Time spent practicing what I was going to say this weekend on the drive up: 1 hr. 40 minutes
Outlines drafted for my time slot: 4
Possible outcomes dreamed about last night: 7
Notecards full of penned-in points: 12
Actual time spent speaking: 40 minutes "lecture" and 20 minutes "discussion"
...and a good time had by all, surprisingly. Not only did I find the confidence to speak clearly and competently, I also found myself fairly calm. What won't they think of next? Man, oh man.
not how nor why but when,
when shall this tabernacle be renewed?
the question rises like smoke from sputtering wicks,
rustling in the stillness like billowing tents
engaged by desert wind, inaptly tied to
loose stakes in a sandy soil.
i care not much for how and little more for why,
but when consumes my days
and leaves them, scattered husks
along the corridors of my brief tenure here.
oh Lord, your second advent tarries,
a day when these branch offices
and day clerks of your Holy Spirit
shall meet the corporate whole in a tent
pitched by yourself and not by men.
Today I read Psalm 109 and thought about the rewards of the righteous. Then, I read Proverbs 3 and rethought my thoughts. The Psalmist cries out, "Be not silent, O God of my praise!" And again, "...deliver me! For I am poor and needy, and my heart is stricken within me." The writer hopes for deliverance, but clearly isn't currently experiencing much of it. On the other hand, Proverbs declares with calm sincerity that "the wise will inherit honor, but fools get disgrace." Here are promises of good tidings for those who fear the Lord. Why do the wicked prosper? And why do the righteous often fail to do so?
Then again, there is a deeper magic in operation here. Isaiah's prophecies about Judah constantly refer to reward and punishment, to disobedience or pride as causative factors in the downfall of a people, be it Samaria, Assyria, or Judah herself. Underneath these seemingly unconnected prophecies, however, I see what I always hoped was going on, but never quite believed: God has a plan. Dare I believe it? Are we strong enough to recognize inequity and injustice in the world and still say with confidence that the Lord is in charge, or shall we all become philantrophic Deists? (Assuming we have that kind of cash, which I do not.)
And as for my cursory readings of Psalm 109 and Proverbs 3, I sense that I must be willing to read these passages with Christological eyes. Otherwise, readers become self-righteous blessing-demanders or despairing blessing-despisers. Rewards from the Lord DO go to the righteous, but only those called by the name of Christ may obtain this righteousness. It is alien, applied to us through Jesus by the work of the Holy Spirit. This then, is the plan, the deeper magic, the ultimate narrative: throughout the vicissitudes of human history, God is busy bringing glory to himself by redeeming a people from every tongue and tribe. Do I tremble when the righteous perish? I might think of righteous Jesus on a cross. Do I disbelieve the confident wisdom of Proverbs, that the Lord rewards his own with blessing? I might consider the promise of the resurrection.
Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief.
Today was a day for getting things accomplished. I woke up and made sausage and fried rice. I drank orange juice. I came and computed away 58% of an iMac battery at Atlanta Coffee Roasters where one of my roommates works. What's next?
Phone calls.
This post has two things to say. FIRST: I have nto fallen off the face of the earth. I'm still alive and have some overdue posts to write. SECOND: I am afraid of the telephone. This realization hit me like a truck, but it's true. All I have to do is dial a few churches, talk to their pastors, and mention the research I'll be doing this fall. That's it. If they're interested, great. If not, who cares, right? Ok, ok, ok, here I go.
So there they sat, forever gazing west
forever writing politics in verse,
detritus of American ambition.
They sat and watched the sea, the billows green
and gold and sometimes black forever rolled
between us. Often wars broke out among
the ranks of these sea-watchers, longing hearts
recognizant of anti-satisfying
self and east in someone other's face.
Their poems stained upon the sand remain
with blood for ink and sun-bleached bones for shame.
Ok, I need to corroborate something with men and women who observe men: I think males make more random nosie than women. Before we think about why, I'm making sure this is right. What say you?
When my siblings and parents are all together playing cards or Monopoly or Risk, it is my brother and father and I who break out into songs, finger-tappings, grunts, and stage laughter. Rarely do my mom and sister follow suit. Right now, I'm listening to my new friend Evan sit on the couch and thumb through a magazine. With a woman, I think this would be a silent experience. Evan is no woman. In order to give the Sierra traders catalogue a proper read, he's been growling, humming, whistling, beatboxing, and playing the drums on couch cushions. Am I right in thinking this is typical male behavior? Or rather, am I right in thinking that this behavior is typically male? Winnie the Pooh did it.
Singing about God's attributes always befuddled me. Half the time, I engaged without really understanding what was going on. The other half, I kept thinking, "Well, yeah. Duh. Course he's good, kind, just, powerful, whatever!"
It wasn't until yesterday that I finally began to understand. Singing about -- or even talking about -- God's character and attributes is a kind of confession. When we sing about God as a provider, we are confessing him as provident over and above ourselves. When we sing about his justice, we are confessing that he is more just than ourselves. In celebrating the recognition of these attributes, we admit their neccessity in our lives. We assume the role of blessed recipient, rather than rugged, self-sufficient, individual provider. Aha! Why did that take so long? Another week, another bubble of misunderstanding burst.
Also yesterday, Chuck Frost preched from John again. This time, we talked about the Samaritan woman at the well. And here's a question for whoever happens by my blog: why oh why does Jesus reveal himself so clearly and with such patience to this woman? He gives cryptic answers and parables to so many more notable, important folks.
from Throughout Out Lands, by Czeslaw Milosz
"If I had to tell what the world is for me
I would take a hamster or a hedgehog or a mole
and place him in a theater seat one evening
and, bringing my ear close to his humid snout,
would listen to what he says about the spotlights,
sounds of the music, and movements of the dance."
Ahhh. I'm flooded once again with profiles of the unseen, faint shadows of the real, wondering how my hamster world expanded so rapidly to the performances of larger persons. Good section from a poem that will probably take me a long time to understand, written by a poet I will probably read and misunderstand and enjoy until I die. Did I say Ahhh? Can I say it again? Ahhh.
In the line of fire
In the course of action
In the middle of nowhere
We are telling one another
That nothing is happening,
That those stories of death
Of women and children
Of alcohol and cocaine
Are not really happening,
Unless of course
They come up in conversation,
In which case they can prove as useful
As knowing the traffic report
or the forecast.
Working at a restaurant here in Atlanta means missing a lot of evenings at home. In turn, that means vegging out a bit on the evenings I'm not working. So I'm seeing a bit more of nighttime television -- an amazing amount of commercials, along with an amazing amount of repetitive news. Weird.
Even weirder, it seems like Tuesday night is the night for previews of horror movies. Yuck.