The crown jewel of this summer’s cinematic experience (for me, at least) is Superman, which drops July 11. Now we’re starting to get a better sense of the movies that will (hopefully) fill theater seats in the days around Superman. Yesterday we got our first look at Fantastic Four: First Steps. Here’s that teaser:
Looks good, better than I’d expected. I’ve wondered for years how the MCU would incorporate its “first family” (just like I’d wondered how it would incorporate the X-Men). Looks like the multiverse is going to be the way that it happens. It will be interesting to see how well the movie stands on its own while also setting things up for Marvel’s next few big movies.
The other release that I have hope for, and whose trailer dropped today, is the new Jurassic Park . . . I mean, World, movie: Jurassic World: Rebirth. I hope that the casting of a name like Scarlett Johannson means the movie will be serious fun. The trailer makes me think so (which is kind of needed after the previous World movies, which probably took themselves a little too seriously).
Jurassic World: Rebirth drops July 2 while Fantastic Four: First Steps drops July 25th.
Seth Godin has had a few resonant posts for me these last couple of weeks that are worth bookmarking and sharing.
In this post, he talks about slowing down and speeding up. The post’s last line: Hurry, but don’t rush.
Godin says something significant about systems here and interestingly distinguishes between problems and situations here.
He gives a great word about “process culture” here and points out a significant truth about education and learning here. I really like the title of that one: “Don’t Steal the Revelation.”
April may be the cruelest month, but January feels like the longest. That seems to be the way that some people feel, at least. Maybe it’s because the end of December is more loosey-goosey and less defined and then the page turns to January and not even a mid-month holiday can help it’s thirty-one days feel like an unexpected trudge.
I’ll admit: it took me about three weeks to lose the shine of the joy from the Christmas holiday. The latter half of this past week was rough on a couple of different levels. Yesterday was a step in the right direction to “get it back,” but maybe that “shine” is really a holiday thing anyway.
A “long January” is the perfect reason for humility and grace when it comes to things like “new year’s resolutions.” I like to think of it as a whole month to get your footing, because a good year is a long game. And while I don’t have any particular resolutions, I do have habits and practices that I hope to get better at.
So this time next week we’ll be freshly into February. But for now it’s January just a little bit longer. And that’s okay. Let the car warm up, do your stretches, get your ducks in a row. 2025 is just getting started.
There are two kinds of sentences that one should hear at church or in relationships with other Christians. One should be primary, the foundation for everything that could follow. Unfortunately, the second one has become the actual primary sentence stem, and (as good as things might be), things are worse of for it.
The primary conversation with Christians should begin with “What has God been saying …” or “What is God doing …” These bring the reminder that God is always at work, that He is present and real and the proper foundation for things. The real is relational.
The secondary conversation can then move to the “Could you …” or “Would you …” Because life as we often choose to set it up requires people to get things done. Remove the primary conversation, though, what you end up with is systems management and people as pawns in programs. This becomes something like institutional instrumentalism, and while it gets things done, it comes with an unnecessary long-term cost.
There has to be room for both conversations, but primacy should be given to the first, especially in the long run. The Christian faith is more than program management.
This past Christmas break was the first one where I felt like all of the “unbundling” of the last few years of work and church could finally be felt. There was a lightness to things for me, an appropriate size to life. So one of my goals going into January was to see what things cluttered up the open spaces as things started back up.
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These past two weeks have felt like a month. Strange to think that last Monday was a professional development day that brought with it multiple levels of conversation. Then classes started and then Spirit Week (has) happened. “The days,” Calvin said, “are just packed.” Which is why a impending three-day weekend is such a welcome thing.
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It’s been something of an odd week for me. Each afternoon I’ve made my way downtown to set up at Starbucks with a caramel macchiato and the hope of “sitting” with things: reflecting, writing, catching up on some reading. It comes with an end today, but it has been nice. I’ve benefited a little more intentional with Varden’s Healing Wounds, which has been good for me. I’ve also tried to check back in with a couple of eateries downtown that I haven’t frequented in a while.
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While nothing like the weather that’s about to hit the mainland, we are about to take a slight dip in temperatures ourselves here. I know it sounds funny, but waking up to the chill of the 60s is such a great thing. And my weather app says that should happen every morning for the next week or so. I have to confess, it’s makes getting to the gym just a bit more difficult. But not impossible.
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This week Disney’s Star Wars: Skeleton Crew came to an end. It was a great series, one that worked on multiple levels for me. Word is that it’s also the least-watched Star Wars live-action series on Disney+, which is unfortunate. It has a greatness of its own. It also came to a satisfying conclusion, which is nice. Revisiting the characters from At Attin would be great, but it’s not necessary. It did open up the Star Wars story nicely, and all without bringing in any big names or characters.
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I’ve been trying to put together a couple of playlists, one for the morning and one for the afternoon/evening. While putting things together, I can across this song from Indelible Grace. I like it quite a bit.
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I am hopeful for the weekend. I’ve got some work to do, which is fine. It will help me work through the rest of the week (with is good since Monday holidays aren’t the best). I hope to experience some of that “lightness” that came with Christmas break. It’s possible, I think, and I’m hopeful for it.
It seems to me that a big part of daily life is a matter of managing the stacks. Because things pile up.1Lots of things pile up, which requires a lot of sorting. But the sorting, however meticulous it is, still isn’t actually working your way through the stacks. And so you have to choose what you allow to pile up (assuming that you have some agency there) and how long you allow the pile to grow. And so maybe the “home” stack grows and grows while you attend the work pile (or vice versa). Maybe it’s about the books you read instead of the movies you want to watch. For a student it might be the games you play while the homework pile grows larger and larger.
And so part of the management of daily life that you likely have to learn on your own (and from experience, no doubt) is about working through the stacks as best you can when you can, knowing that the lower the stacks, the better and healthier you likely feel. It’s difficult work, on some level, but it’s also the better way.
1 This is not the same as bundling/unbundling, which I talked about here. That’s more about tying tasks together, which looks good in the short term but can be harmful and almost irreversible in the long run.
Routines are good and necessary things. At the very least, they can be scaffolding and safeguards. Without care, though, you can fall into the unfortunate side of a routine: the rut. The rut is a good thing turned into drudgery. And the harder you work at it, the deeper in the muck you get. At its best, though, you move to the other side of the routine life: the groove. There’s meaning, purpose, and passion there. The groove is optimal and should be something like the norm. At least that’s the hope.
While I don’t think big decisions should be made on little etymological nuances, those nuances are often intriguing. Case in point: resolve and resolutions.
Counselor and author Chip Dodd starts his January newsletter with some thoughts on the terms:
Resolution literally means to “untie again,” implying that something has become bound or knotted, and needs to be loosened or freed.
We really don’t like being knotted up or captured by something. A resolution is actually rooted in a desire to become untied and freed from the constrictions. Resolutions are about freedom, like a cast being removed or manacles being unlocked. We think they are about being bound and determined. They are not. They are about wanting to be “untied” or free!
It’s clear that Dodd wants to go a specific place with this approach to resolutions and the New Year. And it’s just different enough from what we expect that it resonates nicely. I spent some time a couple of years ago attempting to “unbundle” responsibilities and tasks that I had “wound together” in an attempt to be efficient and effective (but that left me unnecessarily exhausted). I did check the Online Etymological Dictionary, by the way. Dodd’s take is definitely there, but it is far from the only one. I’d also be interested in seeing someone tease out the idea of “resolution” as it relates to images and clarity. There’s some good stuff there, too.
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Speaking of resolutions, here’s one more classic Calvin and Hobbes strip on the topic. Typical Calvin.
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This morning I realized that Steven Curtis Chapman’s Still album from 2022 is a perfect “New Year’s” album, From start to finish, there’s a great sense of the big picture of life as it can be lived in God’s Story. It’s honest in its assessment of life, the good and the bad, and is a great reminder of God’s faithfulness. Here’s the video for the title track.
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I’ve got a few days before officially reporting back to work. But I’ve got much to accomplish, so getting back into the swing of things is just around the corner. I’ve already answered a few work texts this morning, a precursor to being more intentional this afternoon, I suppose. I came back to slightly rainy and slightly cooler conditions on the island, which is always nice. There are still a few Christmas decorations still up, which is nice (my own tree stays for a few days more). This morning I splurged for breakfast with a caramel machiatto, a rare treat for me.
I’m sitting in the A-gates area of the Denver International Airport. I’ve spent the last nine days in Tennessee seeing family and friends, and it was a really good trip. I learned some time ago that the only way to get away from work was to leave the island (and even then it can creep in). I’m grateful for the good work I get to do, but I’m also grateful for a chance for food, sleep, and familial/friendly affection. So now I’m about thirty minutes away from boarding my flight back to HNL.
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I’m not much for resolutions, mainly because the work of change is constant. Part of it is the mess of me, of course, but part of it is also the state of things around us. Those two things live in constant tension, really, and only find resolution in the work of God through Jesus and the sending of the Spirit. With that comes great freedom and a sense of great responsibility (both its weight and its sense of excitement). I think it’s okay to exist in a place of “resolved but never solved” because that’s the way life is, both by design and by dysfunction. Some things, as Steven Curtis Chapman sings, are just unfixable. Maybe “okay” isn’t the right word, as that sounds like too much acquiescence. It’s the nature of things.
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I think for me, times like this are an opportunity to check on the scaffolding of life. That’s both long-standing habits and practices but also the addition of new things here and there. I’m looking forward to more from Erik Varden, the Bishop of Trondheim (I just like typing that), both for his new book on the crucifixion but also for his year-long look at the lives of the Desert Fathers that starts up today. I start the new year the same way I ended the old one, with a sense that the monastic movement and the recovery movement have a lot to offer the window of life we call now. They are key to finding a healthy groove in which to live, I believe.
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The time to head to the gate to board has come. I’m well aware that landing in HNL will bring with it a list of things to take care of, especially for work. I’d like to think that I’m returning in a better state than I left in. It’s a matter of “resolved but never solved,” though, so maybe it’s more about both time and timing. And that’s a good thing. Happy New Year!
I’ve done a decent job of being in “break mode,” I think, but this recent post by Richard Beck unexpectedly took me back a few weeks to a meeting I was in. The article, for which I am grateful, is about how you can find both enchantment and disenchantment in any given congregation. That’s not something I disagree with at all. It’s true of any Christian institution or organization. But it’s interesting to see where people “draw the line.”
This paragraph from the post captures the tension well:
Like a lot of churches, our church had to make some budgetary adjustments after COVID. During these conversations the enchanted/disenchanted divide emerged among our leaders. On the one side where the leaders who approached our fiscal issues in a wholly disenchanted way. The Excel spreadsheet was front and center and the tools we used to address the issue were the tools of corporate finance and accounting. But on the other side were the more enchanted leaders. Fiscal issues were to be addressed with spiritual and miraculous means. The issue wasn’t money, the issue was faith. We handle financial shortfalls by getting on our knees in prayer, asking the Lord to act.
This could easily be a false dichotomy, an example of the either-or fallacy. And Beck admits that his church handled it accordingly:
Of course, we can do both. And we did both. But imaginations tend to gravitate toward one solution or the other. What is going to save us? Prudent budgetary cuts or the Lord God Almighty?
Yes, imaginations might tend to gravitate towards one more than another, but not without some nudging, some prompting from experience. And it might also happen because of a lack of honest conversation (which is why his medical example might prove the point a little better). Prudence is a classical virtue and wisdom is writ large across the Scriptures, as is trusting in God to do what is beyond our means. Enchantment that is only institutional, primarily life-or-death, is tricky at best and dangerous at worst, especially if it is not experienced in the little, mundane things. God can be (and is) at work on all levels. But if there isn’t bleed over from one level to the other, people easily labeled as “disenchanted” probably have multiple reasons for any learned skepticism, especially if “enchantment” is used as a way to belittle fellow believers and to stop conversation like a “mic drop.”