Stripped Bare

"In spite of everything that I have so far written, things here are revolting...my grim experiences often pursue me into the night...I can shake them off only by reciting one hymn after another, and that I am apt to wake up with a sigh rather than with a hymn of praise to God. It is possible to get used to physical hardships, and to live for months out of the body, so to speak - almost too much so - but one does not get used to the psychological strain; on the contrary, I have the feeling that everything that I see and hear is putting years on me and that I am often finding the world nauseating and burdensome....I often wonder who I really am - the man who goes on squirming under these ghastly experiences in wretchedness that cries to heaven, or the man who scourges himself and pretends to others (and even to himself) that he is placid, cheerful, composed, and in control of himself, and allows people to admire him for it (i.e., for playing the part - or is it not playing a part?). What does one's attitude mean, anyway? In short, I know less than ever about myself, and I am no longer attaching any importance to it. I have had more than enough psychology, and I am less and less inclined to analyze the state of my soul...There is something more at stake than self-knowledge."
                    -From Letters and Papers from Prison, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, 22-23.

Who am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cell's confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friednly and clearly,
As though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were
Compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!
                                     - Letters and Papers from Prison, Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Waiting

Well, today begins Advent and the journey towards Bethlehem. But this year Bethlehem seems a thousand miles away...and the walk to it seems impossible. However, I am reminded of hope...and I decide to undertake the journey anyway, for what seems impossible to me is just the ordinary for God....

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.  There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. Revelation 21:4

     "Christmas is the promise that the God who came in history and comes daily in mystery will one day come in glory. God is saying in Jesus that in the end everything will be all right. Nothing can harm you permanently, no suffering is irrevocable, no loss is lasting, no defeat is more than transitory, no disappointment is conclusive. Jesus did not deny the reality of suffering, discouragement, disappointment, frustration, and death; he simply stated that the Kingdom of God would conquer all of these horrors, that the Father's love is so prodigal that no evil could possibly resist it."  - From Reflections for Ragamuffins, by Brennan Manning

The world had waited...
From the casting out of Eden's bower 
And the promise of serpent crush'd,
Through quiet mist
And thundering deluge
Between seas parted
And people freed
And mountains quaking.

And still the world waited...
Through judges tried and trying,
And kingdoms united,
The divided.
Through fall, separation, and exile,
Amid prophet's cries
And armies turmoiled.

And still the world waited...
Through kingdom rebuilt,
Freed, then conquered -
Hellenistic, Antiochan, and Eagle standards unfurl'd.

'Til then, when angel voices proclaimed
That in a quiet manger in Bethlehem
Eternity and time were joined together inseparably
And the waiting was over...to begin again.

And now the world waits
Anxiously, hopefully, expectantly
For the final act,
The curtain ringing in
Where time will become eternity
Unto the ages of the ages.

There is a joy in the journey
There's a light we can love on the way
There is a wonder and wildness to life
And freedom for those who obey

And all those who seek it shall find it
A pardon for all who believe
Hope for the hopeless
And sight for the blind

To all who've been born of the Spirit
And who share incarnation with Him
Who belong to eternity
Stranded in time
And weary of struggling with sin

Forget not the hope
That's before you
And never stop counting the cost
Remember the hopelessnessWhen you were lost?

There is a joy in the journey
There's a light we can love on the way
There is a wonder and wildness to life
And freedom for those who obey
          - Michael Card, Copyright 1986 Maple End Music/Birdsong

Why the Mystery? Some beginning thoughts

Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace. — Frederick Buechner

     "We have been brought up with the absurd prejudice that only what we can reduce to a rational, conscious formula is really understood and experienced in our life. When we can say what a thing is, or what we are doing, we think we fully grasp and experience it. In point of fact this verbalization - very often it is nothing more than verbalization - tends to cut us off from genuine experience and to obscure our understanding instead of increasing it.
     Faith does not simply account for the unknown, tag it with a theological tag and file it away in a safe place where we do not have to worry about it. This is a falsification of the whole idea of faith.  On the contrary, faith incorporates the unknown into our everyday life in a loving, dynamic and actual manner. The unknown remains unknown.  It is still a mystery, for it cannot cease to be one. The function of faith is not to reduce mystery to rational clarity, but to integrate the unknown and the known together in a living whole, in which we are more and more able to transcend the limitations of our external self."
                                          - New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton, pg. 136

     "Lightly men talk of saying what they mean. A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced to utter the speech which has lain at the centre of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over again, you'll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, not let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?"    - C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces

Echoes of Joy

Joy is the serious business of heaven - in a better country it is the End of ends!  - C.S. Lewis

Joy, that light and airy song that flashes in
     the twinkling stars and
     dances lightly on the wind
Joy, that melodious song that bursts forth
     in spring
     from tongue of bird and beast
     and that explodes its brilliance in the foliage of creation
Joy, that deepness of brass and drum
     that thunders in the heart of rivers
     or in the voice of leviathan
Joy, that mighty rushing wind which blows in the
     heart of all things
Joy flows at the center of the universe
Joy was there in Eden - echoing in history
Joy has filled the ages since
The angels sang joy at Incarnation - there was
Joy in His life and echoes of joy even at
     His death - reverberating until joy resounded in the Resurrection
For two thousand years the echoes of joy have continued -
     sometimes loud, sometimes soft,
     sometimes far away and difficult to hear,
     yet there nonetheless
And still we wait for joy in the triumph of His coming
     in that finality of all things
Joy will burst forth again - forever
     and the whole universe will echo its song -
For joy runs at the heart of all things.

Credo

     "As I sit in the study on a beautiful, cool August afternoon, I look back with many thanks.
It has been a great run. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Much could and should have been better, and I have by no means, done what I should have done with all that I have been given. But the over-all experience of being alive has been a thrilling experience. I believe that death is a doorway to more of it; cleaner, clearer, better, with more of the secret opened than locked. I do not feel much confidence in myself as regards all this, for very few have ever 'deserved' eternal life. But with Christ's atonement and Him gone on before, I have neither doubt nor fear whether I am left here a brief time or a long one. I believe that I shall see Him and know Him, and that eternity will be an endless opportunity to consort with the great souls and the lesser ones who have entered into the freedom of the heavenly city. It is His forgiveness and grace that give confidence and not merits of our own. But again I say, it's been a great run. I'm thankful for it and for all the people who have helped to make it so, and especially those closest and dearest to me."
                                                             -by Samuel Moor Shoemaker (written two months before his death)

A Terrible Prayer

I have always been terrible at praying.

I forget.

My mind wanders.

I don't pray enough.

I don't understand what prayer is

Or what prayer does.

If prayers were school...

I would flunk praying.

But prayer isn't school...

It is mystery.

Maybe the mystery is...

Jesus loves terrible prayers.

Maybe...

When I can't think of anything to say, He says what I can't say.

When I talk too much, He cherishes my too-many words.

When I fall asleep, He holds me in His lap and caresses my weary soul.

When I am overwhelmed with guilt at my inconsistent, inadequate praying

He whispers, "Your name is always on my lips."

I am filled with gratitude, my soul overflows with thankfulness and I...

I...find myself saying over and over again, "Thank You."

Praying the mystery.

-Mike Yaconelli

Thoughts for a Dead Pigeon

 And you say that the battle is over
And you say that the war is all done
Go tell it to those
With the wind in their nose
Who run from the sound of the gun.


And write it on the side of the great whaling ships
Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
With the wild in their eyes
It is they who must die
And it's we who must measure the cost.


And you say that the battle is over
And finally the world is at peace
You mean no one is dying
And mothers don't weep
Or it's not in the papers at least.


There are those who would deal
In the darkness of life
There are those who would tear down the sun
And most men are ruthless
But some will still weep
When the gifts we were given are gone.


Now the blame cannot fall on the heads of a few
It's become such a part of the race
It's eternally tragic
That that which is magic
Be killed at the end of the glorious chase.


From young seals to great whales
From waters to wood
They will fall just like weeds in the wind
With fur coats and perfumes 
And trophies on walls
What a hell of a race to call men.


And you say that the battle is over
And you say that the war is all donje
Go tell it to those
With the wind in their nose
Who run from the sound of the gun.


And write it on the sides
Of the great whaling ships
Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
With the wild in their eyes
It is they who must die
And it's we who must measure the loss,
With the wild in their eyes
It is they who must die
And it's we who must measure the cost.
     You Say That the Battle is Over, by David Mallet, 1978 Cherry Lane Music Company 
     (ASCAP)


I saw a dead pigeon at church today.
It was not
flying, or
eating, or
walking, or
roosting.
It was dead.

They said
it was a nuisance.
They said
what they fed it
wouldn't harm it -
it would only affect its legs -
making it unable to roost.
Sounded innocent enough -
then.

But no one explained
that when pigeons can't use their legs,
they can't land.
And when they can't land,
they can't rest.
And they fly, and
fly, and
fly until
exhaustion and hunger set in.
And they fall to the ground,
struggling,
and die.

A nuisance?
No more sunlit Sunday mornings,
with courtyard full of
dappled white and
mottled grey.
No more peaceful background noise of
soft cooing and
rustle of feathered wings.
No more shadows
in sunlight
on stained glass windows.
All must end for -
nuisance.

O God, make us aware
of living things around us.
Make us reevaluate ourselves
and look for beauty.
Make us truly see
wind, and
water, and
wood.
Make us friend to
whales, and
harp seals, and
hares, and
pigeons.
Friends of life -
That's what we ask You to make us.
So that when you return
and demand of us an -
accounting,
we will have a world with
pigeons.