Friday, August 28, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The Face of the Other
**
"Buber makes the I-Thou encounter the essence of reality, and says ‘all real living is meeting.’ Emmanuel Levinas says that we are not converted by ideas but ‘the face of the other.’
…(e)very time you pray, it’s God in you telling you to pray. You wouldn’t even desire to pray except for God in you…Every time you choose God on some level, God has in the previous nanosecond just chosen you, and you have somehow allowed yourself to be chosen—and responded back! (John 15:16).
We don’t know how to say yes by ourselves. We just ‘second the motion’! …God first says ‘yes’ inside us and we say, ‘Oh yeah,’ thinking it comes from us! In other words, God rewards us for letting God reward us."
-Richard Rohr, Things Hidden
"Buber makes the I-Thou encounter the essence of reality, and says ‘all real living is meeting.’ Emmanuel Levinas says that we are not converted by ideas but ‘the face of the other.’
…(e)very time you pray, it’s God in you telling you to pray. You wouldn’t even desire to pray except for God in you…Every time you choose God on some level, God has in the previous nanosecond just chosen you, and you have somehow allowed yourself to be chosen—and responded back! (John 15:16).
We don’t know how to say yes by ourselves. We just ‘second the motion’! …God first says ‘yes’ inside us and we say, ‘Oh yeah,’ thinking it comes from us! In other words, God rewards us for letting God reward us."
-Richard Rohr, Things Hidden
A Relief?
**
Of course, I have no idea what was going on in Peter's mind during his conversation with Jesus on the shore, but if it had been me (I?) in his place, I might have been incredibly relieved to hear Jesus prophesy a martyr's death for me, otherwise every moment for the rest of my life I'd always be wondering if I was going to deny Him again the next time my life was in danger.
If so, then those were the kindest words Jesus could have spoken!
When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?"
"Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."
Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?"
He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep."
The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my sheep. I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go."
Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, "Follow me!" John 21
**
Of course, I have no idea what was going on in Peter's mind during his conversation with Jesus on the shore, but if it had been me (I?) in his place, I might have been incredibly relieved to hear Jesus prophesy a martyr's death for me, otherwise every moment for the rest of my life I'd always be wondering if I was going to deny Him again the next time my life was in danger.
If so, then those were the kindest words Jesus could have spoken!
When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?"
"Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."
Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?"
He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep."
The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my sheep. I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go."
Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, "Follow me!" John 21
**
I Think It's a Sin...
**
...to say, "You idiot!" to oneself.
Why?
Because we don't belong to ourselves, we belong to God.
**
...to say, "You idiot!" to oneself.
Why?
Because we don't belong to ourselves, we belong to God.
**
Monday, August 24, 2009
Why Am I Suddenly Posting So Much?
**
...because I have been officially exposed to Swine Flu and am therefore hiding out at home so as to not potentially pass it on, even though I have no symptoms.
**
...because I have been officially exposed to Swine Flu and am therefore hiding out at home so as to not potentially pass it on, even though I have no symptoms.
**
Misplacing Facts
**
Incomplete Knowledge
by Jeffrey Harrison
I am of those whose knowledge will always be
incomplete, who know something about the world
but not a whole lot, who will forever confuse
steeplebush and meadowsweet
but know at least by the shape of the flower
that it is one or the other.
Don’t ask me the difference between
a white pine and a red, or even a Jeffrey,
but I know it’s a pine, not a spruce or tamarack
(a.k.a. hackmatack, but what’s a larch?).
The difference between a sycamore
and a plane tree? It’s beyond me.
I’ve never had a grip on
Japanese painting—the different styles and periods.
I don’t even know that much about Dutch—
Vermeer of course, Rembrandt sure,
but could I distinguish a De Hooch from a Steen?
Do I even know how to pronounce their names?
I know next to nothing about what goes on
under the hood of a car, though I try to hide that fact
in the presence of mechanics. Herakleitus
(am I spelling that right?) said something
about how we hide our ignorance,
but I can’t remember exactly what it was.
Birds, music, fishing, history, it’s appalling
how limited my knowledge is.
I’m not even going to begin to list
all the books I haven’t read.
I’m the antithesis of a Renaissance man,
spread so thin I hardly exist.
I have a friend who knows what seems like
close to everything. Certainly everything in the woods.
He was explaining to me the difference
between steeplebush and meadowsweet
(which I understood at the time but didn’t retain,
as if it were the theory of relativity),
when I looked up and saw a jet whose trail
of fine white cloud kept disappearing, reappearing,
and disappearing again, and I asked why,
and, holding the meadowsweet in one hand
and the steeplebush in the other, he explained it.
And he wasn’t bullshitting, either—he knew.
I’m not sure I even understand what it means
to know that much. Does all that knowledge
add up to some encompassing wisdom,
something beyond the sum of the names
and data, vast and unknowable?
Unknowableat least to me: I will never be like my friend.
I misplace facts as easily as my glasses,
so the world seems blurred for a while—
but then I find them, put them on, and go outside
to greet the ten thousand things (is that a Buddhist
or Taoist expression?), no less amazed
for my not being able to keep them straight.
**
Incomplete Knowledge
by Jeffrey Harrison
I am of those whose knowledge will always be
incomplete, who know something about the world
but not a whole lot, who will forever confuse
steeplebush and meadowsweet
but know at least by the shape of the flower
that it is one or the other.
Don’t ask me the difference between
a white pine and a red, or even a Jeffrey,
but I know it’s a pine, not a spruce or tamarack
(a.k.a. hackmatack, but what’s a larch?).
The difference between a sycamore
and a plane tree? It’s beyond me.
I’ve never had a grip on
Japanese painting—the different styles and periods.
I don’t even know that much about Dutch—
Vermeer of course, Rembrandt sure,
but could I distinguish a De Hooch from a Steen?
Do I even know how to pronounce their names?
I know next to nothing about what goes on
under the hood of a car, though I try to hide that fact
in the presence of mechanics. Herakleitus
(am I spelling that right?) said something
about how we hide our ignorance,
but I can’t remember exactly what it was.
Birds, music, fishing, history, it’s appalling
how limited my knowledge is.
I’m not even going to begin to list
all the books I haven’t read.
I’m the antithesis of a Renaissance man,
spread so thin I hardly exist.
I have a friend who knows what seems like
close to everything. Certainly everything in the woods.
He was explaining to me the difference
between steeplebush and meadowsweet
(which I understood at the time but didn’t retain,
as if it were the theory of relativity),
when I looked up and saw a jet whose trail
of fine white cloud kept disappearing, reappearing,
and disappearing again, and I asked why,
and, holding the meadowsweet in one hand
and the steeplebush in the other, he explained it.
And he wasn’t bullshitting, either—he knew.
I’m not sure I even understand what it means
to know that much. Does all that knowledge
add up to some encompassing wisdom,
something beyond the sum of the names
and data, vast and unknowable?
Unknowableat least to me: I will never be like my friend.
I misplace facts as easily as my glasses,
so the world seems blurred for a while—
but then I find them, put them on, and go outside
to greet the ten thousand things (is that a Buddhist
or Taoist expression?), no less amazed
for my not being able to keep them straight.
**
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