Oh Happy Day!

It's amazing how theology happens to you sometimes.

I've been to rock concerts before. You buy a ticket, find your seat (sometimes - usually you don't) and spend the rest of the evening plugging your ears and jumping up and down. I've been to worship concerts too. You stand there feeling like you should raise your hands and look dedicated, but you think everyone's looking at you (they aren't) so you don’t.

This was a worship rock concert. I was confused. We bought tickets and found our seats. We performed the whole pre-concert crowd roar; people were leaning over railings, standing in their rows, running out to the bathroom and back, finding tee-shirts, or sitting in their seats – and everyone was talking to someone. We all knew the drill and played out the same scenario that’s happened at every concert I’ve been to. It was when the music started that I was confused.

All the worship I’ve been too has had a toned down beat and gentle lyrics. This worship concert was different. The drums and the lead guitar didn’t sound nice anymore, they sounded wild. Party wild. Kinda took my breath away. But after all, they’re the opening band. Guess that’s what you’d expect. I shrugged and smiled, moving a little to the beat. And then the lead band came out.

Music ripped through the air and battered our willing ear drums. Vibrations shoved themselves up through the cement floor and rattled my feet, like laughter. Lights flashed on their rotary stands, stabbing into my eyes for a millisecond before beaming at the next eager face.

Thoughts tumbled slowly and thickly through my mind.

The idea of worship left me and I began to just sing. There was no hope of hearing my own voice above the roar, but I opened my mouth and joined with hundreds of others to let the band know that we were singing too, however unnoticeably.

The pointlessness of trying to make noise turned my mind back to the words I was singing. “Sing, sing sing, and make music to the heavens! I will sing, sing, sing, Grateful that you hear us. As we shout your praise, lift high the name, Of Jesus!” I began to feel them. I stopped trying to sing well and sang to God. I lifted my face and closed my eyes. “Grateful that you hear us…” Almost without my consent, my arms lifted and I reached for the God I was singing to. I was no longer thinking about who was watching, because God was watching, and taking pleasure.

Finally the rumbling beneath my feet and the drum beat rattled me back to the auditorium. I began jumping with the rest of the crowd. And I wondered where the worship had gone. Here we are, having a celebration, I thought with something bordering on fear, but this is a worship concert! What were we doing wrong?

Nothing. We’re not doing anything wrong! We’re celebrating GOD! Call it a thunderbolt moment if you will, but I think that’s an understatement. I found myself unable to stop bouncing and singing and reaching up. I had so much praise inside, and it kept coming out in action and song.

Realizations demand thinking time, which there was not a lot of during a rock and worship concert. I simply discovered that God enjoys a celebration. And that it doesn’t take a degree in theology to discover something like that.

It was a second incident that completed my lesson. I took up my usual evening stance – sitting cross legged on the bed with my Bible and journal in my lap, enjoying the silence of my family asleep. Tomorrow was Bible Study with a few girls from youth group. My brain slapped me to point out that perhaps I should actually read the chapter we’ll be studying tomorrow.

John 2:2- “Jesus also was invited to the wedding with his disciples. When the wine ran out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.” His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” …Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water… and take [some] to the master of the feast.” So they took it. When the master of the feast tasted the water now become wine…” (Bold mine)

And I stopped. Jesus’ statement caught me. “My hour has not yet come.” Before this night, my question always remained: If Jesus’ hour to do miracles had not come, why did he do a miracle? An answer dropped into my head. “To let the party continue.”

What?!  “Yes. To let the party continue.” I shook my head and read further, waiting for a testimony of somebody’s life changed, a soul given new life through this incident. There was none.

And gradually, the concept merged with my experience. God enjoys celebrating.

My first, fleeting thought was Could it be? And then I wondered, more accurately, Would I want it any other way?

It’s a bigger lesson in theology than I’ve had in a while. And I’m still celebrating it.

I tried.

You have to want something so you can try it.
You have to try it so you can make mistakes.
You have to make mistakes so you can figure you out what you did wrong.
Once you figure out what you did wrong, you can do it right.

I want to be a good writer. So I tried.

My Creative Writing class is interesting. It's very laid back. For the poetry section, we have to post an original poem of any form to the forum online and revise it over the next few weeks. I guess what really bothered me was that there weren't any requirements as to what kind of poem we had to write. In another class I took (from a different school) we were required to write three poems of three different styles.

Anyway, it was really tempting to sit there and post a poem from the other class, because I had already been told it was well written. But I challenged myself and wrote a new one. Then I posted both of them to the forum.

The first one I wrote for Intro to Lit last year. It's a Shakespearean sonnet - the rhyme scheme is ABBA ACCA DEDEDE {with a subtle break between the first and second groups of four lines, and between the first 8 and following 6}. The form overall is that during the first eight lines, a dilemma or situation is described and in the second six, it is resolved or changed.

Battle Worthy Spring

I fain would have a battle-worthy Spring

To spite cold Winter's crude and cruel designs.

Invoked by her, our tired and weary sighs,

Our dirges and our mournful carols ring.

And winter's vice!—her mortal arrows sing—

Snow; snow; in drifting, streaming lines

The rain and weeping, howling wind betimes

Encircle dwellings all, with icy wings.

But sunlight warms, inspires our tongues to dance

With soft, sly songs of coming season's cheer

And words of buds and blooming. Every chance

Of stolen sunshine gives us reason more to leer

As wounded Winter with her shattered lance

Admits a battle-worthy Spring for one more year.

{It's coming guys!}

Second poem: (no name yet - another Shakespearean Sonnet)
We hold our breaths one season of each year.
Fall, spring and summer bring us joy; surprise;
Winter freezes through – snow in shocked eyes,
And cold outlines the warmth within our cheer.
A stouter heart arises out of fear
Our motto: we will champion, not enjoy.
We suspect charming Winter’s beauty ploy.
We hide our weakness from those held most dear.
But restlessness drags us outside in guilt.
One moment, just to feel the wind, I swear.
We laugh, grasp living white as if a hilt—
For the innocent spectator to appear.
And soon the snow is unarranged and spilt –
It’s pattern spelling love of winter clear.




Um...let me know if you have a good name for the second poem!! Critique is welcome. That's what they're here for. Like I said, we have to try so we can make mistakes.