Passion 3000: Enough (Already)

If anyone is tight with the Passion crew I'd like to send a few messages their way:

To Gigolo: Enough already. How many albums and EPs and messages can you put out in a year? Somewhere early on in this whole thing you mentioned that you guys were just here to facilitate a worship revolution. Somewhere not long after that you announced at a conference that you felt that had happened and you were done. Somewhere not long after that I guess you forgot you said that and thought what you said was that you guys were here to set up a rock and roll show, artist/worshipper (or artist worshipping, I'm not sure which) kingdom. I liked the first idea better. And one more thing. Try to avoid blatantly contradicting yourself. If you're going to mouthe off about being all about God, try emphasizing that a little bit more. Or in simpler terms, don't name your tour, "The Passion Experience."

To Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie Hall: "Suddenly I feel you're leading me" in the same old repetitive songs you've been writing for the last 5 years. Anyone can write a song that says the same thing over and over (and over and over and over), and I think the Bible says something about meaningless repetition. You were good once, but you have forsaken Joel's Window.

To Tom Tom: You're short. Nonetheless, somehow that doesn't prevent you from writing good worship tunes. Let me know how all those trophies work out for you in heaven. Also, please be sure to let me know next time you plan to call "all the crazies in the house down to the praise pit." I'll be sure to be somewhere else that night.

To "Da Crowdster": You're really creative. Most of the time. However, you have a bad habit of recording one or two bad songs on each album. Let's work on that, OK? Oh, and this whole Passion scene's really holding you down. You ought to break off and do your own thing. Imagine: all the smoke and lights and screaming girls and... Wait. Nevermind.

To the Brit: You're getting played, man. They're using you for your writing. On average you get, what, one song per album to the three or more everyone else gets?

To Johnny P.: Why, when you live in the ghetto of Minneapolis, driving the same old jallopy you've been driving for the last 20 years, are you still hanging around these hooligans?

To the Board of Directors (if there is one): It's time to get back to the heart of (artist) worship. All the lights and smoke and stuff are making it hard for me to tell what kind of jeans Tomlin's wearing.

And finally, to you, the reader: Only you can prevent Passion buyers.

Peter's Story

This morning, after I realized that I had spent very little, if any, time thinking about and orienting myself towards remembering Jesus' sacrifice, I began reading the Passion narrative as retold by Walter Wangerin in The Book of God*. I found myself drawn deeply into the story, almost like never before. And I guess in some since it really was something new. Something hit me from the story I'd never given much thought. What was Saturday like? Assuming Jesus died on Friday, the Bible tells us some of what Friday night was like and then it skips to Sunday and the resurrection stories. But what about Saturday? What were the disciples thinking and feeling the day after? As I thought about this, I began to imagine that Peter felt something like this:

"Oh, God. How could I have been so stupid? Before it all happened He even warned me, "Peter, this very night before the first rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times." That crow was like a gavel. I'm guilty. A liar and fool. Traitor of the King of the Earth. And on top of that I damned those who had asked if I had been one of His disciples. I didn't just deny that I was one of His, I screamed for the death of the people He wanted to give life. Jesus, I'm so sorry. Forgive me!

"I don't think I can do this. He was the only hope I'd ever known. He's the only person who could ever help me get past my stupid mouth. I just can't live with myself. How could I have done this? God, I want to die! Kill me now or I'll do it myself. Jesus, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I said I'd follow you, but I didn't have it in me. Damn. Damn me. Please, God. Please, please kill me. I hate myself. I can't do this. I just...Wait a minute!

"Where were the other guys? What happened to James and John. Those bastards were always talking about calling down thunder. Where were they in the garden? How come they didn't try to fight like me? If they would have joined in, Jesus couldn't have stopped all three of us. We could have saved Him right then if those guys hadn't been such cowards. And what about Andrew? My own brother! And Matthew? Jesus was the only person in all of Galilee that ever gave a shit about him. Everyone else wanted the chop his head off. He just turned and ran. And Judas...If I find him, he'll wish he'd never been born..."

At this point I imagine the anger overcomes Peter and he loses it. Through his uncontrollable sobs he manages to get a little out.

"Oh, Jesus! Oh, God! I'm so sorry. I'm just as guilty as those other guys. Three times! You even warned me! How could I be so stupid?

"Jesus, I miss you so much."

He loses it again. This time he cries so hard he begins to dry heave. After about an hour of solid crying, he begins again.

"This hurts so bad! I miss you so much. You were... You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You taught me everything worth knowing. You were all that mattered. I'm sorry. I really thought I had it in me to follow you all the way. I'm so, so sorry... Please, God... End this. Kill me. It's too much..."

He slumps to the floor exhausted. After laying still for a few moments, he flies into a fit of rage, wrecking the room, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"WHERE ARE YOU? You promised that you came to save us and give us life. You said you were the way. Did you forget about us? How can you be the way when you're dead? YOU'RE DEAD! I left everything I'd ever known for you just to have you die and abandon me? How could I have been so crazy? Now, I'll never be anything but that crazy guy that left a decent life to follow some guy that died...

"Oh, God, what am I saying? You told us this would happen. You warned us that you would have to die. I just didn't imagine it'd be like this. I miss you, Jesus. I miss you like I never knew I could miss someone. I think I remember you talking about coming back from the dead. Something like three days. They taught me some prophesies about that in synagogue as a boy. Maybe so. God, I hope so. I think I can wait a couple days. That's what I'll do. If there's still no sign of you, I'm ending it all. There's nothing left if you're not.

"Oh, Jesus. I miss you so bad. I just want to hear your voice and walk with you again. I miss the way you always laughed at me and James and John when we got in fights about who was your favorite. I miss the way you made people's pain go away. I miss the way you loved me. Even though I was so foolish so much of the time. You made me see the only things that mattered. I wish you were here. I wish my pain would go away. I wish I could quit holding my breath. I miss you so bad. This hurts so much. Please, God.

"Oh, Jesus... Please, please be who you said you were."

(More to come later.)

*I borrowed a good bit of framework from Wangerin's book as well as the Gospels. I also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from him for characters other than Peter.

A Requiem For Love

I’m working through Calvin Miller’s A Requiem For Love. It is a brilliant, beautiful, and poetic dramatization of the events of Eden. It’s redeeming me in some significant ways. Get a copy.


Chapter II tells the story of Earthmaker (God) breathing life into Regis (Miller gives Adam and Eve the titles Regis and Regina, which mean King and Queen.). The resulting conversation is so beautiful that I’m not sure how to even comment on it, so I’m going to post verbatim.

The naked Prince laid down in the grass
Soaking life from Terra’s (Eden’s) soil.
“Son!” Earthmaker breathed the gallant word,
Soft and often as the breeze that
Whispered oaks alive.
“Gift unto Myself—
The Prince of presence—
Lest I should ever be alone.
Now, Regis, image of My Being,
You are the Child
To brighten My house
And the glad resolution to My years inside Myself.”

The new man listened, overcome by Presence.
To be given all the world at once,
Stopped his tongue
And left his wit too dead for words.
Overwhelmed, he broke the awesome quiet.
“Father, I receive Your gift of being, but
You have made me too rich
To name my wealth
And yet too poor
To give You anything of meaning.
I love with only giftless love.”

“Regis, there is no such thing as ‘giftless’ love.
The very words accuse each other.
My gift to you is love, but
Worship is your gift to Me.
And Oh, most glorious it is!
Worship always calls me ‘Father’ and
Makes us both rich with a common joy.
Worship Me, for only this great gift
Can set you from the killing love of self,
And prick your fear with valiant courage
To fly in hope through moments of despair.
Worship will remind you
That no man knows completeness in himself.
Worship will teach you to speak your name,
When you’ve forgotten who you are.
Worship is duty and privilege,
Debt and grand inheritance at once.
Worship, therefore, at those midnights
When the stars hide.
Worship in the storms till love
Makes thunder whimper and grow quiet
And listen to your whispered hymns.
Worship and be free.”
____________________________________

May you be continually freed.