18-year-old Malcolm X. London from Lincoln Park High School in Chicago was the winner of the 2011 Louder Than A Bomb teen poetry slam contest. WBEZ follows London to the bus yard to hear him do a live on-site rendition of his winning piece “High School Training Ground.” London expresses his thoughts on how failing schools are doing exactly what they were designed to do: preparing young people for a future that mimics the problems and contradictions of society as a whole. Yet at the same time argues that failing schools are not doing their job in raising individuals who are ready and able to change the world they live in.

“My high school is Chicago. Diverse and segregated on purpose.”

Don’t be profound all the time. (It’s boring.)
Don’t be razzle-dazzle all the time. (It’s cheap.)
Don’t be worried about anything all the time. (It’s only a chase after the wind.)
But be profound sometimes. (It’s life-giving.)
Be razzle-dazzle sometimes. (It makes life worth giving.)
Be worried about important things sometimes. (Lest you find you no longer have anything worth worrying over.)

Life is a contradiction in balance.

-Source unknown

At the 2:30 mark of this piece, Mogjani gives us his manifesto for poetry, for why he does what he does. It’s beautiful. This is how I feel about preaching/teaching. There is a piece of myself that goes out every time, that is poured out and leaves me physically and mentally exhausted at the end… it is there that the listener becomes responsible. That the listener has the task and choice of what to do with what has been given.

Mogjani sums it up beautifully:

This is for you…
Just like the days I burn at both ends,
and every time I write, every time I open my eyes,
I’m cutting up parts of myself simply to hand them over to you.

So, shake the dust and take me with you when you do
because none of this has ever been for me.
All the pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls,
It pushes for you…

For this is yours. This is yours.
Make my words worth it.
Make this not some [sermon] I write…
Walk into it, breathe it in.

Let it crash into the halls of your arms…
Making you live, so that when the world knocks at your front door,
Clutch the knob tightly and open on up
and run forward and far into its widespread greeting arms with your hands outstretched before you,
fingertips trembling though they may be.

Be still.
Be still and quiet yourself.
Be still and allow all the distractions that surround you, the noises of this place, the sounds of creation calling out, the voices in your head + the anxiety of the day, allow them all to quiet and cease.
Be still.

Be still and breathe.
Inhale deeply.
Allow the breathe to cleanse your spirit as you simply relax.
Be still.

It’s here in the silence of the moment that we begin to truly listen.
It’s here in the silence that God’s voice can truly break in.
It’s here in the silence that we are able to know God, to rest in His presence-not our own-and hear God say, “You are my beloved.”

Be still.
Be still and breathe
Be still and listen
Be still and know that God is present
Be still and know that you are His beloved.
Be still.

Who am I?

I am…
I am thirty years old. I am married to a beautiful woman whom sometimes I wonder if I truly deserve. I am a child of two parents who sacrificed much and worked hard to give me a future because they believed in me more than I believed in myself.

I am the grandson of a city bus driver, World War II infantry veteran, Cubs fan, nurturer and hard worker who have taught me the importance of family and a CPA and a law clerk who’s belief and service to God has changed my life—I’ll never forget the day my grandfather stopped me and looked deep into my eyes to say, “Aaron, I pray for you every single day… I just want you to know that.” … I am scared. I am scared of the day that he passes away and I am scared as to whether or not someone else will pick up that banner of faithful prayer for my life like he has.

I am an older brother to someone who has far more talent and creativity in his left pinky than I have in my entire being; who has modeled to me the posture of silence and humility and who continually teaches me what loyalty and faithfulness look like.

I am…
I am in love with children, yet I am terrified of failing as a father. I am too selfish and too impatient to slow down long enough to see the beauty that surrounds my life, let alone share that with a life that I am entrusted to teach and to love… to care for and show the world to.

I am…
I am defined by a lot of different adjectives that seem to capture bits and pieces of my personality and inner being from time to time, but I lack the consistency to truly be called humble, intelligent, fun-loving, courageous, loving, and whatever other designations have been bestowed. I am wrought with pride and a healthy sense of ego; which causes a downfall of intelligence and short circuits fun. I am all too often filled with fear; which makes me feel more like a little boy than anything courageous. I am consistent at being inconsistent.

I am…
I am a crier. I find tears welling up in my eyes as music comes to a crescendo with a happy ending or a touching scene… I hate that I am a crier… and I hate that I hate that I am a crier.

I am a pastor to my friends who are scattered around the country and uncertain where the inner strength comes from to walk through the valleys of tragedy and relational dissolution that have become all to common. I am a pastor to a new community here in this beautiful city that challenges me and pushes me and stretches me to look deeper in, further out, and higher up.

I am…
I am scared of failure. I am scared of failing my friends, of disappointing my family, of failing you… and although this fear keeps me up nights, I am mostly scared of failing God… of gazing upon His face only to be met with his disappointment at what could have been. And perhaps that’s because I am a dreamer.

I am a person who has big dreams for what is possible and what could be. I am an eternal optimist, a person who always sees the glass as ¾ full and I am hard pressed to see the challenges in any situation as insurmountable.

I am… but really, who am I?

I’ve heard it said that mankind is really a composition of cells that regenerate over and over again… that their rate of regeneration changes the entire physical makeup of who you are every moment… that the person that stands here today is not the same as the twelve year old boy from 1991. All of those cells have been flushed in favor of brand new ones. My physical makeup is ever changing… and every three months the body generates a brand new skeleton…

I’ve heard it said, “I think therefore I am.” And although my existence has never come into question I do wonder who it is that inhabits this existence. I wonder who I am at the most profoundly human level and I am curious about this identity that I supposedly carry around, yet am unable to discover succinctly enough to truly understand myself.

This question of identity is at the base of all philosophical discourse, for to grasp it, to hold it tightly, to truly understand of our identity would allow for us to walk through every situation on this playground of life with the utmost grace as we see the bigger picture on full display. Perhaps that’s why Jesus is so attractive. His was a life that is fully connected to his humanity, to the very core of his being… It’s no wonder that when we are faced with disappointment at a job loss, a failure in a relationship, a grandiose mistake caused by our own carelessness, or are shaken to the core with grief… this question rushes to the forefront of our being. Who am I? Who am I, really?

It is when we are faced with these, the moments of the catastrophic, that we find out who we are on the most profoundly human level.

It was the 5th century philosopher Augustine that remarked, “I am a mystery to myself.” Perhaps it is time for us to explore that mystery and find out who we really are.

I’m sure that somewhere in the past I’ve posted this or linked to this video but I can’t help it. I have never been moved by poetry more, I have never been forced into longer moments of reflection and found myself more comfortable in the silence that follows than after listening to this piece….