“…And do not call it fixity…”

Alcuin, once asked the famous question, “Quid Hinieldus cum Christo?(What does Ingeld have to do with Christ?)” He was reproving the monks of Lindisfarne for listening to and studying the secular poetry of Beowulf. His question begs the question, “Should we read anything other than the Bible?” How could Beowulf or Homer or (to use a more recent example) Harry Potter be beneficial for the Christian?

For centuries, Christians have been in danger of preaching dualism. There is a strong desire to separate the physical from the spiritual, the sacred from the profane. We sometimes live for the life to come at the expense of the present life. Yet, this has not been the history of the Church.

I recently visited Greece and Italy. While wandering through the ruins, our tour guide would often point out old temples, originally dedicated to pagan gods that were converted into a Christian churches. The early Church was constantly in the process of reconciling paganism not destroying it.

At one point during the trip, I was able to visit the ruins of the ancient city of Corinth. At the top of a high hill there stood the temple to Venus (Greek: Aphrodite – the goddess of love) and at the bottom, closer to the sea, stood the temple of Apollo – the god of power. Here, in this city, dominated by perverted desires for power and eroticism, Paul came and lived for eighteen months during his missionary journey. Paul lived and strove with the people of the city; he did not march into the city with guns blazing, seeking to destroy their temples and their way of life. He came and demonstrated true power and love through his daily life. He pointed the people to the true God through their false gods.

Oddly enough, we find in his first letter to the Corinthians, the most famous chapter ever written on love. In that chapter, through positive description and exhortation, Paul points to a higher power and a more fulfilling love that all men desire. He overcomes the eroticism of the city not by destroying their temples but showing them true love.

Herein lies the power of Christianity, that it reconciles the pagan, heathen, atheist: it does not destroy them. The love of God is creative not destructive.

What does Ingeld have to do with Christ? Everything. If God’s love is creative then we will most clearly see His love through the act of reconciliation. Ingeld can teach us much about Christ because the insufficiencies of Ingeld point us to the substance of Christ. Like the Corinthians, our eroticism and lust for power is reconciled and fulfilled in the person of Christ wherein our souls can finally rest. In one way, when we fear and isolate ourselves from the secular or physical world, we cut ourselves off from the love of God. We cannot just read the Bible and hope to find God’s love because His love is alive, working “to unite all things in him (Christ), things in heaven and things on earth.” (Eph. 1:10)

The Mother

Out of the furnace and onto the anvil; beaten, thrashed and instantly cooled, the hot steel forms an edge sharp enough to pierce the marrow of the bone – even the soul itself.

Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.

The two travelers could only afford two pigeons as sacrifice for the purification of their son, who by now had grown to the size of a twenty pound stone. He weighed heavy in his mother’s arms. Yet, she bore him all along the dusty, dirty, unkempt road; she persisted without the physical sign of outward pain – normally expressed by grimaces and lines carved in the face.

The Virgin Mother bore her Son in birth and death; yet in bearing his birth and death she also bore his life. Solemnity in birth and the sword of sorrow in death, she also bears her own pain – the sundering of her soul.

“Woman, behold your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold your mother!”

His mother became our mother. Like lost and orphaned boys, we find in his mother our childhood. The childhood that counteracts our false adulthood, wherein we are led deeper into the heart of the Son she bore in both death and life. She carries us through the dusty, dirty, unkempt road to the place of purification – to the heart of her Son.

Love

“All we need is love…” or so the song says.

Pulsing, palpitating – pent-up pressure
Released in a soft glance that meets
The eye and raises skyward
He who waited in long expectation.

This same glance, if held from him, would
Pound, pound, pound him into the ground;
Wherein no life seems to abound;
As when the shovel cements the dirt around
The grave, packing in the corpse where
Life once stayed.

But it is nothing for love once more to raise,
What once it shunned but now to save;
If light, as subtle as a star, shine only once
Upon its object – even from afar –
No human device can stop the renewing life.

The Seriousness of Happiness

I don’t think we, as a culture, do happiness well. By that I mean, we do not know how to have authentically festive occasions without feeling prideful or fake. We feel a need to belittle ourselves by either being the court jester or the cynically sarcastic guru. There is no substance to our festivities because we fear anything that might require thought or authentic interaction will inevitably distract from the joy and comfort of a ‘party’.

Our parties are only a “husk of meaning” devoid of real joy. We celebrate with the intention of being mindlessly entertained in order to have some laughs. But nobody is actually happy at these events. They are very ‘unserious’.

C.S. Lewis says in his preface to Paradise Lost that historically, festive occasions were marked by joyful solemnity. People would wear their best clothes and play the best music to celebrate. It was not a time of superfluity or mindless entertainment; it was a time to thoroughly enjoy a celebration. The celebration was jolly not a mindless distraction.

Joy was the reality…but joy experienced in solemnity; thus, the pomp and regalness. Solemnity was the means of experiencing joy in its fullness. Often solemnity is perceived to be melancholy or sad. In the past, if solemnity was ever connected with joy, I always associated it with ‘being pleased’. Not excited and not exuberant…just pleased. This translated into: boring.

Yet, recently I’ve come to think that solemnity is the best means to experience and express the greatest amount of joy. There is something unnatural about allowing oneself to succumb to emotional urges. When happiness overwhelms us and we allow ourselves to be carried away in fits of spastic movements…we lose something of the joy.

What is lost? I think it is the experience of joy. There seems to be two distinctions: event and experience. Although we may be impacted by an event, we do not necessarily experience it. Our behavior during the event is not our experience of the event…it is just our behavior.

It is the difference between reading a book and talking about the book afterwards. Or between playing a sport (football, baseball, basketball etc.) and watching the game film afterwards. Although we remember participating in these events the experience is only found in the reflection.

Solemnity is what bridges the gap between event and experience. The old celebration of marriage is an example of such solemn joy. It is such complete and fulfilled joy that one must subdue his ‘knee-jerk’ reactions in order to truly experience the event.

Thus, I think the problem/solution is this: we do not experience joy because we are not serious enough about it. The reason our festive occasions, ‘though filled with “happy events”, are so dram and boring is that we are concerned merely with events. The thought and reflection required for an experience is hard work…it is solemn. The reward is not as accessible; yet far more fulfilling.

“It’s Christmas! Let’s Be Glad!”

The culmination of the Advent season is here. Our patient waiting for the Christ child to be born has finally been fulfilled. We can now rejoice and be glad in the Word become flesh. Whose power shuts the mouths of all the pagan gods and offers forgiveness for sins.

As I reflect on Christmas, I am struck by the utter paradox of “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The infinite, transcendent and immanent God lowered Himself to become one of us, His creation.

However, what I am more puzzled about and what John Milton sums up in his Christmas poem, is the power which the incarnation symbolizes. Reflecting on the birth of Christ, Milton describes the child as “That dreaded infant!” What could be more paradoxical? Surely an infant is nothing to be afraid of.

Nevertheless, it was the infant Christ who silenced the gods at Delphos. The true Word, “by whom all things were created”, in His incarnation, shut the mouths of the pagan gods; rendering them incapable of speech. The creative power of His word vanquished the destructive speech of the gods. He silenced them because their existence is miniscule in comparison to His great existence.

Praise be to God for such a gift!

Christmas is also great because it allows people to enjoy the great myth of Christianity. Somehow (I’m still not sure how this works), the holiday season creates an atmosphere that makes people happier. Fellowship is more enjoyable. One feels the joy of family and friends and FOOD! After a year of waiting (and fasting) for this season, it as if we can finally enjoy all the things we worked for. (Hooray for feasts and fasts!)

Everything seems better. Love is more tangible. I can actually feel and reciprocate the love people show towards each other. Food tastes better. The honey baked ham at any other time of the year never tastes as good as it does on Christmas (except for Thanksgiving). I’m pretty convinced that the joy of Eggnog doesn’t even exist at any other time of the year.

All in all, Christmas is a wonderful time of the year because Jesus is born and this phenomenal paradox makes the world a happier place. Thanks be to God for the holidays!

Goodbye!

Why are “goodbyes” painful? On the surface, a “goodbye” seems to be just a formality. Yet, a formality doesn’t entail the same sense of loss or sadness that is felt when two friends say goodbye.

When two people part ways, there is a sense of loss….it feels like you’re losing something very important to you. I think the sadness is the result of losing possession of an object that fulfills a deep need. I can only liken the feeling to the sense of desperation you feel when you realize that you have lost the map while driving. Suddenly, you realize that you have no idea where you are or where you’re going and do not know how to go back. Having followed the directions this far you have come to a place that feels like no place and leads to nowhere.

When I say “goodbye” to a friend, I am losing a very necessary object that fills a deep need. This isn’t to say that friends complete us. Surely we are whole and complete individuals without other people…but as Plato and Aristotle realized, men are political animals who thrive best in the city.

However, it is important to note that even a “goodbye” which will inevitably be followed up with phone calls and facebook messaging will remain painful.

We are physical beings. Talking to somebody over the internet or even on the phone never seems to take the place of talking to a person face to face. To hear and feel the warmth and tone of their voice accompanied by the movement of their eyes; to recognize their scent and to feel their body through an embrace or shaking of the hand, can never be replicated by any technological communication device.

A physical encounter with a friend with whom you love is sacramental. Although a person is not strictly their body, they are so infused and connected to their flesh that we really encounter the nature of a person through their body…similar to our experience when we partake of the Eucharist(!).

So why are “goodbyes” painful? I think there are two reasons; 1. We can never encounter or experience the presence of a particular person again until we meet face to face. The physical absence of a person is a complete absence of the person themselves. There is no other medium/sacramental way we can encounter a person. And 2. real human experience is necessary for our spiritual health. Without interactions with real persons, we are more prone to vice and narcissistic behaviors which leads to depression and a lack of jollification. “Iron sharpens iron” as the Proverbs say. If there is no iron upon which to strike ourselves how will we ever become sharp?

A “goodbye” is not painful because we lose a part of ourselves…it is painful because we are no longer able to experience the presence of our friends. I will remain in communication with my friends during our separation but that is no substitute for the friend. Even prayers seem more effective with a friend than without him/her.

I have made many new friends this term…but now they have left for the holidays. The dreariness and melancholy of the empty dorm reflect my feelings about the departure of all my friends. I love them all and am feeling that pain that comes when the object of love is placed just out of reach. I look forward to the return of my friends but I also realize that it is good for us to part temporarily. Although I cannot have true encounters with my friends for some time, I can reflect on the goodness of their personhood and all the ways they have encouraged me these past 16 weeks….but one of the best things about saying goodbye is waiting in anticipation for the next time we meet!

I love George MacDonald. I was reading from his devotional “Diary of an Old Soul” this morning and came accross this beautiful little poem.

It seems applicable to this time of the semester when prayer seems to become just another duty that is bumped to the bottom of the to-do list.

November 12

My poor clay-sparrow seems turned to a stone,

And from my heart will neither fly nor run.

I cannot feel as thou and I both would,

But, Father, I am willing – make me good.

What art thou Father for, but to help thy son?

Look deep, yet deeper, in my heart, and there,

Beyond where I can feel, read thou the prayer.

Boredom?

I would like to make a rather provocative and (perhaps) questionable claim.

Ahem…..Boredom is a sin.

There. I said it. And I plan to stand by it until someone can convince me otherwise.

Don’t worry…I won’t leave without substantiating (at least in part) my claim.

Boredom is the symptom of one who is unable live well. Living well entails many things, but I’d like to focus on one aspect in particular. Beauty.

Beauty is essential to the human soul. We are created for and with beauty. It is the object of all our desires and the thing that nourishes the health of our soul. Not only does beauty nourish our soul it also allows us to worship God.

Christ says that we are to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind.” The question which the passage naturally raises is: how? It seems odd that we are called to love God with each of these distinct parts of our being. Specifically; how do we love God with our heart? Perhaps, in order to answer the how question we ought to find out what seems to be the object which each of these parts are drawn to.

Probably the most obvious is the mind. The mind is drawn to truth.

The soul is drawn to virtue. It is broken and desires to be made whole again.

The heart seems to be most naturally drawn to beauty.

The heart, as it represents the desires and passions of a person, propels a person towards the beautiful. Plato says that love is a spirit which drives all men towards beauty (Symposium). Thus, when a person surrounds himself with beautiful objects he is able to worship God with his heart.

The next question which might be raised is, “what does a person starved of beauty look like?” I propose that such a person who deprives himself of beauty and does not learn to appreciate beauty is the person who often exclaims that he is bored. If a person is bored, his inaction is indicative of his apathy and lack of movement towards the beautiful. The situation is especially dire when a person is surrounded by beautiful things (music, movies, nature, art etc.) and still considers himself bored.

One cannot be a good Christian and also find him/herself ever bored. The Christian especially should find the world as the most interesting and strangest of places. God, whose creativity is more infinite than we could ever understand, certainly created a world that could not allow us to become bored. If you are bored….then there is something wrong with you. People (much less the world) are so complex….so intricate, that if we were to take the time I don’t think we would ever become bored.

It is a common misconception that where there is repition there is boredom. Surely this isn’t the case with the rising and the setting of the sun….or the change of seasons. As G.K. Chesterton said (paraphrased), its as if God saw the rising of the sun and exclaimed ‘Encore!’ because He enjoyed it so much. The world is a constant encore of the great symphony of creation.

Let the Doxology, therefore, be contiually repeated in praise of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

My first paper this year!

I got to write my first paper this year on an Edward Taylor poem entitled, “Upon a Wasp Chilled with Cold”.  It is a really awesome poem and I would highly recommend reading it here and then read my paper!

A Return Home;

Edward Taylor’s Poem about Imitating the Divine Order

Similar to the metaphysical poetry of Donne and Herbert, Edward Taylor seeks to draw his readers in to a contemplative state of being where they focus their mind on the nature of the divine through the natural world. In his poem “Upon a Wasp Chilled with Cold,” Edward splits his poem in to two parts. The first section of the poem is both an observation and an examination of a wasp that has been frozen by the north wind and begins to thaw itself by using the sun. Edward exclaims his wonder at such a creature as he admires both the wasp’s intuition and rationality as she warms herself by the sun and flies back to her home. Upon contemplating the wasp, Edward’s poem moves into the second section, in which he offers a prayer to the Lord asking that he might more carefully observe the Lord’s creatures and imitate them more closely in order to arrive back at his home in heaven. Edward Taylor’s “Upon a Wasp Chilled with Cold” seeks to draw the reader into a contemplative state of being where the reader focuses their mind on the nature of the divine through the natural world by observing and examining the wasp; then, offering a prayer to the Lord, Taylor asks that he might more carefully examine the Lord’s creatures and imitate them more closely in order to return to his home in the Godhead.

The poem begins with the gust of the north wind that numbs a nearby wasp. Edward describes the experience as that of a sting ray that strikes its victim and then injects venom into its prey which causes it to go numb. Paralyzed, the wasp lays in the sun which begins the thawing process. Edward’s wonder of the wasp begins as he sees her begin to regain feeling back to her body. First, she stands and rubs her “legs, shanks, thighs and hands” (6) together. Second she stretches out her hands to the sun to allow her fingers to thaw; she holds this position as Edward says, “Where pulse doth beat, and head doth ache,” (12) until she has sufficiently been warmed by the fire of the sun. The wasp then causes Edward to marvel further as she stretches out her small body and rubs her head with her hands.

The cause for Edward’s marvel is his ability to see in these movements the power and glory of God. While he observes the wasp he exclaims the rationality of the wasp saying, “As if her little brain pan were a volume of choice precepts clear.” (15) The wasp calculates each movement and executes them with precision; as if the “choice precepts” (16) are obvious to the wasp which she follows accordingly. Edward also marvels at the wasp’s jacket; as if inside of it she carries prescriptions from nature’s apothecary which heal her injuries. The climax of Edward’s observation of the wasp occurs when he watches her prepare to take flight. As he is watching, he says, “She fans her wing up to the wind/As if her Pettycoat were lined,/With reason’s fleece…” (23) His amazement is in the fact that the wasp understands she must fly and then proceeds to beat her wings in accord with this understanding. The intricacy and mechanics of flight seem to flow out of her because of reason. However, Edward is furthered amazed at the gratitude which exudes from the wasp’s actions in flight which cause him to reflect on the nature of gratitude. The gratitude of the wasp allows her once more to take flight. Edwards watches as she brings her gratitude back to her home, which Edward describes as a palace, and shares it with all who are inside.

As Edward reflects and contemplates on his observation of the wasp, he writes the second section of the poem. He begins by asking the Lord to clear his “misted sight” (29) that he might see God’s Divinity. In order to see God’s Divinity, Edward realizes that he must see nature properly. God reveals himself through nature and Edward can see Him if he is given the proper sight, namely contemplation, to see in all of nature the “sparks” (31) of God’s Divinity. In the opening three lines, Edward asks specifically for this sight. Already he has seen in the wasp, the divine order functioning correctly in all of its glory. The wasp, as a creature within God’s creation, exudes the order in which God created her.

Edward likens himself to a schoolboy and a schoolmaster, who learn and find in this wasp the lesson of a “Nimble Spirit bravely mind/Her work in every limb” (36). As a schoolboy, Edward works to commit the lesson of the wasp to memory and apply it to his own life. He seeks to live according to the divine order he was created in, that he might fly back to his home. Application then turns into imitation. In the next three lines Edward says, “…and lace/It up neat with a vital grace,/Acting each part though ne’er so small/Here of this Fustian animal” (37) Edward indicates that he ought to imitate the wasp in her movements. Not her physical movements but her movements as they match the divine order with which God created her. God created the wasp with a spark of his Divinity and one can see this Divinity when one has had their “misted sight” (29) cleared and when the wasp acts according to reason.

The poem ends with a call upwards. When the wasp functions according to its design, Edward notices that she begins to make a sound which reminds him of gratitude. The wasp takes flight when her body has completely thawed and she is thankful to the sun for the warmth it has given her. Only in gratitude does the wasp begin to beat her wings and make her journey back home; if Edward imitates the wasp in her movements then he will also be thankful to God and fly home. However, as Edward states earlier, there is a distinction between his movements in the Divine Order and the wasp’s movements. He imitates the wasp as she imitates the Divine Order but this action takes on a different form for Edward. For example, while Edward ought to imitate the gratitude of the wasp, his flight home is into the Godhead instead of a “dun Curled palace Hall” (27) which is the home of the wasp. In the same way that their destinations vary, so do the movements of Edward and the wasp differ according to the Divine Order that is natural to them.

The goal of metaphysical poetry is exactly what happens in the poem “Upon a Wasp Chilled with Cold.” Metaphysical poetry causes the reader to look deeper and to become more contemplative about the world around them in order to see God’s Divinity in all things. For example, John Donne uses imagery such as a flea or two people sitting on a bank to help the reader to look hard at the image in order to see the deeper meaning. Metaphysical poetry often allows the reader to see God in the ordinary and mundane activities and experiences of life. By taking a wasp and weaving it into a poem to help exemplify the Divinity of God, the puritan reader is more apt to keep their mind more focused on the heavenly than on the temporal.

The purpose of Edwards’s poem is that he might, through imitation of the wasp, return to his proper home in heaven. However, in order for Edwards to return home, he must see the “sparks” (31) of the divine in all things and then participate in the natural order of creation. In order to see, Edwards must learn to contemplate. To merely watch the wasp from the surface without contemplating its divine movements, Edwards’ “misted sight” will never become clear. He must become like a school boy who commits to memory his lessons and then imitate them. The wasp naturally participates in the order of creation; in every movement, from looking towards the sun for warmth and methodically thawing out her entire body until in the end she is able to fly home. Edwards recognized that it is the goal of the Christian to do two things; 1) to not allow his mind to become distracted by the things of this world and 2) to not despise the world which God has created. Therefore, the goal of the Christian – and of the poem – to see God in the world He has created. In this particular poem, Edwards sees the divinity of God in a wasp. Through careful contemplation and prayer Edwards, at the end of the poem, also becomes “enravished” (41) with the divinity of God and begins to beat his wings and return home “into the Godhead” (42).

My experience so far…

Lately I have been listening to Brahms’ fourth symphony; it is currently #1 on my list of favorite songs. The main theme of the song is so beautiful and simple it seems to set the tempo for the rest of the piece as a quiet and peaceful listening experience. However, as the melody progresses it moves into a very intense and startling section. The song begins to climb upwards, mounting in intensity. The beautiful melody at the beginning of the piece seems to have been lost in the background as you are carried upwards in the rising volume. And then, suddenly, the theme is heard once more. The familiarity is welcomed and allows the listener to rest for a brief second. When it seems that all has been restored to order, the song breaks off in yet another seemingly chaotic movement as the listener finds himself careening off the peaceful plateau.

However, even in the midst of the rising intensity of the piece, the listener will also find himself in a place where the music is very quiet. There is little music to be heard and it causes one to wonder where they have been dropped off. The stillness becomes unsettling and the listener suddenly realizes a startling fact: they had become comfortable in merely being moved by the piece despite the lack of a concrete melody in which to anchor them self. There is no obvious direction in which they are moving; the listener can only sit and wait for the music.

In the midst of such confusion and chaos, the music builds again and the listener hears another trace of the beginning melody but in a much different form. The melody is stronger and louder. The notes are sharper and more terrible. What was thought to be a place of security has become terrifying and unsafe. And from here the song breaks off, once more, into the fast paced movements.

Finally the piece settles back into the original melody. Everything up to that point which seemed chaotic and disturbing reaches its fulfillment in the final measures. The melody, in some ways, seems to hold the entire piece in itself, ordered and complete. However, the listener cannot comprehend the power of the melody until the end.

I can not help but think that my experience of listening to Brahm’s fourth symphony, in some ways, resembles my experience of chaos and order. I have heard the beautiful melody of the cosmos at one time (probably when I was a child) and now can only catch glimpses of it amidst the chaos in which I find myself. Without fail, the beginning melody continues to show itself at the most unusual times and every time it appears in a greater more powerful form than the last. The seemingly greater power of the melody is the result of my understanding more fully its power over chaos and the sheer strength of the melody itself. Thus, when the piece resolves into that great melody, all things are seen in their proper order and context. The throbbing heart beat of life, from which I cannot escape, is only one of the movements in the great symphony and will one day find its completion and resolution in the final measures.