How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb
For so long, the light at the end of the tunnel has remained the same size, as if it was merely moving away from us at the same speed. On the back of a flatbed truck, just over the horizon, just enough to see a faint half-halo.
For so long we've lingered in this twilight, partially illuminated by the halo ahead. Always hoping to draw closer. Hoping that something good was happening up there, but never able to move fast enough to catch a glimpse.
For so long we've had to bask internally on the past. Glowing, sometimes dimly, sometimes more brightly, from the old experiences. Keeping them fresh by fanning the coals in our hearts.
For so long, something good was happening there, just over the edge of the horizon. It's what has kept us fanning those embers. And running hard to stay close.
But now it seems that light at the end of the tunnel seems to be drawing ever closer. And as it does, we can see that surely, something truly great was happening up there.
We are close enough to see it's licence plate. The renewal date: November 23rd. The plate reads: Vertigo. The powertrain: An Atomic Bomb. The vehicle: U2.
That's right, kids, the 4-year dry spell is almost over. This Acrobat is perfectly giddy inside. The ground is softer, the grass is greener, the sky is bluer. (blue-er?, more blue?) U2 have a release date, an album title, and a first single. The single, Vertigo, should start getting airplay in the next few weeks, and it will be available on CD on the 8th of November. According to the official U2 website , Bono is considering this their "first rock-n-roll album."
Early reports from friends close to the band indicate that this collection of songs may very well be their best yet. I'm sure that such claims will be born out as the music spreads to the masses. For over a year and a half Bono has been conspicuously quiet (if not at times frustratingly silent) on the attack on Iraq (sorry, the "Liberation of Iraq") and the war on terrorism, focusing his energies instead on trying to draw the US and other developed nations into the decidedly more just war on AIDS in Africa (check out the Data.org website for loads of useful action to get involved in). Let's hope these experiences, as well as his low profile on the war, have been funnelled and channeled into some amazing new music.
For so long, U2 has been a flint for my dim, and sometimes apostate, faith. I have been renewed time and time again by the words and the music that help me believe that there really is a God of love out there who wants us to find who he really is. Despite the Christians who would lead us astray with their moralistic pontifications, U2 has reminded us that what matters is the effort, the journey. When you think you've arrived, you've only just embarked.
In the first paragraph of his most excellent novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving says, "I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice--not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany." Our vehicles of faith may take on strange guises, but they always take on guises. God wants to be pursued; he wants us to seek us with our whole hearts. He wants to be found by us. The journey has no end, and "Christians" who've sat down thinking they've figured it all out are but stumbling blocks to those who wish to continue the pursuit of this ellusive, hidden God.
My vehicle of faith is in the guise, the words and music, of a band of Irish troubadors.
I am still a Christian because of U2.
For so long we've lingered in this twilight, partially illuminated by the halo ahead. Always hoping to draw closer. Hoping that something good was happening up there, but never able to move fast enough to catch a glimpse.
For so long we've had to bask internally on the past. Glowing, sometimes dimly, sometimes more brightly, from the old experiences. Keeping them fresh by fanning the coals in our hearts.
For so long, something good was happening there, just over the edge of the horizon. It's what has kept us fanning those embers. And running hard to stay close.
But now it seems that light at the end of the tunnel seems to be drawing ever closer. And as it does, we can see that surely, something truly great was happening up there.
We are close enough to see it's licence plate. The renewal date: November 23rd. The plate reads: Vertigo. The powertrain: An Atomic Bomb. The vehicle: U2.
That's right, kids, the 4-year dry spell is almost over. This Acrobat is perfectly giddy inside. The ground is softer, the grass is greener, the sky is bluer. (blue-er?, more blue?) U2 have a release date, an album title, and a first single. The single, Vertigo, should start getting airplay in the next few weeks, and it will be available on CD on the 8th of November. According to the official U2 website , Bono is considering this their "first rock-n-roll album."
Early reports from friends close to the band indicate that this collection of songs may very well be their best yet. I'm sure that such claims will be born out as the music spreads to the masses. For over a year and a half Bono has been conspicuously quiet (if not at times frustratingly silent) on the attack on Iraq (sorry, the "Liberation of Iraq") and the war on terrorism, focusing his energies instead on trying to draw the US and other developed nations into the decidedly more just war on AIDS in Africa (check out the Data.org website for loads of useful action to get involved in). Let's hope these experiences, as well as his low profile on the war, have been funnelled and channeled into some amazing new music.
For so long, U2 has been a flint for my dim, and sometimes apostate, faith. I have been renewed time and time again by the words and the music that help me believe that there really is a God of love out there who wants us to find who he really is. Despite the Christians who would lead us astray with their moralistic pontifications, U2 has reminded us that what matters is the effort, the journey. When you think you've arrived, you've only just embarked.
In the first paragraph of his most excellent novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving says, "I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice--not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death, but because he is the reason I believe in God; I am a Christian because of Owen Meany." Our vehicles of faith may take on strange guises, but they always take on guises. God wants to be pursued; he wants us to seek us with our whole hearts. He wants to be found by us. The journey has no end, and "Christians" who've sat down thinking they've figured it all out are but stumbling blocks to those who wish to continue the pursuit of this ellusive, hidden God.
My vehicle of faith is in the guise, the words and music, of a band of Irish troubadors.
I am still a Christian because of U2.
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