Unwarranted and Un-Asked for.

I feel like I’ve been neglecting this page and the few readers who visit it. I write in it about as often as I can and planned to from the beginning, but I think it’s what I’ve been writing — not the frequency of the writing — that I think isn’t delivering. I’ve been sharing with you bits and pieces, short glimpses into the slightly opened window of my life and I think that’s just my nature: to be mostly private, a bit enigmatic, and most certainly abstract and hard to read. When I’m home and in your lives, I think a certain measure of privacy is both healthy and acceptable; our paths cross often enough to where, sooner or later, the truth of my state of existence comes out and you really do get an honest feel for how I’m doing and how I feel about my life.

I’ve been thinking that I might let up that curtain, if only for a little while, and become a little less private and a little less guarded. Part of me wants to quit writing this now in the name of remaining quietly amongst the backgrounds of your lives; if you’re reading this now, I suppose it’s ultimately clear in which direction I decided to go with this.

Allow me to assume, for the purposes of this entry, that you’re wondering “How is Danny doing?” Well, I’m fine, actually, thanks for asking. No, more than fine, I think; I’m doing quite well. Very well. No, I’m feeling actually great.

I was depressed for a long time. And now I’m not. Oddly enough, it happened all at once. One day, I was and the next I wasn’t. June 22nd, actually. Just like that. I’m not really sure why. Nothing in particular happened that day, that I can recall anyway. Certainly nothing in particular having to do with the reasons for my being depressed in the first place; I think the lights just came on — Click. The sun came up, the stone was rolled away, and instead of a corpse I found life or maybe even something better.

For the first few weeks of my living here in St Louis, not only was I depressed but I hated it here. I was surrounded by really nice, Christian people but I didn’t have friends. I was pissed nearly all the time (but I hid it well, I think) and in just about every one I could easily find fault — except, of course, for myself. I didn’t feel as if I even had a defined role or place here; I was a glowering, sulking, lonely, and useless island.

I can’t really tell you exactly when all that went away, but I can tell you that it did, completely. I’m happy. Overjoyed, in fact, at the prospect of being a part of this Church — though it is a Church still in flux and controversy. I have friends now. Lots of them. I’ve stayed up late talking with them on numerous occasions and I’m fairly certain that, if given the power to do so, Cody Dye and I could probably solve all of the world’s problems based on the outcomes of our conversations. We hashed it out good.

I think that the pieces of the puzzle of my life’s events came together in such a way that I would be forced to go to St Louis feeling horribly, irrevocably, and fiercely alone so that I could come to fully understand what being together means. This has been my ascent to Mt. Carmel; my forty days in wilderness or three days in whale; this has been my purifying fire, burning away almost all things keeping me away from the all-consuming Love that is God.

So, if pressed and asked for brevity in explaining my newfound levity (ha), I’d say that I have finally learned what Love is. It is not emotion, though it certainly does evoke it; it is not action, though it certainly does invite it. Love is not even a word, really; it is God and it never fades away.

Love.
Danny

The Beautiful Idols.

“This sunlight, this warm air, the sounds of kitchens, speak of God’s goodness and His mercy.  I can sit here all day, now, and think of that, and ask God to show me everywhere more and more signs of His mercy, and His goodness, and help me to regain my liberty.  Peace.

Here is liberty, all I have to do is to be quiet, sit still.

Liberty: menaced most of all by the war.  But by other disproportionate things I am more familiar with than war — which I don’t know anything about really.  All the restlessness I can create for myself looking for liberty where I know I have never been able to find it.  Why?

The answer is, not only in war but always liberty is menaced: only not so brutally.  And the solution only this, to abandon all things, only love God and thy neighbor.  First: abandon all things.  That, at least, if the only one thing, is the clear answer.”

- Thomas Merton, somewhere between September 8 and September 13th, 1939.  Run to the Mountain: The Journals of Thomas Merton, Volume I (1939-1941).

.  .  .

It is through the abandonment of all the beautiful idols I’ve ever tried to love that I’m beginning to see with scale-less eyes the liberty, the peace, and the undying hope that is this life within the fold.  The yoke is easy, the burden is light and I, at such long and restless last, am free: unfettered and bound to no misery nor altar; free to stand, to run; free to live, and free to Love — forever wrapped up and bathed in the light and the love of the God that surrounds me.

Grace and Peace in yours as well,
Danny

I Have Seen God.

At age twenty-two, I believe I’ve done a pretty decent amount of living.  I’ve been in a band, recorded an album, traveled to the Caribbean, helped build a Church, swam in the ocean, and stayed up for thirty-six hours straight on a roadtrip.  I’ve stayed up until dawn talking with friends, read enough books to fill a few shelves, ridden my bike all night long, and jumped in a frigid Northern Michigan lake in early April.  I’ve gone on first dates, had first kisses, been in love, and have felt, at times, that I couldn’t be more alive.  I’ve heard powerful messages from the pulpit, been moved to tears in worshipful song, and felt like I truly know and can feel God’s presence.  But that was all then; that was all before.

Today I realized that I’ve spent the last four years of school, study, and spiritual formation in preparation for this urban ministry experience: every class I’ve attended, every interaction form and paper I’ve written, every single book I’ve read, every Church service I’ve sat through, every worship song I’ve ever sung was just the precursor, the labor that comes before the beautiful, miraculous birth of a moment in time which has defined who and what I am.  Of all the things I’ve done – all the feelings of excitement, happiness, and religious fervor I’ve ever experienced – none of them come close to drawing comparison to what it feels like to be surrounded on all sides by God himself, personified in the four-year old faces of Annie, Brittanee, and Tameika, blowing bubbles and laughing.

As I play and laugh with them, pick them up and hold them close, I feel like I’m falling in love, like I’m experiencing the emotional high of worship – except the feeling this time is exponentially more potent, as if bolstered by some powerful and mystical sensory-enhancing drug.  I see God in these girls, I feel as if I know God through them and, as I come back down from the experience, I feel a lot like Moses making his way down the slope of Mount Sinai after being n the presence of the Most High: my face is glowing, charged by some ethereal and supernatural encounter, and my life is utterly changed forever.

At age twenty-two, I am more alive than I have ever been before.

I have seen God.

Life in Pictures, Pt. I

I am having a heck of a time getting my pictures uploaded to this blog.  You see, when I post them, my page won’t re-size for them to fit and so a huge chunk of each picture is cut from view.  I found out that the only way to change the pixel-width of this page is to purchase an upgrade and, to that I say, screw that noise.

For now, here is a link to an online photo album of my pictures thus far.  Do not be too surprised if I end up changing blogs to a site that will allow my pictures to be shown directly on my page without being mucked up, but if that happens, I promise you’ll be the first to know.

Anyway, enough talk.  Go look at my kids and think about just how lucky I am.

Photo Album: St. Louis So Far…
 

The Transformation of Transformation.

I work with the seven to ten year olds in the Vacation Bible School program here at North City. So far, it’s been very good – though it could be said with accuracy that I don’t actually do very much or have much responsibility yet – and these kids are very quickly carving out a place in my heart and making themselves quite at home. Nigeria, who says “Thank you, Mr. Danny” each and every time I stamp her nametag and asks me for paper so she can write down the memory verses that she goes over again with her mother; Jayana, who, at age ten is sadly overweight but also comically ingenious (she almost successfully hid her vegetables away in a crumpled napkin last Thursday!); Algernon (we call him ‘Al’), who salted his mashed potatoes enough to make them crunchy; Otha and Olivia, the brother and sister twins who, above all else, seem only to yearn for my approval (as well as the generous heaping of stamps that is sure to come with it!) – these children are all unique and beautiful and causing me to wonder just who is more blessed by our forming relationship.

I look at these kids and I see the bright lights of promise, potential, and ideal shining upon them. But as I look out the window of our classroom and see the neighborhood from whence they come – the neighborhood that breeds drive-bys, drug deals, gangs, and abuse – I begin to wonder just how much longer these lamps of goodness and purity can burn unaided before they are snuffed out, enveloped by the darkness outside. These children need much more than songs about Abraham and Bible stories: they need transformation – and not just that of the soul. Their parents, their homes, their streets, and the many nameless hands in place weaving the fabric of their lives – these, too, must be transformed if ever these kids are going to have a shot at making it out of here alive.

The Church, as it exists and is understood today in America, can only play a small role in this transformation unless the Church undergoes a Christ-rooted, radical transformation of character and practice for itself. Once the Church stops being merely a place and becomes the lifestyle it was meant to be, only then can she be the means by which anyone is saved.

If these beautiful children – in whom I see Jesus Christ himself – are to stand a chance in the years to come, almost everything must change.

I Taught Myself How to Grow Old.

A couple of nights ago, I hit a wall. Up until Thursday night, I’d been busying myself with running errands, taking part in various work projects, doing Vacation Bible School for the neighborhood kids – you know, living the life, doing the intern thing and generally enjoying my experience here in the Lou. It felt good to transition into a state of being perpetually ‘on the go’ – an obvious departure from my life in Lansing where, post-surgery, I was on a leave of absence from work, no longer in school, and busying myself only with the things that had something to do with my own leisure. Even the social exhaustion I tend to feel from being around so many new, different, and even strange people all the time here felt worth it. Living in the convent, sharing the building with another intern and the youth group of about thirty-five folks from Shreveport, Louisiana even got to a point where it was not only tolerable, it was almost preferable.

Now, you know me and you know I value my alone time. I’m an introvert – you know it, I know it, and the rest of the world (which generally exists under the impression that I dislike it – but I don’t) also knows it. Sometimes I just need to hole up, shut up, and lay down. But I’ve come to realize something about myself, which is that, while I value alone time, I hold time alone with those I’m closest to in even higher regard. Uma Thurman’s character in the movie ‘Pulp Fiction’ said something along the lines of, you know you’ve found someone special when you can just sit around and shut the f— up together. I like that. I miss that.
There’s something much more genuine about silent human interaction; it only comes out when the bond between persons is at its strongest, most comfortable level. You don’t need to fill the air with meaningless conversation and drivel: you just sit there, enjoy the silence, and treasure the company. There’s a certain aspect of ‘absent-mindedness’ that comes into play and I really, really dig it. It’s that absent-mindedness that, when in the context of a romantic relationship, forgets all about the volitional, calculated modes of affection (that is, the conventional – the kisses, the hand-holding, the what-have-you’s of dating) in exchange for the connective relational tissue that is shared silence, close proximity, and the deeper-seated comfort that comes with both.

I’ve gotten myself lost on a tangent of my own ideals. That’s not where I meant to go. Or maybe, since I’ve gone and written it, it is. My original point and what I’ve been perhaps dancing around like a clumsy ballerina is the simple fact that I am terribly lonely. The group we were hosting for the week has left, Jon (my housemate and fellow intern) is gone for the week, and I, Danny Yencich, live in this empty, tri-level old Nunnery all by myself.

On Thursday night, while the youth group people were still here but were all asleep, I stayed up very late, looking at the southern wall of my room, now newly decorated with homesick memorabilia (thanks Mom & Dad), listening to Ryan Adams, and thinking about everything I left back home. The song “I Taught Myself How to Grow Old” came on and I, with waned strength and exhausted resolve, lost control of myself. Some time later, after regaining some semblance of self-composure, I fell asleep.

I’ve lost control of my life. Or, perhaps, I’ve lost control of that life – the life I had in Michigan. My friends, my family, my Church – my life – is all outside of my control and many, many miles beyond my reach. And all of this seems so trivial since, in a matter of weeks, I will be back home and everything will be basically the same as ever it was. But still, I’m a twenty-two year old little boy, I’m away from all that I love for the very first time and the one thing I miss the most – out of everything I left in Michigan – is having people to share my silences with.

Alone in an empty convent, weathering yet another Missouri storm, silence is scary; alone, silence is heart-rending.

Why I Like Sports.

Last night I went to the Cardinals game. Now, anyone who has more than a cursory understanding of who I am knows that I do not follow sports. In fact, I’m not real interested in much of what typifies the modern American male. But that’s a whole other story and not at all what I mean to talk about today.

Point is, I love sports for one reason and one reason only: they are the great equalizer of culture, they bring us together. While the people actually in attendance at a game tend to be from only the middle- to upper-classes because they can afford the price of a ticket, the socioeconomic makeup of the rest of the fans watching the game at home, their local pub, or listening to it on the radio runs the entire spectrum. From almost the very poorest of the working (and even non-working!) class all the way on up the ladder, sports bring people together.

They cross gender, racial, economic, and class lines in ways that unite people for a common cause and remind me of the Kingdom of God. Look up the footage on YouTube of the last time the Tigers won the World Series. You’ll see dancing in the streets and a kind of unadulterated joy that makes me tear up. Sports bring people together, they give them hope.

It’s a weak comparison, I realize, but I think it’s also one of the closest things the world has got to what the Kingdom might look like. So, if ever I ask you to go to a baseball game, it’s because I’m only homesick for an era I haven’t seen yet and want to feel, on a limited large scale, what part of the Kingdom might look like.

Go Cards,
Danny

Dear Home,

Well, I’m here.

I got here around nine-ish Friday night and have already met and gotten to know some really wonderful people.  I’m living at North City Church of Christ, which used to be a Catholic Church.  Catholic complex would perhaps be a bit more accurate — the place is HUUUUUGE!  There are a few different buildings: the Church, the school, the parsonage, and the convent (where I’m living for the summer).

On Friday night I stayed in the room of a guy who was out of town for the night because my room wasn’t ready yet.  As of today I’m finally moved into my own, more permanent room (knock on wood).  I’ve only got one complaint, though, and that’s the fact that my walls are bare.  The room I stayed in Friday night was covered in papers, drawings, love letters — scraps, bits, and pieces of a life led outside.  My walls are bare and that’s depressing.

This is where you come in, friends, if you’d like.  I was wondering if you could write me a letter, draw me a picture, I really don’t care.  A piece of paper with a smiley face and a really nice note would probably suffice.  I went through my Bible looking for some piece of home to tack up but the only thing I found was a bit outdated.

I just need something on my blank canvas walls.  Otherwise I might go crazy by next week.

Here’s my address:

Danny Yencich
c/o The Urban Mission
P.O. Box 470436
St. Louis, MO 63147

Anyway, I’ve got internet now but it cuts in and out.  I hope to be able to keep in relatively close contact!  Most of you have got my number.  Stories to come but as of now I’m still trying to soak it all in and make sense of it myself.  Sorry for the boring and somewhat scattered update; I promise I’ll do better soon.