"Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up King and Parliament.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!"
05 November 2007
28 October 2007
"Breathe in me, Holy Spirit, that all my thoughts may be holy,
Act in me, Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy,
Draw my heart, Holy Spirit, that I may love only what is holy,
Strengthen me, Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy,
Guard me, Holy Spirit, that I may always be holy.
Amen."
-St. Augustine
Act in me, Holy Spirit, that my work, too, may be holy,
Draw my heart, Holy Spirit, that I may love only what is holy,
Strengthen me, Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy,
Guard me, Holy Spirit, that I may always be holy.
Amen."
-St. Augustine
14 October 2007
"Clearly, what God wants above all is our will which we received as a free gift from God in creation and possess as though our own. When a man trains himself to acts of virtue, it is with the help of grace from God from whom all good things come that he does this. The will is what man has as his unique possession."
-Saint Joseph of Cupertino
-Saint Joseph of Cupertino
03 October 2007
I Corinthians 9:19-23
"For though I am free from all men, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win the more; and to the Jews I became as a Jew, that I might win Jews; to those who are under the law, as under the law, that I might win those who are under the law; to those who are without law, as without law (not being without law toward God, but under law toward Christ), that I might win those who are without law; to the weak I became as weak, that I might win the weak. I have become all things to all men, that I might by all means save some. Now this I do for the gospel's sake, that I may be partaker of it with you."
01 October 2007
06 September 2007
In the Middle.
His teacher looked over his over shoulder to find that he was reading the last page.
Then she asked him, "Finished it already, have you now?"
"No, not really. I read the first and last pages," He replied.
His teacher then asked, "Now why would you do that?"
"I like to find the end in the beginning and the beginning in the end. It's the mark of a good story," He said.
His teacher forced out a wry yet caring smile and said to him,
"That is true, but in time you'll come to realize that what is in the middle is just as important."
Then she asked him, "Finished it already, have you now?"
"No, not really. I read the first and last pages," He replied.
His teacher then asked, "Now why would you do that?"
"I like to find the end in the beginning and the beginning in the end. It's the mark of a good story," He said.
His teacher forced out a wry yet caring smile and said to him,
"That is true, but in time you'll come to realize that what is in the middle is just as important."
02 September 2007
Journey of the Magi
'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death,
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
-T.S. Eliot
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death,
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
-T.S. Eliot
31 August 2007
Pascal, we meet again.
"Happiness is neither without us nor within us. It is in God, both without us and within us."
Nostalgia
Nostalgia is this:
It's slouching in a chair at around midnight trying to relieve a severe case of writer's block (without much avail), when a dusty black case catches your eye. Nostalgia is half knowing what's inside and half frantically pulling the case out of the clutches of cobwebs, boxes, and furniture. It's opening the case and finding a long and lanky brass instrument that is both familiar and foreign. Nostalgia is putting the instrument together as if you'd known it for years but running your eyes up and down it as if you were seeing it for the very first time. Tilting your head in child-like wonder, you smile as if greeting an old friend, and you are unaware that your fingers have already fallen into the proper place. Nostalgia is giddily scouring the guest room for sheet music only to find yourself blowing dust off black and white keys, and when you've finally found some music, you laugh to yourself and realize that you still recognize the notes even though you can only read the bass clef. It's being unable to discern what is new and what is old for they've collided in beautiful clash of sounds, happiness, and a loss for words. Nostalgia is rediscovering music and all the young awe and fascination that first came with it and still remains.
It's slouching in a chair at around midnight trying to relieve a severe case of writer's block (without much avail), when a dusty black case catches your eye. Nostalgia is half knowing what's inside and half frantically pulling the case out of the clutches of cobwebs, boxes, and furniture. It's opening the case and finding a long and lanky brass instrument that is both familiar and foreign. Nostalgia is putting the instrument together as if you'd known it for years but running your eyes up and down it as if you were seeing it for the very first time. Tilting your head in child-like wonder, you smile as if greeting an old friend, and you are unaware that your fingers have already fallen into the proper place. Nostalgia is giddily scouring the guest room for sheet music only to find yourself blowing dust off black and white keys, and when you've finally found some music, you laugh to yourself and realize that you still recognize the notes even though you can only read the bass clef. It's being unable to discern what is new and what is old for they've collided in beautiful clash of sounds, happiness, and a loss for words. Nostalgia is rediscovering music and all the young awe and fascination that first came with it and still remains.
25 August 2007
Glass
At best,
I am but glass.
A pane,
Without protection,
Fragile and easily broken,
Showing only that which is the Lord's.
In Him I have all things,
A frame and a purpose,
Lucid and washed,
A window.
I am but glass.
A pane,
Without protection,
Fragile and easily broken,
Showing only that which is the Lord's.
In Him I have all things,
A frame and a purpose,
Lucid and washed,
A window.
15 August 2007
Work in Progress (or Less Serious Conversations on Straws)
My fingers sorted through the small bag of birdseed, carefully trying to gather equal amounts of each particular kind of seed before tossing it to the birds. The seed produced quite an audience some of which simply gazed over the generous feast before them only to leave, followed only by my quiet curses condemning them for their imprudent ingratitude. My grumblings to the reprobate birds generally took its toll on my demeanor often leading people to believe that I desired to be left alone. Of course, I cannot blame it solely on the birds, because it was I talking to them and not the other way around. Not to mention the fact that when talking to birds, a man is usually found in his most foolish state.
Adults are not much more different than children. We never left the playground. When we’re at the office we play tag. Hoping that we won’t be “it,” we pass the work that should have been last week on to the poor new guy hiding in cubicle four. When we’re alone, we still pretend to build impenetrable forts with moats and towers. We claim space that’s not ours to really claim, stake it as own, and start building boundaries and walls around ourselves, but we forget to build windows or doors. However, children are immune to the fortresses of adults, or rather, they are Trojan Horses. We think them innocent enough to let them within our bounds only to realize, all too late, that they’ve conquered our hearts.
When the seed was gone and my flighty, feathered audience had left, a little girl shuffled over to the opposite end of the bench, which I was, up until recently, surrounding with castle walls. Not seeing any imminent threat from her, I simply worked on putting the finishing touches on the moat and towers. With grace that can only be understood as childlike, she propped herself up on the bench. She had carried with her a glass bottle of pop that she could barely fit both her hands around. She took a sip from the straw that was inserted into the bottle, and her legs began to swing back and forth like she was on a swing-set. After a while, she looked my direction and asked, “Hey Mister, what’s a straw?”
Quite comically baffled, I half-heartedly asked, “What do you mean? Do you mean, what’s it made of?” “No, I don’t mean that,” she said, “I mean—um—I mean, what makes a straw a straw?” Still somewhat taken back, I tried to answer her question, “Well, straws are hollow tubes that are usually made out of plastic that we use to drink liquid out of glasses and bottles, like the one you’ve got there.” With a look of total dissatisfaction, she asked, “Why don’t we call them tubes then?” “Because not all tubes are used for drinking,” I replied. Her brow furrowed a bit more and she said, “But not all straws are used for drinking. Some boys in my class use straws to shoot spit-wads at the teacher. Does that mean those aren’t straws anymore?” I smiled and said, “No, those are still straws (I guess). They’re just not being used in the right way.” I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth before she asked, “How do you know if they’re being used in the right way or not?” I paused for a bit and began to say, “Well the way the boys in your class use straws is bad, and the way that you’re using your straw is good, because you’re using it to drink.” She then asked, “But what about when I’m not using it for anything bad but just for something fun like blowing bubbles in my soda or making gurgling sounds when there’s only ice left in my cup? Is that bad?” “No, it’s not bad. It’s just not the right way,” I replied. “But I thought that the wrong way was bad and the right way was good,” the girl said rather inquisitively. “Yes, that does seem a bit off,” I said, “Why isn’t it that way?” We sat for while, silent, watching a man play fetch with his dog. Finally breaking the silence, the girl asked me, “So have you figured out what a straw is yet?” I laughed and told her I was working on it. Then I asked her, “Have you?” She replied with a rather optimistic “Nope!” “What makes a straw a straw? It’s not just its shape or make nor is it just its function or how it’s used. But we can agree that straws can be used for good or bad purposes, so we’d have to say that straws are inherently good to begin with. Although, that doesn’t really answer the question, does it? So, let’s see. What’s so neat about straws? Well, like you said before, without straws we couldn’t make gurgling sounds or blow bubbles in our drinks. Straws also save us from embarrassing encounters with the ice and that little bit of liquid that always gets stuck at the bottom of our cups or glasses and waits to fall on us once we’ve tilted our heads too far back—the thing about straws is this: they have a given design and a determined function but it doesn’t define or limit them in what they can be used for. Straws share the likeness and similarity to tubes, but we don’t call straws tubes because calling a straw a tube would be like calling a dog a wolf. Straws have inherited a relationship with us that now separates them from other objects that may feign at being straws, like tubes or hoses.” I paused to look over at the little girl who had now finished off the bottle of pop, and I asked her, “Does that make sense?” She looked over at me and said, “Sort of, but I’m still kind of wondering what a straw is.” The little girl then slid off the bench and started walking over to the playground.
Adults are not much more different than children. We never left the playground. When we’re at the office we play tag. Hoping that we won’t be “it,” we pass the work that should have been last week on to the poor new guy hiding in cubicle four. When we’re alone, we still pretend to build impenetrable forts with moats and towers. We claim space that’s not ours to really claim, stake it as own, and start building boundaries and walls around ourselves, but we forget to build windows or doors. However, children are immune to the fortresses of adults, or rather, they are Trojan Horses. We think them innocent enough to let them within our bounds only to realize, all too late, that they’ve conquered our hearts.
When the seed was gone and my flighty, feathered audience had left, a little girl shuffled over to the opposite end of the bench, which I was, up until recently, surrounding with castle walls. Not seeing any imminent threat from her, I simply worked on putting the finishing touches on the moat and towers. With grace that can only be understood as childlike, she propped herself up on the bench. She had carried with her a glass bottle of pop that she could barely fit both her hands around. She took a sip from the straw that was inserted into the bottle, and her legs began to swing back and forth like she was on a swing-set. After a while, she looked my direction and asked, “Hey Mister, what’s a straw?”
Quite comically baffled, I half-heartedly asked, “What do you mean? Do you mean, what’s it made of?” “No, I don’t mean that,” she said, “I mean—um—I mean, what makes a straw a straw?” Still somewhat taken back, I tried to answer her question, “Well, straws are hollow tubes that are usually made out of plastic that we use to drink liquid out of glasses and bottles, like the one you’ve got there.” With a look of total dissatisfaction, she asked, “Why don’t we call them tubes then?” “Because not all tubes are used for drinking,” I replied. Her brow furrowed a bit more and she said, “But not all straws are used for drinking. Some boys in my class use straws to shoot spit-wads at the teacher. Does that mean those aren’t straws anymore?” I smiled and said, “No, those are still straws (I guess). They’re just not being used in the right way.” I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth before she asked, “How do you know if they’re being used in the right way or not?” I paused for a bit and began to say, “Well the way the boys in your class use straws is bad, and the way that you’re using your straw is good, because you’re using it to drink.” She then asked, “But what about when I’m not using it for anything bad but just for something fun like blowing bubbles in my soda or making gurgling sounds when there’s only ice left in my cup? Is that bad?” “No, it’s not bad. It’s just not the right way,” I replied. “But I thought that the wrong way was bad and the right way was good,” the girl said rather inquisitively. “Yes, that does seem a bit off,” I said, “Why isn’t it that way?” We sat for while, silent, watching a man play fetch with his dog. Finally breaking the silence, the girl asked me, “So have you figured out what a straw is yet?” I laughed and told her I was working on it. Then I asked her, “Have you?” She replied with a rather optimistic “Nope!” “What makes a straw a straw? It’s not just its shape or make nor is it just its function or how it’s used. But we can agree that straws can be used for good or bad purposes, so we’d have to say that straws are inherently good to begin with. Although, that doesn’t really answer the question, does it? So, let’s see. What’s so neat about straws? Well, like you said before, without straws we couldn’t make gurgling sounds or blow bubbles in our drinks. Straws also save us from embarrassing encounters with the ice and that little bit of liquid that always gets stuck at the bottom of our cups or glasses and waits to fall on us once we’ve tilted our heads too far back—the thing about straws is this: they have a given design and a determined function but it doesn’t define or limit them in what they can be used for. Straws share the likeness and similarity to tubes, but we don’t call straws tubes because calling a straw a tube would be like calling a dog a wolf. Straws have inherited a relationship with us that now separates them from other objects that may feign at being straws, like tubes or hoses.” I paused to look over at the little girl who had now finished off the bottle of pop, and I asked her, “Does that make sense?” She looked over at me and said, “Sort of, but I’m still kind of wondering what a straw is.” The little girl then slid off the bench and started walking over to the playground.
12 August 2007
"If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always."
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always."
10 August 2007
Any Prince to Any Princess
August is coming
and the goose, I'm afraid,
is getting fat.
There have been
no golden eggs for some months now.
Straw has fallen well below market price
despite my frantic spinning
and the sedge is,
as you rightly point out,
withered.
I can't imagine how the pea
got under your mattress. I apologize
humbly. The chambermaid has, of course,
been sacked. As has the frog footman.
I understand that, during my recent fact-finding tour of the
Golden River,
despite your nightly unavailing efforts,
he remained obstinately
froggish.
I hope that the Three Wishes granted by the General
Assembly
will go some way towards redressing
this unfortunate recent sequence of events.
The fall in output from the shoe-factory, for example:
no one could have foreseen the work-to-rule
by the National Union of Elves. Not to mention the fact
that the court has been fast asleep
for the last six and a half years.
The matter of the poisoned apple has been taken up
by the Board of Trade: I think I can assure you
the incident will not be
repeated.
I can quite understand, in the circumstances,
your reluctance to let down
your golden tresses. However
I feel I must point out
that the weather isn't getting any better
and I already have a nasty chill
from waiting at the base
of the White Tower. You must see
the absurdity of the
situation.
Some of the courtiers are beginning to talk,
not to mention the humble villagers.
It's been three weeks now, and not even
a word.
Princess,
a cold, black wind
howls through our empty palace.
Dead leaves litter the bedchamber;
the mirror on the wall hasn't said a thing
since you left. I can only ask,
bearing all this in mind,
that you think again,
let down your hair,
reconsider.
-Adrian Henri
(Satire is a guilty pleasure. Although, it should not be over indulged.)
and the goose, I'm afraid,
is getting fat.
There have been
no golden eggs for some months now.
Straw has fallen well below market price
despite my frantic spinning
and the sedge is,
as you rightly point out,
withered.
I can't imagine how the pea
got under your mattress. I apologize
humbly. The chambermaid has, of course,
been sacked. As has the frog footman.
I understand that, during my recent fact-finding tour of the
Golden River,
despite your nightly unavailing efforts,
he remained obstinately
froggish.
I hope that the Three Wishes granted by the General
Assembly
will go some way towards redressing
this unfortunate recent sequence of events.
The fall in output from the shoe-factory, for example:
no one could have foreseen the work-to-rule
by the National Union of Elves. Not to mention the fact
that the court has been fast asleep
for the last six and a half years.
The matter of the poisoned apple has been taken up
by the Board of Trade: I think I can assure you
the incident will not be
repeated.
I can quite understand, in the circumstances,
your reluctance to let down
your golden tresses. However
I feel I must point out
that the weather isn't getting any better
and I already have a nasty chill
from waiting at the base
of the White Tower. You must see
the absurdity of the
situation.
Some of the courtiers are beginning to talk,
not to mention the humble villagers.
It's been three weeks now, and not even
a word.
Princess,
a cold, black wind
howls through our empty palace.
Dead leaves litter the bedchamber;
the mirror on the wall hasn't said a thing
since you left. I can only ask,
bearing all this in mind,
that you think again,
let down your hair,
reconsider.
-Adrian Henri
(Satire is a guilty pleasure. Although, it should not be over indulged.)
29 July 2007
Counseling
I've asked a fair number of people about the function of a church, and I've been able to get a diverse group of satisfying answers so far. Naturally, I can never stay completely satisfied, so I continue to seek out more answers. I went to a discussion last night concerning pastoral counseling. It was a very interesting discussion, but it led me to think to think about another valuable element of church function--counseling. As a side note, I believe Calvin really touched on the church function topic in this quote,
"Because it is now our intention to discuss the visible church, let us learn from the simple title “mother” how useful, indeed necessary, it is that we should know her. For there is no other way to enter life unless this mother conceive us in her womb, give us birth, nourish us at her breast, and lastly, unless she keep us under her care and guidance until, putting off mortal flesh, we become like the angels (Matthew 22:30). Our weakness does not allow us to be dismissed from her school until we have been pupils all our lives. . . . God’s fatherly favor and the especial witness of spiritual life are limited to his flock, so that it is always disastrous to leave the church."
"Because it is now our intention to discuss the visible church, let us learn from the simple title “mother” how useful, indeed necessary, it is that we should know her. For there is no other way to enter life unless this mother conceive us in her womb, give us birth, nourish us at her breast, and lastly, unless she keep us under her care and guidance until, putting off mortal flesh, we become like the angels (Matthew 22:30). Our weakness does not allow us to be dismissed from her school until we have been pupils all our lives. . . . God’s fatherly favor and the especial witness of spiritual life are limited to his flock, so that it is always disastrous to leave the church."
Center and Circumference
"From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I. For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy."
Psalm 61:2-3
He is my tower, my firm foundation, my rock. He is all these things and more. He is the epitome and the focal point; moreover, He is the center. He makes simile possible, because even the most seemingly un-finite conception of Him would still fall drastically short in grasping His oneness. So as I stand here in this field dumbstruck, feeling the grit that is my body and bones shake and stir, I throw my feet backwards in some hopes that I might remotely fathom what He wholly is; only to realize how much more I do not know. The beauty of this being not reveling in my finiteness or my depravity. No. The beauty of this is that He covers and consumes me. The center becomes the circumference. He protects and guards me. Even in the wake of a battle I should not have fought alone when I am beaten, battered, and broken by sin (and still too proud to see it), He puts me on His shoulders and carries me like the cross. He is my Lord and my Savior. He is the center and the circumference.
Psalm 61:2-3
He is my tower, my firm foundation, my rock. He is all these things and more. He is the epitome and the focal point; moreover, He is the center. He makes simile possible, because even the most seemingly un-finite conception of Him would still fall drastically short in grasping His oneness. So as I stand here in this field dumbstruck, feeling the grit that is my body and bones shake and stir, I throw my feet backwards in some hopes that I might remotely fathom what He wholly is; only to realize how much more I do not know. The beauty of this being not reveling in my finiteness or my depravity. No. The beauty of this is that He covers and consumes me. The center becomes the circumference. He protects and guards me. Even in the wake of a battle I should not have fought alone when I am beaten, battered, and broken by sin (and still too proud to see it), He puts me on His shoulders and carries me like the cross. He is my Lord and my Savior. He is the center and the circumference.
21 July 2007
Family Reunion.
Family Reunions are a patchwork quilt of stories, tastes, and characters that have a single genealogical thread sewn throughout them. Family Reunions are a good time to sample your Aunt's prize winning casserole only to secretly realize that your Mom's is better. Family Reunions also remind you why your family decided to only have one once a year--or two. Most of all, Family Reunions are the only time where you can truly say, "It's all relative(s)."
14 July 2007
Stoicism and War
It had been on my mind lately what was mentioned earlier this week about Stoicism and association with the military, and while I wandered through religion and philosophy section at the library today I found a book simply titled Stoic Warriors that was authored by Nancy Sherman. It seemed like a fairly interesting read from what I was able to flip through. The author touched on the connection between Military determination, dedication, and drive (summed up in phrases like "Suck it up!" and "Have a stiff upper lip" as the Brits would say) and the writings and thoughts of Roman Stoics such as Seneca, Epictetus, and Marucs Aurelius just to name a few. Anyhow, the book seemed worthwhile however Boethius and Philosophy weighed heavily upon me so I set the book down with hopes of returning to it. The author did reference poems that touch on the subject matter and I particular found interesting so I'll post one of them up now.
"Insensibility"
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.
III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.
V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.
VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears.
-Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)
"Insensibility"
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.
III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.
V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.
VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears.
-Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)
13 July 2007
Three More From the Attic
I remember how a good friend of mine was thoroughly perplexed as to why I decided to alter what could have been a perfectly sappy short poem into a borderline-cynical ode to office supplies and glue. I guess I just have thing for office supplies...
I’m busy
Papers stacked a mile high,
Goodness gracious they're touching the sky.
oh my, oh my the white out is dry.
Pens galore and,
Books a million score.
Staplers here.
Sharpeners there.
Erasers and Highlighters too
...but if only, if only I could get a glance, a call, a whisper or two
Never does a moment pass without thinking of glue.
I don't have much to say about this one. I believe this was pre-Eliot-Enlightment and also pre-Patrick-has-lost-the-desire-to-rhyme.
The Waiting Room
tapping my foot to the rhythm of the second hand
sitting here half drowned in bated breath
hoping for each minute to pass faster
done all there is to do
skimmed last month's magazines,
a dozen times through.
at the cuff of the seat
waiting to hear my name
"pa...
...tricia"
or so i could only wish
the road trip syndrome setting in
are we there yet?
are we there yet?
bouncing around in my head.
good news—bad news
better than no news
i need advice,
and that's a fact!
"the doctor is always on time"
they say.
"He's the best in town"
said lula may.
i wish so; He would not tarry
read His book
till the edges were hairy
mending hearts is His practice,
saving souls from the great abyss.
He sure is one, I dare not miss.
so this is the story of the waiting room,
the bride a waiting for her groom.
This one is a modified and exaggerated dialogue that I always wished would be turned into a comic.
“I needed to make a statement.
A statement that would say,
‘Down with Pseudo-Democracy and Presidential Puppetry!
I’m the new leader of the free-freaking-world,
and I love Halfway Communism and Ruthless Military Tyrants!’”
“Let me get this straight. You wanted to make a passionate, persuasive statement, for the entire world to see—”
“Uh huh.”
“So you set fire to the school cafeteria…”
“Precisely!”
“For Pete’s sake, the lunch ladies are mourning of their now smoldering humble abode, not to mention, their ten year’s supply of plastic spatulas and hairnets.”
“Remember the great words of Mr. Jefferson. ‘The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’”
I’m busy
Papers stacked a mile high,
Goodness gracious they're touching the sky.
oh my, oh my the white out is dry.
Pens galore and,
Books a million score.
Staplers here.
Sharpeners there.
Erasers and Highlighters too
...but if only, if only I could get a glance, a call, a whisper or two
Never does a moment pass without thinking of glue.
I don't have much to say about this one. I believe this was pre-Eliot-Enlightment and also pre-Patrick-has-lost-the-desire-to-rhyme.
The Waiting Room
tapping my foot to the rhythm of the second hand
sitting here half drowned in bated breath
hoping for each minute to pass faster
done all there is to do
skimmed last month's magazines,
a dozen times through.
at the cuff of the seat
waiting to hear my name
"pa...
...tricia"
or so i could only wish
the road trip syndrome setting in
are we there yet?
are we there yet?
bouncing around in my head.
good news—bad news
better than no news
i need advice,
and that's a fact!
"the doctor is always on time"
they say.
"He's the best in town"
said lula may.
i wish so; He would not tarry
read His book
till the edges were hairy
mending hearts is His practice,
saving souls from the great abyss.
He sure is one, I dare not miss.
so this is the story of the waiting room,
the bride a waiting for her groom.
This one is a modified and exaggerated dialogue that I always wished would be turned into a comic.
“I needed to make a statement.
A statement that would say,
‘Down with Pseudo-Democracy and Presidential Puppetry!
I’m the new leader of the free-freaking-world,
and I love Halfway Communism and Ruthless Military Tyrants!’”
“Let me get this straight. You wanted to make a passionate, persuasive statement, for the entire world to see—”
“Uh huh.”
“So you set fire to the school cafeteria…”
“Precisely!”
“For Pete’s sake, the lunch ladies are mourning of their now smoldering humble abode, not to mention, their ten year’s supply of plastic spatulas and hairnets.”
“Remember the great words of Mr. Jefferson. ‘The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’”
10 July 2007
Old and Dusty
It's amazing, what you'll find on an old computer hard drive. I dug up some rather dated word documents, most of which were fireplace worthy, but some were worth keeping around, so I'll post them up as I see fit for nostalgia's sake:
The Cubicle Cats
-for Thomas Stearns
They are the cubicle cats
They are the pencil pushers
Milling about
Heart-valve heaped with ash
Such sinking hearts
Veins dry, colour-blind, emaciate dreams
This is the simpleton hovel
This is the workspace parade
Here the plastic keys
Are pushed, here they receive
The attention of comatose appendages
Under the flicker of a fluorescent bulb
The dreams are not here
There are no dreams here
In this reciprocal of lost years
This paper jam of their lost loves
Between the heart
And soul
Between the empty
And full
Lies the grey-truth
This is the office peddlers’ end
Not with a death but a cubicle.
Shoelaces
Years ago, a farsighted old fogey lived across the street from us.
he’d tell us everyday the dreams
he bore up in that beautiful mind of his
such perfect dreams.
he saw every sunrise and sunset
each microcosm in every day
and every amount of quips and notions
involving those lost ideologies
he’d tell us how he saw
outside the smog, the city, and
the dreary punch in/out log
searching the horizon line he’d see
peace, love, joy, and chivalry…
and tell us the most poetic rhetoric
that some would say,
could even soothe the broken heart.
but I’ll tell you one thing the man never did see
he never saw that
every morning when he shuffled out his door
his shoes were untied.
The Cubicle Cats
-for Thomas Stearns
They are the cubicle cats
They are the pencil pushers
Milling about
Heart-valve heaped with ash
Such sinking hearts
Veins dry, colour-blind, emaciate dreams
This is the simpleton hovel
This is the workspace parade
Here the plastic keys
Are pushed, here they receive
The attention of comatose appendages
Under the flicker of a fluorescent bulb
The dreams are not here
There are no dreams here
In this reciprocal of lost years
This paper jam of their lost loves
Between the heart
And soul
Between the empty
And full
Lies the grey-truth
This is the office peddlers’ end
Not with a death but a cubicle.
Shoelaces
Years ago, a farsighted old fogey lived across the street from us.
he’d tell us everyday the dreams
he bore up in that beautiful mind of his
such perfect dreams.
he saw every sunrise and sunset
each microcosm in every day
and every amount of quips and notions
involving those lost ideologies
he’d tell us how he saw
outside the smog, the city, and
the dreary punch in/out log
searching the horizon line he’d see
peace, love, joy, and chivalry…
and tell us the most poetic rhetoric
that some would say,
could even soothe the broken heart.
but I’ll tell you one thing the man never did see
he never saw that
every morning when he shuffled out his door
his shoes were untied.
08 July 2007
Let's Talk Flowers...
Here’s a bit of a cut and paste history of the Five Points of Calvinism (aka TULIP):
A controversy in Dutch churches triggered by the rise of Arminianism prompted the National Synod held in Dordrecht in 1618, which is more concisely known as the Synod of Dort. The main purpose of the Synod of Dort was to settle the controversy stirred up by Arminianism and its followers. After his death, the followers of Jacob Arminius expressed objections to both the Belgic Confession (Confession of Faith) and the teaching of John Calvin, Theodore Beza, and their followers. Furthermore, the objections against Calvinism were compiled together and published as The Remonstrance of 1610 (proponents of said document were thus called Remonstrants). In short, the document outlined the Five Articles of Remonstrance. In strictly basic and concise form, they appear as follows:
1. That the divine decree of predestination is conditional, not absolute;
2. That the Atonement is in intention universal;
3. That man cannot of himself exercise a saving faith;
4. That though the grace of God is a necessary condition of human effort it does not act irresistibly in man and
5. That believers are able to resist sin but are not beyond the possibility of falling from grace.
In conclusion, the Synod of Dort rejected these views. In turn they established their own set of five points based on Reformed doctrine. These points were: total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, and the perseverance of the saints, or as we now refer to them as the mnemonic TULIP or the Five Points of Calvinsim. Furthermore, “The Canons are not intended to be a comprehensive explanation of Reformed doctrine, but only an exposition on the five points of doctrine in dispute.”
Just to expound a bit more I’d like to just take the opportunity to add some quick and most likely unsubstantial definitions to each point represented by TULIP since their titles alone can’t really answer for themselves.
Total Depravity- "Man, by his fall Into a state of sin, hath wholly lost all ability of will to any spiritual good accompanying salvation; so as a natural man, being altogether averse from good, and dead in sin, is not able, by his own strength, to convert himself, or to prepare himself thereunto." -From the Westminster Confession
Unconditional Election- “God does not base His election on anything He sees in the individual. He chooses the elect according to the kind intention of His will (Eph. 1:4-8; Rom. 9:11) without any consideration of merit within the individual. Nor does God look into the future to see who would pick Him. Also, as some are elected into salvation, others are not (Rom. 9:15, 21).”
Limited Atonement- “Jesus died only for the elect. Though Jesus’ sacrifice was sufficient for all, it was not efficacious for all. Jesus only bore the sins of the elect. Support for this position is drawn from such scriptures as Matt. 26:28 where Jesus died for ‘many'; John 10:11, 15 which say that Jesus died for the sheep (not the goats, per Matt. 25:32-33); John 17:9 where Jesus in prayer interceded for the ones given Him, not those of the entire world; Acts 20:28 and Eph. 5:25-27 which state that the Church was purchased by Christ, not all people; and Isaiah 53:12 which is a prophecy of Jesus’ crucifixion where he would bore the sins of many (not all).” I know what you may be thinking; the verses mentioned are somewhat unsubstantial. I’ll try to get back to it later but I’d like to mention that the premises of this doctrine heavily rely on unconditional election, in which I believe there’s more to be sought out.
Irresistible Grace- "All those whom God has predestinated unto life, and those only, He is pleased, in His appointed and accepted time, effectually to call, by His Word and Spirit, out of that state of death, in which they are by nature, to grace and salvation by Jesus Christ; enlightening their minds spiritually and savingly, to understand the things of God; taking away their heart of stone, and giving them a heart of flesh; renewing their wills, and by His almighty power determining them to that which is good; and effectually drawing them to Jesus Christ, yet so as they come most freely, being made willing by His grace.” “This effectual call is of God's free and special grace alone, not from any thing at all foreseen in man, who is altogether passive therein, until, being quickened and renewed by the Holy Spirit, he is thereby enabled to answer this call, and to embrace the grace offered and conveyed by it."
"Effectual calling is the Work of God's Spirit, whereby, convincing us of our sin and misery, enlightening our minds in the knowledge of Christ, and renewing our wills, He doth persuade and enable us to embrace Jesus Christ, freely offered to us in the Gospel." –from the Westminster Confession and the Shorter Catechism
Perseverance of the Saints- "They whom God hath accepted in His Beloved, effectually called and sanctified by His Spirit, can neither totally nor finally fall away from the state of grace; but shall certainly persevere therein to the end, and be eternally saved." –from the Westminster Confession
Still working on putting together Greek definitions of sin in I John 3:9 as well as consolidating commentaries and views, but that should be up sometime tomorrow. However, it's 0500 and I'm going to get some sleep.
A controversy in Dutch churches triggered by the rise of Arminianism prompted the National Synod held in Dordrecht in 1618, which is more concisely known as the Synod of Dort. The main purpose of the Synod of Dort was to settle the controversy stirred up by Arminianism and its followers. After his death, the followers of Jacob Arminius expressed objections to both the Belgic Confession (Confession of Faith) and the teaching of John Calvin, Theodore Beza, and their followers. Furthermore, the objections against Calvinism were compiled together and published as The Remonstrance of 1610 (proponents of said document were thus called Remonstrants). In short, the document outlined the Five Articles of Remonstrance. In strictly basic and concise form, they appear as follows:
1. That the divine decree of predestination is conditional, not absolute;
2. That the Atonement is in intention universal;
3. That man cannot of himself exercise a saving faith;
4. That though the grace of God is a necessary condition of human effort it does not act irresistibly in man and
5. That believers are able to resist sin but are not beyond the possibility of falling from grace.
In conclusion, the Synod of Dort rejected these views. In turn they established their own set of five points based on Reformed doctrine. These points were: total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, and the perseverance of the saints, or as we now refer to them as the mnemonic TULIP or the Five Points of Calvinsim. Furthermore, “The Canons are not intended to be a comprehensive explanation of Reformed doctrine, but only an exposition on the five points of doctrine in dispute.”
Just to expound a bit more I’d like to just take the opportunity to add some quick and most likely unsubstantial definitions to each point represented by TULIP since their titles alone can’t really answer for themselves.
Total Depravity- "Man, by his fall Into a state of sin, hath wholly lost all ability of will to any spiritual good accompanying salvation; so as a natural man, being altogether averse from good, and dead in sin, is not able, by his own strength, to convert himself, or to prepare himself thereunto." -From the Westminster Confession
Unconditional Election- “God does not base His election on anything He sees in the individual. He chooses the elect according to the kind intention of His will (Eph. 1:4-8; Rom. 9:11) without any consideration of merit within the individual. Nor does God look into the future to see who would pick Him. Also, as some are elected into salvation, others are not (Rom. 9:15, 21).”
Limited Atonement- “Jesus died only for the elect. Though Jesus’ sacrifice was sufficient for all, it was not efficacious for all. Jesus only bore the sins of the elect. Support for this position is drawn from such scriptures as Matt. 26:28 where Jesus died for ‘many'; John 10:11, 15 which say that Jesus died for the sheep (not the goats, per Matt. 25:32-33); John 17:9 where Jesus in prayer interceded for the ones given Him, not those of the entire world; Acts 20:28 and Eph. 5:25-27 which state that the Church was purchased by Christ, not all people; and Isaiah 53:12 which is a prophecy of Jesus’ crucifixion where he would bore the sins of many (not all).” I know what you may be thinking; the verses mentioned are somewhat unsubstantial. I’ll try to get back to it later but I’d like to mention that the premises of this doctrine heavily rely on unconditional election, in which I believe there’s more to be sought out.
Irresistible Grace- "All those whom God has predestinated unto life, and those only, He is pleased, in His appointed and accepted time, effectually to call, by His Word and Spirit, out of that state of death, in which they are by nature, to grace and salvation by Jesus Christ; enlightening their minds spiritually and savingly, to understand the things of God; taking away their heart of stone, and giving them a heart of flesh; renewing their wills, and by His almighty power determining them to that which is good; and effectually drawing them to Jesus Christ, yet so as they come most freely, being made willing by His grace.” “This effectual call is of God's free and special grace alone, not from any thing at all foreseen in man, who is altogether passive therein, until, being quickened and renewed by the Holy Spirit, he is thereby enabled to answer this call, and to embrace the grace offered and conveyed by it."
"Effectual calling is the Work of God's Spirit, whereby, convincing us of our sin and misery, enlightening our minds in the knowledge of Christ, and renewing our wills, He doth persuade and enable us to embrace Jesus Christ, freely offered to us in the Gospel." –from the Westminster Confession and the Shorter Catechism
Perseverance of the Saints- "They whom God hath accepted in His Beloved, effectually called and sanctified by His Spirit, can neither totally nor finally fall away from the state of grace; but shall certainly persevere therein to the end, and be eternally saved." –from the Westminster Confession
Still working on putting together Greek definitions of sin in I John 3:9 as well as consolidating commentaries and views, but that should be up sometime tomorrow. However, it's 0500 and I'm going to get some sleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
