Can it really be that a person sitting in front of a computer screen is adding to the praise going up, "all breath" praising the Lord? (Ps 150). Does it matter if no one even reads it?
Does it really profit to keep asking these questions? To gaze into the hollow self and go around the usual laments? For a time, yes, because there is a path through it, the Lord's path. The Lord's path of lament, thanksgiving, and metanoia to praise. Speaking in shaky whisper I praise God!! If I try to speak aloud perhaps the breath of the Holy Spirit will carry that praise abroad, at the very least make God happy.
"Praise the LORD from the earth,
you sea-monsters and all deeps;
Fire and hail, snow and fog,
tempestuous wind, doing his will;...
Wild beasts and all cattle,
creeping things and winged birds," [Ps 148:7-10]
Dogs and cats, green grass and breezes,
Brown thrashers and grackles,
Grandmas and McGregors throwing
the baseball,
Stormy thunder and flood warnings
Raining out the game
All bloggers and poets,
Philosophers, prophets,
Whispering and Shouting,
Praise Ye the Lord!
Alleluia
Friday, May 29, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Melancholy Season
“...before the silver cord is snapped, and the golden bowl is broken, and the pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern.”--Eccl 12:6 (NRSV)
The Teacher may be writing out of doors, where almond blossoms and sweet myrtle perfume the air. Yet, he can’t enjoy his garden as before: sight dims, he walks with fear of falling, and he now hesitates to go out after dark. Hearing fails, yet so does restful slumber; the sound of the bird will rouse him from sleep. His beautiful words describe a melancholy reality.
That reality is: death comes to all, man and beast, rich and poor, foolish and wise. The connection between body and spirit will snap; the lights in the brain will go out; “and the Spirit will return to God who gave it.” All activities will cease. The glory of youth, of achievement, will end in dust. In light of this truth, what does anything matter?
In dearest Denny's last summer on earth, my own strong man was bent over, and he could no longer see. “If only I could enjoy food, that was such a great pleasure,” he said, “and work, just a little, in my garden.” Three thousand years after Ecclesiastes, he experienced the universal melancholy.
Yet the weary Teacher had written elsewhere that “to everything there is a season.” In our own last days together, Denny and I took solace from the memories of dancing and embracing, from the love of friends and from the voices of children. Our faith encompassed all life’s seasons.
The Teacher may be writing out of doors, where almond blossoms and sweet myrtle perfume the air. Yet, he can’t enjoy his garden as before: sight dims, he walks with fear of falling, and he now hesitates to go out after dark. Hearing fails, yet so does restful slumber; the sound of the bird will rouse him from sleep. His beautiful words describe a melancholy reality.
That reality is: death comes to all, man and beast, rich and poor, foolish and wise. The connection between body and spirit will snap; the lights in the brain will go out; “and the Spirit will return to God who gave it.” All activities will cease. The glory of youth, of achievement, will end in dust. In light of this truth, what does anything matter?
In dearest Denny's last summer on earth, my own strong man was bent over, and he could no longer see. “If only I could enjoy food, that was such a great pleasure,” he said, “and work, just a little, in my garden.” Three thousand years after Ecclesiastes, he experienced the universal melancholy.
Yet the weary Teacher had written elsewhere that “to everything there is a season.” In our own last days together, Denny and I took solace from the memories of dancing and embracing, from the love of friends and from the voices of children. Our faith encompassed all life’s seasons.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Humans Non-Being
"What is Man that Thou art Mindful of Him?" (Ps. 8:5)
I watched a TV show called "Life After People." Scientists and special effects folks got together and imaged the world after the human race has gone extinct. What an interesting if sad prospect.
They producers imagined decay over long periods of time. For a while you just saw vegetation growing everywhere; all the tall city buildings got covered and infiltrated with lush green growth. One after another skyscrapers crashed down. Suspension bridge cables lasted a bit longer, and parts of the Statue of Liberty might last on the ocean floor. But attempted human immortality of encoded DNA out in space (one was Stephen Colbert another was Stephen Hawkings (!), and another was some large-breasted woman; you can imagine whose bright idea it was)--well without constant readjustments, that space station will go down in flames and that last hope of reproducing humanity will get obliterated. Interestingly, the mummies in the pyramids will survive just fine, but the mummies in museums will rot without their humanly-controlled climate. In the end, after a hundred-million years, the lasting remnants of humanity will be bones and teeth (don't these contain DNA, I don't know). An interesting exercise, to subtract humanity from the planet.
But the narrators couldn't help imagining that some day "our replacements" would evolve--probably from apes. We still long to think that some time somehow there will be a species able to dig up our cities, to understand history, and to appreciate creation. The notion of the world churning on as an unreflective jungle makes us sad.
Do these feelings have something to do with why God made us to begin with? Is this what it means to be in God's image?
I watched a TV show called "Life After People." Scientists and special effects folks got together and imaged the world after the human race has gone extinct. What an interesting if sad prospect.
They producers imagined decay over long periods of time. For a while you just saw vegetation growing everywhere; all the tall city buildings got covered and infiltrated with lush green growth. One after another skyscrapers crashed down. Suspension bridge cables lasted a bit longer, and parts of the Statue of Liberty might last on the ocean floor. But attempted human immortality of encoded DNA out in space (one was Stephen Colbert another was Stephen Hawkings (!), and another was some large-breasted woman; you can imagine whose bright idea it was)--well without constant readjustments, that space station will go down in flames and that last hope of reproducing humanity will get obliterated. Interestingly, the mummies in the pyramids will survive just fine, but the mummies in museums will rot without their humanly-controlled climate. In the end, after a hundred-million years, the lasting remnants of humanity will be bones and teeth (don't these contain DNA, I don't know). An interesting exercise, to subtract humanity from the planet.
But the narrators couldn't help imagining that some day "our replacements" would evolve--probably from apes. We still long to think that some time somehow there will be a species able to dig up our cities, to understand history, and to appreciate creation. The notion of the world churning on as an unreflective jungle makes us sad.
Do these feelings have something to do with why God made us to begin with? Is this what it means to be in God's image?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Armor Me, Yahweh!
Forgiveness is for when
Those grudges come back
those sins committed against you
They beat their wings around your mind like a flock of
old grackles caught in the rafters
until you
Remember: shoo them out the door; maybe
Clean a bit of guano off the carpet... and
Contrition is for
When the devil runs a picture show on the tox-screen
of your brain: your unpardonable stupid-ass idiotic
much regretted self-centered history, the
Locust-eaten times you wish you could take
Back. "All is forgiven," Jesus says; and I try for
Penance, Amends,
amendment of life.
These were ideas when walking the dog today
Sun glinting off her golden terrier coat.
Armor me, Yahweh!
Faith puts out these burning darts.
Those grudges come back
those sins committed against you
They beat their wings around your mind like a flock of
old grackles caught in the rafters
until you
Remember: shoo them out the door; maybe
Clean a bit of guano off the carpet... and
Contrition is for
When the devil runs a picture show on the tox-screen
of your brain: your unpardonable stupid-ass idiotic
much regretted self-centered history, the
Locust-eaten times you wish you could take
Back. "All is forgiven," Jesus says; and I try for
Penance, Amends,
amendment of life.
These were ideas when walking the dog today
Sun glinting off her golden terrier coat.
Armor me, Yahweh!
Faith puts out these burning darts.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Elderly Psalmist
Oh yes I qualify as old:
I look down and see the breakfast crumbs on my sweater that is inside out. My new sneakers fasten with velcro. Sometimes my voice warbles. As dear departed Den used to say, "Eh!"
Old and also a psalmist, like the singer in Ps 71. Despite vulnerability and waning powers we draw on strength that has grown out of knowing God since childhood. God has "taught me since I was young" and today I praise Him more and more.
"I shall praise you more and more....You strengthen me more and more." (vv. 14, 21). I feel it, I do. In church I feel those roots growing out of my feet down through my personal history of worship and through the history of the People of God at prayer. I feel it, I do: a strength that only comes from putting in the hours, from years and years of going to church, reading the Bible, and saying the prayers. God continues to give new life.
So when you see me warbling on my lyre, smile. I'm enjoying the Land of Beulah, which is the place where the Pilgrims rest.*
*John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress (London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd, 1954), pp. 304-5.
I look down and see the breakfast crumbs on my sweater that is inside out. My new sneakers fasten with velcro. Sometimes my voice warbles. As dear departed Den used to say, "Eh!"
Old and also a psalmist, like the singer in Ps 71. Despite vulnerability and waning powers we draw on strength that has grown out of knowing God since childhood. God has "taught me since I was young" and today I praise Him more and more.
"I shall praise you more and more....You strengthen me more and more." (vv. 14, 21). I feel it, I do. In church I feel those roots growing out of my feet down through my personal history of worship and through the history of the People of God at prayer. I feel it, I do: a strength that only comes from putting in the hours, from years and years of going to church, reading the Bible, and saying the prayers. God continues to give new life.
So when you see me warbling on my lyre, smile. I'm enjoying the Land of Beulah, which is the place where the Pilgrims rest.*
*John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress (London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd, 1954), pp. 304-5.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Persevere
"In prayer persevere, keeping alert in it in giving thanks." (Col 4:2)
The word for prayer reminds us of "prosecute," which of course is related to "pressing" charges, of "pleadings" of court. Persevere also begins with that "pressing" all the action tending towards giving thanks. And while pressing on, keep alert, pay attention. This advice "presses" back from under sloth and ingratitude. Prayer is active, alert, gratitudinous!
Even lamenting Psalms turn towards alert expectation and anticipatory thanksgiving.
This verse called me today even before I read it. When I first woke up, hearing the bird-symphony outside, I also inwardly heard the thought, "Press on." I had fallen behind, mired in procrastination; distracted by other duties; disheartened by failure, anomie, the demonic imps muttering, "It's no use; you're not good enough." blah blah blah.
When that happens, the Spirit says, "Onward." When that happens it's time to start over. I guess that is what perseverence consists of, constantly starting over.
There. I'm up.
"In proseuxhu proskartereite, greigorountes en autei en eucharistia."
The word for prayer reminds us of "prosecute," which of course is related to "pressing" charges, of "pleadings" of court. Persevere also begins with that "pressing" all the action tending towards giving thanks. And while pressing on, keep alert, pay attention. This advice "presses" back from under sloth and ingratitude. Prayer is active, alert, gratitudinous!
Even lamenting Psalms turn towards alert expectation and anticipatory thanksgiving.
This verse called me today even before I read it. When I first woke up, hearing the bird-symphony outside, I also inwardly heard the thought, "Press on." I had fallen behind, mired in procrastination; distracted by other duties; disheartened by failure, anomie, the demonic imps muttering, "It's no use; you're not good enough." blah blah blah.
When that happens, the Spirit says, "Onward." When that happens it's time to start over. I guess that is what perseverence consists of, constantly starting over.
There. I'm up.
"In proseuxhu proskartereite, greigorountes en autei en eucharistia."
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