I was having a discussion earlier today about how strange the power of music is. It’s can almost be like a drug whose primary affect is nostalgia. But more than simply reminiscent nostalgia. Like an intense nostalgia. Depending what you’re listening to, you can be instantly transported to a whole other era of life. You can feel just as you felt at another time.

There are times where a smart playlist on my iPod comes across a song from high school and, depending what I’m doing at the time, for those brief few minutes, I get to look at the world through eyes that have long since grown into something else.

It’s nothing short of bizarre. But after the conversation, it got me thinking about the time in Kings when Elisha couldn’t prophesy until they brought him a minstrel. When the music started playing, he was then able to prophesy (2 Kings 3:15).

“…Bring me a harpist."
      While the harpist was playing, the hand of the LORD came upon Elisha”

Although it probably doesn’t matter and there’s no way to know for sure, I can’t help but wonder what song it was that the minstrel played for Elisha. I’m betting that in God’s sovereignty, it wasn’t altogether supernatural that the song affected Elisha the way it did.

Of course, that’s just my speculation. Who can know for sure?

 
(photograph: artificial sunlight, 1/200, f/3.5, artificial light via 580ex)

Smoking hookah is one of my favorite new activities. My original experience with the hookah was several years ago when some friends started going to a local hookah bar on a regular basis to smoke. At the time I found it really annoying—mostly because I sensed a hint of pretention which may or may not have actually been there. But either way, I masked my personal bias against the hobby with some spiritual mumbo-jumbo which I’m sure I’d scoff at if I heard it today.

It’s a different story though. I can’t get enough of it (as a figure of speech, I’m not addicted to it. I just really enjoy it).

A few months back a friend who has long been into smoking hookah started inviting friends over to enjoy it together. That’s where I finally had my first experience with it. Shortly after that, my sister’s boyfriend gave me a small (but quality) hookah pipe that had gone unused in his basement for years. Since then, I’ve developed a great appreciation for it.

In a nutshell, for those who don’t know, a hookah is a water-pipe, usually used to smoke shisha—a wet, sticky, flavored tobacco. It was developed originally in India, then moved throughout the Middle East and is now gaining big popularity here in the States.

In a hookah, the tobacco is burned using indirect heat from a coal. The tobacco is placed in a ceramic bowl, covered with a tin screen, on which the hot coal is placed. When the user smokes, hot air is pulled through the screen, across the tobacco, filtered through cold water, and then inhaled. What is inhaled is a mix of water vapors from the shisha flavoring and smoke from the tobacco.

While it’s not altogether better for you than smoking anything else, the experience is completely different and almost entirely non-addictive. Which of course is a big plus.

But why do I write about this here? Because the hookah is more than a really soothing, relaxing activity to do while reading or watching a movie. It’s also an excellent conductor of conversation in the context of small community groups. Many of the best conversations I’ve had over the past few months have happened around a hookah pipe. I would equate it, in a way, to eating a meal together. But, hookah has a naturally mellowing affect on people. So conversations have the tendency to spend less time on flippant matters and more on things that really matter.

And, because it’s a mutually shared activity that groups can have a sense of shared “progress” in, It’s also a less awkward excuse to sit and have a conversation with someone than, say, coffee.

I have loved smoking hookah, and plan to continue to do so. I think in communities where people are open to it, it’s a great way to facilitate conversation without intimidating or creating a sense of expectation on people. Give it a shot. You might love it as much as I do!

Yesterday I hit Proverbs 7 in my reading. And in all of scripture, I think there is narrowly a poetic passage that cuts so cleanly.

For at the window of my house
   I have looked out through my lattice,
and I have seen among the simple,
   I have perceived among the youths,
   a young man lacking sense,
passing along the street near her corner,
   taking the road to her house
in the twilight, in the evening,
   at the time of night and darkness.

And behold, the woman meets him,
    dressed as a prostitute, wily of heart.
She is loud and wayward;
   her feet do not stay at home;
now in the street, now in the market,
   and at every corner she lies in wait.
She seizes him and kisses him,
   and with bold face she says to him,
"I had to offer sacrifices,
   and today I have paid my vows;
so now I have come out to meet you,
   to seek you eagerly, and I have found you.
I have spread my couch with coverings,
   colored linens from Egyptian linen;
I have perfumed my bed with myrrh,
   aloes, and cinnamon.
Come, let us take our fill of love till morning;
   let us delight ourselves with love.
For my husband is not at home;
   he has gone on a long journey;
he took a bag of money with him;
   at full moon he will come home."

With much seductive speech she persuades him;
   with her smooth talk she compels him.
All at once he follows her,
   as an ox goes to the slaughter,
or as a stag is caught fast
   till an arrow pierces its liver;
as a bird rushes into a snare;
   he does not know that it will cost him his life.

In the story, there are three main rolls. One of Solomon, the witness, seeing the youth walking to his doom. There’s the youth, who’s oblivious to the danger he’s walking into. And there’s, of course, the temptress representing whatever sinful desire allures a man—in the case of this proverb, lust.

While there are volumes that could be spoken about this set of verses, I noticed on in particular. While there are three rolls in this story, as Christians, we often fill all three of them.

I often times know the temptress and my approaching long before I get to her making me the witness. Yet, at the same time, by sheer power of will, I am able to convince myself into obliviousness making me the youth. And all the while, in many cases, it is my own sinful heart drawing me there, making me also the tempter.

Much like what we find in James 1:13-14:

“Let no one say when he is tempted, "I am being tempted by God," for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.”

The sin and the flesh are a mess of convoluted psychological and spiritual battles. Perhaps the most difficult of which is learning not to do the fighting ourselves.

Over the past few days, it’s been bizarre to see the social phenomenon surrounding Michael Jackson’s death.

People who had no real interest in Michael Jackson’s music are now pining to get their hands on it. People who, just days ago, were saying what a weirdo he was, are now extolling his qualities as a brilliant artist and businessman. Kids—most of whom are too young to have have any real nostalgia about the artist—are calling out for even some of the more obscure tracks.

Not unlike the King of Rock & Roll, people are coping with the loss with conspiracy theories and allegations that he’s not really dead, or that he was murdered. It’s likely that in 20 years we’ll be hearing scattered reports from seedy bars in Nevada of a skinny woman in a single white glove ordering martinis and a grizzled once-pop-fiend will shout, “Michael Jackson lives!” while the rest of us roll our eyes.

Now, I personally have never been a big fan of Michael Jackson. I’d be a liar if I didn’t get some laughs during his many various media scandals. But I think I’ve shared a respect for him because he was the conduit through which much of the music I do love has come (and of course his influence over Justin Timberlake). Last night, I made a very late night trip to 711. On the way, I felt compelled to listen to a few of Jackson’s tracks. And although I had no real grounds to, I did feel a certain sense of nostalgia and regret for the loss.

It was a weird experience, but I think that my mother really nailed it on the head. She said, “Michael Jackson is Americana.” Regardless of what we’ve thought of him, in so many ways he has been an embodiment of the American experience. Of American entertainment, publicity and gossip.

From an unbiased standpoint, I’m not sure there’s really much more you can say. It’s really nothing short of bizarre.

Apparently, Scientology (popularized most recently by Tom Cruz), has commercials… real commercials on real TV. Apparently they’ve been on for some time now. I don’t watch TV, so they’re new to me. Either way, there’s something bizarre about it. Anyway, I thought it warranted posting.

This is a drug that I just learned about a few days ago. It’s ancient and was used by shamans and diviners to inspire “spirit walks” for personal revelation. The drug acts like a hallucinogenic, causing people who use it to experience lots of dissociative affects to various degrees. Some are really terrifying, some are peaceful, while some are something else altogether.

Here’s the really interesting thing about it, though. Here in Maryland, the substance is legal—to use and sell. In fact, just about every shop on the board walk in Ocean City sells it. Based on the variety of the affects it can have on users, it’s bizarre that it’s legal (not necessarily a decision I disagree with, but that discussion is for another post).

In my fascination with the substance, I’ve been reading many accounts of people’s experiences with it. It would seem that each person’s hallucination is tailor fitted to their own conscious life experience. For example, one overweight user described having to crawl out of his own mouth in his hallucination. While another, felt himself becoming a variety of household objects.

It’s no wonder that shamans and diviners would use this to send their followers on “spiritual journeys” of self-discovery. It would seem that the drug gives the user some abstract view into an inaccessible part of their conscious. Or perhaps even more.

As a Christian, I’m forced to ask questions about the drug and its application. It is an organic substance, so what design is there in the drug’s ability to do that, if any? What are we to think of the affects? Is there any legitimacy to Christians using the drug as an aid in their own spiritual quests?

Of course, I’m familiar with the answer that would likely come from most of the church today, “Heck no!”. But, I’m in a time in my walk with the Lord that I’m rethinking a lot of the Church’s knee-jerk answers to questions like these. In this specific situation, especially given the drug’s age, If there is spiritual legitimacy to the drug’s affects, it even seems reasonable to think that the drug could have aided John in his revelation, or Paul when he was caught up to the third heaven.

Of course, those are only speculations and, in my opinion, don’t cast doubt on the legitimacy of what they wrote, experienced or saw. But, could theoretically open a door to speculation about the drug itself.

Human beings are not entirely biological, or entirely spiritual. In fact, neither is mutually exclusive. Our physical and mental well being often ties tightly into our spiritual state. That’s why few would argue with the use of Asprin to ease a head-ache or Prozac to curb depression. If we accept these drugs as aids to our physical and spiritual well-being (so to speak) what might be the ramifications of presenting Salvia Divinorum for the same ultimate purpose?

I guess these are just questions that have been rolling through my head for the last few days. Questions that are usually moot, due to legal implications. But this time, they have to be asked. For the record, however, I have no intentions at this time of trying this drug. But for now, because these thoughts and questions remain, I also can’t entirely close the door in good conscience.

Back when I was leading a small group, we turned the shotgun rule on its head. It was starting to get out of hand. Every time we were headed out to do something, the guys would rush out the door all yelling “shotgun!” pining for a chance to sit in the front. No doubt of course because the front seat came with the added perk of leg room and limited iPod privileges (they had pretty bad taste in music at the time).

Well, things got out of hand and decided that it was really un-Jesus-like to be rushing foreword like that. Especially when there might be someone more suited to sit up front (i.e., taller people, people who get car-sick in the back, etc).

So, one small group meeting, we turned the rule on it’s head and made it the unshotgun rule.

I read over this again today in Luke 14:

"When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not sit down in a place of honor, lest someone more distinguished than you be invited by him, and he who invited you both will come and say to you, ‘Give your place to this person,’ and then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit in the lowest place, so that when your host comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at table with you. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted."

Reading it immediately reminded me of the unshotgun rule and how Jesus’ teaching here really does need to be followed. Not just in the proverbial sense of putting other before ourselves, but literally too in the little things.

Like picking the back seat by default until someone invites you upfront.