I would say “my daddy loves me and he’ll never go away”
Bull****, do you even remember December’s my birthday?

Jay-Z, Where Have You Been

Today is December 6, but for one more day this site will remain stuck on December 4. But it’s my site so I can do whatever I want. Plus, my boy Marty has a fly DeLorean that helps when there’s too much awesome to cram into one day.

December 4 just gets crowded. Elli’s birthday. Last year Oregon was playing Oregon State for a birth in the Natty. And every year since the day in 1969 that Fred Hampton was murdered, it’s been Shawn Corey Carter’s birthday.

Not that I often celebrate or care about celebrity birthdays, but Jay-Z has so woven the date into his lyrics that it’s hard to forget. That, and depending on your opinion of Jeff Bridges, he is the most famous person to share a birthday with my daughter. So the whole thing is highlighted in my brain.

My feelings on Jay-Z regarding his place in my pantheon of favorite rappers are a mixed bag. On the one hand, he’s at his best when he’s articulating what it was like to grow up without a father. To me, it’s one of his greatest contributions to the rap game, because few do it as well as he does. And with his broad appeal, there’s a lot of value in his ability and willingness to really dig into the emotions of growing up without an active father.

I had to lace up my boots even harder. Father is too far away to father.

–Jay-Z, So Ambitious

From a sociological standpoint, the issue of fatherlessness in the urban core amongst African Americans was one of the most pressing issues. That was one of my biggest takeaways from my time in urban ministry. There are certainly a lot of issues to address in urban ministry, but when you strengthen families it makes it a lot easier to chip away at the other problems*. I appreciate how Jay-Z digs into that issue, and hope that hie lyrics serve as a kind of advocacy for the problem of fatherlessness in America.

*The other most pressing issues on my list: education, safety and both economic/racial segregation. The third is especially of concern for me when looking at church demographics and housing patterns.

On a personal level, they do just that. They remind me that my duties as a father to former orphans are important. They serve as a cautionary warning that when I don’t handle my parenting responsibility with the utmost intentionality and seriousness that the repercussions can be incredibly damaging. They are the constant whisper that of all of the titles I might accumulate over the years, “Dad” is one of the most important.

Not that there aren’t opportunities to critique Jay-Z’s body of work. I agree with Chuck D’s assessment that Watch the Throne was incredibly disappointing on a lyrical in that it was little more than a swag album. While it realized it’s commercial and ear-candy potential, it fell flat when it came to the opportunity to make a statement. And therein lies the fundamental weakness with Jay-Z’s body of work. Much like the American Church, Jay-Z masterfully outlines problems with this life, but leans too much on themes of self-destructive themes of over-indulgence to cement his stature and place in society. Unlike the American Church however, he’s unapologetically self-aware.

Truthfully I wanna rhyme like Common Sense (But I did five mil) I ain’t been rhymin like Common since.

–Jay-Z, Moment of Clarity

Renew and Restore

And family.

We didn’t take our kids with us to Ethiopia. Our itinerary was ambitious for adults, and just plain undoable for two little ones. The whole time we were over there, our heart was torn. So happy to be meeting our daughter. Longing to see our two kids back home.

There was mutual joy when we were reunited with our kiddos here in the States, and from the moment we hit the ground it was back to the task or ordering their lives. Perhaps the most pressing priority on the to-do list was that of organizing birthday celebrations for our oldest daughter, who turned six yesterday.

The sixth birthday is a big birthday. As I noted on Facebook , the idea that my daughter is now six freaks me out because she’s over half-way to puberty. I did middle school ministry for a few years, so I’ve been to that mountaintop. It makes me break out in a cold sweat just thinking about taming that beast.

Simultaneously, there’s the sadness of realizing time is flying. We adopted Elli a little over 5 years ago, and in a lot of ways it feel like yesterday. In another blink we will have hit double digits, two blinks after that she will be an adult. Thus is parenting. You yearn for the time when your children will be a tad more independent, but know that it’s a process that leads to a place where you look longingly back toward these days of unbridled childhood.

And then there’s the theme I come back to every time Elli has a birthday: transformation. She is one of the greatest living metaphors on the theme that I will ever come encounter. This was highlighted when we were spending time at orphanages last week, and I was stunned at how well developed the infants were compared to Elli’s developmental level when we brought her home. As a 9-month old she couldn’t sit up, couldn’t play with toys and was still on a newborn sleeping/eating schedule. We look back at pictures of her when we were staying in Vietnam awaiting her US visa, and we see that our opinion of her health and overall coping ability was greatly tainted by our New Parent Optimism and general lack of experience with kids.

Six short years later she’s in a completely different place. Every year on her birthday I pause and allow myself to revel in how remarkable the transformation has been. She runs and jumps and sings and dances and bosses her brother around like any big sister should. She throws herself into school and has developed into quite the little gymnast.

What it all brings me back to every year is that our lives aren’t meant to be static. And when Christians talk about the power of God to change and transform lives, there is a process that is intended there where God does amazing things in and through us. Our adoption into the family of God is so much more than just inheritance, it is thriving in the context of family and love and self-understanding and God-understanding.

It’s life to the full.

And not that that life is always perfect. But it’s a life that is always changing, and always molding us along this trajectory of what it means to really be a child of God.

People have told us that Elli is lucky to have us, but truth be told we are luckier to have her.

Renew and Restore

• Timing – Is the child smart enough to get the concept without having developed the stubbornness to go all anti-establishment?
• Time – Do the parents have time to invest in the process?
• Personality – What motivates the kid?
• Tactics – What system will the kid and parent find most doable?

In the end, I’m convinced that successful potty training involves successfully navigating the above matrix mixed with healthy doses of Jedi mind tricks and the grace of God.

And, in our house, the wisdom of my wife.

Last month we decided it was time to potty train the 2 year old. I was at home, so we had the time. He is going to a different babysitter starting in a couple of weeks and it would be nice to have him house trained before starting that fun. So we tried the whole “outfit the kid in underwear and praise him for being a big boy” strategy. I’d sum up our success with two words.

Dis. Aster.

After soiling all six pair of big boy skivvies in one day, Stacy suggested a strategical shift. She had read an article about how to potty train a toddler in three days. It seemed like a magic bean proposition to me, but I was willing to try it despite my skepticism.

The highlights of the plan include: your kid running around the house with no pants/diaper/undies for at least three straight days, putting a kiddie potty near where your kid plays, paying close attention to your kid for those first three days so that you can encourage them to potty all the time, and doing a celebratory song & dance every time someone in the house uses the toilet successfully.

Cold turkey? No potty patch, or anything? According to my calculations, the odds of successfully navigating potty training with such a method are 3720 to 1. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a husband, it’s to never tell my wife the odds.

Our home was quite the circus that week. Bare booty. Lots of hand clapping and singing. Perhaps the dorkiest dance you’ve ever seen in your life. It was a party like none other. Especially entertaining when we took our show on the road to a friend’s house for dinner one night. They were very accommodating of our new lifestyle.

Glory, glory. In the end this cockamamie scheme worked. It took longer than three days to achieve complete potty trained status. But it worked, and I’ve been converted into a believer. Granted, we’re now unable to convince our son that he needs to wear pants. That’s probably what I get for singing this song during most of the first year of his life. My bad.

The world of education has provided a different rhythm for our family. When I was doing youth ministry, summers were always mad hectic. My travel schedule ramped up. I worked more nights. I expended tons of energy. It was a beast.

This summer was the exact opposite. I got to rest. I was more available and present for my kids than I have ever been. I embraced my role as Stay at Home Dad. It took a bit for us to hit our rhythm, but we figured it out. Looking back, it seems as though I just had to progress through the 4 Stages of Stay at Home Fathering.

1. Anticipation and Ambition – As the school year ended I was pumped to get to hang out with my kids. I also had grand plans for all I would achieve this summer. I mean, how can you not be incredibly efficient if you have an extra 30-40 hours each week you aren’t spending in the office?
2. Realizing Reality – The answer to that last question? You chase around a 2yr old and a 5yr old all day. Those 30-40 hours get accounted for quite quickly. Prior to our move a little over a year ago I had talked myself into thinking I could be a Stay at Home Dad full-time. Stage 2 had me chucking that idea out the window. I didn’t know if I could last the whole summer, let alone make a life of this gig. Did I have the patience needed to nurture my kids all day, every day? Doubtful. Did I have the wisdom to solve the riddles they would barrage me with? Not likely. Every time I pondered what the summer had in store for me, I came to the same conclusion: I’m royally screwed.
3. Getting the Groove – Thank goodness we figured things out. I learned what to do with my kids all day. They learned what to do with me. Eventually we started dancing in a coordinated fashion, and stopped falling all over each others feet. It just took a minute. Once we hit our groove however, I ran outside and grabbed the positive notion of being a Stay at Home Dad I had previously chucked out the window. As the summer progressed I realized just how funny my kids are, how much they are like their parents, and how deeply I’m smitten with them. I knew all of these things before, but they were certainly reaffirmed for me during our time together. Not that we didn’t have our moments. My daughter would occasionally do her best impersonation of a teenager on an MTV reality show, and my son perfected the art of making a huge mess every time I turn my back. But overall, we figured out how to have a blast together.
4. Schmaltzy Sentiment – A couple of weeks ago I realized I was soon to return to work. I found myself straining to soak up our time together and really enjoy our quickly waning summer. It’s not that I don’t want to go back to work. My job is energizing and challenging and all kinds of fun. I even have some new challenges and ambitious goals that I’m looking forward to tackling this school year. So it’s not exactly like I’ll be dragging myself back into the office. Mixed feelings for sure, because I wouldn’t trade the time I had with my kids this summer for anything.

I think the big loser her is my wife. She was pretty happy to have a house husband for a couple of months. We typically do a good job of splitting up tasks around the house, but with me at home more I absorbed a larger share of cooking/cleaning/etc for those two months. She’s going to be bummed if I ever get called away from education and end up taking a position that has me in the office all year.

Renew and Restore

I’ve been an NBA fan my entire life. An ardent follower of my hometown team, only three non-Blazers were ever able to earn my affection. Michael Jordan did it by being the best player to play during my lifetime. David Robinson did it by being a nice guy and playing the piano in addition to dominating at the position I played growing up. And Shaquille O’Neal did it by capturing my imagination.

Shaq first hit my radar during his Sophomore year at LSU. I was 10 years old, and started to hear sports-talk radio heads hype up this dude down South who was (apparently) killing it. I saw a couple of his games on TV, and was mesmerized. When he came back for his Junior year, he came back even better. I couldn’t wait for him to get to the NBA.

When he did land in The Association, he did so in Orlando. The bad news was that he would only play the Blazers twice each year, so I wouldn’t get to see him in action as much as I would have liked. The good news was that he would only play the Blazers twice each year, so he wouldn’t be able to destroy them on a regular basis.

As the years would pass, Shaq’s career would have it’s ups and downs. He tore down a backboard one Sunday afternoon. I didn’t get to see it live since I was at church, but the ensuring delay allowed me to catch the end of the game when we got home. He had some forays into the entertainment industry that my teenage self thought were pretty sweet (see: Blue Chips and a rap collabo with Fu-Schnickens). He played with some very exciting players in a number of different cities. He won three Championships. He was a fixture at the All-Star Game. At times, he dominated the paint. At other times, he showed complacency and a disinterest in maintaining his quality.

Through it all, I never broke up with Shaq. I defended him to my wife over the past decade whenever he showed up on TV. I even stuck with him (as much as possible) through his years with the L*kers. He rewarded my faithfulness by beefing with Kobe, eventually delivering a memorable rap dis. Pretty much ensured I’d be a Shaq fan for life.

After 21 years, it appears as though I’ve watched Shaq play basketball for the last time. From a basketball perspective, it’s time. He had a long and memorable career,  but his body is wearing down and he’s not the force he used to be. I’m happy for him. But at the same time, this is a turning point in my life as an NBA fan. The last of my childhood heroes has left the league, and now I’m the old guy who will forever talk about players that my kids will never remember. There is one less NBA baller older than me. It’s the end of an era.

I made it a point to watch Shaq’s retirement press conference today. He held it in his 70,000 square foot house (not a typo, btw). He was charming and funny and sentimental. Even self-aware and vulnerable. It sounds like he’ll be doing broadcast work when the NBA figures out how all of the rich guys can stay rich.

I can’t wait.

Thanks for everything, Shaq.

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lays down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. — John 15:12-14 (ESV)

If I ever have the opportunity to plan an Easter service, it will end with this song. The whole entire congregation singing it together. There’s a good chance we exceed the 4:02 runtime of the album version, however. When a song is this perfect for the occasion — in tempo, in tone, in imagery, in paradigm — you want to dwell in that for a minute.

As a contained Easter liturgy, I love how Window is set up. The first verse calling us to worship,
The shackles are undone
The bullet’s quit the gun
The heat that’s in the sun
Will keep us when theres none
The rule has been disproved
The stone it has been moved
The grave is now a groove
All debts are removed

The second verse as dance,

Love makes strange enemies
Makes love where love may please
The soul and its striptease
Hate brought to its knees
The sky over our head
We can reach it from our bed
You let me in your heart
And out of my head

The third verse as confession,

I know I hurt you and I made you cry
Did everything but murder you and I
Our love left a window in the skies
And to love I rhapsodize

The final verse as a word of hope,

Oh can’t you see what love has done
To every broken heart
Oh can’t you see what love has done
For every heart that cries

Love left a window in the skies
And to love I rhapsodize

You’d be hard pressed to find a better modern Easter Liturgy.

Renew and Restore

I wanted to write this post last week, but I didn’t. When people found out that Common had been invited to a White House poetry event, a fairly redonk poop storm broke out. Numerous times I fought the temptation to pound out 3,000 angry words about how dumb the haters were being. Fortunately, I was able to talk myself off the ledge through various streams of reasoning.

• I don’t want this blog to be political. I got into politics a few times on one of the previous incarnations of this site, and I never liked myself or the results. Yeah, I toe the line sometimes but this would have been an all-out plunge.
• I want this space to have a positive tone. That would have been blown to smithereens.
• I’m 31 years old, and it’s undignified to rant on the internet. Unless you’re ranting about why leggings aren’t pants. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
• Common didn’t freak out. He handled the situation with grace and dignity.
• Seeing as though I had TWO posts in a row featuring Common right before the flap went down, my impartiality was nonexistent. And people were probably starting to doubt if I was saved, so jumping into the fray would have sealed it. I’d be left behind when the world ends tomorrow. Bummer.
• The main point of my post would have been something to the effect of “old rich white guys who don’t listen to hip-hop need to ferme la bouche when it comes to rap music”. That sounds pretty racist. And ageist. And not nice.
• In the end, John Stewart not only did the dirty work of putting the talking heads on blast but he then went on Bill O’Reilly’s show and was part of a really good conversation on the subject.  I thought both guys made valid arguments. Granted, O’Reilly’s arguments weren’t the same ones that his colleagues were making when the meme started, but whatever. There is a lot to think about (and laugh about) in that conversation.

As time passed, I chilled the heck out. Circular breathing. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

Then I remembered a conversation I had with my friend Aaron a few weeks ago.  We were driving through the Flint Hills talking about art and music and worship, and somehow the conversation turned to hip-hop. I’m sure he brought it up. He’s street like that.

So we’re talking and I mention how important I found Decoded by Jay Z to be. Artistically, it’s incredible. It’s full of pictures that add quite a bit to the writing. But the content is what really brings the book to life. The book consists of Jay Z telling stories from his experience, and then breaking down some of his favorite songs from his albums and explaining what the lyrics mean. If you have a context for what he’s talking about you’ll find some of the explanations to be rudimentary, but not everyone has that context.

I then went onto explain how much I appreciated what The Roots did with the CD booklet in their Rising Down album. While there wasn’t a detailed walk-through of each song, they did include a little bit about the inspiration for each track. Again, context. I didn’t realize all of that info was in there until I had listened to the album for a few weeks, and I found that reading through those notes helped me enjoy and appreciate some of the songs more.

Explaining all of this to Aaron was buildup for my main point: I wish hip-hop artists included brief notes with their albums so that it was easier for the public to understand and discuss their art.

At which point Aaron pushed back to ask why artists should need to explain their art. Shouldn’t the art be able to stand on its own? It’s a valid point, and one he has to make because he’s not just an artist. He’s an arteest*. (*make sure you roll the “r” there). It’s a point that I’ve taken to heart and pondered since our conversation. I’ve kept it in mind as I’ve listened to people talk about hip-hop and art and urban America over the past few weeks.

In the end, I still stand by my assertion, but only for certain artists. You don’t really want to know that Soulja Boy is talking about in his songs, for instance. From a sociological perspective, it can be an interesting discussion if you want to talk about the sexulization of Black culture, but it’s not like he’s adding to the discussion. But within a segment of the hip-hop community, context can be incredibly helpful. Sometimes necessary even, as hip-hop gets co-opted by various population groups whose experiences are very different from those of the artists. If people are going to talk out of turn and editorialize art that they just flat-out don’t understand, then it seems to me that it would behoove artists to try to dictate the discussion.

Is that a fair burden to put on artists? I don’t know. But it seems like a reasonable burden when one creates with the medium of metaphor. And it seems like important and worthwhile work when your voice is one of the prophetic voices that brings to life the struggle of the oppressed and the stories of the voiceless.

It’s an interesting discussion. What’s your opinion?

*Yo Sprint, you know where to find me. I expect a fatty royalty check when this video goes viral. But keep it of the books. I have a feeling George Lucas might want a cut.

“I want to go to Denver for the first Timbers match as an MLS team.”

“Really? Are they going to be good?”

“Probably not. They’re still putting the team together. And they’re playing the defending MLS Cup champs. At altitude. They’ll do well to draw. They might get blown out.”

“Wow. Great idea, dear.”

–

Look, I’m a realist. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this road trip. I would have loved to celebrate a victory on the field that night. But I knew it was much more likely that the Timbers would lose. And boy, did they lose.

Eight minutes into the match, Colorado scored their first goal. Welcome to MLS, fellas. It’s big boy time. The Colorado fans all turned to our corner of the stadium to let us know about it. When you run up into somebody else’s house acting crazy, that’s what you get. You have to sleep in the bed you made.

At that point, the Timbers Army did what we do every time the opposition scores. We raised our scarves above our heads and belted out a chant that’s reserved specifically for such occasions.

Rose City ‘til I die!

I know I am, I’m sure I am,

Rose City ‘til I die!

Consider it part of the liturgy of the Timbers Army. This liturgy is sung by TA at matches and tweeted by TA during matches. It’s a liturgy that grounds us in the broader reality of the moment, be that moment joyful or painful. It stinks to get scored on. On that night in Colorado it stunk when the Rapids put a second goal on the board in the 29th minute, followed by a third goal one minute later. It wasn’t the most hope-filled moment in the world. The 400 TA in attendance let out a collective groan, but quickly jumped back into the liturgy.

Yeah, we were down 3-0, which I often refer to as “crossing the blow-out line”. But we would not turn our backs on the team. We would not stop singing. We would not allow the momentary agony of on-field humiliation to strip us of our pride. And we certainly weren’t going to sit on our hands and shut-up. This particular slice of TA liturgy keeps in mind the history and journey of the Timbers. It embraces a larger civic pride. More so, it speaks to the hope for a future that will be far brighter than the dark moments.

And so we sang.

There’s a tension in such singing. It’s not done blindly. Every person singing at that moment knew that things were looking bad. It was clear that work would need to be done for the Timbers to be competitive in MLS. It wasn’t as though people looked at each other at halftime and said, “we’re not playing that poorly.”

It’s similar to the tension we see in the Psalms. There’s some real stuff up in there. Poems and hymns that reflect many of the darkest emotions and experiences known to humanity. Betrayal, anger, depression, sadness. It’s all in there, and sometimes it gets really ugly. But underpinning all of those very real expressions is the truth that while our experiences might be malicious, the God we serve is good. Bad experiences do not necessitate a bad God. The poets reach back throughout history to remember the goodness of God, and they look forward to a time of restoration.

Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause against an ungodly people; from those who are deceitful and unjust deliver me!

For you are the God in whom I take refuge; why have you cast me off? Why must I walk about mournfully because of the oppression of the enemy?

O send out your light and your truth; let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling.

Then I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy; and I will praise you with the harp, O God, my God.

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.

–Psalm 43 (NRSV)

It’s a powerful liturgy. It doesn’t discount experience, but it doesn’t lose hope.

The hopefulness of the Timbers Army shone brightly that night in Colorado. At the end of the match we were on the wrong side of a 3-1 score line. And yet, we sang. We sang as the Rapids fans exited the stadium. We sang after they were gone. We sang for nearly 30 minutes, until security politely asked us to go home so that they could go to bed. We might have lost on the field that night, but our liturgy reflected our understanding that the reality of being a part of the Timbers Army was full of win.

Renew and Restore

In the late 2000s The Roots crew took a turn from their usual upbeat and jovial tone to a more harsh and political one. Their 2006 and 2008 albums, Game Theory and Rising Down, were overflowing with criticism and frustration with the Bush administration, and the story their albums told became dark and angry.

But in 2010 they had somewhat of a resurrection – not a resurrection in the sense that their careers were dead and suddenly they were successful again, but more due to their musical sound. Last June, they released their aptly titled How I Got Over which brought back some of their older vibes, but kept their social justice driven mindset. The first three tracks on HIGO are the transition from dark to light; the dark feel is still somewhat present in the minor chords and soft brushed percussion, but the harsh political lyrics have begun to morph into curiosity, philosophy and theology.

This feeling of a “resurrection” is reinforced through the subject matter during these transitionary tunes. Track two is titled “Walk Alone”, and it begins the conversation on the other side of darkness. The song features verses from Truck North and P.O.R.N. and a chorus by Dice Raw, but it’s The Roots’ own front man, Black Thought, who brings it home in the third verse. It starts:

The longest walk I’ll probably ever be on

The Road to Perdition, guess I’m fin’ to get my plea on

I pray these wings strong enough to carry me on

I promise every second felt as if it took an eon

Walking like the lost boys of Sierra Leone

The trail of tears what they got me like a Cherokee on

Between the ears something I require therapy on

For working to the bone like my name Robert Guillaume

I go above and beyond, the duty called, truly y’all

Even though they kind of blew me off like a booty call

Asked me if I’m just another moolie or a movie star

Forced to face the music like a graduate of Juilliard

Walk alone, talk alone, get my Charlie Parker on

Make my mark alone, shed light upon the dark alone

Get my sparkle on, it’s a mission I’m embarking on

A kamikaze in the danger zone far from home

If How I Got Over is a resurrection for The Roots, then “Walk Alone” is their Good Friday. In Matthew 26, we find Jesus and his disciples at Gethsemane. Jesus is fully aware that Judas is about to show up and betray him into the hands of the Romans:

Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, “Sit here while i go over there and pray.” He took Peter and the two sons of Zebedee along with him, and he began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.”

Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”

It is in Gethsemane that we hear Jesus singing Black Thought’s lyrics as he leaves his disciples behind to watch. His prayers to God are desperate. We are allowed a rare glimpse into Jesus’s humanity here. Jesus is praying for God to take his cup from him: I pray these wings strong enough to carry me on.

Never has there been or ever will be a more unjust execution. A man with no sin is about to be brutally beaten and marched to his death. In Black Thought’s lyrics we get images of child soldiers and displaced Native Americans as people unjustly forced to walk. But Jesus can relate:

Isaiah 53:7-8

 He was oppressed and afflicted,

   yet he did not open his mouth;

he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,

   and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,

   so he did not open his mouth.

By oppression and judgment he was taken away.

   Yet who of his generation protested?

We even get a glimpse into the triumphal entry. Jesus was just celebrated less than a week before – people thought he was the dude who would save them from the Romans – but now he’s about to be arrested and murdered for nothing. Comparing Jesus to a booty call? Sketchy territory here. But the concept is a valid one – treasured one day, tossed to the curb the next.

“Walk Alone” finishes with a nod to God’s plan: Jesus is on a kamikaze mission to shed light upon the darkness of the world. The Roots (knowingly or unknowingly) have mimicked the story of holy week in this verse. Jesus alone is the one who saves us from darkness. While the Roots are working their way out of the darkness themselves, they do so in the same way that God does it for the world: through the journey of Jesus Christ.

-apc.