Thursday, April 30, 2009
Will?
***
"For what is behind an act of will? Another act of will? Do I will to will, or does the will just happen? If the former, do I then will to will to will? Do decisions spontaneously occur, or do I decide to decide to decide? In fact, somewhere down the line even voluntary purposeful activity runs into the spontaneity... that underlies and unites both volutary and involuntary."
No Boundary, Ken Wilber
I don't necessarily agree with all of Wilber's conclusions throughout his work, at least insofar as I even understand them, but I love this question, and sense that it cuts very close to the heart of human experience...
"For what is behind an act of will? Another act of will? Do I will to will, or does the will just happen? If the former, do I then will to will to will? Do decisions spontaneously occur, or do I decide to decide to decide? In fact, somewhere down the line even voluntary purposeful activity runs into the spontaneity... that underlies and unites both volutary and involuntary."
No Boundary, Ken Wilber
I don't necessarily agree with all of Wilber's conclusions throughout his work, at least insofar as I even understand them, but I love this question, and sense that it cuts very close to the heart of human experience...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Beholding Beauty (micro-fiction)
***
Not merely beautiful, but altogether Beauty, so I averted my eyes.
Beauty, so I shut them tight.
Beauty, so I covered my face with my hands.
Beauty, so I found myself prostrate on the floor.
Beauty, so I was rolling out the door, hands still covering my face lest I accidentally open my eyes for even an instant.
Beauty, so I was stumbling sideways down the street.
Beauty, so even at the subway station, and on the long elevator down, and then in the train hurtling through blasted-out rock tunnels, I was unable to not feel it, sometimes as steady-approaching-unbearable, other times in bright, excruciating bursts.
Checking the blinking digital sign, I was relieved to read the destination “HELL,” figuring that this would be the farthest from Beauty I could possibly get, but it turned out to be only a local stop.
Nevertheless, when the automatic doors hissed open, I staggered out and started crawling off in a random direction, heading, I hoped, for the farthest corner, if there was a corner, where I could curl up into something like a ball and cover my face again, which I was almost immediately able to do, hell proving to be no less limited than it was proximate.
I’ve hunkered down now for many eternities, but because Beauty is apparently equidistant to all locations, the only relief is my self-generated haze of quasi-numbness, full of static and exhausting to induce.
This is not a topic I can recall radio talk show hosts having brought up for discussion--“What To Do About Beauty!”-- nor had it made the front page of any newspaper I’d ever read.
Wolf Blitzer had neglected to mention it, and while there’d been a warning signal for tornado alerts, I don’t recollect any public service announcements about an alarm pattern for impending Beauty—three short blasts and a long one, for instance--let alone practical instructions—perhaps instinctively, I’d resorted to the “stop, drop, and roll” strategy appropriate to the occasion of being engulfed in flames.
And so here I crouch, cramped inside the fog that is my pitiful simulation of distance, listening to the reverberation of eternities around me while I labor to summon up courage for the agonizing journey of return.
Not merely beautiful, but altogether Beauty, so I averted my eyes.
Beauty, so I shut them tight.
Beauty, so I covered my face with my hands.
Beauty, so I found myself prostrate on the floor.
Beauty, so I was rolling out the door, hands still covering my face lest I accidentally open my eyes for even an instant.
Beauty, so I was stumbling sideways down the street.
Beauty, so even at the subway station, and on the long elevator down, and then in the train hurtling through blasted-out rock tunnels, I was unable to not feel it, sometimes as steady-approaching-unbearable, other times in bright, excruciating bursts.
Checking the blinking digital sign, I was relieved to read the destination “HELL,” figuring that this would be the farthest from Beauty I could possibly get, but it turned out to be only a local stop.
Nevertheless, when the automatic doors hissed open, I staggered out and started crawling off in a random direction, heading, I hoped, for the farthest corner, if there was a corner, where I could curl up into something like a ball and cover my face again, which I was almost immediately able to do, hell proving to be no less limited than it was proximate.
I’ve hunkered down now for many eternities, but because Beauty is apparently equidistant to all locations, the only relief is my self-generated haze of quasi-numbness, full of static and exhausting to induce.
This is not a topic I can recall radio talk show hosts having brought up for discussion--“What To Do About Beauty!”-- nor had it made the front page of any newspaper I’d ever read.
Wolf Blitzer had neglected to mention it, and while there’d been a warning signal for tornado alerts, I don’t recollect any public service announcements about an alarm pattern for impending Beauty—three short blasts and a long one, for instance--let alone practical instructions—perhaps instinctively, I’d resorted to the “stop, drop, and roll” strategy appropriate to the occasion of being engulfed in flames.
And so here I crouch, cramped inside the fog that is my pitiful simulation of distance, listening to the reverberation of eternities around me while I labor to summon up courage for the agonizing journey of return.
Sing about a fruitful vineyard:
I, the LORD, watch over it;
I water it continually.
I guard it day and night
so that no one may harm it.
Wrath is not in me.
If only there were briers and thorns confronting me!
I would march against them in battle;
I would set them all on fire.
Or else let them come to me for refuge;
let them make peace with me,
yes, let them make peace with me.
In days to come Jacob will take root,
Israel will bud and blossom
and fill all the world with fruit.
And in that day a great trumpet will sound.
Those who were perishing in Assyria
and those who were exiled in Egypt
will come and worship the LORD
on the holy mountain in Jerusalem.
from Isaiah 27
I, the LORD, watch over it;
I water it continually.
I guard it day and night
so that no one may harm it.
Wrath is not in me.
If only there were briers and thorns confronting me!
I would march against them in battle;
I would set them all on fire.
Or else let them come to me for refuge;
let them make peace with me,
yes, let them make peace with me.
In days to come Jacob will take root,
Israel will bud and blossom
and fill all the world with fruit.
And in that day a great trumpet will sound.
Those who were perishing in Assyria
and those who were exiled in Egypt
will come and worship the LORD
on the holy mountain in Jerusalem.
from Isaiah 27
Sunday, April 26, 2009
What We Sang
O Lord, shining with the splendor of Your divinity,
You came through closed doors to Your Disciples,
showing Your pierced side, the wounds from the nails,
dispelling all sadness and sorrow!
O friends, see that I am not a spirit, but truly man!
You commanded the disbelieving Disciple to look,
saying: “Prove to yourself, then come and believe!”
He touched Your side with his own hand and cried in faith and fear:
“My Lord and my God, glory to You
O most glorious wonder!
Doubt bore certain faith!
Thomas said: “Unless I see, I shall not believe!”
By touching His side, he blessed the incarnate Son of God, Who had
suffered in the flesh,
and he proclaimed the resurrected God,
crying out with joy: “My Lord and my God, glory to You!”
O most glorious wonder!
Thomas placed his hand on the fiery side of Jesus Christ, God!
He was not scorched by this,
but his doubt changed to certain faith, and he cried fervently:
“You are my Master and my God.
Glory to You, Who have resurrected from the dead!”
O most glorious wonder!
John the Apostle leaned on the Savior's breast,
and Thomas was made worthy to touch His side.
The one thus understood the depths of theology;
the other was privileged to announce the mystery of the Resurrection to
us,
crying: “My Lord and my God, glory to You!”
How great is the abundance of Your compassion, O Lover of mankind!
Because of Your long-suffering, You were struck by the Jews,
You were examined by an Apostle and touched by those who denied You.
How are You incarnate?
How are You crucified?
You have not known sin!
Make us understand like Thomas, that we may call out to You:
“My Lord and my God, glory to You!”
You came through closed doors to Your Disciples,
showing Your pierced side, the wounds from the nails,
dispelling all sadness and sorrow!
O friends, see that I am not a spirit, but truly man!
You commanded the disbelieving Disciple to look,
saying: “Prove to yourself, then come and believe!”
He touched Your side with his own hand and cried in faith and fear:
“My Lord and my God, glory to You
O most glorious wonder!
Doubt bore certain faith!
Thomas said: “Unless I see, I shall not believe!”
By touching His side, he blessed the incarnate Son of God, Who had
suffered in the flesh,
and he proclaimed the resurrected God,
crying out with joy: “My Lord and my God, glory to You!”
O most glorious wonder!
Thomas placed his hand on the fiery side of Jesus Christ, God!
He was not scorched by this,
but his doubt changed to certain faith, and he cried fervently:
“You are my Master and my God.
Glory to You, Who have resurrected from the dead!”
O most glorious wonder!
John the Apostle leaned on the Savior's breast,
and Thomas was made worthy to touch His side.
The one thus understood the depths of theology;
the other was privileged to announce the mystery of the Resurrection to
us,
crying: “My Lord and my God, glory to You!”
How great is the abundance of Your compassion, O Lover of mankind!
Because of Your long-suffering, You were struck by the Jews,
You were examined by an Apostle and touched by those who denied You.
How are You incarnate?
How are You crucified?
You have not known sin!
Make us understand like Thomas, that we may call out to You:
“My Lord and my God, glory to You!”
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Zombies!
***
Feeling a little cranky today (post-Pascha intensity hangover?) but this cheered me right up. What's not to love about zombies in the Bible?
http://justthischris.wordpress.com/2006/12/29/zombies-in-the-bible/
Feeling a little cranky today (post-Pascha intensity hangover?) but this cheered me right up. What's not to love about zombies in the Bible?
http://justthischris.wordpress.com/2006/12/29/zombies-in-the-bible/
Growth in God--More Like Soccer or More Like Football?
***
"The understanding of sin as a disease within the soul, rather than
external behaviors, sounds strange to Western ears. We prefer clear and
measurable criteria. We want to know if someone committed a sinful act
or not; don't trouble us with discussion about what went on in the heart.
I once heard North American culture compared to other cultures
through the analogy of football versus soccer. The implicit goal of a
soccer game is to keep going without stopping until the end. Flexibility
within the rules is often tolerated in the interest of not interrupting
the flow of the game. In American football, play consists of brief intense
skirmishes, after which everyone stops and progress is minutely
measured. If there is any question about a rule being broken, play is
suspended and scrutinized on instant replay.
My evangelical faith was thoroughly Western in the way that U.S. football
is Western. I was taught to be scrupulous about my behavior. The
heart was important only because it could lead me to sinful behavior."
from Michael Mangis' Signature Sins
***
I have to say here that my experience of evangelical Christianity was much more multi-dimensional than the experience described above--with the people I knew and the authors I read, it was all about the heart--but still, Mangis' metaphor reveals something very worth pondering regarding the life of faith--really, it can be applied to many of life's processes!
"The understanding of sin as a disease within the soul, rather than
external behaviors, sounds strange to Western ears. We prefer clear and
measurable criteria. We want to know if someone committed a sinful act
or not; don't trouble us with discussion about what went on in the heart.
I once heard North American culture compared to other cultures
through the analogy of football versus soccer. The implicit goal of a
soccer game is to keep going without stopping until the end. Flexibility
within the rules is often tolerated in the interest of not interrupting
the flow of the game. In American football, play consists of brief intense
skirmishes, after which everyone stops and progress is minutely
measured. If there is any question about a rule being broken, play is
suspended and scrutinized on instant replay.
My evangelical faith was thoroughly Western in the way that U.S. football
is Western. I was taught to be scrupulous about my behavior. The
heart was important only because it could lead me to sinful behavior."
from Michael Mangis' Signature Sins
***
I have to say here that my experience of evangelical Christianity was much more multi-dimensional than the experience described above--with the people I knew and the authors I read, it was all about the heart--but still, Mangis' metaphor reveals something very worth pondering regarding the life of faith--really, it can be applied to many of life's processes!
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