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November 20, 2005
A New Home
Blog-by-the-Sea has moved to other shores. Please stop by and welcome Ms. Polk to her new digs.
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Beautiful, Touching Story at TSO's
Video meliora, proboque; Deteriora sequor
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From Christina Rosetti
Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems
SLEEP AT SEA
Christina RossettiSound the deep waters:—
Who shall sound that deep?—
Too short the plummet,
And the watchmen sleep.
Some dream of effort
Up a toilsome steep;
Some dream of pasture grounds
For harmless sheep.White shapes flit to and fro
From mast to mast;
They feel the distant tempest
That nears them fast:
Great rocks are straight ahead,
Great shoals not past;
They shout to one another
Upon the blast.Oh, soft the streams drop music
Between the hills,
And musical the birds' nests
Beside those rills:
The nests are types of home
Love-hidden from ills,
The nests are types of spirits
Love-music fills.So dream the sleepers,
Each man in his place;
The lightning shows the smile
Upon each face:
The ship is driving, driving,
It drives apace:
And sleepers smile, and spirits
Bewail their case.The lightning glares and reddens
Across the skies;
It seems but sunset
To those sleeping eyes.
When did the sun go down
On such a wise?
From such a sunset
When shall day arise?'Wake,' call the spirits:
But to heedless ears:
They have forgotten sorrows
And hopes and fears;
They have forgotten perils
And smiles and tears;
Their dream has held them long,
Long years and years.'Wake,' call the spirits again:
But it would take
A louder summons
To bid them awake.
Some dream of pleasure
For another's sake;
Some dream, forgetful
Of a lifelong ache.One by one slowly,
Ah, how sad and slow!
Wailing and praying
The spirits rise and go:
Clear stainless spirits
White as white as snow;
Pale spirits, wailing
For an overthrow.One by one flitting,
Like a mournful bird
Whose song is tired at last
For no mate is heard.
The loving voice is silent,
The useless word;
One by one flitting
Sick with hope deferred.Driving and driving,
The ship drives amain:
While swift from mast to mast
Shapes flit again,
Flit silent as the silence
Where men lie slain;
Their shadow cast upon the sails
Is like a stain.No voice to call the sleepers,
No hand to raise:
They sleep to death in dreaming,
Of length of days.
Vanity of vanities,
The Preacher says:
Vanity is the end
Of all their ways.
You know how there are some writers, who through no fault of your own you just discover very late on, wishing you'd been aware of them somewhat earlier? Christina Rossetti is like that for me. I'd been aware of the long ballad "Goblin Market" from college years, but that was insufficient for me to want to find more. More's the pity. Well, now I share with you some of the good things I have found in recent reading.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:59 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
November 21, 2005
Cultivating a Listening Heart
Prayer is a conversation.
Say it again, prayer is a conversation.
Now, do you believe that? Ask this harder question: does my prayer life reflect that I believe that?
My guess is that for a vast majority of very good, very pious, very attentive, very orthodox Catholics their prayer life in no way resembles this dictum. It isn't that we don't believe it so much as we don't really know how to act upon it.
To cultivate a listening heart, we must first consider why it is we listen to others. There are many reasons, of course, but let's look at a couple of main ones. We listen to others to learn things. We listen to others to exchange information. And in the most intimate settings, we listen to others to come to love them more.
What qualities are necessary to really listen to someone? Well, it seems that you must believe that whoever it is you are listening to has something worth saying. That is, you respect the speaker. You cannot really listen to anyone whom you believe is just wasting your time or prattling on or repeating what you've already heard a million times, or who is talking about something in which you have no interest or no comprehension.
True listening involves a willingness to lay part of yourself aside for a while. You need to open up and not carry on whatever the agenda of the moment is.
The great Carmelite Saints, St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, and many others, provide the key in a simple triumvirate of interrelated practices--humility, obedience, and charity (caritas). This is most pronounced in St. Teresa of Avila's Way of Perfection, where she spells these out right at the beginning.
Humility--we must know that we do not know everything and we must be willing to live with that. More, in conversation with God, we must know that we know almost nothing. We must approach God knowing who He is and who we are. St. Catherine of Siena's remedy is sovereign--You are He who is, I am He who is not. This attitude gives rise to tremendous possibilities and opportunities. For example, if we humility truthfully, we will discover that ordinary vocal prayers, things we have memorized from childhood become more than mere recitation. St. Teresa of Avila pointed out that a vocal prayer properly said or thought through can be, in fact, a mental prayer, a moment of meditation or even contemplation. How is that? She tells us to always remember to whom we speak as we pray a mental prayer. In seeing God clearly as we pray the Our Father, we are, in fact, engaging in a mental discipline, a prayer that goes beyond the words to enter into a real conversation. Let's take an analogous situation. Suppose you are in your car and the person ahead of you does something stupid--cuts you off and makes a dangerous turn. Let's suppose you're in a less-than-patient frame of mind that day and you lay on the horn. More often than not, you are not thinking of a person in that other car, but of the car as though it were merely a moving obstacle unpiloted and annoying. Now, let's assume that you are following you neighbor to the hospital and that neighbor is taking their child to the emergency room. You see them do something of the same sort and you see others honk at them. Suddenly you are angry because they are not compassionate and don't understand what is going on. The persons in that car are real, what the car is doing is secondary. More often than not our vocal prayers are conducted in the first scenario--we're all in traffic and making our thoughts known to that car up ahead that seems to be doing the craziest things. But ideally we should be in the second situation. We know that the car up ahead is actually inhabited by people or a Person to whom we owe love and allegiance. When God becomes a Person, we can know and love him intimately, we can say even the simplest, oldest, most rote prayers with a greater spirit of reverence and with a knowledge of the Person to whom we speak.
Let's focus for a moment on two of the attitudes that can cultivate a listening heart. (We'll set aside caritas, the discussion of which would encompass much more than a simple blog entry.)
Humility and obedience. It seems as if these two travel hand-in-hand. Humility--knowing precisely who and what one is in the face of All that is and obedience, submitting to authority. I think we distort both, but if modern American society has a problem with something, I think obedience is the prime place. Our democratic society has lost any real sense of allegiance to hierarchy. We think almost nothing of immediately ascending to the next higher rank in any chain if we're not satisfied with results at the level we occupy. But in the time of St.Teresa of Avila, this was not something one did. One obeyed one's immediate superior even as one worked to change that immediate superior's mind. St. Teresa notes this. She states that the superior is put over us by God and we owe all obedience to his or her will. If we are unsatisfied by our superior, we act in obedience even as we pray and work to change the situation. St. Teresa did this in practice, in an extremely complex and threatening political environment. Even though the Pope himself gave her permission to do certain things, if her confessor didn't, she would not do them.
I'll take an example that has been run into the ground. I often read in St. Blog's and elsewhere that hand-holding during the Our Father is an enormously controversial, emotionally-charged, and salvation-critical issue that we must act exactly according to rite. Let's take an example where the local ordinary, or perhaps even the pastor of a parish, has decided that everyone ought to hold hands during the "Our Father." Now, according to St. Teresa, obedience is ultimately to God, but is acted out in the most immediate of situations. Hence, if the pastor told her to hold hands, she would hold hands, even if the Bishops said something more nebulous. Thus, if we are TOLD to hold hands by the priest, then in obedience we should be holding hands. Now, I pick this issue because it really amounts to a personal preference issue that a lot of people make too much of. How far one can go with this I don't know. If the local priest told us to use leavened bread for the host, it would seem to constitute a violation of a higher sort and then we might need to invoke St. Catherine of Siena. But in most matters obedience merely involves abandoning cherished personal preferences around which we have constructed elaborate scaffoldings of reason and excuse.
That is why obedience is so hard--it involves self-emptying and humility. We must abandon our preferences on any given subject and take up those given us from above. However, obedience is merely the ultimate reality--we don't control when we get sick, when we are born, when we die, or any other of a number of life-affecting events. Viewed through the proper lens, we control nothing, we merely cooperate (or rail against) whatever is happening.
Obedience is difficult. Humility is even worse, particularly in our culture. While we might manage "letter-of-the-law" compliance as we bide our time waiting for change, this nation of rugged individualists has a hard time with humility. Let's face it, humility isn't pleasant. You want to see yourself as kind, and loving, and giving, and understanding, and still strong and independent. Then something happens and you see the reality--I'm small, weak, and self-centered. My chief interest is whatever advances my own interest.
Humility is obtained not through attempting to be humble but through conversation with God and coming to know ourselves as He knows us. That we are small, small children in comparison to Him is not a subject for shame (often incorrectly used as a synonym for humility) but for reality and course correction. That God is all powerful and that the most powerful of us is as nothing is beyond our comprehension without His grace.
Humility expresses itself in obedience and also flows from obedience. As a member of an Order, I learn humility when I submit to the rule of the Order despite what I would like to do myself. In the regular practice of all that the Order requires, I gradually learn humility. God uses my willingness to obey to bestow grace which increases willingness and begins to move me toward humility. As obedience increases, humility grows. As humility grows, obedience increases because in the interplay to the two, love also increases. When you realize who you are and Who God is, only gratitude can flow. With gratitude comes a deeper understanding and a greater love.
The virtues feed one another, just as the vices do. So humility-obedience-love is a virtuous or gracious cycle as opposed to pride-disobedience-indifference is a vicious or sinful cycle.
So, the first step to cultivating a listening heart is obedience to what God asks of us and learning humility. These steps are acts of will informed by grace and understanding. (I can't help you with these latter two--for the one go to God, for the other, Disputations is a helpful beginning.) Only in humility will our prayer life begin to grow. This is because only humility will allow us to recognize that we have our guard up and hence take it down.
A listening heart is a humble heart is a loving heart. The three go together and the three are found in God's heart from which flows the grace that reifies and saves us. Until we are centered there, we are nowhere. Until we find a home in His heart, our own hearts are restless and wandering. Until we make up our minds that we want God more than anything else, we cannot come home.
Believe it or not, even at this length, there is so much more to say, and what I don't know about the matter fills a great many volumes that I have not yet read. My inadequacy to this task is exhilirating because I know that any success there is, is entirely due to Him. Praise God.
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The Joy of La Madre/Praying Constantly
The more I read about Teresa of Avila, the more she becomes my mother. I am a person after her heart, or at least I'm in training, trying to learn to be.
The other day I quoted some swathes of St. Teresa. Now I shall regale you with other related pieces:
from Journey to Carith
Peter-Thomas Rohrbach[first a repeat]
"My chief fear," she wrote, "is that the sisters should lose the spirit of joy by which the Lord leads them, for I know what a discontented nun is."
In this he [Nicholas Doria--the autocratic first Prior General of the Discalced Carmelites] was diametrically opposed to the mentality of Teresa who wrote: "What my nuns are afraid of is that we shall get some tiresome superiors who will lay heavy and excessive burdens on them. That will lead us nowhere." And when a visitator had written a number of directives for her nuns, she wrote: "Even reading the regulations made me tired, so what would it be if one had to keep them? Believe me, our rule will not stand additions from tiresome people like that: it is quite hard enough to keep as it is." Doria certainly fell into her category of "tiresome people."
This Saint who begged to be delivered from "sour-faced Saints" (one gets the impression that she wouldn't much have cared for Jerome or Margaret-Mary Alacoque) understood the primary place of Joy in being able to follow God.
Joy is not merely the result of following Him, it is the consolation poured out for obedience to Him, which, in turn, makes following Him easier and more desirable. In the Teresian reform and constitutions, there is the perfect blend of joy and discipline. The discipline, in fact, is a source of joy. It is a boundary that helps define the acceptable limits of behavior and the expectations of one who dearly loves the Lord.
We do not have to practice endless self-denying things. It is enough to take ten or fifteen minutes and spend it in prayer. Not in petitions, or intercessions, or any sort of planned, pre-considered prayer, but rather in the conversation with the Lord that results from considering His word to us. Fifteen minutes of Lectio each day is discipline enough. At least for Carmelites, at least as a start. As one is faithful to the time, the desire to increase the time grows dramatically. Fifteen minutes becomes insufficient. But the press of the day will not allow more! It's amazing what the Lord will work when we give Him the opportunity. I did not have enough time for prayer in recent weeks and so I've been visited by a condition that frequently causes me to wake in the night and need to get up and move about for a while. Surprisingly, I do not feel less rested in the morning for all the break in the middle of the night. And what is the thing I do? I pray. Yes, I also write and read and do other things, but I pray in ways that were not possible in the course of the day. If the desire is there, God will find a way to help! It won't always be the same way--but I'm stubborn to the core and have to be convinced to take time out, so the Lord used this means. For others, they will find windows of time mysteriously opening up that somehow never really affect the other tasks of the day.
The simple practice of time alone with God allows us to carry the God of our acquaintance in solitude into ordinary life. We have what St. John of the Cross refers to as "solitude of the heart" and it makes it possible to pray constantly. Elsewhere in the book referenced above is this intriguing reference:
One of his contemporaries recalls that John would frequently scrape his knuckles against the wall while he was conversing with others so that he could keep his attention on the matter at hand and not allow himself to become rapt in prayer.
Oh what a gift--to have to distract myself to keep me OUT of prayer. But that is the gift and consolation incumbent upon solitude of the heart, which is cultivated by the little discipline of daily solitude with God. What perfect joy--to have to distract myself from prayer. I only hope that this longing within me increases immeasurably until it overwhelms all other conflicting desires.
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The Virtue of Amiability
Worth your attention and my retention. Thanks Brandon.
1. To smile until a kindly smile forms readily on one's lips.
2. To repress a sign of impatience at the very start.
3. To add a word of benevolence when giving orders.
4. To reply positively when asked to do a favor.
5. To lend a helping hand to the unfortunate.
6. To please those toward whom one feels repugnance.
7. To study and satisfy the tastes of those with whom one lives.
8. To respect everyone.
9. To avoid complaining.
10. To correct, if one must, with kindness.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:30 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Thanksgiving--A Little Early
Today I give thanks particularly for all of those who bless me every day with a kind word, a thought, an idea, a revelation. I thank God for those in St.Blogs who conscientiously attempt to live out their vocations as Catholics and who bless me by their example. There are too many to count, but know that God speaks through each of you--therefore, strive to be worthy spokespersons. (Most of you haven't much striving to do--but I've got my eye on the rest, believe me, I'll keep you posted! :-)
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A Cool New Extension for Users of LibraryThing
LibraryThing: SelectThing Firefox extension for LibraryThing
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Ten Influences meme
De Civitate Dei: My 10 greatest influences meme
I have been asked to name my ten greatest influences. Outside of God and Family. I will name ten, but I have to concede that order of importance would be a very difficult puzzle to work out. Also, I'm afraid this will probably come as a massive disappointment to all of you reading. But then, that is part of humility. I am judging influential by how they helped me make decisions at critical junctures in my history. Some have pervasive influence, others, the influence of a critical moment. But all have been crucially (and I mean that etymologically) important in my spiritual development to date. In addition, I have also chosen not to include the blessed mother in this list. While she is not God, her constant intercession is the sine qua non of life. Even if I do not show the devotion a son ought, I do love her, respect her, and admire her above all other saints, and above all other people, and above all creation, and above everything except God Himself. Too bad I too infrequently make it known.
1.St. John of the Cross--The Doctor of Spirituality. The high-point of the teaching of prayer. This quiet, gentle, generous man, abused, nearly killed in the political turmoil over simply trying to seek God most effectively--his writing called me to Carmel. His spirit speaks to me almost daily. I am convinced that his intercession wins for me daily visions of God's greatness in my own life. If I were to pick a saint to be almost exactly like, it would be this one. But instead, learning from him, I choose to be the saint God would have me be and thus to serve others--not as a copy but as a new example of the paths of sanctity. John of the Cross is my guide, my intercessor, my spiritual companion.
2.John Paul II--A saint, a genius, a man who could do it all and all well. When his prose did not speak, his poetry hit me between the eyes. His writing was magnificent, but completely back-seat to his example. Is it possible to truly forgive your would-be assassin? Is it possible to acknowledge past wrongs and seek present correction? Yes. His example taught the value of confession.
3. St Teresa of Avila--"God save me from sour-faced saints." "If you think you are having visions, perhaps you would do well to eat more." The utterly practical, utterly delightful, completely joyous nun who looking only to hide herself in God completely transformed an Order, the face of Europe and much of the Church. I am only beginning to appreciate the depth and power of this wonderful woman.
4. St Therese of Lisieux--I started out shying away from her and her legions of saccharine followers wandering with a hand out waiting for a rose. Discovered the iron core hidden behind the flowery prose and the lovely face. A lovely soul to match a lovely person. A tower of strength, a true teacher.
5. Coilin Owen--My Grad-School James Joyce Prof--Who, when I advanced Joyce's theory of the Church quietly said, "Well then, you're not at the end of life yet are you? And who knows then?" Perhaps it was unintentional, but he directed my attention to the eternal things.
6. My Little Sister in Christ, who shall go unnamed here. At a critical point in life simply sat me down and said, "Consider the evidence. And then consider it again." I did so I cannot repay her. She is so little aware of her influence and of the fact that her influence is most strong when it is most gentle.
7. Claude Debussy--The impressionists painted light, Debussy composed it. Without him no Durufle whose Requiem I want played at my own funeral. But more importantly, his symphonic poem, La Mer got me through the last three years of teenage life as at least remotely sane. Without him I cannot say. He taught me the beauty of the solid and the shifting, and that one need not make a nuisance of oneself to be a rebel.
8. Salvador Dali, Rene Magritte, Giorgio di Chirico and the surrealist school of painters in general--who, whether they intended to or not taught me that life is a great deal more mysterious than we will ever know and what we see hides a great cloud of what we do not see. And what we do not see is often more important in life.
9. James Joyce--A genius and largely a genius because of his pervasive, undeniable Catholicity. He became "agnostic" perhaps even "atheist" toward the end of life, but the Catholic Church so shaped him that He could not escape, and as much as he may have hated it or repudiated it, his short story "The Dead" and the first scene in Ulysses (among others)were instrumental in my journey toward Catholicism.
10. Albert Einstein--"God does not play dice." Science and religion are not at odds. The primacy of conscience in all areas of life (refusal to work on the Manhattan project.)
Again, if I have disappointed, I am most sorry. But it is better you see clearly the flaws before you try to appreciate whatever is given to me to convey. By looking at many of these models, you can see what a broken vessel I am. I'm just glad God sees fit to try to put me back together.
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More Thankfulness
I never fail to be impressed at how God's finger always points the way. Even though I am ignorant of it or trying to avoid it, as Omar Khayyam told us,
"The moving finger writes and having writ moves on."
So it is with God, and it is only upon looking back at my life in fits and snatches that I begin to see the patter He has impressed upon it. How thankful I am for His constant intervention that saves me from the disaster of my own free choices. I am filled to overflowing with joy to see in all my life the clear signs of the God who loves us all.
The other day I was conversing with two friends and one of them shared with me a heart-rending and very difficult situation she found herself in. The easiest way out of the situation involved surrender to opposing forces and compromising her own conscience. In the past I had done this for the sake of family peace and for less noble motives. I was there to tell her to hold fast. And suddenly with a stroke of grace I realized that God took even my bad choices and mistakes and turned them to good for someone else. Let it always be so. May God use my own faults as blessings for others.
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November 22, 2005
Loyola Press Catholic Classics
Mama T alerted me to this list of reissues of classic Catholic fiction. I went to see what was on the list, and joy of joys, there was Francois Mauriac's Viper's Tangle.
I can't recommend this title enough. When I was in college french class we were forced to read what I thought then a dismal little novel titled Therese Desqueyroux (I wonder what I would think now?); I shied away from Mauriac for a long time. What a shame. I picked up a second-hand copy of Knot of Vipers or, as it is translated here Viper's Tangle and I was bowled over by the power of the story. It is one of those I've read some years ago now and the story sticks with. A wealthy, avaricious, completely self-centered old man makes the end of his life miserable for himself and for his family until Grace intrudes and transforms his life and that of several family members. In this sketchy description, it sounds like nothing at all--but it is a powerful, powerful book. Wonderful reading.
My only request would be that Loyola Press would start up a mailing list to alert us to new titles as they become available. I was unaware that such marvelous works as The Devil's Advocate and Kazantzakis's Saint Francis were once again available. Of course everyone is aware of Helena. But what about Brian Moore's Catholics or Costain's The Silver Chalice. This series along with the publisher devoted exclusively to Robert Hugh Benson and the Ignatius Louis de Wohl series constitutes a marvelous stream of fiction. Support Loyola Press any way you can--but if you read fiction, this is an impressive place to start. As time allows, perhaps I'll delve into some of the other titles they offer. Right now, do yourself a favor and get Tangle of Vipers. I can only hope that a reprinting of Woman of the Pharisees is not far behind. (And some Muriel Spark, please, the lesser known, completely obscure works?)
Oh what a treasure. Another thing to thank God for this thanksgiving day. Daily the blessings He showers on me ar nearly overwhelming.
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Praise God
I have a challenging, arduous, and difficult day ahead as does another person with whom I work. This is a day of opportunity and grace. Please pray that we both can rise to the occasion and become better people through this interaction. This is the possiblity of growth for all involved, and that is always a frightening and difficult time, so prayers would be appreciated. I dread it and embrace it because this is what God has for me today, and all that God provides is provided in perfect love.
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God Comes in on Little Cat Feet
Fog
Carl SandburgTHE fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
God is like that too. I go through life randomly oblivious to His Mercy and then suddenly I turn around and am struck between the eyes, and God move on to plan His next stealth mercy-blitz.
This has happened to me recently--one incident has spawned a barrage of incidents of awareness. I would like to say that the statue of the Virgin smiled at me. But it was nothing so fantastic, it was merely the obedience of one servant of the Lord serving the others. It was merely the voice of one person to another. It was "merely" the breath of the Holy Spirit, rising, for a moment, to a howling windstorm and then subsiding. And I am caught "under the torrent of His love." Praise God, who is so good to me. His mercy is everlasting and His patience from age to age. Now if He will only make me a servant of His servants.
A moment of conversion, a glimpse of grace. "The moving finger writes and having writ moves on." The rest of that quatrain is rather more gloomy, something about never being able to coax it back to wipe out a line of it. But why would I want to obliterate a single note, much less a line, of His love song for me? Why would I want to change a single syllable of the sonnet He composes as He shapes me?
Change me, mold me, shape me the way you would have me be. Let your light be my light and my only light.
Oh, how I hope that at last His snares have overcome my wiles!
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I Confess
Sometimes a meme becomes pandemic. Suburban Banshee--long may she wail--has tagged me for this.
I confess . . .
. . . that responding to this meme rather frightens me (can't say why.)
. . . I actually enjoy holding hands during the Our Father, largely because it so much forces me out of who I normally am
. . . that at one time I did a bad job of discerning a vocation to the Carthusians (praise God!--Camoldalese would have been another possibility had I been aware of them)
. . . I think some people (including myself) think waaaaaaaay too much sometimes
. . . not particularly liking the prose and poetry of Chesterton and Belloc (love some of his poetry), but really, really liking the person of Chesterton
. . . monastic life and complete solitude hold a real and everpresent appeal (though they do not compare with the joy of the Vocation of Marriage and Family)
. . . to viewing blogs and associated projects as having possibilities as apostolates
. . . to being a far nicer person on-line than I could ever hope to be in person
. . . to liking Spiderman, the Fantastic Four, Sponge Bob, and the Fairly OddParents far more than I ought
. . . to being TSO's number one fan and nuisance e-mailer
. . . wishing my blog could be more like Fructus Ventris, Sancta Sanctis, Happy Catholic, and Summa Mamas (but it just ain't gonna happen)
. . . wishing I could do what Tom at Disputations does so well (but then if I did, we wouldn't need Tom, and that would be a terrible shame)
. . . a scrupulous attempt at Orthodoxy which stems from coming from a Protestant background
. . . not really understanding what many traditionalists think or want
. . . not really understanding what most progressives really want
. . . not really understanding why we can't all just get along
. . . to owning no fewer than 41 different Bibles (different translations, different annotations, different assemblies of similar translations, including at least two four column parallel Bibles)
. . . and to having read or studied every one of them
. . . and to still being ignorant of the majority of God's word
. . . being an ardent fan of James Joyce, Virginia Woolf, William Faulkner, Henry James and a whole slew of people who bore most people silly
. . . to having won an award for poetry composed in the manner of Finnegan's Wake (First place--a complete set of the critical edition of the works of James Joyce, commentary by Anthony Burgess on Finnegan's Wake and Ulysses, and a guide to Dublin)
. . . to being a complete tea-totaler, having had in my entire college career three alcoholic drinks
. . . but nevertheless liking the strawberry margarita sorbet at a local ice-cream chain
. . . Carravagio, Monet, Renoir, Dali, Tanguy, and Magritte are my favorite artists
. . . I get an enormous fit of the giggles every time I think that someone actually paid money for most of Robert Motherwell's "art" (that should get a rise out of Erik)
. . . getting a rise out of Erik amuses me far more than it ought
. . . loving the St. Blogs community inordinately for what it consitutes in the real world
. . . having grown tremendously because of my exposure to the many opinions, minds, and persons of the people at St. Blogs.
TMI, I know, but this allows me once again to consider the things I am thankful for.
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Continuing Confession
I found this quite amusing-- (should link to a greeting Card--hope we don't overload the server)
Happy Thanksgiving
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:11 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 23, 2005
God Is. . .
. . .as close as the breath in your lungs
. . .as close as the thoughts circulating in your head
. . .as close as the blood in your veins
. . .as close as your own skin
. . .as close as the shadow that precedes you in the morning
. . .waiting, listening, aching
. . .desiring, waiting, longing
. . .loving, endlessly loving
. . .the center and the source of Joy.
Then today, turn to Him, reach out to Him. Let Him lift you to Him and shower you with kisses. Stop your obstinate toddler strut and take up your bower in the strength of His arms in the quiet shade of His love.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 4:19 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
The Unmoved Mover
In some descriptions of God you might hear Him described as "the unmoved mover, the uncaused cause." If I properly understand the latter half of this statement, I can raise no objection. But I have heard the first half too often abused and misconstrued.
Many people say that God cannot be moved, He has no emotion, He is from eternity to eternity. I am not smart enough to argue with those people. But I think they miss something in the argument and in pure reason. Anyone who has any experience of life knows that it is not possible to love without being moved to action. Any love that is unmoved is not really love, but a vague shadow of it. Any parent who has loved a child knows that love means hurting, and longing, and hoping, and praying.
God longs for us. He loved us. He sent us an icon of His love--an icon that shows not the unmoved mover, but the deeply human Jesus Christ weeping--outside of a tomb, over the city of Jerusalem. This is not the unmoved mover. This is the engaged God, the God who loves us. The Icon of God is not the God who examines us with the microscope, but the Father who welcomes the prodigal, the Savior who weeps over our sin and death. Hardly unmoved.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 4:25 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Carmina Gaelica
Carmina Gadelica Vol. 1 Index\
Available for a while elsewhere, here's the compendium at Sacred-Texts.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 4:58 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
November 24, 2005
Fr. Marie-Eugene de l'Enfant Jesus
Posted by Steven Riddle at 1:55 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack