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January 16, 2006
Break, Blow, Burn
I really like Camille Paglia. I can't think of a single person with whom I disagree more in nearly every walk of life that I would so much like to have a conversation with. She's sharp, incisive, witty, often fair-minded. In fact, she can be brilliant (as in Sexual Personae--a book filled with things I disagree with, remarkably and capably argued and presented.) As a result, I picked this book up at the library and I've dipped in at a few places.
I must say that I'm somewhat disappointed. I'm disappointed with the selection, and I'm disappointed with some of the readings. I haven't read enough to know the complete content, and so this is not to judge the whole book. But while retaining her stunning prose clarity and polish, the majority of the analyses I looked at failed in one of two ways.
The first failures were simply unremarkable. Into this category fell the commentary on Wallace Steven's "Disillusionment of 10 O"Clock". It's a poem that doesn't really NEED a reading. The surface is the substance, and it is a fine substance. We don't need the brilliance of Camille Paglia to come in and tell us that it is about ordinary people doing ordinary things in ordinary ways and the despair that can entail when looked at in that way. This is probably one of those places where she should have chosen a different poem--"Sunday Morning" with its ambiguities and multiple possible interpretations (I see it as presaging the great atheist's conversion); or "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"--that convoluted, intricate, imagist dismantling of haiku, tanka, and other imagist standards. Now, I suspect that one of the reasons for not choosing such poems is that Ms. Paglia wished to maintain her approximate structure of about four pages of explanatory prose for each poem. These latter poems would require a great many more pages to even start an explanation.
Another example of this failing came with the reading of Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress." Surprisingly, there was nothing new or of note here. Ms. Paglia notes the carpe diem nature of the poem and then goes on to make several other unremarkable observations about structure, oratory, and imagery. I suppose that this might come as news to college freshmen who had no previous introduction to poetry, or perhaps even to some of the St. Blogs audience who have no particular liking for poetry, but for those of us who have lived with the poem, Ms. Paglia offers nothing startling, or, other than her fine prose, even interesting.
The second category of disappointment is in overwrought and high-flung interpretations. Into this category falls both the readings of William Carlos Williams "The Red Wheelbarrow" and "This is just to say." Williams was a great poet, perhaps one of the finest imagists of the twentieth century. But to say that immediately indicates his relative importance in the field of poetry. Yes, he's top rank, but he's a top rank imagist--the most non-committal of poets. Kind of the "scientist" of poets--recording for posterity without much in the way of guideposts for interpretation or hooks for an emotional entanglement.
Of the latter, Paglia takes a simple communication between husband and wife--if lovely and charming--and turns it into a kind of mini-Paradise Lost, with Williams intruding upon the Eden of the refrigerator and waging battle in heaven. Honestly, this slip of a poem doesn't support the weight of interpretation. Similarly with "The Red Wheelbarrow," which depends for its effect on the ambiguity of "So much depends on a red wheelbarrow." We are led to ask, "Such as?" When in fact, the dependency, while real, may be as simple as the image that it forms in the poet's mind and in ours.
The third, and most notable failing comes in the choice of poetry to represent the modern age. Of course, any such choice is likely to be idiosyncratic and debatable, but one must question the inclusion of Sylvia Plath's "Daddy" over "Lady Lazarus" or "Ariel," and the inclusion of two Roethke poems ("The Root Cellar" being one of them) in preference to "My Papa's Waltz" (If we're going with the "Daddy" theme) or the truly remarkable and frightening "In a Dark Time".
I've outlined the problems I have seen withthe readings, and yet, I suspect I shall read the remainder of the book, if only for Ms. Paglia's mastery of English Prose. As to selection, that can be forgiven easily, as any one of us would select poems to comment on that others would question. The other two failings might simply be the result of the fact that I am not the intended audience for this book. Ms. Paglia wants to recapture and reignite interest in our poetic heritage. She chooses interesting, short poems that people would be willing to read and accompanies them with a solid, simple, straightforward interpretive model that demonstrates that poetry is not inaccessible, distant, and far off. When one reads her interpretation of Steven's "Disillusionment," there is an almost palpable sense of relief that one didn't miss the point after all. When one engages some of the outre, bizarre, or outrageous interpretations, one can see the depth of the personal meaning possible for a poem.
I will read the book because Camille Paglia is a master of prose. She is also one of the foremost warriors on the cultural battlefield that would like to do away with the notion that there is a "Canon," a core of formative works that have affected civilization throughout the ages--a core of work from which other works are derivative or theme and variations, or "transgressive." (Good Lord, how I hate that term.)
In sum, the work is worth reading, not so much for its insights as it is for its solid, foundational, and level-headed approach to what many consider unapproachable. Ms. Paglia's prose is a marvel in nearly every sentence, and here and there the brilliance of Sexual Personae or Vamps and Tramps shines through. In short, Ms. Paglia's work is almost always worthy of attention because Ms. Paglia herself is a compelling mind and personality.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:05 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Contemplatives and Mystics
From a recent Carmelite Retreat:
"People with a mature relationship with God are contemplatives. Mystics are people with an intimate relationship with God."
From this I derive that the goal is to be a mystic. To be a contemplative is fine, but what I want and what God may grant if I want it enough ("For from the beginning heaven has experienced violence, and the violent take it by storm.") Nevertheless, it is His to grant or not to grant and blessed be the Lord in either case.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:18 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
One Meaning of the Saints
One of the marvels of the Catholic Church is the enormous variety in unity that is available to us in the persons of the Saints and in the Orders to which many belonged. This morning I was talking with a friend and it occurred to me that she had been spending too much time with the "heady" saints--the Dominicans, Benedictines, and Jesuits. Now, to say that these are "heady" Saints is to in no way demean them or to suggest that they are somehow inferior to those I'll call the "hearty" Saints. Rather it is to imply an initial focus and predominant means of access. St. Thomas Aquinas loved God very much, there can be no doubt. He loved God primarily through the work of his mind and the assent of his will to what intellect told it.
I mentioned to her that she needed to read the "hearty" Saints--in my mind, the Carmelites and the Franciscans (of the major Orders). These two orders raised up some saints of tremendous intellectual capability, but the writings tend not to be treatises and arguments, a la Summa, but rather distillations of personal experience and encounters with God.
Now, these are generalizations, and so, in some sense, essentially untrue. Every order has its "Heady" and "Hearty" representatives. Both embrace the fullness of life of the mind and of the heart. But the essential Charisms of some orders incline them toward one or the other more extensively. The Carmelite charism with its focus on Divine Intimacy is more an invitation to tea than a debating society. The Dominican charism of spreading the truth of the Gospel and the Word of the Lord is more an invitation to encounter the living God in all of his reality rather than tea and cookies with Jesus. Again, in my statements, I exaggerate the extremes of both sides, so don't take this as definitive analysis, merely as appreciation for the many wonders God has blessed us with in the persons of His Saints and of the Orders He has raised up and nurtured through them.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:46 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Billy Collins
TSO uses a bit of Billy Collins (for a caption) that perfectly encapsulates my major difficulties with his work:
Video meliora, proboque; Deteriora sequor
As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past,
letting my memory rush over them like water
rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream.
The problem here is merely that there is nothing new--there is no insight or surprise. These are perfect as the lyrics of a love song destined to be a hit--but as poetry they suffer from overuse of the images. What is more ingrained in the mind of modernists and postmodernists than the "stream of consciousness?"
Billy Collins appeals to a great many because of his accessibility. And perhaps that is part of what disorients me. Poetry SHOULD be accessible, but it should also be coy--alluring on the surface and rich in depths and surprises for the person who stays around after the initial courting. Mr. Collins's work doesn't do this for me, and I so much wish it would.
On the other hand, if he opens a door to people, then there must be something I'm overlooking--some pleasure that comes from hearing something just as we ought to hear it, without being startled, shocked, or drubbed into insensibility by the poet's cleverness. One tires of the overwrought, the "shock of the new," the constant attempts to up-the-ante on the part of some poets. Perhaps Mr. Collins's work is merely a form of understatement a rebellion against the insistence that everything needs to be worked and overworked until we have a lump of coal we call a diamond because we're so impressed with what we've done to it. I need to consider and respect that as well. And so my reaction to Mr. Collins is really not a reflection on his work, so much as it is an ingrained reaction--a reaction that is perhaps provocative on its own--asking me what it is that cause me to kick against the goad.
Note: language revised in deference to a note from a friend. And apologies tendered to those inadvertantly disturbed by the original.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 1:46 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
Seek the Lord While He May Be Found
I have been asked, "Where do I start to read the Bible?"
The answer differs for each person. But from a strictly Carmelite perspective, the answer is always the same. Read whatever incites you to love. Read first for love and incidentally for knowledge. Whatever inspires you to heights of love, read that.
For me, it is in the Old Testament, the end of 1 Kings and the beginning of 2 Kings (bet I shocked you with that one), the end of the Song of Songs, Isaiah, Jonah and some of the lesser prophets. In the New Testament it is Luke, Phillippians (another shocker), the Letters of John, and the Book of Revelation which I find strangely beautiful and enormously comforting. For some reason, these visions that seem to befuddle and terrify others speak overwhelmingly of mercy, love, and the triumph of Good.
But these are my books, meant for me, inspiring me to love. They will not be the same for everyone. This is one of the great things about having a library in a single book. For others, other books will speak loudly and strongly, they will lead you to love.
St. Teresa of Avila said that it is not to know much, but to love much. The purpose of all study, all knowledge, all intellectual endeavor is ultimately to know God, to love Him, and to will what He wills. Some of us skip the intellectual step--at least the intense portions of that--and head straight for love. Of course there is no love without knowledge, but a surfeit of knowledge can easily impede the heart.
So, my advice to any who might ask--go to where Jesus speaks to you. Is there a particular problem? Did Jesus address it with another person? Start there. No problem, go to where you can simply look upon a person you admire and grow in love.
The purpose of all our study is a single goal--the Shema. "Love God with all your heart, all your mind, all your soul, and all your strength." And we show this love by loving our neighbor as ourselves.
Seek the Lord where he may be found,
call to him while He is still near.
The Spirit and the Bride say come,
let all who hear say come,
let him who is thirsty come take the water of life
without price. (paraphrase of Revelation 22:17)
Maranatha!
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Online Parallel Bible
Revelation 22:17 The Spirit and the bride say, "Come!
Mostly older translations--Darby, KJV, etc, but still wonderful for the diversity of translations.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 7:32 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
A Mighty Fortress
. . . is our God, a bulwark never failing. . .
I've never much cared for the hymn--cumbersome, overblown, bombastic (seemingly) all that overwhelms me in German composition. And once again, I get to see how my prejudices get in may way.
I'm sure Luther didn't intend it in the way that I now read it, but for the Carmelite, and for those with Carmelite affinities, God is a fortress and the fortress is named Solitude.
Solitude is not loneliness, it is not simple isolation. The Carmelite vision of solitude never really permitted reclusion. There were isolated hermitages, but they were meant more for a time of refreshment than a constant living arrangement (outside of the earliest practitioners). For a Carmelite, including even the cloistered nuns, the fruit of solitude was to be shared with the entire world. Reclusion, in such circumstances, is not an option.
But the danger in sharing the fruit is that one will not frequently visit the fortress of solitude. What then is solitude properly considered? If isolation is not, what then is the purpose of being alone? How is it related to solitude?
St. John of the Cross taught that faithfulness to physical "alone" time even on a very limited basis led to a solitude that was a permanent fixture of your life--a solitude of heart. Thus solitude cannot be merely separation from other human beings, although it may start with some time of this. Rather solitude is being alone with the Alone. That is, solitude is total immersion in God. Solitude takes away not merely people but all of the varied trappings we carry with us to protect us from God--our books, our learning, our understandings, our conversations, everything that could potentially carry us away from God is gone in solitude. And in solitude we receive our refreshment from God Himself. In solitude we find the mighty fortress who is our God and we become part of that fortress. From the citadel of solitude we can set forth to change the world as the Spirit directs and we can be guided always, carrying our solitude with us.
Solitude is our shield and our fortress, it is our link with God's strength, it is the promise of His Love fulfilled. Solitude is not merely alone time, because in solitude, we are not alone but we are complete with the eternal and infinite. Thus in solitude, we transcend who we are and assume our proper places in the body of Christ.
Without solitude we cannot fully know who we are or what we are called to. Solitude, time alone with God, starts with separating ourselves for some period to be with Him, but it grows in the heart and becomes an "Interior Castle." In solitude we prepare the dwelling places in the bridegroom, and in the solitude of the people around us, we are joined in spiritual marriage. The fruit of this is to be shared with everyone. Solitude is not about single joy, it is about rejoicing in what Jesus rejoices in.
Solitude, for the Carmelite, has always occupied a central place. Without solitude, the Carmelite rule disintegrates. Without service, the Carmelite rule disintegrates. The Carmelite rule is Mary web to Martha for the salvation of souls and the service of the world. It is being Martha, while always sitting at the feet of Jesus. I'm sure that this is true for other orders as well, but I can only speak what I know of my own. For the Carmelite this is the end of all rules--to be so joined in intimacy with God that Solitude and the strength and bulwark of it are with us at every moment--we are alone with the Alone and never more so than when we are joyfully serving others and seeing in them the Solitude of Christ.
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42
You'll all recognize this as the answer to "Life, the Universe, and Everything."
Well, I'm going to answer some of the questions I have long asked with new answers.
What is the purpose of reading a book? Loving God.
Any book? Yes, any licit entertainment, though some facilitate this more than others.
Is there no other purpose? All other purposes are secondary. And that leads to the real surprise.
The only real purpose to any human activity, properly considered, should be loving God. Not "should be" in the adjuring sense, but "should be" in the ambitious sense. Our goal should ultimately be that all of our recreations, our works, our thoughts, and our endeavors give praise and glory to God in such a way that, in the words of Jesus Christ, Superstar,
"Why waste your breath moaning at the crowd,
nothing can be done to stop the shouting,
if every tongue were still the noise would still continue,
the rocks and stones themselves would start to sing
Hossanah, Heyssanah, sannah sannha ho, sannah he, sannah hosannah. . .
In the somewhat more time-honored words of Paul, "Every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord."
It is the proper end of all of our actions that this should come about. When we orient ourselves and our days properly, even the time we spend away from work and away from direct participation in the spiritual and corporeal acts of mercy contributes to their success. Our downtime is never down because it is spent glorifying God.
So, what is the purpose of reading a book? Praising God.
What is the purpose of cooking a meal? Praising and glorifying God. A single hot dog cooked with attention and with love is more meaningful and more worthwhile than all of the grand feasts cooked under duress and oppression.
What is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything? Praising and glorifying God and leading all souls to salvation, especially those in most need of God's mercy.
All of our acts should be ordered to the end of loving God--all good things used to His just and right purposes. All that we have, all that we are, all that we do, all that we think, everything has one End in Jesus Christ. The legitimate means are many and varied, but the end is always the same--the Glorification of the Son whose glory is the glory of the Father and the Holy Spirit, three-in-one, transcendent trinity of love.
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Random Thought to Be Continued Elsewhen
It occurs to me that if the end is not Love, then it is not the end, but a stopping point.
In the past I have seen movies and read books that do not really end, they merely stop. If we act without love then we do not reach the End, we simply stop. I wonder if the sum of all this stopping is not the whole notion of purgatory, where all halting and stopping is consumed and we are finally purged of all the faults that do not lead to an end, but rather bring us to a stopping point and allow us to quit.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:49 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 17, 2006
Happy 300th Ben, Please Pass the Trout
To celebrate the birthday of Benjamin Franklin, a Samuelism.
"Is Benjamin Franklin's 300th Birthday a special day?" from out of the back seat on the way to work.
"Why, yes, sweetheart, it is."
"Then can I have trout?"
This referring to a promise we had made that on special occasions we would let him have the trout at our local Cracker Barrel. Can't blame the boy for working the system.
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Benjamin Franklin
Born January 17, 1706 in Boston, Massachusetts (the grave of his parents is in the same cemetery as that of John Hancock--I think--Bostonians can advise. It is, nonetheless on the freedom trail) Benjamin Franklin self-educated scientist, philosopher, inventor, and statesman became, arguably, the single most famous non-presidential "political" figure in the nation's history. During his life he was well known throughout Europe and the United States. He supported causes such as abolition, religious freedom, and proper treatment of Native Americans long before they became popular culture. His vision was instrumental in the shaping of the New Republic, and his legacy is with us still in Poor Richard's Almanack and in the wording and framing of both the Declaration of Independence and to some extent the Constitution. Often typified as a Quaker, Franklin's actual religious convictions were closer to the Deism popular at his time.
Famous for his "air baths" and other therapeutic practices and for his invention of bifocals, the Franklin Stove, and the lightning rod, Franklin was a man of many gifts and of generous spirit--he was willing to share them. He developed one of the first lending libraries in the United States and was for a time Postmaster of Philadelphia.
If anyone deserved the title, "Father of his Country" it is probably Franklin who was well known for having some (perhaps many) children without benefit of marriage. Nevertheless, the man behind the name is immensely appealing, the kind of guest you would like to stay longer, although he advised us that "Fish and visitors stink after three days."
In case you can't tell, I really love Benjamin Franklin--indeed, almost as much as I admire George Washington and dislike the duplicity of Jefferson. Providence indeed graced our nation when it granted so great a man in an era of great men. This was one of the minds that forged a nation and a national consciousness--our debt to him is enormous--beyond reckoning.
So, Happy Birthday Mr. Franklin, and thank you for all you did for us. And though you might not have agreed in your time, praise God for the great gift He gave us in you. May you be enjoying His presence and continuing the good work you started here below.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 9:39 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
On the Virtues of TSO's Spanning the Globe
Occasionally, I read TSO's "Spanning the Globe" and am frankly horrified by the stuff I've allowed to slip into print. Today is a case in point--I used the word predominate when I meant to use predominant.
This leads me to another thought. Might it be better to write less and revise more?
The reality is, whatever might be better, it probably won't happen, so I'll have to continue to take my lessons in humility. I will err. I appreciate those who assist with pointing these problems out. But I don't intend to not write something simply because I'm busy revising something else.
In short, unlike some blogs, this one is rough-draft world. The ideas are ideas that I want to get into some medium so that I can refer to them again. At that time they will be revised and refined, but until then, I'm afraid there will be mistakes.
It comes down to a trade-off--much better written and considered or the essentials as they come to mind. As this is a dual purpose blog, it is the secondary consideration that predominates (correctly used this time-though heaven knows what other errors might be here). Part of the purpose as I say from time to time, is to preach most to the one who needs it most (me). That requires capturing the thought however ineptly. These things can be fixed.
But I apologize to all of you who have to deal with such grammatical catastrophes. Not a good thing, I know. But I appreciate your stolid endurance, and I especially appreciate those who help me catch the problems. I won't always fix them right away, but there is at least a record to return to.
So, once again my thanks to TSO and to all others who while pursuing good purposes of their own help me to refine my own writing. God bless you.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 12:23 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
January 18, 2006
"Our souls. . . fail God."
from Listen to the Silence: a Retreat with Père Jacques
TR./ED. Francis J. MurphyBear in mind the words of Saint John of the Cross: "It is not God who fails our souls; it is our souls that fail God." When God seeks to test the perseverance of the soul through suffering or trials, through disappointments or challenges, consider the outcome. Many souls, who longed to taste the sweetness of prayer, but not to have direct contact with God for his own sake, take flight. In the words of the familiar saying, they longed to taste "the consolations of God, but not the God of all consolations." In truth, are we any different? Are we not likewise lacking in courage and total acceptance? Do we not seek to exercise choice, to impose conditions, and to make bargains in our relationship with God? By contrast, Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus said: "I accept all." "Yes, Lord, I accept all," meant for her: I accept being as I am and remaining as you wish provided I find you and live ever more closely with you.
Père Jacques delivered these retreat talks to cloistered nuns, and so we must be cautious how much of what was said to them we take upon ourselves--after all we have neither the vocation nor the charisms nor the strengths that accompany the acceptance of such a vocation. On the other hand, we also need to be cautious of how much we reject of what is said, because what is true for those specially called is true for all Christians in the degree that normal life can sustain.
What is particularly compelling is the way Pére Jacques identifies some of the major problems in the normal religious and prayer life with such precision. How often have you found yourself bargaining with God. This happens more often in intercessory prayer, but I know that there are times when I say something like, "Let me only hear your voice and I will be more faithful to prayer." The intent is true, but the human heart being what it is, were I to hear His voice, I would be more true to prayer. . . for perhaps as much as a week. And then I would lapse into my semi-regular torpor. This is one of the reasons that the consolations of prayer must be withdrawn. As with a child learning to walk, you first provide support and then gradually allow the child to walk more and more free, so God treats us in prayer. The first bloom of prayer is a rush of ardor and affection filled with all sort of revelations and consolations and feelings of intimacy. But when that bloom has worn off, the consolations occur less and less until we are walking on our own. And like a child learning to walk, we are able to walk because we know there is a goal and we know that there is a guardian, a protector, one who loves us (though we may not understand at the time what that means or what love is). Just so, we are able to pray because we come to know that God is present as we pray, He listens and He hears and He responds as is best for us.
As we move on in prayer, we want that exhilaration of the first steps. In a sense, we want to move backward, to move to the point where we took our first steps because it was so exciting. But you can't return because your muscles have firmed up and your gait is more steady, and now you can walk. Yes, YOU CAN WALK! It's ordinary, it's mundane, it's slow, but it gets us from here to there. Exactly like prayer--we can't return to the exhilaration, but we can go from where we are to where God wants us to be one step at a time. But we can only do so if we stop longing to go back to where prayer was so sweet and God so immediately present. God is still immediately present, but like the parent encouraging those first steps, He wants us to move toward Him. He accepts our slow, halting advance, and He rushes to us when we tumble or fall, to lift us up and shower us with signs of His affection.
But we must desire what God desires. We must want to walk to Him and walk always toward Him, getting ever closer even though it sometimes seems as though we shall never be able to make it. On our own, we cannot, but He is always there, encouraging and supporting and holding out the arms we can rush into.
To make any advance, we must stop wanting to go back. Like the people of Israel released from the bondage of slavery, we long for the fleshpots of Egypt, the places of comfort, the places where we feel at home and in control.
These are the ways we bargain with the Lord as we pray. Not all of us--some great Saints stop their bargaining, and thus show us it is possible for us. But for me, the bargaining continues from time to time. Not always and not exclusively, I have trained myself sufficiently not to seek extraordinary things--and yet part of what lures me onward in this life is the promise of a single extraordinary thing--intimacy with God. Even this must fall away and what I do I must do because God calls me to it. No consolation or enticement should induce me to move forward in prayer, but rather the ardent, brilliant, burning, and all-consuming love of God.
May it be so!
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From Intercessions to Prayer
Before I start, I must make as clear as I possibly can that there is nothing wrong with intercessory prayer. It is not lesser, it is not unworthy, it is not broken, it is not an indication of a stunted prayer life, it is not in any way to be demeaned. I say this as a precaution because in the context it is possible that I will slip and make it sound as though I think people should not engage in intercessory prayer. This is simply not the case at all. Every time we turn to God for even a moment, He uses the opportunity to encourage us to approach more nearly. God blesses intercessory prayer even when He does not answer it in the way that we think He ought.
One common problem I've encountered is that for some people intercessory prayer = prayer as a whole. That is, the are unaware that there is anything other than intercessory prayer. If they pray the Rosary, they pray it for intentions and don't really reflect on the fact that proper prayer of the Rosary entails meditation upon the mysteries. It is the idea that intercessory prayer is all that there is that can become problematic. Remember, the line is "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening." In any conversation there must be time for speaking and time for listening; otherwise you do not have a conversation but a monologue.
If one is faithful to one's intercessory prayers, but does not do much more, how can one move into the wider field of prayer? How can one grow from listing concerns to hearing what is on God's heart (as it were)?
I'm afraid the answer is one that you've heard here time and again, and I'm going to trot it out again because I haven't read on any blogs recently the tremendous breakthroughs that have come as people adopted and started to faithfully used the tried and true methods of Church tradition. So, here it is one more time--Lectio Divina. For those from a protestant background, you'll know what I mean when I say, "Get into the Word."
I like that Protestant expression because of its productive ambiguity. Indeed, Lectio is "getting into the Word" in at least two substantive ways. In one, we read and pray the Bible to learn to love God, and in the other, by doing the former we "put on Jesus Christ." When we get into the word, we perforce get into the Word. When I pray the Bible, I begin to understand humility--who and what I am before God and what is required of me as a servant of the Lord and a member of the body of Christ. Reading scripture apprises me of where I am in the Lord, and when that happens in a flash of metacognition, I realize that indeed I am IN the Lord. I have "put on Jesus Christ."
Lectio is one gateway that moves us from intercession to the depths of prayer. It is not the only gateway, but it is one that is too poorly used in the Catholic Tradition. The more cradle Catholics I talk to the more surprised I am at how many are only very slightly aware of the Bible. They know that parts of it are read at Mass, but there does not seem to be a real comprehension of the depths of the scriptures and the necessity of reading and studying them. In fact, I am all the more surprised because many of these people are well versed in the writings of the Saints and of philosophers. They argue cogently and coherently certain truths of the faith, but they seem disconnected from the roots of some of these truths. They know vaguely that they come from the Bible, but were one to press the point they wouldn't be able to articulate where or how.
Because Catholics have had a twofold magisterium of Scripture and Tradition, there has been a tendency to honor one above the other. Unfortunately all too often what has been honored is tradition not Tradition, with the net result that many Catholics can't find their way around the Bible. When I was teaching a class a few months ago, I had to guide many to realize that Daniel was in the Old Testament, in the latter half where one found the Prophets. That lead to a whole discussion about the classical division of the Law, the Writings, and the Prophets and to New Testament divisions. This ignorance is understandable, but it is neither invincible nor is it laudable nor long excused once one is aware of it.
Now, I'm not a "read the Bible in a year, every year" sort of guy. But everyone owes it to themselves to have at least a nodding acquaintance with the overall outlines of the books of scripture. That is, one should know that Isaiah is the source of a good many Messianic prophecies, that Jeremiah is the "weeping prophet," etc. The purpose of understanding your general whereabouts in scripture is to know where to turn if you have a particular problem or are seeking help with a particular difficulty. Having trouble trusting God, meditate for a while upon Jonah. . . you get the idea.
The prayer of scripture in Lectio is not about studying to fill your head with more facts. Continuing the discussion of some days past, all of our actions are about loving and glorifying God. If this is not the end of what we do, then there is no reasonable or viable end--there is merely a stopping point. Lectio is reading to love, not entirely reading to learn (although that can and must happen as well if we are to grow in love.)
So, from intercession to other prayer--one step is reading the Bible. The practice is considered so beneficial that if one were to spend a half-hour each day reading scripture (under the usual conditions) one could get a plenary indulgence each day. This is one way the Church announces as clearly as possible that it considers the reading and praying of scripture as paramount to the person seeking to live a Christian life. Do not underestimate the efficacy of reading scripture for even five minutes at a busy lunchtime--the alteration in you day is likely to be dramatic!
So, why are you still here reading this? You could be spending the time with scripture. Start here if you have no other plan. Yes, it is the ghastliest of translation, enough to make a Cornishman gnash his teeth--but it is the Word of God, holy and true--even in a linguistically mangled state.
[Orthographical Note: On this one entry, I managed to find at least two different ways to mutilate the spelling of intercessory--my fingers are accomplished actors all on their own!]
Posted by Steven Riddle at 12:25 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
From the Heart of Dismay
As of today, I have 1,808 books catalogued on my "Library Thing" catalogue. The dismay sets in when I realize that this covers two sets of shelves in my family room (and it doesn't even complete those). My estimate of my total library may have been low as I am guessing that what is catalogued so far represents about 5% of the total. (But maybe that is misleading because it represents 5% of the shelving space, not all of which is so fully occupied as the shelves in the family room.)
Perhaps I am pessimistic and I'll still come in around 20,000. But the easy part has been done and now it's title by title with much hand entry. Perhaps this catalogue will not be so extensive as otherwise might occur.
Also, I have to go through a proof to make certain that I didn't include Rex Stout titles three and four times. (A common problem given my cataloguing method.)
And given the recent spate of mysteries TSO has been knocked out of first place of similar libraries and now is about third. I'm sure that is a source of enormous heartache to him, so please drop him a note of consolation. :-D
Given what I have left to index, my suspicion is that Miss Woodhouse and Eurydice are likely to increase dramatically in the similarity index pushing poor TSO lower. (But don't tell him, he's very sensitive to these things you know--and I'm certain that he was so devastated by the last revelation that he's left off reading.) The bulk of the remainder are non-Carmelite religious texts and the "classic works"--Dickens, Mrs. Gaskell, Hardy, Fielding, novels of the late 19th and early 20th Century. Then of course there's the unseemly large collection of H. Rider Haggard.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 1:12 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 19, 2006
Frightening Steps to Loving God
1. God is simple.
St. Thomas Aquinas "discovered" this and the Church teaches this (so far as I can tell.) God is simple. He is not made up of parts. He is one complete unity--one cannot take away a "part" of God. As such God has separable attributes--no qualities apart from Who He is. That is God's will is God, God's love is God, God's mercy is God, God's justice is God. He is at once all of these things and these things are at once all the same in God because God is simple. People make distinctions between these things because humanity is not simple--there are component parts. (By the way, don't ask me how this is true, I haven't a clue. But I do understand that it is true, and I am trying to piece out the implications of this solid and confusing truth.)
2. Loving God Means Loving God's Will
As pointed out above, God's will is His being. God is God's will and at the same time God's love, justice, mercy, patience, power, etc. But in the very real sense God is God's will--they are not separable. Thus, truly loving God means loving God's will. Loving God's will is more than saying , "Thy will be done/on Earth as it is in heaven." We must also seek to do it. When we do God's will, because His Will is Himself, we incorporate ourselves into God in a substantive way that in unmatchable. This is one of the reasons why Jesus tells us, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments." His commandments are an expression of the will of God. To love God, we must love His will.
3. Loving God's Will Means Loving My Life
Things get even more frightening. Loving God's will means loving my life, here, now, as it is. That is not to say that we must be fatalistic and accept as inevitable our present circumstances. It does not mean we cannot hope and work for better. But unless and until things do get better, our present circumstances are, for whatever reason, God's present will for us. To love God means to love his will. To love His will means to rejoice in our present circumstances even as we look forward to even better circumstances. We can rejoice in who and what we are and what we have here and now and still hope for a better life. Indeed, the whole Christian vision is reaching for that better life here and now.
The most important part of prayer is loving God. But loving God comes with knowing God and we can know God (in part) by knowing ourselves and our present circumstances because they are manifestations of God's will. Loving our lives as they have been presented to us, as gift and gift alone, is a step toward knowing God intimately. It is a frightening step because it means I must see and accept my present limitations, circumstances, and conditions as God's abiding and loving will for me here an now.
I suppose for some this is not nearly so difficult a prospect as it may be for others. As one who is always looking forward to better times, it is a difficult first step. However, the necessity of this step follows from the logic and beauty of God's simplicity. I need to learn to embrace that simplicity in all of its apparent contradictions--love, will, mercy, justice, compassion, authority--everything that is God and makes up God, not as constituent parts but as a gestalt from which we derive our impression of these virtues and strengths.
Loving God is as simple as coming to know who we really are and always seeking to find what God has in store for us.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:45 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
A Slew of Bellocs
The Online Books Page: What's New
See January 18th Entry:
Marie Belloc Lowndes (Sister of Hilaire, and author of The Lodger--a very nice Jack-the-Ripper novel published in 1913. Her work is primarily in the Mystery, suspense, ghost story mode): From Out the Vasty Deep, The Chink in the Armour, What Timmy Did, The End of Her Honeymoon
Hilaire Belloc The Historic Thames, Hills and the Sea
Note also, the delectable Waltoniana: Inedited REmains in Verse and Prose of Isaak Walton
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A Forgotten and Amusing Quotation
Glendower: I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
Hotspur: Why, so can I; or so can any man: But will they come, when you do call for them?
Shakespeare--Henry IV.
Found while looking at Marie Belloc Lowndes's From Out the Vasty Deep
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An Antiquarian Gift
Project Gutenberg Edition of Directions for Cookery, in its Various Branches
Most particularly for Julie D. and her comrades-in-arms. I love old/ancient cooking and recipe books. Hope you all enjoy this one.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:10 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
William Jennings Bryan
Being a compendium of his lectures to the Union Theological Seminary.
Bryan made his reputation in two major events that showed how wrong a good person could be--the Scopes trial, in which he debated oppostie Clarence Darrow (chronicled in Inherit the Wind)and his support of bimetalism, in whic he made this famous speech:
from "Cross of Gold"
William Jennings BryanIf they dare to come out in the open field and defend the gold standard as a good thing, we will fight them to the uttermost. Having behind us the producing masses of this nation and the world, supported by the commercial interests, the laboring interests, and the toilers everywhere, we will answer their demand for a gold standard by saying to them: You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns, you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.
You can see that his oratorical style made him one of the most persuasive and interesting speakers of his time.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 10:18 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 20, 2006
Deleted Entry
I'm only noting that I deleted an entry so that the entry actually goes away. Many thanks to the people who commented, but upon review, it was not the type of thing I want to keep on the blog. I'm not steering away from controversy, but only certain kinds of non-edifying, my-opinion-is-superior-to-yours kinds of controversies that can crop up here and there. My apologies.
Also, so you know, I started on three different posts this morning--The Catholic Church and Community, The Vatican Pronounces on ID, and one other. Because these took the form of critique and complaint without offering useful help in dealing with the noted problems, they were deleted as well.
If I cannot say something that will help to build up the body of Christ (and constructive critiques fall into the category), then I do not need to be merely another voice complaining. No one is edified by my quirky complaints.
Now, this restriction will apply to all things other than the Arts, in which case almost everything is opinion any way and the whole point of the arts is to stir up discussion and make people think. So, I have no hesitation posting my opinions there.
But really, who needs yet another complaint about how the liturgy in my church is not up to snuff? Or a complaint about really much of anything that doesn't come with a suggestion that might improve the problem. My complaints are better borne by myself as little mortifications for my own improvement. So, I'll try very hard not to burden you all with them--but that's not a guarantee--only a promise to try. I trust you all will hold me accountable to my promise and alert me when I go off course.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 11:49 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Exhortation and Encouragement
I have probably written about this before, but sometimes my mind turns on the same tracks and I think it's important to remind myself of things I rediscover.
When I was with the charismatic renewal, I was identified among the group as a prophet or as having the prophetic gift. But honestly, I didn't feel like a prophet and I didn't act like a prophet. I did not warn of the coming wrath nor did I convict others of their sins.
Over time I considered what I knew of what I had done with the group. (The experience was odd because it would no sooner come out of my mouth than I would forget what it was I had said, so I had to rely on the few notes I had taken and others had given me.) I discovered that there was nothing at all of the prophet about me. I did not announce God's wrath to come, I did not identify the sins of others and encourage them to renounce them and lead a straight life.
Rather then, as now, I announced the Father who loves us, the Savior who cherishes us, the God who slaughters the fatted calf to welcome us back, time and time and time again. At one time I gave the word "exhortation" to this gift. But an exhortation is a hair's breadth from a harangue. I think of my gift now in terms of encouragment.
Time and again people come to me despairing of themselves, of God's love, of God's help, of others, and it is my pleasure and my privilege to remind them of the God who loves each one of us as if we were each the only child He had. Encouragement, always to turn from our present ways which satisfy neither ourselves nor God and rejoice in our privilege of conversation, of deep and abiding love.
I hope always to hold on to this great gift. I derive encouragement from places people see none (St. John of the Cross for one) and I hope always to be a source of encouragement to those who feel that they cannot go on, they cannot progress, they cannot grow. Of course one can't if that is how one approaches the question.
No one can will him or herself to heaven. No one can even will him or herself to better prayer. All that one can do is pray, rely on God, and when the grace comes, seize it and live it. God will perfect our prayers, He will give us the words. He will help us lead lives pleasing to Him, all we need to do is turn to Him and ask. The grace is always there and He rejoices in our little requests. He is the Father who loves us above all things--even above His own self.
Posted by Steven Riddle at 8:17 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack