Hypocrite: An Ancient Grecian Acting Mask

I am a Pharisee.
There.
I said it.
It's ugly.
But true.
I am one of the obnoxiously
Self-righteous.
There.
I said it.
My hair's just right.
My clothes are oh-so-appropriate.
My words are perfectly diplomatic - tolerant and inclusive.
My reputation carefully crafted - and almost spotless.
"Good teacher..." I say.
"Why do you call me good?"
The letters are red.
I think:
Because isn't good what you are?
Right, appropriate, diplomatic, tolerant, inclusive...
Or maybe that is my idea of
Good.
Because you did say
The prostitutes and tax collectors get in before me.
The harlots and cheats?
Before me?
Before "good?"
From the mouth, mind, and heart of this Pharisee, you should not be called "good."
I'm beginning to see:
My good is all bad.
My right is all wrong.
I ought to:
Do the work of the Father,
Tend to his people,
Work in his field.
Dirty, sweaty, calloused, and wise
With unkempt hair,
Ragged clothes,
Words and reputation formed from labor,
Not vain practice.
Grace is good.
"Teacher of grace?"


Inspired by a sermon by Aaron Baker on Matthew 21:28-32, "The Man with Two Sons," at Covenant Presbyterian Church, February 2nd, 2014.

A Silver Sliver of Hope

There is a silver square on the subway,
Shining, without words or faces or colors.
It should be an advertisement - but instead, it shimmers
Quiet.
In the midst of all the idols and ways of men,
The path of the foolish to "my best self now."
I think of my best self in the way of men.
I think of my best self without the God-man,
And I laugh -
And shiver -
And furrow my brow.


There is a woman in my neighborhood.
Well - truly, a small girl in a woman's body.
The foster system chewed her up and spit her out
Fuming.
She runs and laughs and cusses and screams.
She speaks of waiting friends and pretends to know everyone.
But, I know she is alone
In that building where they don't check your record.
It is the only place she can be.
And me -
Too.
Where they don't check my record.


There's a homeless man that sleeps outside my door.
Orange sleeping bag, black coat, long beard, dead eyes.
I have seen him, but never heard him.
He does not speak.
Hardened.
Once, I offered a blanket and cup of tea - he sold them.
Because you have to be a stoic in a polar vortex
Alone - with an orange sleeping bag.
Chiberia is no place for kindness and warmth and hope.
Certainly not hope.
In my hermeneutic of suspicion,
I see me in him.
The stoic in Chiberia, alone, with my orange sleeping bag.


The silver square.
The woman with the record.
The stoic with the orange sleeping bag.
The altar to the unknown god - another option.
The truth of condemnation - all have sinned.
The truth of depravity - no one does good.


But!


The silver square - the other option.
My best self is him, the God-man.
My record is him, the justified.
My hope is him, the holy.


And the truth is all around and on and in us.
There's a silver square on the subway.


There's another option.

Announcing: Painting By Numbers! Album Available

I am so very pleased to announce that "Painting By Numbers" is now available for free download on Noisetrade.com!!!

Please download and share!

http://noisetrade.com/kristathomas/painting-by-numbers

In God Music Video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCCkmlDRrsY

Poetry

So... quite frequently - I will begin - in the hopes of writing a song - to write a poem.  I very readily use uncommon rhyming schemes and aesthetic grammar.... which doesn't always lead to a good - melody friendly - song.  So, instead of forcing it into music - which one should NEVER do - I simply say, "huh, nice poem."

Here's one of those poems - which is reflective of the kind of poetry you will find within the songs of my new album... so you can decide if you'll like it or not.

With You

So many times

Like Sarah, I laugh

With Gideon, I’m testing

With David, lusting when I should be leading

With Jacob, I’m wrestling

With Jepthah, bargaining

With Job, I’m asking things I shouldn't be asking

But

With You, I believe

With You, I live and dare to breathe

With You, I rest

Under Your yoke, in Your peace

Jesus, all is possibility

With You.

So many times

Like Peter, I deny

With Thomas, I doubt

With Martha, I’m working when I should be listening

With the crowd, I mock

With Judas, I betray

With the thief, I’m disowning Him I should be trusting

And this is my cloud of witness

This is my hall of faith

Beautiful thing is:

I fit right in.

We fit right in.

So

With You, we believe

With You, we live and dare to breathe

With You, we rest

Under Your yoke, in Your peace

Jesus, all is possibility

With You  

Album Release

I am very pleased to announce that I am releasing an original album at my senior recital on February 15th (7 pm in Torrey Gray Auditorium at The Moody Bible Institute, Chicago - reception immediately following).  The songs were written over the last three years, and the album will include the 2012 Founder's Week Theme Song.

For those of you that can attend the recital...  I can't wait to see you!  And you will be given a copy of the album as a gift for coming.  All are welcome!  Invite anyone you would wish to be there.

For those who cannot make it... I will be releasing the album online that same evening after the recital.  I will post here, on the blog and on Facebook, with instructions for how to download your own copy.

I am excited to share with you the faithfulness and lessons of the Lord in my life.

Special thanks to Nathaniel Cho who has done all the recording and mixing, Peace Wynn for lending her violin, and Megan Gillespie for lending her flute.

And very special thanks to my husband who has made this whole thing possible and helps me move forward when I want to quit.

I hope to see you all at the recital, however, if you cannot make it.... please watch here for how you might have a copy of my new album:  Painting By Numbers.

The Peace of Christ on your day!

together they Sang...

Musician John Cage said, "My favorite piece of music is the one we hear all around us when we are very quiet."  So today... I began to listen.  I was stunned at the music around me.

I watched a small, African-American boy waiting for the train.  He came close to where I sat as I also waited.  He looked at me.  He came closer as though he would speak to me or touch me.  Right before he did, his mother - who was following him - slowly - labored - a woman - overweight - with dyed blonde curls - commanded the boy to back away from me and sit down.  He obeyed.

He was about to talk to me, about to reach out and touch me, but he obeyed.  I kind of wish he hadn't.  Why the barrier?  Why the lack of love?  Why the formality?  Why was I simply silent - only watching?

Then, sitting beside me, barrier up, wall between us, he noticed an advertisement for a movie about revenge.  On it was a gorgeous young actress, profiled, holding a hand gun - the caption is:  "Revenge is a beautiful thing."  Because of his age, he simply notices the gun.  Were he older - he would have noticed both the woman and the gun, and he would have thought of the sexual and masculine gratification that would have resulted from taking in such a film.

But, he's about 6 or 7, so - he simply notices the gun.  His mom has caught up with him now and is sitting beside him.  He asks, "Mom, why that girl has a gun?"

His mom honestly replies, "Because she wants to kill somebody."

His eyes get big, and it's obvious that his young mind is thinking - he comes up with, "Why?"

She replies, "I don know.  I don know why people do the stuff they do..."

They both pause.  A still silence of thinking... contemplating... deciding what to do with uncertainty...

Then, I feel the prep beat...

And the music begins:

I am stunned as his mother repeats: "I don know why people do what they do," then she adds, "but it's crazy."  She repeats the last phrase over and over in rhythm.

"It's crazy.  It's crazy.  It's crazy."

As she finishes the verse - her son adds his rhythmic thought to their song.

His deafening lyric is:  "I wish I had a gun.  I wish I had a gun."

Together they experienced uncertainty.

Together they sang a deafening song.

And this was just the first time I listened to that deafening music you can only hear when you are very quiet.