formulas

For believe me that there is nothing, no heresy, no sin, nothing whatsoever so abhorrent to God as the official. And that thou canst well understand; for since God is a personal being, thou canst well conceive how abhorrent it is to Him that people want to wipe His mouth with formulas, to wait upon Him with official solemnity, official phrases, etc. Yeah, precisely because God is personality in the most eminent sense, sheer personality, precisely for this cause is the official infinitely more loathsome to Him than it is to a woman when she discovers that a man is making love to her---out of a book of etiquette. -Kierkegaard

Soren Kierkegaard

"To my contemporaries my significance depends on my trousers; it may be that to a later era my significance will also depend a little on my writings.

"God is so beautiful, and so patient, and so loving, and so generous that he is the heart and soul and rock of every love and every kindness and every gladness in the world. All the beauty in the world and in the hearts of men, all the painting all the poetry all the music, all the architecture comes out of his heart first. He is so loveable that no heart can know how loveable he is - can know only in part. When the best loves God best, he does not love him nearly as he deserves, or as he will love him in time." "I firmly believe people have hitherto been a great deal too much taken up about doctrine and far too little about practice. The word doctrine, as used in the Bible, means teaching of duty, not theory. I preached a sermon about this. We are far too anxious to be definite and to have finished, well-polished, sharp-edged systems — forgetting that the more perfect a theory about the infinite, the surer it is to be wrong, the more impossible it is to be right." "The universe would be to me no more than a pasteboard scene, all surface and no deepness, on the stage, if I did not hope in God. I will not say believe, for that is a big word, and it means so much more than my low beginnings of confidence. But a little faith may wake a great big hope, and I look for great things from him whose perfection breathed me out that I might be a perfect thing one day. The more we trust, the more reasonable we find it to trust." 

George MacDonald, from a letter to Lady Mount-Temple, 1888

Ashes

I dreamt that I was sifting through the ashes of a great house fire. Almost nothing was left of the structure or it's contents, certainly nothing of any real value. But I knew of a secret, tiny gem that had been hidden in this house.  And though difficult to find, being a jewel it would have survived the terrible conflagration.

It was a small, plain diamond, no bigger than a seed. It was not worth very much monetarily, and was not impressive when compared alongside others.   But it had a beauty that I appreciated.  And most of all, I loved it.  And I was unwilling to just walk away and leave it there, unknown to any eye.

Friends urged me to give up my search. They were weary of my insistence on combing over the crumbling ruins for something of value. It was a waste of time, they said.  Even if I found it, they said, it was not worth the effort I was putting into it.  I was just beginning to follow them as they walked away from the debris.  But I glanced back over my shoulder, and decided I must stay and look one last time.  And there, as the sun set and the light faded, I saw it.  Smudged and dirty, it barely glinted under an enormous charred beam.

But as I rubbed it in my fingers, attempting to remove the soot and ashes, I slowly realized that it was not the jewel I had thought it was.   My heart saddened as the truth slowly dawned.  I had been mistaken about it's value all along.  It was just a plain little rock after all.

I woke in my bed, un-rested, with tears in my eyes.  And I thought how it would have been better if I had given up looking, and had never known the truth.

on the small comfort of being in on the joke

Luke 13:24 "Strive to enter in at the strait gate: for many, I say unto you, will seek to enter in, and shall not be able."

I have been noticing lately, rather unwillingly, that the trajectory and narrative of my life makes perfect sense, if only I will accept the notion that I am not god's child. That my essence is not derived from him. It all dovetails quite seamlessly, really.
Perhaps, in the end, the way I will glorify god will be by my damnation. Perhaps it is my destiny to be a living illustration of the truth that no matter how hard one may try, no matter how earnest, sincere and diligent - that no one attains to the state of blessed union with god, unless god has chosen them from the foundations of the earth. That may sound unjust to some, but to those of us who have tried their hardest, we can testify that it really isn't. Because we have come face to face with our own intrinsic condemnation, the horror that is at our core. We have seen that our silly, fumbling attempts at being a disciple, our ludicrous mockery of what it means to be spiritual, our childish mimicry of obedience to and oneness with the the spirit of Christ, are all just sad shams that fool no one - except ourselves, for awhile; thin veneers cloaking a nature that can be nothing other than condemned. And not out of any injustice or cruelty on god's part, simply because he is compelled by his own honesty to call a spade a spade.

A careful study of my life would reveal his kindness, his faithfulness, and his goodness; It would be evident to all that he has loved me without wavering. That he has extended his mercy to me, tenderly coaxed, and carefully shepherded me. And indeed, I have earnestly responded. But in the end, we are not saved by earnestness, but by him. Unless he has chosen me from the beginning to be found in Christ, all my efforts, all my attempts at obedience, all my sincere striving, will be for naught. My ultimate destiny will be to fail to rest in and receive the gospel of his grace. And in that case I will unavoidably be one of those in whose heart is embedded the fine print that follows and haunts all the promises of the scripture.

In so doing, my existence will be both a display of his genuine love and kindness, as well as a simultaneous demonstration of his ultimate sovereignty. In that the redeemed are so only because he willed it, not because they did.

It all makes sense, really. If this is the case, I honestly accept it, albeit with a certain sadness. And a parting thanks to him for his love as he hung on the cross. In fact, it gives me a sort of peace.

Romans 9:22 "What if God, wanting to show His wrath and to make His power known, endured with much longsuffering the vessels of wrath prepared for destruction..."

sar-don-ic: adjective. Characterized by bitter or scornful derision; mocking; cynical; sneering. It may have it's origin in a Sardinian plant, which when eaten was believed to produce convulsive laughter ending in death.

“Consummator of the world: just as that which falls as rain upon the earth and the waters, carelessly, as chance would have it, rises once again from all things, even less visible than before, joyous by the law within, and ascends and is suspended and forms the heavens, so too from out of you there came the new arising of all that had fallen in us, and it domed the world with music.”

-Rainer Maria Rilke

“Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.”  He did not say this on his own, but as high priest that year he prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish nation, and not only for that nation but also for the scattered children of God, to bring them together and make them one.

From the gospel of John, chapter 11

I often find myself in a quiet reverie of late, contemplating a passage from a book I have been reading off and on since last spring, “The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge”, by the poet Rilke. From the context and my reading of the passage, I think it is clear that Rilke was writing about the composer Beethoven. But as I read it, I cannot escape the feeling that it describes my own experience of Jesus. Perhaps, like the high priest Caiaphas, who unbeknownst to himself, prophesied that Jesus would die for the Jewish people, Rilke was writing about the tender and loving god who has remade all creation out of his own death and resurrection.

Mary Oliver

The Uses of Sorrow

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
A box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
That this, too, was a gift.

The Aught Void

the aught void "de-pressing plant" is a division of the institute for the study of whichever is the disease; desire, or its absence

I asked for bread...

...and was given a stone.   

The importance of Toast

“It is truly strange how long it takes to get to know oneself. I am now sixty-two years old, yet just one moment ago I realised that I love lightly toasted bread. Simultaneously, I also realised that I loath bread when it is heavily toasted. For over sixty years, and quite unconsciously, I have been experiencing inner joy or total despair at my relationship with grilled bread.”

Ludwig Wittgenstein. Cambridge, 27 April 1951. 

Wendell Berry

The seed is in the ground
Now may we rest in hope
While darkness does its work.

-Wendell Berry

The Uncertainty Principle

“The first gulp from the glass of natural sciences will turn you into an atheist, but at the bottom of the glass God is waiting for you.” 

— Werner Heisenberg

“Let everything that’s been planned come true. Let them believe. And let them have a laugh at their passions. Because what they call passion actually is not some emotional energy, but just the friction between their souls and the outside world. And most important, let them believe in themselves. Let them be helpless like children, because weakness is a great thing, and strength is nothing. When a man is just born, he is weak and flexible. When he dies, he is hard and insensitive. When a tree is growing, it’s tender and pliant. But when it’s dry and hard, it dies. Hardness and strength are death’s companions. Pliancy and weakness are expressions of the freshness of being. Because what has hardened will never win.” 

-Andrei Tarkovsky

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers
I ache from the perfumes of spring.

I have forgotten your face,
I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume,
I am bound to my vague memory of you.
I live with pain that is like a wound;
if you touch me, you will do me irreparable harm.

Your caresses enfold me,
like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love,
yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me;
because of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
shooting stars and falling objects.

-Neruda

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                        i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

    e.e. cummings

Manifesto

“Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.” 

-Wendell Berry,  Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front