard. I know what she was meaning. When I moved back to the States, its the thing that infuriates me: entitlement. I deserve what I want because: I earned it, worked hard for it, paid for it, I'm an American.
As a barista in the coffee capital of the world, I deal with rather particular people on their purchase: not too hot, extra hot, no foam, split shot, wet cappuccino, dry, espresso picked by an old blind man in Zimbabwe while whistling show tunes.
At what price?
Somewhere along the line, humanity is ignored. We may not see it, but there is a person behind our purchases. There are people behind our "entitlement".