The Noughties: Best of the Decade 2000-2009

Okay. As of today here is my "Best/Top" list for the Noughties--the decade of 2000-2009. There's 7 of each because it's more than 5 and less than 10, as well as being biblical and all, and they're not in a particular order. I didn't put comments on each one because these aren't reviews, and all really should be experienced more than talked about. Some criteria include media I actually consumed (never got into Lost or saw City of God, for example, so such things were off the table), cultural relevance (so none of my especially weird, obscure stuff) and, of course, artistic merit (sorry Britney Spears, though "Toxic" was pretty brilliant). I especially tried to include stuff that, looking back, had strong ties to the decade that was, whether starting trends or voicing a zeitgeist. Check it out, laud or bash away, expand your horizons, add your questions, comments, or snide remarks. And Happy 2010!

Best Albums:

All That You Can't Leave Behind (U2)--After a decade (90s) ending with boy bands and pop-tarts, U2 came along and saved rock n' roll.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? Soundtrack (Various)--Gave attention to the genius of T-Bone Burnett and opened a huge window for a revival of roots music, seen in the new folk and bluegrass-influenced bands.

Kid A (Radiohead)

Elephant (The White Stripes)

A Rush of Blood to the Head (Coldplay)--The Coldplay people were remembering when they were lauding Viva la Vida. Had they kept in this direction, it wouldn't have become fashionable to hate Coldplay.

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (Wilco)

The Rising (Bruce Springsteen)--What we needed after 9/11. What we still need.

Best Songs:

"Hey Ya!" (Outkast)--Irresistible dance/pop/hip-hop/funk in the tradition of Pariliament/Funkadelic. You know you loved to "shake it...shake-sh-shake it like a Polaroid picture"!

"Clocks" (Coldplay)--The song that was on every TV commercial and was copied by so many other bands...and for good reason.

"American Idiot" (Green Day)

"Paper Planes" (M.I.A.)--Stirred up all kinds of trouble in a kicky, pop way.

"Crazy" (Gnarls Barkley)--Same Funkadelic pool as Outkast--much more sinister, haunting, and melodic.

"The Rising" (Bruce Springsteen)

"Beautiful Day" (U2)--Because there were few better comments on the times than the images of tuna fleets, Bedouin fires, and oil fields juxtaposed with the bird with a leaf in her mouth and the post-flood rainbow.

Best Movies:

The Lord of the Rings (trilogy)

No Country for Old Men

Memento--Brilliant example of the trend of non-linear storytelling (see also Mulholland Drive, Adaptation), with a gripping, classic "amnesia" action plot to boot (a la North by Northwest).

Juno--Heralding a fresh era of fresh indie filmmaking, movies like this one and Little Miss Sunshine are examples that sharp writing in the hands of strong actors and directors all telling an honest story can still result in classic films. And a superb soundtrack doesn't hurt, either.

Man on Wire

Knocked Up--The best (so far) of the Apatow company and their heartwarming, offensive, immoral morality plays.

Kill Bill Vols. 1 & 2--If there's any doubt that Tarantino is the best of his generation, these perfections of the spaghetti western/samurai genre should put them to rest. Just give the man a genre and he'll master it.

Best TV:

The Office

Curb Your Enthusiasm--You only thought Seinfeld was over. It just moved to HBO and got better!

The Sopranos

The Daily Show with John Stewart--What sharper commentary can there be on our times than the fact that truth in media is found on a "fake" news show.

The West Wing

Arrested Development--Because I couldn't quite get The Royal Tennenbaums on my best movies list. This show was ahead of its time and would likely be a hit if debuting today.

Battlestar Galactica

Best Books:

The Tipping Point (Malcolm Gladwell)

Fast Food Nation (Eric Schlosser)

Consider the Lobster and Other Essays (David Foster Wallace)--A writer's-writer, including depression and suicide, Wallace's use of our native tongue is like discovering a strange city under the floorboards of your kitchen.

Simply Christian (N.T. Wright)--Simultaneously carrying the mantle of C.S. Lewis's Mere Christianity apologetics, while heading in the very different direction of Wright's brilliant-yet-practical presentation of the faith.

Fortress of Solitude (Jonathan Lethem)--Though separated by so many elements, I experienced and witnessed so much of this Brooklyn story in small-town Texas. This is a mark of powerful story-telling.

The Corrections (Jonathan Franzen)

The Road (Cormac McCarthy)--Social commentary, a father-son parable, and running from cannibals all in one alarmingly lean novel.

News Stories:

Google, Facebook, and Youtube

Hurricane Katrina

Election 2000/Supreme Court Elects Bush President

Iraq/Afghanistan Wars

Human Genome Mapped

U.S. Elects First African-American President

September 11, 2001

Honorable Mentions: The Colbert Report, Red Sox Win World Series, Mulholland Drive, "Hurt" (Johnny Cash's cover), Pope John Paul II Dies/Benedict XVI Ascends, "Stan" (Eminem), 30 Rock, There Will Be Blood, "Single Ladies" (Beyonce), Family Guy, High Fidelity (movie), China: Sleeping Giant Awakes, Freakonomics (Levitt, Dubner), Indian Ocean Tsunami 2004, God's Politics (Jim Wallis), The Dark Knight, Good Night and Good Luck

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I'll Be Home for Advent

As I write this—sitting in a bookstore, drinking coffee—there is a girl talking on her cell phone to her sister. She is buzzing around looking for a book the sister had recommended, the title of which she’s forgotten, but she can’t stop talking about how excited she is to get home for Christmas to see her sister and family. She talks about finals and her look definitely betrays that she is living in Abilene for college. I’m sure she has many friends and an enjoyable enough life here. But this is not home, and her life for now is very much shaped by the hope of home.

One of the special things about Advent and Christmas is that our lives are especially shaped by hope. We are hopeful about seeing family and friends, about time to rest and slow down, about giving and receiving gifts—there’s a sense of anticipation and even camaraderie. The vast majority of our culture is still in on this, and what we’re in on is something hopeful. And this hope shapes our lives. Despite the jokes and complaints we make about Christmas being hectic and frustrating, we really do tend to—as a culture, and even other cultures around the world—we tend to rise to the occasion of togetherness and anticipation. We rise to a lifestyle—albeit temporarily—of hope.

It is a sad state of American Christianity today that our thoughts of the “end times” are characterized by pessimism and fear. For the apostle Paul and the early church, “end times” was a subject of triumph. Paul doesn’t write, “Things are so bad, Jesus must be coming soon to take us away from all this.” No, Paul’s understanding was that, having won such a magnificent victory over sin and death, Jesus’ kingdom reality must only be a heartbeat away. And what’s more, that heartbeat is yours and mine. Just as we pray for God’s kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven, so we are to be living from that kingdom and building it until Christ comes in final victory to lift the veil between heaven and earth and to establish his kingdom forever. This is the Blessed Hope of Advent.

Some Angel Named Harold?

For your consideration, I want to reintroduce you to Charles Wesley's brilliant Christmas hymn "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing." I believe this to be one of the (if not THE) greatest Christmas song in the church's musical canon. It is thick with theological insight and rich with biblical imagery. If you will take a moment just to read these words (aloud please), perhaps as a poem without music, I think you will be stricken by their power. (And please forgive the lack of gender-inclusive language. No offense intended.)

Hark! the herald angels sing,

"Glory to the newborn King;

Peace on earth and mercy mild,

God and sinners reconciled!"

Joyful, all ye nations rise,

Join the triumph of the skies;

With the angelic host proclaim,

"Christ is born in Bethlehem!"

Hark! the herald angels sing,

"Glory to the newborn King!"

Christ, by highest heaven adored;

Christ, the everlasting Lord,

Late in time behold him come,

Offspring of a virgin's womb.

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;

Hail the incarnate Deity,

Pleased as man with men to dwell,

Jesus, our Emmanuel:

Hark! the herald angels sing,

"Glory to the newborn King!"

Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!

Hail the Sun of Righteousness!

Light and life to all he brings,

Risen with healing in his wings;

Mild, he lays his glory by,

Born that man no more may die,

Born to raise the sons of earth,

Born to give them second birth:

Hark! the herald angels sing,

"Glory to the newborn King!"

Even that familiar first verse deserves closer attention, with concepts like God and sinners being reconciled, and the plea for nations to rise and join in worshiping the true "King of kings" (Wesley's original words, replaced with "newborn King" by George Whitefield.) And for a real mind-scramble, let me introduce you to some stanzas we don't usually sing:

Come, desire of nations, come,

Fix in us thy humble home;

Rise, the woman's conquering seed,

Bruise in us the serpent's head.

Now display thy saving power,

Ruin'd nature now restore;

Now in mystic union join

Thine to ours, and ours to thine.

Hark! The herald angels sing,

"Glory to the newborn King!"

Adam's likeness, Lord, efface,

Stamp thy image in its place.

Second Adam from above,

Reinstate us in thy love.

Let us thee, though lost, regain,

Thee, the life, the inner man.

O, to all thyself impart,

Form'd in each believing heart.

Hark! The herald angels sing,

"Glory to the newborn King!"

I'll admit this is no "Frosty the Snowman" or "Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer," but maybe there's some stuff in here we should consider in our Christmas observances. In my humble Methodist opinion, little Chuck Wesley has given us a powerful work of art here, chock full of crunchy fruits and nuts!

And it's made all the better paired with Felix Mendelssohn's wonderful music. Mendelssohn was surprised at the idea of his "secular" music being used for sacred text, but this act of redemption only enhances the signficance of the hymn. Listen for this song during key moments of your favorite holiday films like It's a Wonderful Life and A Charlie Brown Christmas, and if you sing it this season, maybe think about the words and the message of those herald angels: Glory to God in the highest! Glory to the newborn King of kings! And on earth, peace...

Patrick Swayze & the Night Visitor

A few years ago my wife and I moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, in April so we could find a place to live and get settled before I began seminary. We had decided we would camp in this beautiful part of the world while apartment-hunting. We had left Amarillo, Texas, well into spring with temperatures in the 70s, but we arrived at the end of the Vancouver winter with cold, wet weather in the 50s.

After asking around we found a beautiful area to camp several miles north of the city. We pitched our tent at a secluded campground with pine trees all around and snow-capped mountains that reflected into a perfect lake. After setting up camp we went into town for a while to see what leads we could get on apartments. Later, we returned to camp, grilled some hot dogs, and settled into the tent where we watched a movie on the computer (Dirty Dancing, I believe--roughing it!) Then we zipped into our sleeping bags and drifted off. It was perfect...until somewhere around midnight.

I heard a distant rumbling. The ground began to shake. Do they have earthquakes around here? Then I saw a blinding light as bright as the sun shining through the fabric of our tent. It was like high noon in West Texas. I couldn’t believe it but there was a train that ran about 20 yards away, roaring by our tent at midnight! I tossed and turned the rest of the night hoping another a train wouldn't come, which it didn’t. But that bright light and pounding rumble proved to be an inescapable memory.

The prophetic ministries of Isaiah and, centuries later, John the Baptizer were something like that train—bright, shocking, disturbing light shining into the cold darkness of Israel’s hearts. Many generations had come and gone since Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, since Moses and the Exodus, Jeremiah and the Judges, since King David, Solomon and the Temple, and hundreds more years of back and forth faithfulness and disobedience.

Despite God's own long-suffering and faithfulness, his people had routinely grown complacent in their worship and calling. Their experience of God was marked by dead ritual devoid of justice and mercy, and their cold hearts were no longer open to God’s warming love. They neither felt it nor showed it. This is when prophets appear on the scene. This is when God comes.

The same could be said about our culture today--perhaps even the church. Maybe we have gotten settled into the cold darkness and need to experience the shocking light of God’s presence. He is still the God who comes, barreling through the night, invading our secure little tents and our scenic slumber. That’s what Advent is about. Sleep in heavenly peace? How about "the glory of the LORD will be revealed, and all flesh will see it together"!

Praying with Kings of Leon

In June I, in essence, emerged from 2 of the darkest years of my life. Those couple of years were spent in self-examination and intense struggle with what I found. I've never known such loneliness, pain, or distance from God. One of the worst things I discovered is that my ability to share myself--my true self--with others is all but nonexistent. This was gas for the fire of my self-exile. I have a life filled with the most wonderful family imaginable, caring friends, compassionate colleagues, and work centered on communing with the Living God and ordering the community of his people. Yet I was completely alone, cold, and blind.

In September 2008 I found a voice for my much-needed prayer. I was watching Saturday Night Live when Kings of Leon, a band I had only known from the pages of Rolling Stone magazine, began playing "Use Somebody." At first I just liked how they sounded like early U2 and were sort of raw and exposed. Then came the first line: "I've been roaming around always looking down at all I see. / Painted faces fill the places I can't reach. / You know that I could use somebody...someone like you."

That was it. God was a lover who seemed to be utterly ignoring me. And my true life, hidden in God, was as far away as he was. On it went: "Off in the night while you live it up I'm off to sleep / waging wars to shape the poet and the beat. / I hope it's gonna make you notice... / someone like me."

Over the next months I clung to this song like a security blanket. "You know that I could use somebody" was my constant plea to God to throw me a line before the dark waters engulfed me for good. And yes, it was that bad. But the song carried me along until the sun began to shine, and the waters stilled. Now the song is getting a lot of radio-play, but my heart doesn't ache so much when I hear it. Instead I just love how tight the bass and drums are in the second section. I'm thankful to have had Kings of Leon as prayer partners.



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Manna-Eating Pelicans!

While we technically have a few more weeks until summer ends, I can sense the turning of another page. It has been a wonderful summer for my family and me—busy, but enjoyable. Despite the busyness, I got to have some great summery moments.

One such moment occurred when we were at the beach. Each morning I would let my wife and daughter sleep in while I slipped out early for my quiet time. I’d walk down to the pier and sit out over the water, reading my devotion book and Bible and prayerfully enjoying the differences between the Pacific Ocean and central Texas.

The first morning, I watched huge pelicans circle the water then dive straight down and SPLASH!...breakfast. As I sat there in the morning quiet, I heard someone sneeze. It sounded like they were under the pier. I looked down into the water and there was a seal. Of course I said, “God bless you.” Over time, I looked out to see the seal’s family, paddling and rolling around, playing and having their breakfast.

My devotional reading that first morning was the story from Exodus 16 about God providing manna for his people. Each day every family gathered as much as they needed for that day. It melted away with the sun’s heat and they were forbidden from gathering for the next day, with the exception of the Sabbath. They were simply to trust that God would take care of them from one day to the next.

As I read this, I looked out on the pelicans and seals—and now there were 4 dolphins rising and diving not 100 yards out. I reveled in God’s care for his creatures. These sea creatures didn’t worry about tomorrow. They simply came out to see what the Lord had for them today. I could feel God smiling at his creation. I could also feel Jesus saying, “If the Father cares so much for these, will he not much more care for you?” Today, I'm determined to dive in…SPLASH!

Confessions of an Ex-Inglourious Basterd

I just went to see Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds, in all its bloody, quirky, fiery beauty. As with most good art, this film left me satisfied yet troubled to confront my own bloody, quirky, fiery beauty.

First, the movie is a great piece of filmmaking. Tarantino is at his best, showing his trademark style of being as much a cinema fan and afficionado as a solid and visionary director. The guy has chops, and there are plenty of original as well as reverential choices he makes throughout. It is impossible not to get swept up in the sheer joy Tarantino obviously has in the journey of his film. And there are a number of solid performances of surprising depth and even understatement--a lot of closeups and dialog displaying Tarantino's (also the writer) brilliant ear for language. Inglourious Basterds is a beautiful, complex, troubling and even humorous piece of art.

Like some of the paintings I recently saw at the Getty museum in L.A., the film was not just pretty to look at; it really challenged me. I'm troubled by the joy I felt watching Nazis getting maimed and killed in the most horrific ways. I was cheering on the basterds as they scalped one Nazi or beat another with a baseball bat (these are in the TV ads, so no real spoiler). After all, they're Nazis--they've got it coming, right? Right?

In some ways I felt this was something of a cultural catharsis. Tarantino is going back and rewriting history in what my angry flesh feels is a very satisfying way. Seeing swastikas burn and get carved into...well, I'll have to stop lest I get into spoilers. But you get the idea. There's a strong feeling of satisfaction, even relief, at some of the most evil people in history getting what most of us feel they deserve.

But throughout the movie, there was always my underlying value system reminding me that that's not how Jesus handled the evil people around him. "Oh, Robert! You didn't go and take Jesus to a Tarantino film, did you? You were so happy with the violent come-uppances before you dragged Jesus into the whole mess." Well, I tried to leave him at home, but he just insisted on coming along. He's like that sometimes.

Anyway, there was all kinds of Old Testament stuff going through my head in my attempts to rationalize my elation. Little Quentin has nothing on the Judges or any number of Old Testament figures exacting the Lord's vengeance on those who would thwart his will. Just picture Ehud confronting fat King Eglon, coldly whispering in his ear, "I have a message for you from the Lord," and then thrusting his machete in the king's gut so deep that the fat swallows the handle (Judges 3). Tarantino wishes he could write so well.

So, I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I cheered on the destruction of Nazis. I was not overly-sensitive to the violence, just enough to assure myself that I'm not a serial killer. But Jesus was there with me in the form of the Holy Spirit, reminding me that my sin is no less sinful than that of Hitler himself. Nevertheless, it is paid for. And even an inglourious basterd like me has been given the right to be called a son of the Living God...and vengeance is his!

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Permission to Slow Down

In a few days my family and I are going on vacation. It’s time to slow down and notice things. That seems to be what summer is about. The Gershwins said it best in "Porgy & Bess": Summertime, and the livin’ is easy. The smell of mowed grass and barbecue, the feel of the sun’s warmth, the glorious sight of baseball under a blue sky, these are a few of my favorite things! Whether packing in as many vacation experiences as possible or just sitting on the porch watching the sun go down each evening, summertime is a time to notice life. It is a time when we let life happen, rather than trying to force it into our own daily constraints.

Typically, the worst part of summer vacation is that it ends. So, here are a few summer ideas that might work in autumn, winter, and spring.

1) Let life happen. Make plans and work hard, but enjoy the passage of time.

2) Rest. A key about summer is that it seems to give us permission to relax, but God already gave us not just permission, but a command to rest. After all, he did!

3) Notice things. Each season has its own sights and sounds and smells that are the stuff of life. Make time to take it all in.

4) Enjoy loved ones. Family reunions, cookouts, ballgames, and vacations don’t have to end with the summer. Whatever it is, it should be shared with the people we love.

5) Worship. God made all of these seasons for his glory and to enrich our lives with their beauty and the lessons they can teach about living more faithfully in the process of life, death, and resurrection.

And right now it’s summer; so fire up the grill, pour the lemonade, and PLAY BALL!

King of Pop vs. King of Kings?

(Disclaimer: I'm a lifelong fan of Michael Jackson's entertainment--from J5 as a kid in the 70s on up. See this post. But I'm also a pastor who "conducts" funerals and memorial services, which I believe are to be acts of worship of the Triune God. And I'm always considering the questions below. So, please indulge me with a little grace here.)


It was interesting to watch the memorial service for Michael Jackson yesterday. It was mostly a beautiful celebration of a sometimes beautiful, oftentimes odd life. One of the things that stood out most to me was a sort of back-and-forth between messiahs: Jesus and MJ.


There was Mariah Carey singing her rendition of “I’ll Be There,” yet almost putting the words in God's mouth, even singing a “thank you, Jesus” at the end. You had Lionel Richie just coming right out with the song “Jesus is Love”—and he tore it up! And, of course, Stevie Wonder was in another world with his “Never Dreamed You’d Leave in Summer,” but especially his powerful dirge “They Won’t Go When I Go,” which had the entire Staples Center hypnotized.


And there were other moments throughout the service, with gospel choirs and preachers and mourners pointing to Jesus as the true source of comfort and hope.


But behind it all—songs and sermons and soliloquies—were images of the dearly-departed, often in cruciform pose. There were words of the special burden Michael had, to be such a pure man-child in such a fallen world. And, of course, there were the songs—ending on an appropriate note with “We Are the World” and “Heal the World.” The whole thing was beautiful, albeit confused and unusual—like the one memorialized.


Not wishing to trample the man’s grave, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to think that MJ may have carried a bit of a messiah complex (as well as Peter Pan/arrested development issues), which was only enabled by his entourage and many of his fans.


But it all brings up the interesting question of the role and activity of Christ in culture (about which H. Richard Niebuhr had much to say). Is it beautiful to sing “we are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving,” or is it idolatrous? Is it right to tell people to “heal the world, make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race,” or is it deluded? And if it’s wrong, are there levels of “wrong-ness”—i.e. are such songs at least better than the death and lust and destruction sung about by so many others, or is it all idolatry and sin? In the end, is there room for both the King of Pop and the King of kings?

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Believe in Anything

I couldn’t help but notice the headline in USA Today a while back: Psychics Make a Fortune During Uncertain Economic Times. The article goes on to say, “Anecdotal evidence indicates that psychics, astrologers, palm readers, Tarot card shufflers, numerologists and other paranormal specialists have become the rage as investment advisers and brokers appear clueless. After all, if the times aren't normal, why not try the paranormal?”

One would think our churches would be bursting at the seams these days. Those who have placed undue hope in money and the material have found their foundations shaken if not crumbling. This would seem the prime time for folks to turn again to the eternal Lord of heaven and earth, the one true God, the Ancient of Days who is the same yesterday, today, and forever…right?

G.K. Chesterton so perfectly said, “When people stop believing in God, they don’t believe in nothing—they believe in anything.” It saddens me that it often seems to be the poorer segment of our society that spends the most money on the lottery. Likewise, it is sad to see people so desperate for security and hope and, well, money, dropping their dough on what is only evil and opportunistic.

The article continues, “Nina Melrose, 42, a Dallas soothsayer who reads palms and Tarot cards, advises clients on which stocks to buy, basing her picks ‘solely on my psychic ability.’ She declined to say how prescient she had been. Others steer clear of specifics. They offer common-sense advice—at rates up to $5.75 a minute—that some people wouldn't need a mind reader to provide. Valerie Morrison, who charges $85 a half-hour, has increased her schedule from three days a week to five because of rising demand. She tells clients to buy gold and silver, sell their antiques and pass up new clothes. ‘Anything they can do where they can put cash in a safe,’ she says. ‘If we just hold tight, we're going to get through this.’”

People seem desperate for answers and, even more, for hope. Where is the church? What are we doing during all this? The world needs good news. And we’ve got the best news ever!

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Michael Jackson and Track Spikes

Jeff Richardson could moonwalk in his track spikes. That did it...Jeff was officially the coolest guy in Jr. High! When he wasn't beating everyone on the track, he was midfield, dancing to Thriller on somebody's boom-box. The students' interest drifted from their teammates' events and crowded around the main event: Jeff Richardson popping and breaking and doing the moonwalk in his track spikes.

Then there were the garage parties. We would get together after school on Friday and decorate someone's garage with posters and tattered old rugs and christmas lights. A garage or shed became our own little dance club, away from parents and teachers and the disconnectedness of small-town life. What was happening in a garage in Memphis, TX, population 3417, was also happening in LA or Manhattan or Paris or Berlin: people dancing to Michael Jackson.

I couldn't do the moonwalk in track spikes, but I could do it in my sock feet on my grandmother's kitchen floor...and occasionally in those garages. And I could pop. The best song was "Wanna Be Startin' Something." The beat would just get into you, the strings lulling you into a trance. And there we'd be, carried away into our own little universe. Jeff Richardson wasn't around for these dances. Even in 1983, our black friends lived literally across the tracks and we didn't see them again until school. "Mama say mama sa ma ma coo sa..."

In the end, we don't remember our icons as they were at their time of death or even as they were in their heyday. We remember them as they were in our cars and our bedrooms, in theaters and our living rooms, in small-town garages and at track meets.

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