A Dwelling Place and a Kingdom

Image © Topher Ayrhart 2014

Imagine two people who've known each other in passing for some time both being invited to a house concert. They show up to that home carrying all that they are - their fears, their scars, their inexpressible hearts - such eternal beauties. They long like everybody longs to be touched, to make real human contact and be known deeply. They long to deeply know another in a way that is life giving, beautiful, and holy. But they don't know how to say it. If they are two sides of a ravine that look across to the other, they may know of one another, but what will be the bridge to build a connection between them? 

Or perhaps they are disparate threads who long to be woven into a common fabric. What provision will place a pattern before their eyes to draw them both up into a shared quilting of hearts? 

Then the music begins. The storyteller steps in front of the small crowd of loose attachments and begins to sing. He begins to open his heart as an intercessor who prays with his very life for the ones before him. In the songs he utters those deep points of contact that have for so long remained unutterable or even perhaps unidentified for most. The hearts of the listeners are like dark skies in which tiny glimmerings begin to shine and constellate into knowing forms. The singer speaks in all the varied tongues of his listeners a prayer that he hopes will communicate fire from the heart of the One who made all of us - the miracle is that a common tongue, a common language begins to settle among everyone in the room. 

The last note fades into a soft 'amen' and the guitar is resting on its stand. Our two acquaintances strike up a conversation. At first they're not certain about what. They are digging to find the pearl of great price - that seed that nourished in them a possibility that there was some growing bridge between them that could hold their weight and span their distances. They turn together the pages of memory and uncover for each other what the evening has meant to them. Now with a common tongue they find expression for parts of their deep hearts that they hadn't before. Each is thankful to find another soul who knows something they know, loves something they love, has grieved in some way they have grieved. 

And so they find themselves in a room together. On the walls are paintings of lovers embracing, of a child on an untimely deathbed, of the charred remains of a house. In the air is the scent of grass, cinnamon, and old books. Still lingering in the walls are the melodies and phrases that helped build the habitat for growing friendship. They walk together in conversation from picture to picture. "The dying child was my older brother before I was born," says one. "The dying child was my firstborn," says the other. "The lovers embracing are my parents in old age," says one. "The lovers embracing were my friends and I before the fight," says the other. "The house that burned down was my selfishness that nearly ruined me," says one. "The house that burned down was my heart and body after the abuse," says the other. 

They wander around the room - forgetting the discomfort of their gray metal folding chairs. The old books, the grass, the cinnamon are there like an invisible cloud of witnesses urging them on. Has each person in the room found a new kind of space to dwell in? Have the songs and stories and eye contact and proximity accumulated to frame a room-alive for us all? Can we meet there and weep, or laugh, cry out, or just silently wait together? 

I'm a singer and songwriter so these are my reference points. And I'm thankful for the songwriters who nourish honesty, intimacy, and healing in my life and friendships. But my sister the gardener could write this in her own words. I've seen her cultivate a habitat for the neighborhood children who come to play in her yard. My brother the chef could write this in his own words. I've seen him set a table with careful ingredients not least of which are laughter, quiet understanding, and gentleness. My own Dad does it by planting trees and tending fields; my Mother with art, conversation, and kindness.

"Because we loved you so much, we were delighted to share with you not only the Gospel of God but our very lives as well." We all have the life and gifts we have, like a medium of clay or paint or words, with which we may intercede for others and cultivate a habitat where they can grow. We can make room, create a kind of space, or create a space of kindness, where loneliness is swallowed up in welcome, pain is tended with tenderness, grief is walked through in safety, and joy is grown in family. Are you and I not the disparate strands that Jesus has threaded through the needle's eye miraculously and woven into the storied tapestry of his own astonishing beauty? Are we not the stones with which God himself is building a dwelling place and a Kingdom?

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PS:  Thanks to all from the Rabbit Room and those who attended the Laity Lodge retreat this past weekend. I was so encouraged by you all and the 'room' you made with your 'very lives'.

Links:
www.laitylodge.com
www.rabbitroom.com
www.topherayrhart.com
www.matthewclark.net

Poem from Laity Lodge

I have more I'd like to say about this past weekend at Laity Lodge with the Rabbit Room folks, but for now I'll fulfill a favor to my friend Diana by posting a poem I wrote in Jennifer Thrafton Peterson's fantastic writing workshop. 

A quick explanation... Jennifer had laid out on the table tops hundreds of little tickets with words or phrases written on them. We were asked to wander around and make from these scattered words phrases or pairings silly as you please or otherwise. We wrote those on a piece of paper. Then we were asked to use them to write a poem of praise. I found myself giggling with veritable glee as I rummaged the word hoard. I'm still feeling the joy of this imaginative exercise!  So here's my poem. 

Glory be to God

     For wretched rhinoceros grabbing glubs!

     Raise a gnat shout for savoury surgeon ice cream

     all you sizzling dinosaur faced ones! 

Enjoy more cowboy courage. 

Can't you smell, spectacular nostrils? 

Welcome home restless infant, forget that slow 

spooky dance  and open your soul to tremulous 

honesty at the end of the path, 

rambunctious sky-dancing planets, 

the mystery of ask - 

the surprising manner in which the magic 

goat's beard tucked away pampered desire. 

One last look glided tenderly alone 

and the awkwardly laughing community 

     stood fast. 

Imagine the feeling. When sculpted spiders yanked

all I wanted to be. Save the world 

pungent applesauce! 

Save us from this cleverly tunneling 

technology leviathan. From the malevolent 

raven goggles - we surrounded

by cantankerous tarantula hoards. 

I remember when the freeloading 

caterpillars thumped the sacred places. 

How could I forget how the towering wild

horses croaked glowing mushrooms - 

     we were lost then - 

The weight of the hippopotamus 

made it all seem stronger than steel. 

     But then... 

Run faster creeping venom giants! 

Nightmare held captive! 

     Finally...

Ruby heaven masterpiece. 

Praise the Lord!

Road Diary: October 2013

There's still a bit of traveling to go, but the bulk of touring for this month has ended and the verdict is in: it was wonderful! If I had to give a single thematic word association to the tour it would be: Hospitality.

Omaha, NE at the Lantrip's

Hospitality is at the core of the music my friends (Abbye West Pates, Jeff Pates, and Brian Mulder) and I make. On this tour over and over again we were amazing at the hospitality of those who hosted us in their homes, re-arranged their living rooms for house concerts, cooked us meals, and listened with care and grace to our songs and stories.

As people opened their doors and hearts to us beautiful memories bloomed. On the ride home we recounted some of our favorite moments from our travels - long slow conversation over a laden breakfast table with the Sisoukrath family,  late night basement jam sessions with the Hightower family, enthusiastic after-show talks at the Lantrip's in Omaha, sweet tears and friendship joining grief and expectant joy with the Hendersons, deep rest and lots of vinyl listening with the Johnsons, a packed room bearing witness to years of community in Holland, Michigan, Hymns and Psalms poured over us in Indiana, and an old friend's church welcoming a night of telling the Story of Redemption to cap it all off.

Becca pours coffee and spins the vinyl for us in Oshkosh, WI

All that and we got to do what we love- play these songs we've been living into existence for the last many years. Deep gratitude is also due to my friends. Being around three other people day in and day out for three weeks solid, sleeping in a new place nearly every night, and spending long hours in a car has the potential to create stress for even the closest of friends - but I couldn't ask for more graceful, kind, and humble folks to travel alongside. Some the richest moments were uncovered in the daily conversations we carried among us.

Tom and Deb Henderson hosted us as an Adoption Fundraiser in Minneapolis, MN

Thank you all for making room for us and making what we do possible! If you are interested in booking a concert email me: matthew(at)matthewclark.net

What is the greatest gift you've ever gotten?

Last weekend a dear old friend and his little daughter drove several hours to visit me. Many times over the course of the weekend, I felt such a joy simply to share the same room with them. To look across at the chair that I've never seen my friend sitting in and find him there. To have his daughter's laughter fill a room that had not yet known it.

Two old buddies are happy to get a visit.

A long time ago another friend of mine told me that the greatest gift you can give another person is a visit. Now I love words so my mind begins making connections...

1. Visit - vision:  These words are made out of each other. That's why we say, I'm going to go see so and so, because we are going to vision/visit them. A rich word like behold works well here. I'm going to deeply behold, look into, understand and celebrate another person as I perceive their true dignity and personhood in Christ.

2. Visitation: When Mary pregnant with Jesus visits Elizabeth pregnant with John the Baptist, they pay each other great honors. They make room for each other just as room has been made within them for the Messiah and his Herald. They are caught up in divine visitation, and what spills over is the beauty of human hospitality and joy.

3. Visit in prison: I've been told that one of the biblical understandings of visit has to do with attending to a prisoner. Now attending is a rich word. It's made out of words like tender, to tend, attention, tension, tenet, tendon, and so on. The imagery is one of reaching out to hold on to and care for something or someone. To touch them and their needs.

All of these have to do with the giving of oneself in deep, actual Presence physically, mentally, resourcefully, emotionally - all of which are of course spiritual. When we make the choice to visit another person we are showing great respect (a word which means to re-spect or again-spectate/repeatedly-look at). We are telling them, in essence, that we deeply enjoy and love to be near to all that they are.

Jesus has paid us the ultimate honor. He has visited us. He has come to look long and deeply at us. He has come to find a place of dwelling in the flesh which when he created it he created with the capacity to welcome Himself. He has come to reach out and care for us. He has died and risen so that we may mirror his visitation eternally in his Presence as his guests. And if visiting is done well, everyone finds themselves finally at home.

Should you make bad art? Yes!

My brother Sam is a potter and sculptor. (click here) He's really good. There are a lot of old coffee mugs and creatures of his scattered around our family's homes. Sometimes I've picked up a mug that was heavy and awkward and ugly or seen a sculpted dragon that was lumpy, poorly detailed, and expressionless. In short, Sam used to make bad art. Which is exactly why he makes good art now.

Robot Mug by Sam Clark

I am a songwriter and guitar player. I've been doing it for around 20 years now, and sometimes I dig around in the old computer files and find songs from early on that are absolutely terrible (there are plenty of terrible new songs too)!

In our instant gratification society, we expect shortcuts to everything. A sense of craftsmanship is lost to us due to mass manufacturing. In turn, everything looks the same and everything seems perfect. Since we are seldom involved in the processes of making the things we use, we rarely see the reality of how things come to be. That process is messy, mistake-ridden, slow, thoughtful, and wonderful.

Some of the very best parts of being human are the parts that can never be mass produced or experienced in any kind of efficient manner. Can you mass produce character quickly? We try with endless self-help books, but character must be developed over the long haul like becoming a master violinist.

We can't expect to make good art at the first. But we must begin. So if you want to make good art, then start making bad art and keep going. Chesterton said, "Anything worth doing is worth doing badly."

Jamaica Orphanage, New Kids Album, and a stolen bank account?

The last couple of weeks have been an adventure! I just returned from Montego Bay, Jamaica where my friend and fellow singer/songwriter Andrew Best and I recorded the last vocal tracks for a new children's album at Robin's Nest Children's Home. But it almost didn't happen!

Yeah Mon, good times wit de Robin's Nest Kids!

So I got to the airport a week ago, walked up to the check-in kiosk and realized that my passport was a three hour drive away in a drawer by my bed. There was no way to get it in time to make my flight. So I spent some time on the customer service line booking a new flight for the next day. BUT when I tried to pay for the flight: "Sir, I'm sorry but your card is being rejected, perhaps you should call your bank and get it cleared up."

Next, I call the bank: "Sir, have you been withdrawing hundreds of dollars every day from an ATM in Florida for the past week? Your account is eight hundred dollars overdrawn." What!?  So my account was completely drained by someone who had stolen both my card number and somehow knew my pin number too. All the customer service folks were great though I must admit.

Thankfully, I got the money together and my friends Abbye and Jeff Pates helped me buy a new ticket and Delta even waived the two hundred dollar transfer fee. I drove home and got my passport and made it to Jamaica only a day late (but more than a few dollars short).

We had a great week with the kids at Robin's Nest. Next, I'll be mixing in the studio the next few weeks. Andrew and I are excited to finish the CD! It will be available later this Fall and the sales will go to support the orphanage.

Visit the Robin's Nest website for more info: www.robinsnestchildrenshome.org

Knowing and being known in the digital age

I sat with a newly-met pastor recently. I sensed a kind of trustworthiness in him and a shepherd's heart so I opened up a little more than I might to most folks I've only known for a little while. At one point we talked about being vulnerable and he commented that sometimes as a preacher his congregation would be amazed at how vulnerable he could be in his sermons, but that even vulnerability can be something we carefully calculate. He said even he knows how to be 'vulnerable' without really putting himself at risk.

I have close friends who know a lot about me. They see me and love me still. There's always a deep desire to be known - to really be vulnerable and true. It's hard enough to be honest with ourselves, isn't it? In many ways, I don't even want to know who I really am! I'd gross myself out!

It's no wonder that our society feels very lonely. It's no wonder we feel unknown. We have a hard time being honest with ourselves and in a digital age what others know of me is exactly what I choose for them to know. I'm all for keeping in touch and sharing a kind of connection over the internet, but the truth is it's a very calculated knowing, isn't it? There are no short-cuts to intimacy.

I'm deeply grateful for the ones in my life who know me and challenge me to be honest with myself and with God. I'm thankful for a God who doesn't baby me - even his grace on the cross is a call to come clean about the reality of my need for him. My need for Jesus is all I have to offer him. (Brennan Manning says children get into the kingdom not because they are innocent, but because they are in touch with their incompetence!) All my heroism and good ideas are really just shame morphing into a kind of pride (most of my coping mechanisms are efforts to achieve atonement for myself).

My love and my life is nothing to write home about. So much failure. But Jesus' eyes are open wide. His mercies are open wide - thank God because his mercy is all I've got. It is enough.