Forgiveness Vespers

This sounds amazing.

Longing For A Blessing

I've been at my alma mater this week for a series of preaching lectures and classes known as Summit. I came up mostly to hear authors Kathleen Norris and Donald Miller speak, and to get a chance to visit with old friends and catch up on their lives. Coming back always brings about conflicting emotions, because my alma mater is a part of a heritage that I have left behind (officially) and cannot leave behind (realistically).

During one of these catch up conversations this week, a friend asked if I find it strange to be back here and I answered "Yes." That was three days ago, and I have been trying to sort out exactly what it is that feels strange or why it is that it does.

A bit of back story. Without getting into the whole 100+ year history of the denomination of the Church of Christ, it is the denomination I grew up in and come out of. It is one that I celebrate having been a part of when I consider my love for the Bible, for the gospel, and for Jesus. My impulses towards Christian community done more simply were born out of this heritage. My desires to see "every member a minister" and to be "Christians only, but not the only Christians" were taught to me in the Church of Christ. But the Church of Christ and I also find ourselves in ongoing disagreement about the role of women in the church or the use of instruments in worship or the deeper disagreement about how we approach the Bible and why.

The Church of Christ is a complicated denomination, one that counts autonomy among it's founding principles, which means that it is possible to be in sharp disagreement with the Church of Christ and still be a member of the Church of Christ. And so some have asked me (it's worth noting that my leaving has not caused any great stir, nor should it), usually with some disappointment or disapproval, why it was that I chose to leave the Church of Christ. The perception seems to be that I left angry and my leaving has been characterized, at times, as that of a petulant child throwing a tantrum. 

I once heard an ACU Bible professor share a story of a series of angry and hurtful attacks he had received in response to an article he had written about some part of the Church of Christ's history. When describing why he still remained in the Church of Christ he talked about the autonomy that I mentioned previously and celebrated that he was as much a part of the Church of Christ as any part, and that they couldn't make him leave.

I guess that is part of my dilemma. I never quite felt at home in the Church of Christ. I experienced moments of great hospitality, but always felt as if I were staying in someone else's house. And when you live in someone else's house, it's hard to feel good about rearranging the furniture. I can turn over tables in my own living room, but I feel strongly that I shouldn't do so in yours. I could never get comfortable with the insistence on a capella worship or with the continued silencing of our sisters in Christ. But it wasn't my place to say. It wasn't my house. And I eventually felt that I'd worn out my welcome.

So why, my friend asks, do I keep coming back to things like this? And I say that I want to hear Kathleen Norris and Donald Miller and to catch up with old friends, and that is true. But I also come, like Jacob, to receive my father's blessing. But, unwilling to dress up in my brother's clothes and to pretend to be something I'm not, I never receive it. And leaving without blessing can make a person feel aimless.

Let me be clear, there are many who make me feel blessed. My parents, both born and raised in the Church of Christ, have always blessed our efforts in Austin and our decision to leave the Church of Christ. They have, in fact, also left and are now a part of our work. I am blessed by friends and mentors from within the Church of Christ who encourage me in my work and in my decision. More than that, I feel led in my decision by the Holy Spirit of Jesus Christ and feel the blessing of my Father in my work.

So, why is it I'm writing this? What is it I'm looking for and from whom?

I don't know exactly. I do know that I am not looking for an apology (though I will continue to state that my Christian sisters are owed one), I am longing for a blessing. And not just for me, but for my wife and for my family and for so many within my church, so many that I went to school with, so many who have also felt the need to leave the Church of Christ. We have been accused of being a people who deny we have a history. But we know we have a history. I, for one, even celebrate that fact. But we also celebrate that we have a future and that it has taken us outside of the Church of Christ. And like children leaving home and heading into an uncertain future, we want our family to celebrate with us and to bless us on our way.

Three Chords and the Truth

I didn't go into it thinking that my favorite person to watch would be Jack White. I certainly didn't expect White to espouse solid theology. And yet, that is exactly what he did.

The film is 'It Might Get Loud,' a documentary featuring U2's The Edge, Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page, and The White Stripes' Jack White. The premise is simple; put these guys into a room together with some guitars and see what happens.

First off, there's some wicked guitar playing. That was to be expected. Secondly, there are some simply amazing moments brought about through mutual admiration, particularly when Page begins to play 'Ramble On' and White and Edge are grinning like little kids.

But there are even more profound moments when these artists talk about craft and creativity. Page shares about what it means to invent. The Edge discusses how technology can serve to push an instrument to...well...the edge.

And while White concedes Edge's point, he also rails against the fact that technology has served to make it too easy to make music. White talks about growing up poor and having to make a god sound come out of a $15 plastic guitar from Montgomery Ward. Page and Edge have similar stories. White talks about the struggle as a necessary part of invention and creation and, again, Page and Edge nod along. And White laments the fact that the technology allows one to sound good without having to be good.

The two strongest scenes from the film both feature White. The first is the opening scene; White is nailing boards together, working in a glass bottle and a string. He then begins to play what hardly looks like an instrument, looks up at the camera and says, "Who says you need a guitar?"

The second is when White takes out a record player and his favorite record, Son House's 'People Grinnin' In Your Face.' It is simply House singing and clapping his hands. It is as basic as music gets. But it is raw and it is real and it is intensely moving. It is desperate and daring. And it is that element that draws White to it. It is a song that will be sung, even if it doesn't come easy.

As a Christian, pastor, and church-planter, I couldn't help but make a connection. The church is often guilty of making it possible to sound good without having to be good. We often offer up the path of least resistance as the gospel. But White reminds us that there must be an element of struggle to any good thing, a song that must be sung, even if no one hands you a guitar, even if all you can do is sing out and clap your hands.

The Edge's partner-in-crime, Bono, once declared that all he needed was "a red guitar, three chords, and the truth." We could dismiss such a sentiment as sentimentality, but would miss the fact that all great things can be stripped down to their basest elements and still be great. All great victories are hard won. That we all must have ways in which we are unafraid and uncompromising. That we simply cannot get the right thing the wrong way.

The Day Everything Changed

“American imperialism, often celebrated as the new globalism, is a frightening power. It is frightening not only because of the harm such power inflicts on the innocent, but because it is difficult to imagine alternatives. Pacifists are often challenged after an event like September 11 with the question, ‘Well, what alternative do you have to bombing Afghanistan?’ Such a question assumes that pacifists must have an alternative foreign policy. My response is I do not have a foreign policy. I have something much better - a church constituted by people who would rather die than kill.

“Indeed I fear that absent a countercommunity to challenge America, bin Laden has given Americans what they so desperately needed - a war without end. America is a country that lives off the moral capital of our wars. War names the time we send the youth to kill and die (maybe) in an effort to assure ourselves the lives we lead are worthy of such sacrifices. They kill and die to protect our ‘freedom.’ But what can freedom mean if the prime instance of the exercise of such freedom is to shop? The very fact that we can and do go to war is a moral necessity for a nation of consumers. War makes clear we must believe in something even if we are not sure what that something is, except that it has something to do with the ‘American way of life.’….

“Christians are not called to be heroes or shoppers. We are called to be holy. We do not think holiness is an individual achievement, but rather a set of practices to sustain a people who refuse to have their lives determined by the fear and denial of death. We believe by so living we offer our non-Christian brothers and sisters an alternative to all politics based on the denial of death. Christians are acutely aware that we are seldom faithful to the gifts God has given us, but we hope the confession of our sins is a sign of hope in a world without hope. This means pacifists do have a response to September 11, 2001. Our response is to continue living in a manner that witnesses to our belief that the world was not changed on September 11, 2001. The world was changed during the celebration of Passover in A.D. 33.”

Stanley Hauerwas, “September 11, 2001: A Pacifist Response”, in Stanley Hauerwas and Frank Lentricchis (eds.), Dissent from the Homeland: Essays after September 11 (Durham & London: Duke University Press, 2003), pp. 186, 188.

Mixtape

About a month ago, Rachel and I were doing some late spring cleaning and I stumbled across a box of old mixtapes, many of them unlabeled. An unlabeled mixtape, in my collection, means a project that was later discarded as misguided for some reason or another. So, I've been curious to give them a listen.

Today I stuck one in the car and knew within a couple of songs that this was an "I want you back" mix. Within four songs, I knew it was a "don't marry him, marry me" mix. And that could only mean one thing.

When I was 15 years old I met someone who, by 16, I was sure was "the one." By 17, she'd turned into "the one that wasn't going to work out" and, by 19, "the one that got away." 19 was when I heard that she was planning to get married and, even though we hadn't spoken in years, I went into a panic. I was convinced that my one chance at happiness was about to disappear. And so I planned my move. A bold move. It started with a mixtape.

The tape was a "we were meant to be" mix. My plan was to go to her, give her the tape, and ask her to listen. If I got that far, my follow up was to ask her to marry me.

I went to a mutual friend of ours to share my grand idea. Slowly, but surely, she talked me down and convinced me that I was more in love with an idea than a person and that the person would only be hurt and confused by my bold move, not filled with longing and a change of heart. And so, the mixtape went unfinished and the bold move went undone.

That's the mixtape I thought I had found. And it was pretty surreal. But then I got a few songs further in, one song in particular, and I knew this tape couldn't be that tape. Because this song was a different girl's song. And then I know which tape this was.

When I was 20, I began the first serious dating relationship I'd had in a couple of years. By 21, I knew she was the one. So sure, in fact, that I started shopping for an engagement ring. That is, until she broke it off with me. She had things she needed to think about and could tell this was getting serious and wanted to take the summer to consider all the implications of "until death do us part" before she made the vow. It was a rough summer. She was my best friend, so we talked almost every day. Talked about what she was up to and who she was hanging out with. A guy named Toby came up quite a bit. And I was worried.

One night, I panicked, and I started making a mixtape. A "we were meant to be" mixtape. But about halfway through it I realized that, if I really loved this girl, the most loving thing I could do was to let her have her space and take her time and do her thinking. Which I did.

A year later, we were married. We still are, 11 years after that. And I'm thinking it might be time to finish this mixtape. The first in a series of "we were meant to be" mixes. I think she might like that a lot.

So, you curious about the track listing? Go easy one me, I was sappy in love with a woman I thought was never coming back. Here goes.

Side A:
If I Only Had The Words –Billy Joel
When We Dance –Sting
Longer –Dan Fogelberg
You’re The Inspiration –Chicago
All About Soul –Billy Joel
Secret Garden –Bruce Springsteen
All I Want Is You –U2
Green Eyed Girl –Ted Hawkins (The song that could only be Rachel's)
Just The Way You Are –Billy Joel
All Four Seasons –Sting
Wildflowers –Tom Petty
I Love Everybody –Lyle Lovett
Right Down The Line –Gerry Rafferty

Side B:

Help In Humility

Submit to God. Be obedient to God’s commands. Work to discern God's will.

Submit to others. Depend on others. Rely on others for help.

Put up with being taken advantage of.

Be honest about your faults. You can’t be prideful with those who know everything about you.

Give credit where credit is due. Drawing attention to others takes attention off of you.

Be grateful.

Accept that you are a wretch.

Listen. Don’t just wait to speak. Listen.

Laugh at yourself. Take God more seriously and yourself less so.

Wait to speak until you have something to say.

Serve. We don’t develop servant hearts without being servant people.

Alone

Check out this post. It's a painful read, but worth it. Thanks to Bob for being so open.

Mark Driscoll on Humility

I take issue with a lot of what I hear from Driscoll, so it's important to point out when someone I've seen getting it wrong is getting it right. Here's an example:

The President's Speech

I don't care what your politics are, this is just a good speech and something any student would benefit from hearing:

Hello everyone – how’s everybody doing today? I’m here with students at Wakefield High School in Arlington, Virginia. And we’ve got students tuning in from all across America, kindergarten through twelfth grade. I’m glad you all could join us today.

I know that for many of you, today is the first day of school. And for those of you in kindergarten, or starting middle or high school, it’s your first day in a new school, so it’s understandable if you’re a little nervous. I imagine there are some seniors out there who are feeling pretty good right now, with just one more year to go. And no matter what grade you’re in, some of you are probably wishing it were still summer, and you could’ve stayed in bed just a little longer this morning.

I know that feeling. When I was young, my family lived in Indonesia for a few years, and my mother didn’t have the money to send me where all the American kids went to school. So she decided to teach me extra lessons herself, Monday through Friday – at 4:30 in the morning.  

Now I wasn’t too happy about getting up that early. A lot of times, I’d fall asleep right there at the kitchen table. But whenever I’d complain, my mother would just give me one of those looks and say, "This is no picnic for me either, buster."

So I know some of you are still adjusting to being back at school. But I’m here today because I have something important to discuss with you. I’m here because I want to talk with you about your education and what’s expected of all of you in this new school year.

Now I’ve given a lot of speeches about education. And I’ve talked a lot about responsibility.

I’ve talked about your teachers’ responsibility for inspiring you, and pushing you to learn.

I’ve talked about your parents’ responsibility for making sure you stay on track, and get your homework done, and don’t spend every waking hour in front of the TV or with that Xbox.

I’ve talked a lot about your government’s responsibility for setting high standards, supporting teachers and principals, and turning around schools that aren’t working where students aren’t getting the opportunities they deserve.

But at the end of the day, we can have the most dedicated teachers, the most supportive parents, and the best schools in the world – and none of it will matter unless all of you fulfill your responsibilities. Unless you show up to those schools; pay attention to those teachers; listen to your parents, grandparents and other adults; and put in the hard work it takes to succeed.

And that’s what I want to focus on today: the responsibility each of you has for your education. I want to start with the responsibility you have to yourself.

Every single one of you has something you’re good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That’s the opportunity an education can provide.

Maybe you could be a good writer – maybe even good enough to write a book or articles in a newspaper – but you might not know it until you write a paper for your English class. Maybe you could be an innovator or an inventor – maybe even good enough to come up with the next iPhone or a new medicine or vaccine – but you might not know it until you do a project for your science class. Maybe you could be a mayor or a Senator or a Supreme Court Justice, but you might not know that until you join student government or the debate team.

And no matter what you want to do with your life – I guarantee that you’ll need an education to do it. You want to be a doctor, or a teacher, or a police officer? You want to be a nurse or an architect, a lawyer or a member of our military? You’re going to need a good education for every single one of those careers. You can’t drop out of school and just drop into a good job. You’ve got to work for it and train for it and learn for it.

And this isn’t just important for your own life and your own future. What you make of your education will decide nothing less than the future of this country. What you’re learning in school today will determine whether we as a nation can meet our greatest challenges in the future.

You’ll need the knowledge and problem-solving skills you learn in science and math to cure diseases like cancer and AIDS, and to develop new energy technologies and protect our environment. You’ll need the insights and critical thinking skills you gain in history and social studies to fight poverty and homelessness, crime and discrimination, and make our nation more fair and more free. You’ll need the creativity and ingenuity you develop in all your classes to build new companies that will create new jobs and boost our economy.

We need every single one of you to develop your talents, skills and intellect so you can help solve our most difficult problems. If you don’t do that – if you quit on school – you’re not just quitting on yourself, you’re quitting on your country.

Now I know it’s not always easy to do well in school. I know a lot of you have challenges in your lives right now that can make it hard to focus on your schoolwork.

I get it. I know what that’s like. My father left my family when I was two years old, and I was raised by a single mother who struggled at times to pay the bills and wasn’t always able to give us things the other kids had. There were times when I missed having a father in my life. There were times when I was lonely and felt like I didn’t fit in.

So I wasn’t always as focused as I should have been. I did some things I’m not proud of, and got in more trouble than I should have. And my life could have easily taken a turn for the worse.

But I was fortunate. I got a lot of second chances and had the opportunity to go to college, and law school, and follow my dreams. My wife, our First Lady Michelle Obama, has a similar story. Neither of her parents had gone to college, and they didn’t have much. But they worked hard, and she worked hard, so that she could go to the best schools in this country.

Some of you might not have those advantages. Maybe you don’t have adults in your life who give you the support that you need. Maybe someone in your family has lost their job, and there’s not enough money to go around. Maybe you live in a neighborhood where you don’t feel safe, or have friends who are pressuring you to do things you know aren’t right.

But at the end of the day, the circumstances of your life – what you look like, where you come from, how much money you have, what you’ve got going on at home – that’s no excuse for neglecting your homework or having a bad attitude. That’s no excuse for talking back to your teacher, or cutting class, or dropping out of school. That’s no excuse for not trying.

Where you are right now doesn’t have to determine where you’ll end up. No one’s written your destiny for you. Here in America, you write your own destiny. You make your own future.

That’s what young people like you are doing every day, all across America.

Young people like Jazmin Perez, from Roma, Texas. Jazmin didn’t speak English when she first started school. Hardly anyone in her hometown went to college, and neither of her parents had gone either. But she worked hard, earned good grades, got a scholarship to Brown University, and is now in graduate school, studying public health, on her way to being Dr. Jazmin Perez.

I’m thinking about Andoni Schultz, from Los Altos, California, who’s fought brain cancer since he was three. He’s endured all sorts of treatments and surgeries, one of which affected his memory, so it took him much longer – hundreds of extra hours – to do his schoolwork. But he never fell behind, and he’s headed to college this fall.

And then there’s Shantell Steve, from my hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Even when bouncing from foster home to foster home in the toughest neighborhoods, she managed to get a job at a local health center; start a program to keep young people out of gangs; and she’s on track to graduate high school with honors and go on to college.

Jazmin, Andoni and Shantell aren’t any different from any of you. They faced challenges in their lives just like you do. But they refused to give up. They chose to take responsibility for their education and set goals for themselves. And I expect all of you to do the same.

That’s why today, I’m calling on each of you to set your own goals for your education – and to do everything you can to meet them. Your goal can be something as simple as doing all your homework, paying attention in class, or spending time each day reading a book. Maybe you’ll decide to get involved in an extracurricular activity, or volunteer in your community. Maybe you’ll decide to stand up for kids who are being teased or bullied because of who they are or how they look, because you believe, like I do, that all kids deserve a safe environment to study and learn. Maybe you’ll decide to take better care of yourself so you can be more ready to learn. 

And along those lines, I hope you’ll all wash your hands a lot, and stay home from school when you don’t feel well, so we can keep people from getting the flu this fall and winter.

Whatever you resolve to do, I want you to commit to it. I want you to really work at it.

I know that sometimes, you get the sense from TV that you can be rich and successful without any hard work -- that your ticket to success is through rapping or basketball or being a reality TV star, when chances are, you’re not going to be any of those things.

But the truth is, being successful is hard. You won’t love every subject you study. You won’t click with every teacher. Not every homework assignment will seem completely relevant to your life right this minute. And you won’t necessarily succeed at everything the first time you try.

That’s OK. Some of the most successful people in the world are the ones who’ve had the most failures. JK Rowling’s first Harry Potter book was rejected twelve times before it was finally published. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team, and he lost hundreds of games and missed thousands of shots during his career. But he once said, "I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

These people succeeded because they understand that you can’t let your failures define you – you have to let them teach you. You have to let them show you what to do differently next time. If you get in trouble, that doesn’t mean you’re a troublemaker, it means you need to try harder to behave. If you get a bad grade, that doesn’t mean you’re stupid, it just means you need to spend more time studying.

No one’s born being good at things, you become good at things through hard work. You’re not a varsity athlete the first time you play a new sport. You don’t hit every note the first time you sing a song. You’ve got to practice. It’s the same with your schoolwork. You might have to do a math problem a few times before you get it right, or read something a few times before you understand it, or do a few drafts of a paper before it’s good enough to hand in.

Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I do that every day. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s a sign of strength. It shows you have the courage to admit when you don’t know something, and to learn something new. So find an adult you trust – a parent, grandparent or teacher; a coach or counselor – and ask them to help you stay on track to meet your goals.

And even when you’re struggling, even when you’re discouraged, and you feel like other people have given up on you – don’t ever give up on yourself. Because when you give up on yourself, you give up on your country.

The story of America isn’t about people who quit when things got tough. It’s about people who kept going, who tried harder, who loved their country too much to do anything less than their best.

It’s the story of students who sat where you sit 250 years ago, and went on to wage a revolution and found this nation. Students who sat where you sit 75 years ago who overcame a Depression and won a world war; who fought for civil rights and put a man on the moon. Students who sat where you sit 20 years ago who founded Google, Twitter and Facebook and changed the way we communicate with each other.

So today, I want to ask you, what’s your contribution going to be? What problems are you going to solve? What discoveries will you make? What will a president who comes here in twenty or fifty or one hundred years say about what all of you did for this country?  

Your families, your teachers, and I are doing everything we can to make sure you have the education you need to answer these questions. I’m working hard to fix up your classrooms and get you the books, equipment and computers you need to learn. But you’ve got to do your part too. So I expect you to get serious this year. I expect you to put your best effort into everything you do. I expect great things from each of you. So don’t let us down – don’t let your family or your country or yourself down. Make us all proud. I know you can do it.

Thank you, God bless you, and God bless America.

Shaped By Worship v. Shaped By Mission

Check out this blog post on worship shaped churches. I was struck by this passage, in particular:

The problem with worship-shaped churches engaging in mission is that they find it very hard work. It is like introverts going to parties, or extroverts going on silent retreats – it's just not their 'shape' or their inner style. They can do it, but it drains them because their membership is not 'gathered' around this purpose.

And I am reminded, of course, of the words of Amos, the prophet:

Away with the noise of your songs!
I will not listen to the music of your harps.

But let justice roll on like a river,
righteousness like a never-failing stream!

Stuff Christian Culture Likes

This is awesome.

Bailing Out of the American Dream

Click on this link and scroll down to Bailing Out On The American Dream. I love the statement "This is what we're doing. When you're ready, come join us." I think it's the perfect invitation of any missional community.

When Elvis Was King

He has to stop. He can't keep this up. This has to be it.

My reasons were two-fold. I was convinced that the next song couldn't possibly top what had come before. And I was afraid it would. And if it did, it would mean the impossible had taken place. Bruce Springsteen's would no longer be the best live performance I had ever seen.

Bruce has been my favorite singer/songwriter for the past couple of decades and, the since the first time I saw him live in '95 on the acoustic Ghost of Tom Joad tour (and on every tour since) has been my favorite live performer. No performance was ever going to top seeing a live Bruce show.

So, I didn't go into last night's Elvis Costello performance at Bass Concert Hall with unrealistic expectations. Don't get me wrong, I was excited. I had never seen Costello and, while Bruce tops my short list, Elvis Costello makes the top 5. I had never seen Costello before and I was going with the guy (thanks for the ticket, Mark) who had introduced me to Costello's music. Still, I never considered for a second that it might top a Bruce show. I wouldn't put that kind of pressure on Elvis.

As soon as he and the band hit the stage, we knew we were in for something different. Costello's usual cohorts, the Attractions, were not in attendance. Nor were the newer Imposters. This was the Sugarcanes, a set of 6 stringed instruments (dobro, violin, stand up bass, mandolin, accordion, and guitar). No drums. No keyboards. No rock n' roll?

We needn't have been concerned. Elvis Costello kicked off with Elvis Presley's Mystery Train and immediately set the tone for what was coming. This was going to feel like one of those old Sun Records tours, and Costello was cluing us in. 

What followed was two hours that mixed familiar favorites with more obscure songs, peppered with brilliant covers that seemed written for EC and his Sugarcanes. Whether it was Blame It On Cain, Hidden Shame, or Tonight the Bottle Let Me Down, the man and his band were in their element. 

In the midst of all this, Costello brought out a song "so new that at midnight tonight we have to put it on wax" called (I assume from the chorus) Condemned Man. By the end of it I was wiping away tears, something I have only done once before at a concert. (Mark leaned over and whispered, "You will always remember where you were the first time you heard that song.")

More classics, cult favorites and covers. A most brilliant take on Everyday I Write The Book (never a favorite until last night), a countrified Mystery Dance, and a cover of Buddy Holly's Not Fade Away. The band was having a rip roaring good time and I was spent.

Then the encores started. Another hour's worth of encores. Patty Griffin takes the stage and Elvis does something no one has ever done at a live show; he makes me pay attention.

I am usually pretty into whatever live show I am going to see, but I am rarely so alert. I don't have to be, the songs are familiar and therein lies the fun. But Elvis begins performing songs that I have missed, songs I have ignored, and I feel a small sense of shame. It's reminds me of when a friend makes a mix tape with a song in the middle that was supposed to communicate something meaningful, but became background music instead. They point it out to you weeks later and you realize what you missed. That's how I felt about Red Cotton and Poisoned Rose (the second time I cried that night) and The Scarlet Tide. How had I missed these? And I call myself a fan?

The encores also included killer versions of The Angels Wanna Wear My Red Shoes and What's So Funny About Peace, Love, and Understanding, but that will never be what I remember best. It will be the unexpected moments and the unanticipated songs and the unassuming way that the whole thing came together. There must be a science to it, but it felt like art. It felt like magic. It felt like a man at home with his craft at the top of his game. And, in fact, that's what it was.