My mother shared with me some humorous stories regarding my childhood today.

First, when I was a new baby, and attempting to nurse, my sister (then 3) grabbed tightly ahold of my arm and began squeezing. She squeezed so hard, in fact, that my mother was concerned that the circulation of blood to my hand was being cut off. My mom had to threaten to take away a privilege before my sister would ease up.

Second, when I was in grade school, coming home from sunday school and church, I told my mom what we had been learning about 'cults'. I had a friend who was Mormon (and the Mormons were included in the lesson), and apparently I said something like 'I must tell Kami she is a part of a cult; I must tell her the truth'. Apparently I grew very serious and furrowed my brow. My mother proceeded to tell me that she didn't think that would be such a good idea.

Sometimes I'm just flabbergasted by the speed of thoughts, of tears, of laughter, of words, of images, of affection. And then I grow melancholy. I grow melancholy because I fear my lack of love; I grow melancholy as I realize what treasures await us each gracious moment, and how just as quickly as they are revealed they are buried again. I grow melancholy when I think of things I wanted to say, or should have said, or shared, or prayed, or written.
But, there is joy in all of these things, and ever new delights are given to us: in the people we are given to love and honor, in the merciful hum of each new day dawning, in the dance of light and white dots of night, in the feeding of birds and of the throwing of snow, in cards and calls of 'this is the good I see in you, that God is drawing out of you', in the 'knowing' that is made possible among close friends, of how and why one is feeling.
Oh, to live in gratitude for these things, and not to mourn unduly the loss of what we were given for just a short time. But to celebrate it, and to celebrate the legacies we leave each other.

Lenten thoughts

From Robert Webber's Ancient-Future Time:

Luther captured the meaning of Lenten spirituality when he called upon his followers to 'live in your baptism'.

Today in baptism we may be asked:

Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?

Do you renounce the evil powers of the world, which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?

Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?

This last question has been reverberating throughout my mind. How does sin draw us so far away from the God that loves us so lavishly? The sin that weigh our souls down with guilt (both real and false)--the sin our Lord will absolve if we claim our forgiveness and repent? Another prayer Webber cites is a prayer for the Lord to take from me the spirit of sloth--(a laziness that prevents us from choosing a spiritual pilgrimage aimed at overcoming the powers of evil working against us) and faintheartedness (despondency, a negative and pessimistic attitude toward life).

We need to renounce these things with an emphatic Yes! Amen. (Truly.) Somehow, we choose to fight. Fighting to take hold of this love and mercy.

Images in the Church?

Hmm. I'm in the middle of doing some research for a paper of mine on the lesser-known reformer Huldrych Zwingli. I am frustrated by his position on the presence and use of images in the Church. In a book I'm currently wading through, it describes the Catholic view of images, which I tend to agree with (it's also in accord with the Orthodox position), that images in the Church have pedagogical value, and that, if Christ has in fact become human, then in a sense, producing images of Him affirms His incarnation, and what His incarnation (leading up to his crucifixion) was able to effect. Zwingli's Christology was what a systematic theologican may call Nestorian, the ways in which the divinity and human-ness of Jesus are sharply divided from each other. Zwingli's objections to images are also understandable, in consequence of His view of the radical distinction between the creature and the Creator, and the worship then owed the Creator. And the fact that any of these images are idols. And it's true: these images don't possess any real soteriological significance, and don't themselves possess the power to change the human heart. Anything physical (?) is an idol. I think perhaps he may have gone too far. He also conceived of the hearing of the Word as the most significant part of the service, over and above the Mass. I tend to think that the Mass, the Lord's Supper, the celebration of the Eucharist, is, in fact, one of the most significant times in the service of the church. It recalls to us the theological significance of Christ's broken body and shed blood, in reminds us that the church is a relational body (i.e. injunctions to make reparations before taking the elements), it evokes gratitude for the gift we have received in the event of the crucifixion -- this decisive moment in time in which we are able to be redeemed, it rehearses in us the life and death of Christ, it feeds us these things we need to hear and appropriate in our heart, these things necessary for salvation. But I also certainly want to affirm the power and use of the preaching of the Word; its exhortatory purpose, its power to divide our very soul and spirit, to test the things of our hearts, to hear the narratives of the Bible, to heed the advice of Paul in His epistles, to sorrow in the Psalms, to read of the healings Jesus performed in the power of the Holy Spirit, and on and on and on. I've certainly gotten carried away, but these thoughts often provoke me, and reading what Zwingli had to say on the matter distresses me. I do not doubt that he was recommending what he believed to be best in his social, etc. circumstances, and that his faith was genuine, but that he leapt a little too far on this particular issue (and it also evidences the slight unsoundness of his theology--although my theology is a bit unsound, I suppose, as well).

My mind is abuzz, distracted, fuzzy. I'm thinking of nothing and everything, mostly, but one consistent question, albeit a self-reflective/probing question that was put to me today? Why is it so difficult for me to look people in the eye? To give my full respect and attention, or to feel a sense of connection, or to just get a good clear look at what it is that's in front of me?
The answers to this question, I am realizing, are complex, frightening, and, to a certain degree hidden. It's so very strange (or, perhaps not so much) that my trouble looking people in the eye has to do with the trouble I have in looking truthfully at the reality of my relationships, soul, mind. It just all seems like too much. It exhausts me to think of paying full and alert attention to everything going on in front of or in me. And, of course, there will always be things I don't know. Perhaps I'm so afraid, in part, because doing so would acknowledge that I matter, not in some egocentric way, but that I am a child of God, and that's pretty incredible! And also in doing this, I would have to acknowledge how I matter to you and how you matter to me, getting to the heart of things, risking, again. It challenges me to be fully live, to be seeking the Lord with all I have, and loving and praying continually. Perhaps it also frightens me because it would show me the extent of my sinfulness, and force me to name my sins. To name the ways I hurt others, and how others have hurt me. And how I am compelled by the love of Christ to forgive. To restore relationships. I'm almost afraid to mention the first thing that came to mind when I thought of an answer to this question: I am hideous. I can't stand looking at myself, dealing with myself, why or how should anybody else? I am afraid to reveal the full extent of my hideousness.
Lord, give me eyes. Your eyes. Somehow.

and the new year commences...

281) encountering an actual sleigh today!

282) snow blown cornfields (barring the roads)

283) a jack frosted door

284) pomegranete juice and champagne on new year's day

285) a macademia nut mocha

286) c.s. lewis' that hideous strength

287) crackling fires in woodstoves

288) merlot cheese

289) looking at ice sculptures with my mom

290) spilling earl grey tea up my sleeve

291) earl grey with dissolved whipped cream

292) psalm 90:12 repeatedly coming up (three times, just today!)

293) a small garden-y teapot with a slight chip

294) attempting to waltz with my dog

295) tea and dates

296) my new moccasin slippers

297) crocheted things

298) libraries, and my never-ending compulsion to check out stacks and stacks of books

299) the ending of a beautiful chopin piece on the radio today

300) the points and angles and velocity of ballet

Resuming my list of thanks...

237) the prospect of making earl grey cookies

238) singing Christmas carols with my mom and a young Amish girl named Rachel with cerebral palsy, who sings with such joy unto the Lord, treasuring the words in her heart

239) re-discovering the pleasures of crocheting and staying up entirely too late to finish a scarf

240) being knocked off my feet by our enormous Anatolian shepherd while taking her out for a simple walk

241) playing hide and seek with the above-mentioned dog

242) the landscape cloaked in a yellow-orange greyness, the colors themselves heavy and pervading

243) making sugar cookies with my mom, and never quite getting enough flour on the rolling pin/dough

244) replenishing the woodstove, logs ablaze

245) being done with this semester (fall 2009) as of fifteen minutes ago

246) humming hymns; wishing i had an instrument to play the melodies

247) beginning to do the daily office, and reveling in rich liturgy (constant reminders of what God has done and what I am capable of being)

248) the desolateness, bleakness, dryness of the valley (the agony bleaching them to beauty)

249) midnights clear

250) reading my mom a winnie-the-pooh christmas story last night

251) advent services put together by a friend at houghton; visits to orthodox, catholic, and episcopalian services

252) beautiful acapella hymn singing

253) new babies being born; lives preparing to be tied together (hopefully not in that order)

254) fairy tales (George MacDonald)

255) missing london (perhaps almost sehnsucht--profound homesickness/longing, with transcendent)

256) thomas merton and his take on the desert fathers

257) ecclesiology, mariology, etc.

258) anything by gerard manley hopkins

259) learning how to die (to self)

260) hoping, daring, praying, having faith enough to taste God's goodness

261) snatches of joy

262) the rhythms and themes of austen's canon coursing through my brain

263) josh groban, an affair to remember, somewhere, so she dances, ave maria, etc.

264) the heart of the Eternal is most wonderfully Kind

265) the lifelines that are the psalms

266) the Welsh language!

267) playful banter

268) the lodge at Mt. Irenaeus

269) beautiful music, of all kinds: classical, celtic, bluegrass, opera, jazz. etc.

270) an indian buffet lunch with a professor, his family, and classmate

271) visiting a halloween-specific costume store; and laughing hysterically at the tackiness of it all

272) reading out loud: poetry, children's stories, anything!

273) playing chess with my mother

274) butterscotch-tinged fudge

275) my mom's home-made breakfast sandwiches

276) tchaikovsky's nutcracker (the music, and the ballet itself)

277) gorecki's third symphony

278) the paintings of Rembrandt and Vermeer (the Dutch realists)

279) becoming acquainted with it's a wonderful life

280) excitement for praxis week following my return to campus