Reflections on "Music for Bed Wetters"

I can still remember the time in high school when I first started to listen to Coldplay. I was exploring Brit-rock for the first time, not knowing that it would form the basis for much of my musical tastes, and my friend Foote and I jumped on board before Yellow quickly rose to infamy. I can remember enjoying their music because I would throw it on while working on art projects and would find myself inspired. It wasn't rock'n'roll, but it sure did resonate with a student who's most creative season was the dead of winter. The bareboned simplicity of tree branches in winter, or a simple, young chap walking down a beach were appealing. They weren't abbrasive - but rather simple reflections of a young man trying to discover truth and beauty. I was an art student, so I could appreciate that.



I've gone through phases of Coldplay appreciation since those days - digging A Rush of Blood to the Head (especially because I hyped myself up for it... and my girlfriend at the time dug it), despising X&Y because of its betrayal of so much of what their earlier music had meant, and somewhat embracing the group again after Viva la Vida. I am writing this post because I really did want to return to being a faithful fan of the group, but I just don't think I can. In listening to the cynicism toward capitalism and materialism in early B-Sides "Such a Rush" and "Bigger Stronger", and then viewing all the promotional crap that surrounds the last few albums, I lament the path the group has taken. They've become what the sung against. As catchy as some of their new tunes may be, I really feel like it lacks the heart that some of the earlier stuff did.



It was simple and honest in the beginning, and now it's self-righteous and messiah-like. So many parts of this new video made me cringe, in the same way I cringed when I saw them live over five years ago and Mr. Martin got a guitar tech to play guitar backstage for "Yellow" so that he could punch the air and gallivant on stage. Music was sacrificed for image. It's unfortunate really.

author unknown?

Since deciding to dwell in the story (memorize) rather than just analyzing (manuscript), this is the humble progress I've made.

(with no aid from the book)

Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account of the events that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word, I too decided, after investigating everything carefully, to write down an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you might know the truth concerning the things about which you have been instructed.

In the days of King Herod of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah who was of the priestly tribe of Abijah. His wife was a descendant of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.

Once, when he was serving as priest before God and his section was on duty, he was chosen according to lots, as is the custom of the priesthood, to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and offer incense. Now when the time came for the incense offering, the whole assembly of people was praying outside, and an angel of the Lord appeared at the right side of the alter of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was terrified, and was overwhelmed with fear. But the angel said to him "DO NOT BE AFRAID, for your prayer as been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John..."

This week's sermon

I'm preaching for the first time this week.
I'm talking about LOST and the value of parables.

The Weekend

I just spent a wonderful weekend up at OPC for the LIT reunion. It was a refreshing, recharging, and life giving experience. It was also a tough weekend. I came to a few alarming realizations and found myself convicted by stories of lost sheep, lost coins, and lost sons. I ended up staying up well past everyone else and journaling in the silence of the dining hall about my own journey of being lost and found. It felt so good to get so much off my chest!

The father takes joy in those who turn back to him.

Had it not been for the fact I woke up with swollen glands this morning, I would have gotten up early to watch the sunrise on Lake Clearwater and write some more in the silence. I appreciated the quiet serenity up there more than I ever have before. It brought calm and inspiration as I wrote and wrote and wrote.

I am looking forward to what I'm turning into.