Post Brexit, This Takes On A Whole New Relevance

We liked this so much, we even bought the book! "A Triune Tale of Diminutive Swine by John Branyan" Enjoy!

Rogation Days: "Justice in the Preservation of the Boundaries"

"Rogation Days" were a church tradition in Europe that involved the whole community walking the boundaries of their village lands, led by their Priest and asking the blessing of God on it all.

Maybe if we had kept walking the boundaries and teaching children the landmarks, we would not be in such danger from the new iconoclasts today, who seem determined to tear down every landmark of civilization. From the article "Rogation and Ascension"  on Full Homely Divinity:

"The reminder of boundaries had another important impact on communal life. In a poem by the 20th century American Robert Frost, the poet's neighbor asserts that "good fences make good neighbors." Boundaries are often very important in relationships. As members of parishes beat the bounds, they would often encounter obstructions and violations of boundaries. The annual beating of the bounds provided an opportunity to resolve boundary issues. It also led to the tradition of seeking reconciliation in personal relationships during Rogationtide. The sharing of a specially brewed ale, called Ganging Beer, and a mysterious pastry, called Rammalation Biscuits, at the end of the walk was a good way of sealing the reconciliation.

"George Herbert gave the following good reasons to beat the bounds: 1) a blessing of God for the fruits of the field; 2) Justice in the preservation of the bounds; 3) Charity, in living, walking and neighbourly accompanying one another, with reconciling of differences at that time, if they be any; 4) Mercy, in relieving the poor by a liberal distribution of largess which at that time is or ought be made."  [in The Country Parson, Chapter 35]

The Carol of the Drum

The Little Drummer Boy, originally titled The Carol of the Drum, is based on a traditional Czechoslovakian Christmas carol. The last line always brings tears to my eyes. Merry Christmas, ya'll. :-)

Lyrics to The Little Drummer Boy

Come they told me ( pa rum pum pum pum)
The new born King to see ( pa rum pum pum pum)
Our finest gifts we bring ( pa rum pum pum pum)
To lay before the King ( pa rum pum pum pum)
(Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum).

So to honor Him ( pa rum pum pum pum)
When we come.

Little baby ( pa rum pum pum pum)
I am a poor boy too ( pa rum pum pum pum)
I have no gift to bring ( pa rum pum pum pum)
To lay before a King ( pa rum pum pum pum)
(Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum).

Shall I play for you ( pa rum pum pum pum)
On my drum?

Mary nodded ( pa rum pum pum pum)
The ox and lamb kept time ( pa rum pum pum pum)
I played my drum for Him ( pa rum pum pum pum)
I played my best for Him ( pa rum pum pum pum)
(Rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum).

Then He smiled at me ( pa rum pum pum pum)
Me and my drum.

Jesus Christ Is Risen! Alleluia!

May eternal joy be yours! Happy Easter with God's rich blessings to all!

Death Be Not Proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
-- John Donne


Romans 5:9-11:
"By his blood we are now put right with God; how much more, then, will we be saved by him from God's anger!
"We were God's enemies, but he made us his friends through the death of his Son. Now that we are God's friends, how much more will we be saved by Christ's life!
"But that is not all; we rejoice because of what God has done through our Lord Jesus Christ, who has now made us God's friends."


Art is "The Resurrection" by Peter Paul Rubens, 1611 AD (scroll down at the link to find the commentary on this painting).

Holy Saturday: The Harrowing of Hell

O God, we look at the death that was,
Look at the time - unthinkable time!
When God lay dead and earth lay dark
And in all of time was nothing. Nothing!

Nothing!
The absence in which You Were.
The empty from which You Brought.
The void that only Your Voice can Fill and Shatter and Open.

And in that nothing, You Were.
And out of that nothing, You Came.
And we will the Truth of Your Death, that ever You Come.

Come, Lord Jesus!


Holy Saturday is dark, and solemn. Our Lord was still in His tomb, and those who loved him were still in anguish.

One of the most beautiful traditions around Holy Week is the understanding that Jesus also saved those who had died before He came to earth. Thus, those who longed for His coming in previous generations were also offered eternal life in Heaven. They also are a part of the "great cloud of witnesses" who surround us.

This exegesis is known as "The Harrowing of hell", and comes from at least as early as the 4th Century AD. This is yet another way of envisioning the scriptural mystery wherein Christ's resurrection saved the whole world, me, you and the little bitty babies, and the old men, and Adam and Eve, and every creature from the beginning until the end of time.


"I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me"  Paul's Epistle to the Galatians, Chapter 2, verse 20. 



The poem is by Tina Howard
The image is an Albrecht Durer engraving from 1512 AD, titled "The Harrowing of hell", from a series illustrating The Passion of Christ.  Never heard of him, you think? If you have ever seen a figurine or art featuring the "Praying Hands", you've seen his work.

On Fact and Fallacy, and How They Can Change: "Ten Thousand Years Ago, A Lemming"

 The most awesome thing about this story: "Scientists in Russia have grown plants from fruit stored away in permafrost by squirrels over 30,000 years ago" (from the BBC, via PopSci.com , via Instapundit),  is that it is one more confirmation of how hardy living things are, how well the Life in our world is protected to assure there will ALWAYS be Life.  Life is abundant and miraculous, and we don't know the half of it.

Caution is warranted, as such finds in past have later shown by carbon dating to have been more modern seeds, buried at Pleistocene levels by modern animals  -  even in burrows that actually did date from the Pleistocene era, and that contained legitimate remains 10,000 years ago!  But we didn't know until 2009 that the oldest viable seeds of proven age are 2000 years old.


40-odd years ago, scientists planted lupine seeds recovered from the permafrost, and they grew.  30-odd years  ago, Nicolas asked a question that led me to write a poem about ancient seeds. 20-odd years ago, it was published in Thistles Magazine. Here it is, in honor of today's version of old, old, news. See if you can spot some other "facts" from when it was written 30 years ago have since been proven inaccurate.*


 Ten thousand years ago, a lemming
hid a hoard of flower seeds
against the arctic dark and rushed
headlong into the sea, or else forgot,
and left his cache of lupine seeds
buried in the permafrost
and time and time and time went by.
Someone dug them up from the cold that never thaws,
found his pantry full of flower seeds,
found the makings of a garden,
from ten thousand years ago
and planted the lemming's hoard again,
in rows like all good lemmings,
lined up against the ocean wall,
spread sunshine on the earth
and sprinkled water.

And the seeds grew.

Blossomed, and made new seeds.

Perhaps ten thousand years ago,
lemmings didn't make the leap
of faith and death into the icy sea,
or the seeking consequence of suicide
chill human consciousness.
Ten thousand years ago we had no Bomb,
no star-hung missles,
no seeping milleniaic poisons.
Little Nicolas says, about the grass,
growing through cracks in the pavement:
"Life is stronger than anything."

Tina Howard



*The truth (based on current knowledge) about a few other fallacies that were believed or theorized 30 years ago (and still to this day are taught):
(1) The "Atomic Bomb", horrific at detonation, has not been the terror we were led to believe, but instead has since been held, wisely, as a deterrent rather than a weapon. To this day, the most devastating effects of war come from sheer brutality and from more conventional weapons;
(2) Concrete bunkers do indeed offer individuals some protection against the effects of nuclear weapons;
(3) The Theory of Nuclear Winter not only did not occur when these weapons were used, but has become highly debatable (and was abandoned for an even sillier theory called Global Warming, now renamed Climate Change)
(4)  Nuclear Power accidents have proven - even as recently as this past year in Japan, as well as long term studies on Chernoble - to be far less dangerous than estimated, with outrageously shorter time periods for natural decontamination than were estimated at the time of the disasters;
(5) Lemmings may or may not dash over the cliffs by the thousands.
(6) We learn much in the course of our lives - and especially, if we are wise, we will learn how to change our minds, and think things through more carefully.
(7) The last sentence is still true, and always will be, because God created Life, and made His lively creations stronger than the inanimate elements around them.

Today, It's: Mail Art.

 Well, my candidate has taken his name off the ballot for President. I guess the good news is that at least Texans won't have to worry about who is going to govern our state. Governor Perry, Governor Palin , and Todd Palin have endorsed Newt Gingrich. I will pray they are right, and turn my attention to daily, ordinary life for a while. 

I wander the web like I used to wander bookstores. Each week, some new thing will catch my attention, and I learn about it. Last time, it was Home Bee Keeping. More on that another time, because:

Today, it's Mail Art.

In this month's AAPA bundle (what people did before blogs), the Six Mile Press offering was about Carnegie Libraries. It inspired me, so for February's bundle, I'm making postcards out of a photo I took of the Carnegie Library in my hometown. I had prints made at Walmart.com, will use acetone to erase the corporate printing on the backs, rubber stamps to print "Post Card" on the backs, and stickers to label the front. (I'll add a photo to the blog when the project is done.)

Back to Mail Art. I wanted ideas for "arting up" my project, so went looking. Here are some places I found clever inspiration:

Everyday should be a Red Letter Day…

2012 Graceful Envelope Contest (and archives of past winners)

The Missive Maven

Austin Kleon's Blog, and esp. "How To Steal Like An Artist"

Postcrossing: The Postcard Crossing Project

S-FIMail

Good Mail Day

How fun is this? I may be looking at a new hobby-ette! Or, at least, until something else attracts my attention...

Not Only the Icelanders: Translating Praise Music from 1500 Years Ago, and the Future of Printed Books

It's often told that in the most literate society in the world, Iceland, readers can still understand books written in Icelandic 800 years ago. It is impressive and admirable that their ancient texts, the Sagas and Eddas, remain accessible to allow the average person opportunity to read and decipher for themselves.

But perhaps literate speakers of English have the same ability, mostly yet untried.

Accidentally, today, in surfing around the web, I came across a reference to the oldest identified Anglo-Saxon poet, Caedmon.  Caedmon worked in a Monastery, tending to the animals. He could not read, and sang so badly that when everyone got together for the 8th century's version of karioke, he left the room. One night, he had a dream, in which an angel asked him to sing - and he sang a new song. Upon waking, he remembered the verses and spent the rest of his life turning scripture into Praise music.

I went looking for more info, including a different translation and came upon one that also gave the original text.

Well. You know how it is. Once a stream of thought gets going, there we go.

I noticed that the opening word "Nu" sounds like "Now", then that "hefaen___" sounds exactly like "Heaven" and one thing led to another. What I found is that by trying different pronunciations of the original words, I was able to decypher much of the Old English version.

Here's a poetic Modern English translation:

          Now let me praise the keeper of Heaven's kingdom,
          the might of the Creator, and his thought,
          the work of the Father of glory, how each of wonders
          the Eternal Lord established in the beginning.
          He first created for the sons of men
          Heaven as a roof, the holy Creator,
          then Middle-earth the keeper of mankind,
          the Eternal Lord, afterwards made,
          the earth for men, the Almighty Lord.

Here's an original language version from the year 737 Anno Domini:


              1 Nu scylun hergan hefaenricaes uard
              2 metudæs maecti end his modgidanc
              3 uerc uuldurfadur sue he uundra gihuaes
              4 eci dryctin or astelidæ
              5 he aerist scop aelda barnum
              6 heben til hrofe haleg scepen.
              7 tha middungeard moncynnæs uard
              8 eci dryctin æfter tiadæ
              9 firum foldu frea allmectig

Here's my rough, literal version:

1 Now shall hear Heaven-rich's [Heaven owner's] ward
2 Mete-er's (measurer's) might and his making-think
3 Work of the elderfather so his wonder goes
4 ever directing the onset
5 He first shaped the elder sons
6 Heaven to roofbeam holy shaper
7 then middle-earth mankind's ward
8 ever directing after today (until today)
9 the firm fields Free-Lord Almighty

Here's another good modern translation that I found.

My pronunciation may not be anything like the original, but because the language remains the same, despite spelling and dialectical changes over time, the words still mean pretty much what they did 1,500 years ago. There "original language version" is also transcribed into our modern alphabet - if one were to try to read the text as written, we'd need to also discuss the character "thorn" and a few other such, just as we have to know that the long S of colonial times is not an "F" but rather a modified character used according to certain grammar rules of the day. This follows a discovery some time ago, that I could sort-of read Greek by simply transliterating the letters in biblical texts and looking for roots to English words.

I'm not going to be winning any awards or going into business translating ancient texts, but the thing is: this is one of the wonders of the internet. To uncover new possibilities in ourselves by being exposed to history we never even knew existed, to science we never even questioned, to the stories of ordinary people who helped set the course for the future.

Like the monks copying the Bible and their countries' literature to get books into every monastery in the world, like Gutenberg's printing press churning out copies of the Bible and world literature for every book buyer in Europe, the net puts everything written before into the hands of ordinary people.

And we don't have to depend on "authorized experts" to translate for us or explain it to us.

I'm reading a book that came out a few years ago, on the history of printing, called "Paradigms Lost: The Life and Death of the Printed Word" (Tip: go through your favorite blogger's Amazon search link to buy it). It's a fascinating delve into many of the ways the printing press, and even typography, changed our societies and our world. It is in some ways an unfinished book, for, as the author himself, a retired editor who bills himself  "an independent historian" and cites reams of sources,  says "..[we] are just in the first years of an era that exists so far mostly in magazine articles, techology manufacturers' boastful extrapolations, books like this one, and confused observations..."  The book was copyrighted 2005, at the beginning of the "print apocalypse" as the failure of traditional publishing to meet customer needs was beginning to become clear. 

Despite the introduction of the Kindle in 2007 (not so much new technology as a more wide-spread distribution method),  the number of books printed in the US in 2010 grew 5% with traditional publishers. But the really exciting part is that the "non-traditional" sector, including "print on demand" and self-published books almost tripled from 1,033,065 titles in 2009 to 2,776,260 in 2010.

This does not represent new demand - the demand was always there - this represents new access, thanks to the internet, which has given any author a nearly cost-free access to markets outside their local area.

The internet lets us all share what we know, and learn more on whatever topic we wish. We can direct our own course of study, without cost. We can become self-educated people.We can think for ourselves. And we can tell others.

And like those who first benefited from the printing press, we want our own copies. Just in case the link goes dark. Or the net goes down. But mainly because free people everywhere like to have their own.

"...but the blessing of earth is toil."

"Born within a lowly stable, where the cattle 'round Me stood,
Trained a carpenter in Nazareth, I have toiled, and found it good.

"They who tread the path of labor follow where My feet have trod;
They who work without complaining do the holy will of God.

"Where the many toil together, there am I among My own;
Where the tired workman sleepeth, there am I with him alone."



More from Henry Van Dyke's "The Friendly Year". These verses are a small excerpt from "The Toiling of Felix, and Other Poems",  first published in 1900, a lyrical meditation on the spiritual value of work and labor in a happy life.

...and another Henry Ossawa Tanner painting: the oft-marketed "Young Sabot Maker", in which Tanner, in Paris, depicted a young apprentice learning to make wooden shoes, using the same kinds of woodworking tools that carpenters have used for thousands of years. Compare with the one above, which Georges DelaTour painted in the mid 17th century, of St Joseph in his cabinet shop, with the young Jesus at hand. As Tanner moved deeper and deeper into his calling to paint the biblical reality, it is easy to imagine his meditation on Jesus' childhood in a carpenter's home.

Tanner said of his work "My effort has been to not only put the Biblical incident in the original setting ... but at the same time give the human touch "which makes the whole world kin" and which ever remains the same. "

In the poet's words:
"This is the gospel of labour, ring it, ye bells of the kirk!
The Lord of Love came down from above, to live with the men who work.
This is the rose that He planted, here in the thorn-curst soil:
Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of Earth is toil."

What Did People Do Before Blogs? The American Amateur Press Association (AAPA) is 75 Years Old This Month!

This is
A Printing Office

Crossroads of Civilization
Refuge of All the Arts
Against the Ravages of Time
Armoury of Fearless Truth
Against Whispering Rumour
Incessant Trumpet of Trade
From this Place words May Fly Abroad
Not to Perish on Waves of Sound
Not to Vary with the Writer's Hand
But Fixed in Time, Having been Verified in Proof

Friend You Stand on Sacred Ground

This is a Printing Office

Beatrice Wade -1932
Printed in the Heritage Center Print Shop
Lancaster Pennsylvania

"Printed by AAPA members Mike Donnelly, Ken Kulakowsky, and
Rich Rtladge on an O.S. 8x12 C&P treadle driven platen press."

                                                     
                                                                     ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Interested? Check out the American Amateur Press Association,* now celebrating its 75th year of hobby journalism & printing arts. Don't let the word "Amateur" fool you - some of the finest professionals in their industries have published in these bundles  (and in eJournals)for simple pleasure since the AAPA was started by a bunch of teenagers in 1936. The AAPA welcomes writers, printers, publishers, editors, artists, illustrators, cartoonists & poets of all ages, from home schooled students to newspapermen to professional printers to true amateurs.

The great forerunners of blogs, amateur press associations have played a part in the lives and career choices and hobby pasttimes of thousands of ordinary Americans during the 20th century. In the AAPA, monthly bundles mailed to each member, annual Laureate Awards, and an annual convention bring everybody together.  Clean, friendly, and just for simple fun.

(*Please note, effective this month, dues have risen to $25 per year, to accomodate a move from bulk rate to 1st Class mailing. To receive a trial bundle, contact the secretary.)

UPDATE:  Linked by And So It Goes In Shreveport. Thanks! :-)

"Darkness Came Over All the Land"

An Account of Jesus' Death from Matthew 27:45-51,54-56 :

 "From noon until three in the afternoon darkness came over all the land.  About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).

 "When some of those standing there heard this, they said, “He’s calling Elijah.”

 "Immediately one of them ran and got a sponge. He filled it with wine vinegar, put it on a staff, and offered it to Jesus to drink. The rest said, “Now leave him alone. Let’s see if Elijah comes to save him.”

 "And when Jesus had cried out again in a loud voice, he gave up his spirit.

 "At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook, the rocks split and the tombs broke open.

 "When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, “Surely he was the Son of God!”

 "Many women were there, watching from a distance. They had followed Jesus from Galilee to care for his needs. Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph,and the mother of Zebedee’s sons."


O God, we look at the death that was,
look at the time - unthinkable time -
when God lay dead and earth lay dark
and in all of time was nothing.
Nothing! The Absence in which You Were.
The Empty from which You Brought.
The Void which only Your Voice can Fill
and Shatter and Open.

And in that Nothing, You Were;
and out of that Nothing, You Came;
and we will the Truth of Your Death,
that ever You Come.

Come, Lord Jesus.
        


Image: "Deposition", painting by Jean Beraud, 1892. Image courtesy of FreeChristImages.org
Poem: "Holy Saturday" by Tina Howard

Musing on Walt Whitman, Sarah Palin & American Archetypes

Walt Whitman wrote of America in this excerpt from "Song of the Broad Axe" in Leaves of Grass, the 1871-1872 edition. The Civil War had just ended.

Notice how modern the verse sounds.

After the describing new and independent, self-reliant civilization that was the building of America, after a cadence for the tribulation of civil war and an ode to Europe's bloody history, he began to speak of the future, and the rebuilding of America - and of the resurgence of archetypal American Timber itself:

"The voyage of those who sought a New England and found it—the outset anywhere,
The settlements of the Arkansas, Colorado, Ottawa, Willamette,
The slow progress, the scant fare, the axe, rifle, saddle-bags;
The beauty of all adventurous and daring persons,
The beauty of wood-boys and wood-men, with their clear untrimmed faces,
The beauty of independence, departure, actions that rely on themselves,
The American contempt for statutes and ceremonies, the boundless impatience of restraint....
...

" What do you think endures?
Do you think the great city endures?
...

"The great city is that which has the greatest man or woman;
If it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest city in the whole world.
...

"The shapes arise!
Shapes of the using of axes anyhow and the users and all that neighbors them,
Cutters down of wood, and haulers of it to the Penobscot or Kennebec,
Dwellers in cabins among the Californian mountains, or by the little lakes, or on the Columbia,
Dwellers south on the banks of the Gila or Rio Grande - friendly gatherings, the characters and fun,
Dwellers up north in Minnesota and by the Yellowstone river— dwellers on coasts and off coasts,
Seal-fishers, whalers, arctic seamen breaking passages through the ice.
...

"The shapes arise!
Shapes of factories, arsenals, foundries, markets;
Shapes of the two-threaded tracks of railroads;
Shapes of the sleepers of bridges, vast frameworks, girders, arches;
Shapes of the fleets of barges, tows, lake and canal craft, river craft.

"The shapes arise!
Shapes of doors giving many exits and entrances;
The door passing the dissevered friend, flushed and in haste;
The door that admits good news and bad news;
The door whence the son left home, confident and puffed up;
The door he entered again from a long and scandalous absence, diseased, broken down, without innocence, without means.

"Her shape arises,
She, less guarded than ever, yet more guarded than ever;
The gross and soil'd she moves among do not make her gross and soiled;
She knows the thoughts as she passes—nothing is concealed from her;
She is none the less considerate or friendly therefore;
She is the best beloved, it is without exception, she has no reason to fear, and she does not fear.
Oaths, quarrels, hiccupped songs, smutty expressions, are idle to her as she passes;
She is silent—she is possess'd of herself—they do not offend her;
She receives them as the laws of nature receive them — she is strong,
She too is a law of nature—there is no law stronger than she is.

"The main shapes arise!
Shapes of Democracy, total—result of centuries;
Shapes, ever projecting other shapes;
Shapes of turbulent manly cities;
Shapes of the friends and home-givers of the whole earth,
Shapes bracing the earth, and braced with the whole earth. "

I ran across this when trying to whittle down the bookshelves. Whitman personified the self-possessed naivete of the "can-do" American as the mythic mother, the queen that shares democracy with abandon: the Lady Liberty herself.

Walt Whitman would have loved Sarah Palin! The passionately patriotic "poet of the Civil War" was an expansive feminist of the old school:

"Where women walk in public processions in the streets, the same as the men,
Where they enter the public assembly and take places the same as the men"

He'd have loved her plain speaking, her artless assumption of her true place within our common life, her unabashed recognition of the unique magnificence that is America.

Walt would have understood why Sarah Palin resonates so powerfully with so many Americans: not because she is like us or stronger or braver or wiser (although she is all of those things), but because she reminds us all that we are too - that our American heritage is to be the archetype our own selves: this is who we are.

She's proved it. And if she can do it, we can do it too. We need not cast about for heroes: they are here in our own hearts.

What it means to be American is to be people who look within and find the shape of the leader that is in each of us. And then we go forward into a confident and egalitarian future for us all. That's the direction Sarah points toward, that's the continuing frontier that America will always win.

Yes, I think Walt would be very proud that America is still being shaped today by the likes of Sarah Palin.

"Lazarus, Come Forth!"

This Sunday the readings recall when Jesus raised from the dead the brother of his friends Mary and Martha. Here is a condensed excerpt from the Gospel of John, Chapter 11:

"Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”

"... Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. ....On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days.

"... When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

"When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

" Jesus wept.

"Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

"Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said.

“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”

" Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me..."

"When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

"Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

"Therefore many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.

"But some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. Then the chief priests and the Pharisees called a meeting of the Sanhedrin.

“What are we accomplishing?” they asked. “Here is this man performing many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away both our temple and our nation.”

" Then one of them, named Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, spoke up, “You know nothing at all! 50 You do not realize that it is better for you that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish.”

"...So from that day on they plotted to take his life. "

Go here to read the entire account, with all details.

John 11, Verse 35: "Jesus wept", is the shortest verse in the Bible. It is a profound statement of Jesus' grief for his friend, his empathy for Mary and Martha, his feeling for the pain of others. I wrestled with this one for a long time - I wondered why he felt the pain and loss of grief, since Jesus knew in advance that he would raise Lazarus to life again.

But Jesus was a human man, and grief is a human emotion that responds to the immediate condition. "Any man's death diminishes me" the poet and preacher John Donne wrote.

Christians believe that Jesus was the only "perfect" human who has ever lived - the only one of us who never sinned. Part and parcel with that is pure emotional health: Jesus was not insulated from his emotions, and felt and expressed himself honestly, innocently, and righteously.

Jesus wept because his friend had died.

Like real men everywhere, he was not afraid to love, and not ashamed to cry.






Image: "The Raising of Lazarus", Painting by Henry Ossawa Tanner, 1896

What Is It Like To Be A Christian? Thomas Traherne: "You never enjoy the world aright...."

What is it like to be a Christian? The poet and preacher Thomas Traherne described it like this in the 1600s, and it is like this still today:

You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins,
till you are clothed with the heavens,
and crowned with the stars:
and perceive yourself to be the sole heir
of the whole world,
and more than so, because men are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you.

And here - here is the longer, fuller passage:

"Our enjoyment of the world is never right, till every morning you awake in Heaven; see yourself in your Father's Palace; and look upon the skies, the earth, and the air as Celestial Joys: having such a reverend esteem of all, as if you were among the Angels. The bride of a monarch, in her husband's chamber, hath no such causes of delight as you.

"You never enjoy the world aright, till the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars: and perceive yourself to be the sole heir of the whole world, and more than so, because men are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you. Till you can sing and rejoice and delight in God, as misers do in gold, and Kings in scepters, you never enjoy the world.

"Till your spirit filleth the whole world, and the stars are your jewels; till you are as familiar with the ways of God in all Ages as with your walk and table; till you are intimately acquainted with that shady nothing out of which the world was made; till you love men so as to desire their happiness, with a thirst equal to the zeal of your own; till you delight in God for being good to all: you never enjoy the world.

"Till you more feel it than your private estate, and are more present in the hemisphere, considering the glories and the beauties there, than in your own house; till you remember how lately you were made, and how wonderful it was when you came into it; and more rejoice in the palace of your glory, than if it had been made but today morning.

"Yet further, you never enjoy the world aright, till you so love the beauty of enjoying it, that you are covetous and earnest to persuade others to enjoy it…. The world is a mirror of infinite beauty, yet no man sees it.

"It is a Temple of Majesty, yet no man regards it.

"It is a region of Light and Peace, did not men disquiet it.

"It is the Paradise of God. It is more to man since he is fallen than it was before. It is the place of Angels and the Gate of Heaven.

" When Jacob waked out of his dream, he said "God is here, and I wist it not. How dreadful is this place! This is none other than the House of God and the Gate of Heaven."

Thomas Traherne

Who's to Blame?

Coincidence is a funny thing. Sometimes, it leads us from question to answer. Or from thought to confirmation.

Last night, I posted a reply to an article on Belmont club about the latest in the 2000 year old war against Christianity. The story is the monetization of a massacre by turning it into entertainment, effectively giving a media pardon to murderers who beheaded dozens of innocent people and like Pontius Pilot of old, asking the gathered crowd "Should we crucify Jesus the innocent or Barabas the known criminal?". The outcry is, of course, the same as it was then, and for the same reasons, the same as it always shall be until all have heard the Gospel, until Jesus comes again.

I wrote (links added here):

"The desperate rush to assign blame to the Nth degree is the most
anti-Christian element of the whole event. It was that, the endless and unavoidable debt slavery and retribution that Jesus' death and resurrection saved us from. He gave us freedom. Freedom to be forgiven not just for the deliberate violations of the lex du jour, but also for those acts that cause the greatest anguish: the unintended consequences of just being alive. Jesus
brought us Grace. Christianity is the only religion in the world that offers grace: this forever-and-ever pardon, this once-and-for-all-time Grace. Thank God!

"It is a great tragedy that we sent our soldiers to these wasted lands and our own government refused to allow them to carry and share the Good News, and the unimpeachable freedom it brings to every individual."

and then, this morning, I ran across an excellent Sunday talk on the same theme on a blog I haven't read before "Preaching the Lectionary". For today, the 4th Sunday in Lent, the preacher writes:

" A man has been born blind. Jesus’ disciples wonder whether this man’s or his parents’ sin has caused the blindness. Who is at fault? This is often more important to us than finding the remedy because it is easier to find fault. Jesus...healed the blind man. Notice, however, that His remedy had little to do with fault-finding...."

"... Pharisees are not just skeptical; they actually root for failure. They stand in the way of belief. They would rather disbelieve so that they may continue to indulge themselves in their fault-finding. Seeing and believing would require them to reevaluate all that they “understand.”

"...Pharisees go far beyond unbelief. They want to police the beliefs of others. After questioning the man healed of blindness, they drove him out of the synagogue. They could not abide by the truth because it was not their “truth.” "

Read it all by clicking here.

The story of the man who had been born blind, and the questioning of who caused it can easily be found in headline after today's headline, in speech after White House speech, in movie after Made For TV Movie.

But there comes a time, as I once wrote in a poem,

"...when you live like that
and life's just something you do,
the whole thing gets to be kinda mercenary.

And you look around for somebody to blame
but there isn't anyone
but yourself.

And after a while, you realize that you
can't even take it on yourself, so there's
all this sorrow
and no place for it to go.

And that's why Jesus came. "


Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us! God bless you today, and always.

Progressive Despair vs Judeo-Christian Hope and a Future: Confession as Freedom

Gagdad Bob, of the blog One Cosmos, discusses Vanderleun's musings on the enshrinement of the seven deadly sins by the progressive left, and continues a series in which he expands on the ways in which each infect our world - and our souls - today. There's a common element in the activities, plans and machinations of progressives around the world: the inability to see a future. (Bob also approaches this topic here.)

My own thoughts:

We live in a time of incredible portent. The technological revolution has made commonplace the restoration of sight to the blind, the acquisition of knowledge at rates exceeding the reach of the most brilliant minds, and the expansion of economic wealth for ordinary people beyond the dreams of ancient kings. My little blog receives visitors from every continent. Each day, a new frontier is breached. How can we not look toward a future even brighter than that we've already lived?

And yet the progressive search for doom has trapped itself in an unrelenting "opposite day", turning its back to the sun and declaring shadows as substance. Destroying even the fundamental hope of pregnancy and childbearing, they can no longer really speak of the future, or even, of Now.

Where did it go wrong? The farther these elements of society wander from the Judeo-Christian point of view, the more intently they scrutinize the past for those curiously desperate accusations to make against... anyone, really, of integrity, of personal wholeness, of true good. In the parlance of the Charismatics, they become "the accuser of the brethren".

It's vengeance, of course, the stuff of unending feuds, but so strangely expressed in contorted histories of disjointed embroidered moments. Much of what is labeled "justice" is simply revenge, and revenge is insatiable. There is no hope in that, no future, just an endless turning of the millstones of the past.

But the future does, indeed, exist, it is hopeful, it is attainable.

The future belongs to the ordinary, the conservative, the traditional: the people who accept the past will inherit the future.

Christianity, and Judaism from which Jesus was born, understand the past as real, concrete proof of God's work in the world and our role within it. Christians understand that God sees all of our actions, that in the end of time, we will each be called to give an accounting, and face the Judgment of God for every error and evil we have done or thought, including - and perhaps especially - the most secret.

Christians also know we need not fear this, because Jesus Christ Himself faced that judgment on our behalf, is our advocate, and put Himself in our place.

Having this understanding that there are no secrets, that all secrets eventually come to light, colors our approach to the world. It develops the conscience, and the capacity for courage, it protects personal innocence and integrity.

We are taught to try to live so that we don't have anything to hide, and just as important: to admit out loud to other people when we do miss the mark. To confess our sins - not in defense when faced with accusers, never in attempt to save ourselves from the mob - but in advance, to make them known by our own volition, when those sins are still hidden and unknown, to someone we respect so that we can admit the shame.

All Christian denominations practice some form of confession, whether spontaneously to the gathered congregation at an evening altar call, privately to one's minister, or to a priest through sacramental Confession.

One does not have to be a Christian for confession of wrongdoing or wrongthinking to restore the health of the spirit and the power over the mob. The same principle is a key element of Alcoholics Anonymous 12 Steps, which shares with Christianity the insistence on assuming real personal responsibility for wrongdoing and the need for support from a Power greater than ourselves to live in harmony with ourselves and our fellow men.

By confessing to someone else even before anyone knows, we grow immediately stronger. We become confident and remove the fear and regret that guilty secrets cause. We know ourselves better and have more courage and more honesty. We walk in good faith - in Good Faith - in the sunshine again.

Suddenly, we are invulnerable, back in God's light, because we control our own destiny - and we know it. No one can blackmail us or harm us by gossip or rumor for we have no hidden guilt. We can accept the worldly consequences knowing God has forgiven us. Neither crowds nor mobs can intimidate us. Those who try will be confounded. We are freed to do our best work, enjoy our best life.

Thus it is not unusual to see men and women stand before a congregation and give their testimony: sharing their shame and their redemption, that others might share their courage as well, and take part in the Great Forgiveness that makes life - and a genuine future - possible.

And what of Judgment Day?
Our Lord said "Now is the judgment of this world."
and we are in the Now, for He has come,
and comes always.
A choice must be made. Now.
And yet,
and yet, it is not and never too late to turn
and beg a brighting glance from The Son
Who shields the searing rapture
and offers a place near the Fire:
a safe place,
a warm place,
wherein the dark can't hide,
wherein all quiet bides,
and all find Peace.

He has Called me, and I came
from out of the darkness,
a creature of the shade:
blinking, fearful, shy.
He wrapped me in a washed-soft quilt
and cuddled like a child, I drowse,
breathing to His Whisper.



Poem by Tina Howard

Pearl Harbor Was Only the First of Many

Hawaii, and the United States, were attacked on Dec 7th, 1941, but were saved from occupation. Japan's attack was repulsed, and the Japanese Military was unable to gain a foothold on US soil. Other nations, including our ally The Netherlands, were not so lucky.

Three months later, in March, 1942, the Japanese made their push into the Dutch East Indies when they landed on Java. By June, the Dutch were defeated, and their horrific ordeal began.

From "The Netherlands Indies in WWII" Website: "Of the approximately 350,000 Dutch the Japanese first interned the men and later on the women and children.... Cruelty and violence were often typical for the behaviour of the Japanese guards. ... the internees in the overcrowded and insanitary camps suffered from chronic malnutrition, hunger oedema, dysentery and malaria. Many thousands... died as a result of these diseases."

The poem below was written by a survivor of those civilian prison camps:

Men of ten years and older

The heiho flogged with well aimed lashes
Ten year old boys behind an army truck.
By incomprehensible decree they were
declared a man - and men
don't belong with their mother anymore.
He was in line with in his one hand his teddybear
clenched around the one paw left
In the other hand a bag with in it
The final bit of sugar and some malaria pills.
His mother put it in at last
He forced back his tears
After all, he was a man now.
His mother prayed and intensily hoped
To once see him again.
At his birth she had
thought of such a nice name for him.
She, she died of malnutrition and malaria
Lacked the pills that saved his life.
He ended up in a Dutch contract pension
Cold, wet, uncomfortable and not so nice either
The hunger winter was more important in conversations
Than his story of his – cruel - departure.
About good and evil he always thought differently
All his relations broke down
Booze and drugs sometimes helped, for a moment avoiding reality.
His career failed over and over
The only thing he missed was his old, one-armed, soft teddybear.

'Fragments, memories of a camp boy', by Govert Huyser (2005) General b.d. G.L.J. Huyser (Surabaya 1931) stayed during the war in the Japanese internment camps 'Darmo' in Surabaya, 'Karangpanas' in Semarang and in the boys camp 'Bangkong' in Semarang.

Advent: The Waiting Time

In the waiting time,
between the panicked first knowing
and the finish of it,
is a strangeness, a tensile calm.
Inward turned and closed as a child
curled against a dream, the unfinished heart
feels the coming dawn it has not known,
awaits in silence that which has not been,
and all unknowing,
wills it.

Two thousand years ago, an unmarried teenager said yes to God when the Angel told her she would become pregnant with God's own son (Luke 1:26-38). Was it in part for her own protection that she ran immediately to her middle-aged cousin Elizabeth and stayed for 3 months (Luke 1:39-56)?

When the man she was promised to heard the details, Joseph also said yes to God, and committed to raise God's son as his own (Matthew 1:17-25).

Two thousand years later, Mary's news is more urgently needed than ever: Good News to all the world, an event that shakes the universe to its core. In Advent, we remember the fear and uncertainty even as we sing "Come oh Come Emmanuel"


.


Poem: "Advent" by Tina Howard
Painting "The Annunciation" by Henry Ossawa Tanner

Try to remember when life was so tender....

And now for something completely different: the Wedding of the Year gets closer by the minute. Erin Elizabeth has blogged about Lani's Bachelorette Party! They had cupcakes, natch, found a clever way to display her gifts as she unwrapped them, and all the girls look like princesses.

Lani says everything is done, just waiting on delivery of some things that were ordered. It will be a lovely wedding, and a happy marriage. She and Nick are well-suited for each other. They will have a good life.

Erin Elizabeth's blog "my heart belongs to me" is great - if you read here for the fun stuff, decorating, hometown travel, food and such, if you (heart) cupcakes, and if you love beautiful photos of home with sweet and sentimental notes to wrap up a day with a peaceful evening, you need to click over to her blog. Such a happy corner of the net - and superb photos of the family's lovely cats nearly always make their way into a post.

One recent post especially I've been meaning to point to is Erin's stroll along South Congress Avenue in Austin, or "SoCo" as she puts it. These pictures really do capture the feeling - it's such a witty and whimsical district to shop! I love the antique shops there - but there's also a store fully dedicated to monkeys! Not real monkeys - pretend monkeys :-)

Go visit, and have fun!


~


Title is a line from the old song " Try to Remember (the Kind of September)", written by - I was surprised to learn - Tom Jones!

In Equal Sacrifice

On this day. July 29. in 2006, Sgt. Christian Williams, Cpl. Phillip Baucus, Lance Cpl. Tony Butterfield and Lance Cpl. Jason Hansen of the 3rd LAR Marines were killed in action in an insurgent attack. They gave their lives for America, and for liberty for the Iraqi people. Part of their stories can be found here and here.

These two poems by Robert Frost are from his great work "A Boy's Will", written in 1915. They seem appropriate for today. The first "In Equal Sacrifice", of an ancient Scottish Hero, tells of honor and right. The second, "The Tuft of Flowers" leads toward faith, and perhaps healing. To those who love these men, we honor your unfathomable sacrifice as well, and pray for your recovered joy.

Because their most precious reason for service was to protect and preserve a joyful and happy life for their mothers, their brothers and sisters, their wives, their families and the friends they loved so deeply. May God bless you with healing, in their golden memory.


In Equal Sacrifice

THUS of old the Douglas did:
He left his land as he was bid
With the royal heart of Robert the Bruce
In a golden case with a golden lid,
To carry the same to the Holy Land;	5
By which we see and understand
That that was the place to carry a heart
At loyalty and love’s command,
And that was the case to carry it in.
The Douglas had not far to win	10
Before he came to the land of Spain,
Where long a holy war had been
Against the too-victorious Moor;
And there his courage could not endure
Not to strike a blow for God	15
Before he made his errand sure.
And ever it was intended so,
That a man for God should strike a blow,
No matter the heart he has in charge
For the Holy Land where hearts should go.	20
But when in battle the foe were met,
The Douglas found him sore beset,
With only strength of the fighting arm
For one more battle passage yet—
And that as vain to save the day	25
As bring his body safe away—
Only a signal deed to do
And a last sounding word to say.
The heart he wore in a golden chain
He swung and flung forth into the plain,	30
And followed it crying ‘Heart or death!’
And fighting over it perished fain.
So may another do of right,
Give a heart to the hopeless fight,
The more of right the more he loves;	35
So may another redouble might
For a few swift gleams of the angry brand,
Scorning greatly not to demand
In equal sacrifice with his
The heart he bore to the Holy Land.	40

The Tuft of Flowers

I WENT to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees;	5
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,
‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’	10
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a ’wildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round,	15
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;	20
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name,	25
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.	30
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;	35
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.	40
‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.'

`
Semper Fi and God Bless you, Christian, Phillip, Tony and Jason, and all the 3rd LAR.