Your Guitar Weeps Because it is Terrified: The Beatles’ Scariest Songs

The Beatles get a lot of credit.  They are generally considered to be the greatest musical entity of the 20th Century.  This makes sense, because they were.  Much has been written by individuals more qualified than myself about how The Fab Four revolutionized not just an entire music industry, but an entire generation of youth.  This makes sense, because they did.

Within the hallowed realm of Rock and Roll, The Beatles were progenitors, spokespeople, influencers, or inventors of a wide swath of musical stylings, from straight-ahead 50’s-style rock n’ roll (“Twist and Shout”) to psychedelic (“I Am the Walrus”) to punk (the feedback opening to “I Feel Fine”, the entire post-1967 attitude of John Lennon) to heavy metal (“Helter Skelter”) to acoustic folk (“Norwegian Wood”) to protest rock (“Revolution”) to alt-freak free associative statement art (“Revoltuion 9”) to, of course, pop music (everything they ever wrote).  Their music was the stated foundation for acts as diverse as The Beach Boys and The Beastie Boys; Kurt Cobain and Katy Perry; Coldplay and The Clash.  Whatever music you are listening to right now- The Beatles influenced that sound.  Unless you are listening to Chuck Berry, JS Bach, or Gregorian chanting.  I don’t think I’m exaggerating.

The Beatles get a lot of credit.

But here’s a place where they are perhaps not as well-recognized as they could be: Liverpool’s finest could write some spine-tingling, dread-stirring, dark, twisted and disturbing material.  They were weird, they were imaginative, they had an occassionally morbid sense of humour, and they were way into hallucinogenic drugs: all of this translated into random spurts of darkness from the group most famous for wanting to hold our hand and only needing love.  To wit: this sunny little album cover of the boys in butcher gear, covered in raw meat.  Holding baby doll parts.

Beatles Doll Parts

Therefore, for no apparent reason at all, I present to you…

“The Ten Most Frightening Beatles Songs (according to my definition of fear, dread, and/or strong sense of discomfort) Of All Time”

10. “Eleanor Rigby”, Revolver (1966)
Sometimes, the greatest fears are existential ones.  Is my life meaningful?  Do my actions have any significance?  Am I missing out on genuine human connection?  Is my ministry actively saving those around me from eternal damnation?  Is this mason jar large enough to contain my face?  All these questions are pondered by our two lonely protagonists, Eleanor Rigby and Father MacKenzie.  And for the most part, it seems their greatest existential fears have indeed been realized.  (At least her face fits in the jar by the door, though.)

9. “She’s Leaving Home”, Sgt. Pepper’s LHCB (1967)
This is a song about a young person’s desire to escape the rigidity of the life laid out for them by their parents expectations.  It was a defining song for a defining time: in 1967, young people were moving beyond the moral, societal and spiritual fences established by prior generations.  It is meant to be a song of liberation, freedom, and progress.  Now that I’m of parenting age, however, I can’t help but empathize with the horror the parents feel  at the realization that they have pushed their daughter into lonely flight.  As the string section swells, I feel a pang of fear that, in only a few short years, it could be myself asking, “What did we do that was wrong”?  Then I remember that this is just a pop song, and I get over it.

8. “Happiness is a Warm Gun”, The White Album (1968)
Perhaps it’s the connection to “Bowling for Columbine”, as Michael Moore soundtracked the tail end of this song to video footage of military assassinations, school shootings, and other random acts of gun terror.  But whenever I hear the almost cartoonish harmonies of “bang bang, shoot shoot!” in this chilling White Album mashup song, the irony is lost for just a moment.  Or maybe it’s simply the fact that a line like, “when I hold you in my arms/and feel my finger on your trigger” is intentionally uncomfortable.  And to think, the song title was inspired by a line from a Charlie Brown comic strip.  Maybe someone should do a Top Ten Scariest Charlie Brown Moments.  (I bet Schroeder would feature prominently in that list, with his callous, icy gaze….)

7. “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”, Sgt. Pepper’s LHCB (1967)
The background story of the song is touching: John Lennon’s son, Julian, showed his daddy a picture he had drawn of Lucy, his classmate with kaleidoscopes for eyes, floating in a diamond-studded sky.  Adorable.  Until the psychedelic imagery gets fleshed out further, and suddenly you are floating down a river of terror, surrounded by towering technicolor flowers, “rocking horse people” (?), plasticine porters, and a girl with KALEIDOSCOPES FOR EYES.  Killer harmonies though.

6. “Helter Skelter”, The White Album (1968)
Even if a notorious cultic murdermonger (Charles Manson) hadn’t ordered his lackies to murder several wealthy socialites and then paint the words ‘Helter Skelter’, among other phrases, on the walls and refrigerator of their home with the blood of their victims; even if Charles Manson hadn’t believed his own twisted version of the lyrics to this song, wherein an apocalyptic war between the races would be ushered in by his sinister guidance; even if a book about these infamous murders hadn’t been written under the title “Helter Skelter”; even if none of that had ever happened, Helter Skelter would still be kind of scary.  You know, because it’s aggressively loud and stuff.  Maybe blisters on your fingers are the least of your worries.

5. “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”, Abbey Road (1969)
Apparently, this song was Paul’s expression for how things can suddenly go wrong in life.  Well, things certainly go wrong for Maxwell Edison’s teacher, girlfriend, and even the judge at his trial, as they get their heads smashed in one-by-one with Maxwell’s expensive piece of custom hardware.  Upping the song’s creep factor are (a) the cheery, perky rhythm and upbeat tune (a homicide ballad you can whistle along to!), and (b) the ominous tones of the Moog synthesizer stabbing out from the background shadows in moments of murderous release.  The fact that this tune is sandwiched between two of Abbey Road’s sincerest love songs (“Something” and “Oh! Darling”) means that Paul intended this to feel like a bludgeoning to the shocked audience.

4. “Run For Your Life”, Rubber Soul (1965)
“Well I’d rather see you dead little girl than to be with another man/you better keep your head little girl, or you won’t know where I am”.  No, this isn’t Metallica, or Sex Pistols, or Insane Clown Posse, or Wu Tang Clan, or any of the other hundreds of artist who use dark imagery to make a point or shock an audience.  It’s John Lennon, who later called this his “least favourite Beatles song” and “the song he most regretted writing”.  Why, John?  Is it because you menacingly promised to hunt down an innocent woman for leaving you?  And, follow-up question, John… just why do you think she may have left you in the first place?  Perhaps your murderous rage?  Somehow, I get the impression that a song like that wouldn’t have gone over too terribly well with good ol’ Yoko.

3. “Tomorrow Never Knows”, Revolver (1965)
The fear in this song is not derived by the lyrical content- a mash of Tibetan spirituality, stoned placidity, and generic platitudes about love.  No, the unsettling nature of this song is found entirely in the musicianship and studio wizardry.  Those bombastic drums (in my opinion, some of the best-recorded percussion in human history)!  Those backwards looping guitar shrieks!  That snaking line of sitar, or taboula, or synthesizer, or whatever!  This song is perfect, but if you turn off your lights and relax to it, you might float downstream into some dark and harrowing mental experiences.

2. “Strawberry Fields Forever”, Magical Mystery Tour (1967)
This has to be one of the loveliest songs The Beatles ever wrote.  So how did it make #2 on this list of fearsome Fab Four tunes?  I feel like any explanation I attempt will fail to capture the sense of dread I feel in the pit of my gut every time the chorus stomps through.  Combining the “let me take you down, ’cause I’m going to…” lyric with the deep sweeping rush of cello and the jarring, restless Ringo drum fill creates a real sensation of dropping into an abyss.  A beautiful abyss- perhaps an oxymoronic phrase, but one that captures the original inspiration (an orphanage’s playground) perfectly.  Heightening this palpable tone of dread is the false ending, which returns with military drums, skittering flute, and alarm-bell guitars.  Beautiful and evocative, certainly; but with haunting undertones that can catch a listener unaware, like a kaleidoscopic python.

1. “Revolution 9”, The White Album (1968)
The first time I ever listened to this, uh, “song” was formative for my belief that there are few more terrifying works of art in modern musical history than this.  I was home alone, working in our living room, with the White Album playing on vinyl in the background.  I had seen on the album sleeve that a song titled “Revolution” was coming up, and I immediately assumed it was the eletric-guitar overload of John’s protest tune (you know, “you say you want a revo-LU-tiooooon, we-e-ell ya kno-o-o-ow…”).  Instead I got the unnerving audio equivalent to a David Lynch film.  As some lunatic repeatedly calls out for “Number 9”, slashed snippets of orchestra and crowd noise meander in and out, panning across the left and right stereo like a drunken brawler taking swings at a funhouse mirror.  When the maniacal laughing hit at 1:48, I remember realizing that, alone in my living room, I suddenly had goosebumps.  I had to turn it off before it was halfway through the 8:22 running time because it was so disturbing to me.

[Editor’s Note: I am writing this at midnight.  Angie is in Ontario.  I am attempting to listen through it again.  The hair on my neck is sticking out.  I gave up after 2 and a half minutes.  “Revolution 9” retains its fear factor.]

Well, there you have it folks.  Ten Beatles songs that evoke in me a sense of fear.  I suppose you could add “Sun King” to this list, which is sung at least partly in Italian (or Spanish, or something).  Since I don’t speak the language, it’s entirely likely the Sun King is in fact some kind of soul-devouring Necromancer.  I doubt it, but as you can tell from the above list, the boys were up to some weird business in those crazy 1960’s.  What Beatles songs would be included on your list?  The claustrophobia of living in a “Yellow Submarine”?  The creepy stalker-ish pleadings of “Please Please Me”?  Perhaps you are unsettled by garden-tending octopi, or penny-grabbing Taxmen, or meter maids, or eggmen, or Mother Mary.  What Beatles tunes fill you with fear?

Posted in Art, Drums, express, Fear, lists, music, society, The Beatles, Uncategorized | 233 Comments

“Her Name is Life”

Following is a poem I wrote in my head on the way home from the city last night.  It commemorates some of the deepest feelings of wonder and peace and joy and uncertainty I had in my initial encounter with my firstborn daughter, Zoey.

I don’t usually write poetry (read: NEVER), and it’s certainly not the norm for me to post it for all of my cyberworld to experience.  It feels almost scandalously intimate to be posting it, but Angie encouraged me to do so, and here it is.

Zoey, I hope you read this one day and are reminded of just how deeply and thoroughly I (and your Mommy) love you.  You are still a source of wonder and joy; you still introduce us to new and fascinating worlds; you still draw our attention to grace; and you still enrich our Lives with your own vibrant Life.  May your eyes be always open to the world of beauty around you.

Her Name is Life

The rain stopped.

I was the first to hold you
eyes open
always OPEN as you
studied my face

an astonishing new world
opened up to you

and me.

A fresh spinning cosmos
life dances on tiptoes
and my arms have never felt strength like this before.

still soaking me in
searching me already
awake, anew, alert


suddenly staggeringly aware
of grace-
I have never felt His strength like this before.

I was the first to hold you.
Her Name is Life.

-For Zoey
April 5th, 2012

Zoey: Day 1

(Reader’s note: the name ‘Zoey’ is taken from the Greek word ‘Zoe’ (ζωή), meaning ‘Life’.  It is used throughout the New Testament by Jesus and others, especially by the Gospel author John (my fave).  It is a delightful word, and fitting for our lively Zoey, who enriches my life every day)

Posted in Art, Birth, contentment, express, Fathering, Life, Poetry, Uncategorized, Zoey | 1 Comment

Sneezes & Jesus: Blessing Others

It’s a bizarre little social expectation/superstition that dictates the issuing of a “bless you” after a sneeze.  I’m sure it started as some sort of medieval protection against the devil, or a way for the dignified upper class of the Renaissance to save face after a minor public display of bodily functioning.  The German “gesundheit!” makes more sense… my understanding is that it translates as “Good Health”, a lesson I gleaned while in the Frankfurt Airport, seeing anti-smoking posters signed by the “Gesundheitminister”, or Minister of Good Health.  “Good Health.”  I get that.  But “bless you” after a sneeze?  There are far more uplifting things we could say after a nasal explosion, as chronicled by this memorable Seinfeld clip.

And yet I cling to the “bless you”.  It has been ingrained in me from an early age.  In my family, everyone said it after everyone else’s sneeze; cold & sinus season was a resounding chorus of reflexive ordinations.  A visitor to the Lantz residence could reasonably expect a bombardment of blessings- not by virtue of their worthiness, nor by virtue of our outstanding hospitality, but by virtue of their sniffles.  That was how it worked.

And there was power to the economy of the “bless you”.

I can vividly recall being upset with my Mom several times over some perceived injustices, and sure enough, several minutes later, she would sneeze.  In my great act of juvenile defiance, I would cross my arms, arch my eyebrows, purse my lips, and turn away dramatically in a manner that made clear, “your sneeze shall receive no blessing.”  It was damning.  I behaved this way with each of my brothers as well.  Were they being annoying in front of my cool friends?  For at least an afternoon, no gesundheits.  Did they lose my brand new road hockey ball?  Forget it… today, the blessings are withheld.  But fear not!  For in my wide and resounding grace, upon the morrow, thy sneezes shall receive verbal reciprocation.  My wrath lasts but an evening.

This, I hope you can see, is ridiculous.  But it highlights a neglected truth that I and many other Christians often fail to take seriously enough.

See what happens when you neglect to say God Bless You? Apparently it's "worse than Hurricane Andrew".

Believe it or not, the Church exists to bless the world through God’s presence and power.  Followers of Jesus are to be imitators of His life; imitating the life of Christ means actively blessing those around us with our time, our possessions, our rights, our energy, our abilities, our prayers, our money, our virtue, our Truth, our relationships, our love, and our lives.  What we have been given from On High (love, grace, justice, truth, daily needs) is ours to re-gift (again, a sanctified Seinfeld application).

And so, if someone is in need of a coat, we bless them with the means to buy a coat; or (more perfectly), we give them our own coat and trust that God will re-bless us in return.  If our neighbour asks us to help them for an afternoon with moving some furniture, we lend them our pickup truck; or (more perfectly), we spend all day and night lifting from the knees and trust that God will re-bless us with the time and energy to get our own business finished.  If someone says something we don’t like about us, we hold our tongue against retribution; or (more perfectly), we talk it out with them and defend them despite the gossip.

In other words, when someone sneezes, we say “bless you”.  And then hand them our own personal monogrammed handkerchief.  (People still have those, right?)

This above-and-beyond type of blessing is commonly called “going the extra mile” for someone.  And the phrase “going the extra mile” is a direct reference to a teaching of Jesus about blessing others.  And this teaching about blessing others is in reference to blessing a certain type of “others”: our enemies.

In Jesus’ world, the Romans reigned supreme, and Jewish people were subject to their every whim.  A Roman footsoldier, exhausted during a long march or series of military excursions, could demand a ‘commoner’ to carry their gear for them.  Jesus says, in Matthew 5, that if a soldier demands you to carry his gear for one mile, you go the extra mile and carry it two.  This is significant because the Jews loathed the Romans, and felt no need to participate in their pagan military conquests.  From the perspective of Jesus’ Jewish audience, it would be like a Baptist preacher doing volunteer translation work for jihadist propaganda.  It would sound counterintuitive to first century Hebrew Galileans.  Aren’t they to organize a holy revolution against Rome, and defend Yahweh’s earthly kingdom of Israel against evil influence?  Shouldn’t the Romans be packing our gear across the Judean wilderness?

Several paragraphs up, I described situations in which the relationship is friendly, or at least neutral.  The giver of the blessing is in the position of power; naturally, if someone is asking for something, or in need of something, then they are situationally powerless.  People are generally willing to see the virtue in this, and will sometimes go out of their way to bless others in this manner.

But what if the tables are reversed?  What if the giver of the blessing does so from a position of powerLESSness?  Isn’t it a greater act of love to shower blessings on those who persecute us, harm us, demean us, berate us, and hate us?  Jesus says this in Luke 6:

  • 32 “If you love only those who love you, why should you get credit for that? Even sinners love those who love them! 33 And if you do good only to those who do good to you, why should you get credit? Even sinners do that much! 34And if you lend money only to those who can repay you, why should you get credit? Even sinners will lend to other sinners for a full return.
  • 35 “Love your enemies! Do good to them. Lend to them without expecting to be repaid. Then your reward from heaven will be very great, and you will truly be acting as children of the Most High, for he is kind to those who are unthankful and wicked. 36 You must be compassionate, just as your Father is compassionate.

Blessings in the face of injustice and broken relationships; blessings on the razor’s edge of abuse; blessings absent of gratefulness and reward.  It’s an insane teaching, but completely in line with the life (and death) of Jesus.  You bless them above and beyond what they deserve, desire, or demand.  This should be easy for me, seeing as I have very few people seeking to harm, hurt, or embarrass me.  I am, fortunately, incredibly blessed (must have sneezed a lot as a kid) with very few genuine enemies.  And yet the call to bless others abundantly (especially those we disagree with, or who annoy us, or hurt our feelings, or offend our sensibilities) flies directly in the face of my oh-so-human lusts for vengeance, power and comfort.  To be a Follower of Jesus’ Way is to turn cheeks, lay down rights, offer necessities, go extra miles, and embrace the rain that falls on the just and unjust alike.  Our first response to whomever we encounter (sneeze or otherwise), is Bless You, whether we feel they warrant that blessing or not (because really, what have I done to deserve the blessings I’ve received?).  Bless your enemies.  Love them- don’t hate them.  Love them.  Then you will be called children of the Most High.

That means the next time Zoey sneezes while she’s busy telling me off, you will almost certainly hear a (quiet and clipped) “bless you” coming from her Daddy’s lips.


photo “credit”: Weekly World News, date unknown

Posted in behaviour, Church, explore, friends, Kingdom of God, Life | Tagged , , , , | 9 Comments

A Life Passed on Labour Day

This morning I watched as a man slipped gently into death, as though it were a warm bath.  It was not violent or morbid.  There was struggle, confusion, hurt, tearfulness, and distress; but there was also peace, tenderness, relief, prayer, and love filling that room of seven bodies & six souls.  As a dear friend told me upon witnessing the death of a loved one earlier this year, the best word for the sensation in the room was “Sacredness”.  It was the first time in my life I have witnessed such sacredness; intimacy nearly to the point of scandalousness.  It was 1:30 am, Monday, September 5th; Labour Day, 2011.

I do not write this in a effort to sensationalize, grandstand, or glorify.  I respect the fact that the emotions I felt during those two hours completely pale in comparison to the difficult feelings that the family so elegantly and wholeheartedly wrestled with.  I refuse to give details, out of confidentiality, but also out of respect for the significance of this morning’s events.  But still, I want to write about it.  The experience moved me thoroughly, as it likely did for you, if you have likewise experienced the immediate presence of death.

There is depth of significance in the fact that this man died on Labour Day.  Labour Day stands as a symbolic transition from Summer, full of green vibrancy, into the cool browns of Autumn.  Creation, full of life, begins to wind down in preparation for winter’s cycle of rest.  That small, dark room carried a heavy autumnal sense.

There are obvious reasons for this.  As we move into the Fall, it’s impossible to miss the effect on the trees.  Over the course of several weeks, they are transformed from pillars of green vitality to mere skeletal frames, their leaves left browning, bending and falling as a testament to both Time and Regeneration.  The trees accept the coming cold, prepare for it with dignity and beauty, and anticipate a time beyond winter’s chill when life will enter them again.

Furthermore, from Labour Day onward, there is a strong sense that the days are getting shorter.  Two months earlier, we had been playing games, enjoying road trips, having conversations, and taking walks well into the late summer dusks.  We were given the presence of the sun until nearly midnight, and we accepted that gift with great relish.  By this time of the year, however, the sunset dazzles earlier; porchlights beckon children home sooner; games, walks and conversations head indoors not long after supper.  The dark of nightime advances, and it advances quickly.  The days get shorter.  We are reminded to appreciate the light as much as possible, and as often as possible.

As time hurries along, our days get shorter.

But one sense of Fall dominated the rest.  Looking up from my chair, I saw his wife and children circled around him, sharing peace, gratitude and memories as though they were gathered around the table of a great Autumn Harvest Feast or Thanksgiving Meal.  The beloved family crying at his side were his finest work, his firstfruits; he had long delighted in their presence when feeling well.  Now, despite the loss of his lucidity, he drew great strength from their presence.  Nourished by his family’s care, he continued fighting valiantly against every choked breath.  There was solemnity and sadness in that room, but there was also thankfulness and thanksgiving, the greatest of the Falltime virtues.

The sense of thankfulness was strong when I first arrived; thankfulness that they could all be with him, thankfulness that his suffering would soon be over, thankfulness for his monumental presence in each of their lives.  But the thankfulness lingered.  It remained with me as I drove home in the dark and greeted my sleeping wife with the longest, most heartfelt hug I have given in a very long time.  It was sourced in a deep Thankfulness that, despite life’s seasonal cycles (both large-scale and small-scale), there would always be Goodness, Life, Love, and a Holy God.

Moreover, there was the thankful reminder that Death, the darkened figure in life’s narrative, would never claim the Victory.  The title of Conqueror belongs to the One who subdued Death; the One Who’s presence in the loss and heartache of that tiny room made it Sacred; the One who promises Life in all it’s fullness here, now, and into whatever eternity looks like beyond us.

On Labour Day, 2011, a life passed in front of me, like a crisp Autumn day.  The sacredness was not missed.

Photo Credit:
Christopher Herwig,

Posted in express, Life | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Does Anyone Around Here Speak “Empathy”?

I’ll bet you never knew I was a professional translator.  Most of my daily life is spent encountering, analyzing, and translating the behaviour of those around me.  I do this in both my personal and professional realms.  You do this too.

Take this example, from my vocational role as a Program Assistant in Gr. 1:

  • Entire class is sitting at the carpet for storytime; one young boy is spinning circles over by the dinosaur books
  • Chris: “Young man, please sit down and listen to the story.”
  • Young boy: “I am listening.  The baby bird thinks the Snort is his mother, because he’s confused.”
  • Translation: The boy finds it difficult to sit still (perhaps because of some fetal disorder, or upbringing, or sensory requirements, or any of a hundred different reasons).  His best chance for attending to the story is to have his overactive mind spin his little body in circles, giving his mind enough room to focus on the confused baby bird (“Are You My Mother”, anyone?).  My job is to decipher his needs based on his behaviour.  Verily I say unto thee, it was Mr. Lantz who was misguided, not the baby bird.

Or here is an example from my Ministerial vocation, Pastor of Clyde Christian Bible Church; [Please note, any semblance to persons or events in real life are purely coincidental.  Mostly.]

  • Chris is giving a sermon about how Christians get so hung up on rules and regulations and neglect their calling to live lives fully sacrificed to Christ.  Chris preaches this sermon barefoot, as per usual.
  • Chris: “It doesn’t matter what you wear before your God, because God couldn’t care less about fashion.  He is concerned with the cleanliness of your heart, not the cleanliness of your khakis.”
  • Church Member (during coffee time): “Chris, you need to be more respectful during Church services.  When I was growing up, you never wore sandals, never mind bare feet in Church.”
  • Translation: Irony is completely lost on this individual, but there is a point here.  A generation ago, people worshipped God through propriety; my generation prefers openness and (buzzword alert) authenticity.  Neither is wrong, and both are valuable when the heart is geared towards worship.  This parishoner’s behaviour is best understood when seen through a lens of generational differences.

But understanding behaviour contrary to what is usual for the individual is not limited to my job or ministry.  Marriage is a lifelong exercise in trying to understand your partner.  For example:

  • Chris, stumbling into the bedroom at 12:45 at night, knocks several items off the bedside table, making a noticeable crash.
  • Chris: “Oops, sorry babe… were you sleeping?”
  • Angie: “You’re an idiot.  Be quiet.”
  • Translation: While it is true that idiocy levels increase exponentially beyond midnight, what Angie is attempting to communicate is that I was insensitive towards her sleeping needs.  [It should be noted: I get ‘talked to’ far less than I rightly deserve.  She is a pillar of patience and grace.  Hopefully I’m allowed to sleep in that bed, and not the couch, after she reads this.]

Thus, I attempt to translate my wife’s behaviour.  And bless her soul, she has committed to the lifelong adventure of attempting to decode my own actions and intentions; in my case it usually comes down to, “Chris, you’re an idiot.  Be (insert one of the following: quiet/patient/caring/respectful, etc.)”.

But the primary relationships where the cartoon above makes the most sense is with my daughters.  This is true of Zoey, who is prone to tantrums of Godzilla-like proportions, but is also true of sweet little Tegan, who has learned to employ every one-year-old’s favourite means of getting what they desire: The Shriek.  Ask any parent about The Shriek.  It is embedded in our genetic code.  If the toy piggy happens to roll just out of reach behind the treadmill, eardrums must burst.  The Shriek is equal parts impressive and implosive; your brain literally (LITERALLY) begins to cave in on itself in a fruitless effort to find sanctuary.

And yet The Shriek bears an important function; it is primal communication.  All behaviour, whether desired or undesired, is a form of communication; an expression of a felt need.  Spinning circles in class; debating the theological minutae of Church ritual; berating your imbecile husband; audibly indicating to the entire neighbourhood that you are out of cheerios; all of these things are attempts to express what is of value to the individual.  And it is my job, our job, as parents, spouses, co-workers, friends, neighbours, citizens, and Followers of Christ to attempt to understand what exactly is being primally communicated.  And then learn from it… specifically, learn how to love more wholly (and more Holy).

This is a virtue that goes by the name of Empathy.  NOT tolerance, which is the worst name for a virtue ever, as no one ever strives to be tolerated.  As a Father, my goal is not to tolerate Zoey & Tegan.  As a Program Assistant working with behaviour students, it is not my job to tolerate their ourbursts or tolerate their little hurting hearts/minds.  As a Follower of Christ, it is not a divine calling to tolerate the sick, the hurting, the corrupt, the other worldviews, the other lifestyles.  NOBODY WANTS TO BE TOLERATED.  We want to be heard, to be valued, to be appreciated.  And to hear someone, and to value someone, to appreciate someone, in all their goodness and all their brokenness, is to Empathize with someone.  And, as I’m learning in my vocation, my ministry, my marriage, and my parenting, Empathy is the first step in moving towards that ultimate goal: God-Honoring, Selfless Love.

Empathy is difficult.  It involves seeing a world perhaps in a way you do not see it.  I do not need to spin in circles to be able to listen to a story (usually).  I do not necessarily understand this need, but I value the child who has that need, so I step out of the classroom norms to allow that child to learn as best they can.  I do not value (and do not believe God values) the concept of “Sunday best”, but I understand the desire for excellence and propriety in the presence of a Holy God that motivates those who do this.  It is worship, and I will celebrate that, though I do not see it that way.  I do not enjoy being called an idiot, but sometimes (uh, yeah… sometimes…) I am completely self-absorbed, to the disservice of my wife.  Seeing the situation from her perspective allows me to do better next time.  And I prefer to retain the use of my ears, but if my daughter has a need, I would want her to tell us what that might be.  And hopefully she learns to do it in a way that doesn’t interfere with aircraft radar.

These are all low-grade acts of empathy.  But, joined with Truth, Grace, Justice and Love, empathy is the only way I can take the plank out of my own eye to compassionately and carefully deal with the specks in the eyes of those around me.  It is the only way I can get past the judgment and the bigotry and the self-righteousness that clings to me like body odour.  And it is the only way I can devote myself with any degree of selflessness to the people in my life.  By understanding (not condoning) and listening to (not finger-wagging at) and valuing (not labeling) those who are hurt or broken; and then (and ONLY then) attempting to correct backwards behaviour; by entering into their world in even a simple way; we are beginning to love them.

I know this, because I’ve been taught since I was little that this is exactly what Jesus did for us.  The Divine Empathizing- the Incarnation.  Adulterers, rioters, the horribly diseased… all were treated by Jesus in this manner; hear them, affirm their sacred worth, then command a change.

The thousand foot mutant in the comic needs to be heard.  Maybe if they stopped launching helicopters at his head, and instead found an ultra-industrial dose of pepto bismol, there would be a lot fewer rampaging monstrosities in their world.  And… (look into the camera, smile gently) in our world as well.


Comic Source: “Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal (SMBC)”, by Zach Weiner

Posted in Angie, behaviour, Church, express, friends, Kingdom of God, Life, Parenting Misadventures, society, Tegan, Uncategorized, Zoey | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Proof that I am Chimp-like

I have been flooded; inundated; overrun with requests by faithful readers begging me to explain the significance of my blog’s name.  As in, one kid at camp last week asked me what “Sticks as Playthings” means.

She had a snarky face… it was overwhelming.

I do not intend to offer a full explanation here.  Rather, I would like to briefly touch on a subject that I find interesting: the fact that despite my species-specific pride as a homo sapiens; and despite my hearty belief in the unique-to-humanity “Image of God” which I bear; and despite my ability to manipulate, reconfigure, foreplan and utilize complex tools (umm…. theoretically, at least) through the blessings that are cognitive thought and opposable digits; and despite the fact that I smell slightly better…

I am really not very different at all from a chimpanzee.

This intrigues me on an evolutionary/biological level, but I am nowhere near bold enough or smart enough or controversial enough to attempt that dialogue here.  Instead, I would like to highlight the fact that, quite simply, I have been known to participate in significantly chimp-like behaviour, to the point where even the aforementioned name of my blog calls to mind the work of the lesser primates.  Allow me to explain.

A juvenile Chris Lantz, using a Stick as a Plaything. I was only slightly less hairy then.

As all vain individuals do, I was googling things about myself to see what bizarrities would pop up.  I googled “Chris Lantz”, and a remarkable number of professors and doctors appeared, to whom I apologize for lessening our great namesake.  I googled “Pastor X”, a stupid gaming nickname I gave myself after encountering a used book from a former pastor entitled “How to Kill Your Pastor”, by ‘Pastor X’.  Google disappointed me on this front.  I then googled “Sticks as Playthings” (a risky sounding venture, I know), and was pleased to discover that (a) my blog constituted hits number 1 through 3, and (b) hit number 10 was a National Geographic article about how “young wild chimps never see their parents using objects like sticks as playthings”.  I clicked on the article, and it turned out to be an interesting little read.  (Check it out for yourself here… it’s short.)

Apparently, young chimpanzees within a certain population use sticks for more than just fishing out termites, as their parents do.  These juvenile females use sticks to practice their maternal characteristics… they treat dead branches as dolls, coddling and nurturing them as Zoey does with her toy Cinderella.  Juvenile males, on the other hand, do not engage in this sort of activity, nor do the adults.  As study leader Richard Wrangham says in the article, “all female chimpanzees are probably more oriented toward infants than are males, but only in a few places such as Kanyawara did the juvenile females get the bright idea to use sticks as ‘dolls’.”

The author later states that “doll play” or “stick carrying” peaked among five- to eight-year-old chimps, which are roughly equal to six- to nine-year-old humans in terms of development.”

So what does all this chimpy playtime mean for Chris Lantz?  I would like to illustrate my point with a pie chart, because my good friend Matthew loathes pie charts.Please note three things.  (1) Next time I will use a bigger font for my legend; (2) classic episodes of “Animaniacs” don’t hold up as well on DVD as you would think; and (3) in my approximation, I spent more time playing with sticks, branches and twigs than I did conversing about girls, something I participated in as much as any other Grade 6 boy.

I could construct a second pie chart simply in regards to which stick-related activities I engaged in, but it took me 45 minutes to figure out the first one.  Included in that pie chart would be the following categories:

  • Hockey (shooting pucks at the side of our shed, and/or practicing my Steve Yzerman moves on my younger brother, Dusty).
  • Fighting Terrorists (imagined) in the bushes behind our house.  I was jacked up on Indiana Jones and True Lies and The Rock and Broken Arrow and Lethal Weapon.  The stick needed for this activity was loosely gun-shaped and may have included a bayonet and/or rocket launcher.
  • Fighting Sith Lords (imagined) in the bushes behind our house.  I was jacked up on Star Wars.  The stick needed for this activity was long, thin, and made high-pitched “dzooom dzooom” noises as it sliced laserlike through the air.
  • Fighting boredom (very real) in the bushes behind our house.  Usually, this meant finding a dead branch and using it to break off other dead branches.  I was a desperate child.
  • Hitting the feet out from under my brothers with a huge branch as they bounced on the trampoline.  Admittedly, this coincides with the above pie chart category “General Sibling Torment”.

I spent a great deal of time in my childhood with some sort of stick I’d found being utilized as a plaything.  I remember this fondly.  It was rudimentary fun, but it was infused with a  sense of creativity, freedom, and glee… three characteristics that are often drained from the “mature” life.

Like a chimp cuddling a twig, I was experimenting, expressing and exploring the world available to me.  These are exercises I still find valuable: as new-ish parents, Angie and I experiment with encouragement, discipline & modelling techniques to help shape our daughters’ behaviour.  As a new-ish Pastor, I wrestle with how best to express the timeless Truths of Scripture in a practical & challenging way every Sunday.  And as a (still) new-ish follower of Jesus, I am daily (and hourly, and minute-ly) exploring what life looks like in pursuit of His holy calling.

In so many ways, I am still approaching life like that 10-year-old boy in the woods, or that playful juvenile simian tending to her imaginary infant.  I embrace my chimp-like nature, which is part of the reason why this blog is named “Sticks as Playthings”.  It reminds me to experiment, express, and explore.  And post pie charts that amuse me.

So, my fellow monkey friends… would you like to play along with me?

Posted in Angie, Childishness, Church, experiment, explore, express, friends, Kingdom of God, pie chart, sticks, Tegan, Uncategorized, Zoey | 6 Comments

‘HOT GOO UNIT’ Destroyed Me

Very few things in life will remind you just how completely childish you are quite like having a giggle attack in the middle of a Church service.  No, this is not an adolescent girl guestwriting my blog.  It is Chris Lantz, supposed adult man, who was completely laid to waste by the three word phrase found in the title.  Here are the details.

I was in Calgary for approximately 22 hours last weekend.  This all-to-brief period of time was spent visiting Chris & Jodi, close friends of ours who are moving into a new ministry opportunity, and helping another close friend, Jordan, move some furniture.  Sounds pretty grown-up so far.  We had potato salad, played bocce ball, discussed hockey draft picks, went to bed at 11:30, and woke up in time to get to Church early.  The afternoon would be spent lugging couches, entertainment centers, and bed frames up and down Deerfoot Trail.  These are all things that adults do to have fun and spend time together.  That morning, we sat together at Bow Valley Christian Church, sang along to the songs we were familiar with, clapped politely for the guest speakers, listened intently to the offering message, and thumbed through the Church bulletin.  This was Church as mature twentysomethings experience it, and it was a quality experience.

Then the message started to feel a bit long.  And things got less adult.

I blame it on Chris, sitting beside me.  He was doodling.  This is not unusual for Chris.  He would claim it helps him focus, and I am willing to believe it, but I’ll let him defend himself on this issue.  The problem with the doodling wasn’t the doodling itself, per se, since I couldn’t see what exactly he was drawing… something to do with an eagle riding a bicycle or something.

No, the problem was this: sitting between Chris and Jordan, watching Chris scribble out silly characters while somebody discussed the Kingdom of Christ immediately transported me back to 2003, sitting through a gruelling 2.5 hour afternoon class at Alberta Bible College, and seeking desperately for something to revive my conscious self.  One way we did this was by writing notes and drawing pictures for each other, like a bunch of 19-year-old fifth-graders.  Another way we did this was by collecting the craziest quotes our professors would spew out in a (mostly successful) bid to ensure our attention remained relatively engaged.  And yet another way we remained mentally sharp (a relative term if ever there was one) was to “edit” our own handout notes.

  1. Here is an example of this idiotic time waster, using the sentence you are currently reading as an exemplar.
  2. Here is an example of this idiotic time waster, using the sentence you are currently reading as an exemplar.
  3. Take out the crossed out letters, and you get “An ex-idiot was in your curry gas.”

Get the picture?  Truly the apex of collegiate humor.  We used to engage in this sort of thing all the time.  I apologize to any of my College Professors (or other such individuals who respect the academic process) whom I have just made cry into their morning coffee.

Anyways, I had just finished reworking a bulletin announcement about dropping needed Sunday School supplies off with a very kind lady named Dorothy.  It was lame, even by the standards of this pathetic little game.  But it caught Chris’ attention.  Caught up in a sudden wave of nostalgic glee, not unlike the sensation I felt upon seeing his Schwinn-equipped osprey, Chris got to work on the first heading he found.

  1. The title was “HOSTING OPPORTUNITIES”
  4. Chris Lantz, utterly destroyed for the next ten minutes
Aside from HOT GOO UNIT being the perfect garage band name for a bunch of 16 year olds, it is also a perfectly disarming phrase to encounter against the backdrop of sincere worship.  No, it’s not the most hilarious combination of words you’ve ever seen, but it certainly did the trick for yours truly.  I was chuckling, chortling and snorting.  Complicating my problem was this; almost immediately after Chris crumpled me with his handiwork, the speaking session ended, and it was time to pray.
Now, I value prayer.  I am respectful of prayer, and usually find solace in hearing another person communicating so simply with their Creator.  At least in this instance, prayer was intended as a quiet, reflective act.  I was determined to treat it as such.  I would gain my composure, close my eyes, inhale mightily, and attempt to tune my ears to the earnest pleas of the Pastor.  Then, in the stillness of the moment, I would hear it calling out to me.  As I quivered in my pew, sweating in an attempt to restrain the inevitable, it would beckon to me gently, like a moth flittering ever closer to an inescapable light:
Hoooootttt…. Goooooooo…. Uuuuuuuuunit……!”

I wonder how many of the 200 faithful congregants were wondering what that small child with no self-control over on the east side of the Church building found so funny about a pastoral prayer for Missional Living.  Well, nothing, really.  That childish fella just  happened to be sitting beside someone equally as willing to embrace the juvenile side of life once in a while.  I count that as a blessing.

A Stern Warning for Congregants of Clyde Christian Bible Church
Who May be Getting Ideas
  • Congregants of Clyde Christian Bible Church, please take note: do not do as I did in this regard.  I do not anticipate an issue with silly wordplay games.  But if I hear you suddenly laughing for no reason during church, friends of CCBC, then I will be forced to ask you to hand over your Hot Goo Unit, and I feel that would just be awkward for everyone involved.  Please remain stoically attentive for the duration of the church service, caught up rapturously by the power of my teachings.  Thank you.

I typed "Hot Goo Unit" into the 'search' option on Flickr, and this came up. It is a compilation of materials needed to operate a geiger counter. Weird.

Posted in Childishness, Church, friends, sermons | Leave a comment