Liturgical West (A)
Where water and fog meet
There are few borders:
Ships slice on ribbons of mist
Ethereal in the morning light,
And groggy cranes raise their necks on the outskirts,
Titans saying their praises above curling fogs,
Sleep still in the eyes of the reverent rows of Bridge-lamps
And the sodium stirring in the glass.
Saint Francis smiles, fog draped over her shoulders,
She emerging from primordial cisterns,
From when the Spirit hovered over the face of the mystery,
There where the Spirit grins.
Liturgical West (B)
Behold humanity curling
To the rim of the bay, industious;
She tries so hard to pervert
With her steel girters, tacky, illustrious,
Only to watch the calamity, the subversion of subtle Grin in her porticos.
Liturgical West (C)
Iron rising and
Planks spooning through mysteries:
Ironic, beauty abiding.
-r
30 December 2008
15 December 2008
'Masculine Principle'? - Part 1
These are the things I think about in the rain while packing air filters into a golf-cart. Various conversations inform the thoughts, and my heart seeks to differentiate and structure the thoughts in such a way to make sense of them. While I'm so much more comfortable making general statements, for skepticism's sake I start with myself.
I'm one of the first of a sort of refined cultural prototype, the product as has been in demand: a somewhat masculine man, masculine by nature and in spirit, but also prematurely domesticated and generally emasculated. The resulting years have been a late- or second-adolescence, something that was never informed by my sub-culture and so never pursued but intrinsically felt to a boiling point. This has been an ongoing reality, not 'climaxing' in any sense; it is suppressed and then climaxes from time to time. This is not a new insight or revelation for me; there are very real, underlying reasons for my gravitation toward apocalyptic poetry, British spelling, pastoral ministry / theology over a corporate career, and so forth.
Some have referred to 'it' as the 'masculine principle.' I'm not sure I like the terminology because of its empirical and extrinsic undertones; the 'masculine principle' is actually something of a mystical, embodied, natural nature that I can only take something of a stab toward - of course, part of my inability to describe is most likely intimately wrapped up in my immaturity and emasculation in relation to the reality. The so-called 'masculine principle' - at least as I feel it in my particular bones - is something of a need for clear differentiation, a need to draw distinguishing lines in the world, to operate within a hierarchy, to clearly know one's and others' particular roles in the world; it is a desperate need to be needed, for one thing, but also to contribute uniquely and/or meaningfully to the family and society, to know that one's forceful testosterone-driven urges can be channelled into activity that can be appreciated or - ideally - desired.
Obviously, this is not a 'principle' unto itself. The need to be needed, the need to have one's testosterone-driven urges affirmed in positive action, implies that there are other parties that fulfill and affirm this need. It is also just as true that some of these 'other parties' - particularly and most importantly a woman - have needs and desires of their own that are complemented by masculinity. But as to the 'other parties' in a societal and sub-societal construct: what happens to role-seekers in a confused hierarchy that offers two unsatifactory roles - androgeny or brutality?
-r
I'm one of the first of a sort of refined cultural prototype, the product as has been in demand: a somewhat masculine man, masculine by nature and in spirit, but also prematurely domesticated and generally emasculated. The resulting years have been a late- or second-adolescence, something that was never informed by my sub-culture and so never pursued but intrinsically felt to a boiling point. This has been an ongoing reality, not 'climaxing' in any sense; it is suppressed and then climaxes from time to time. This is not a new insight or revelation for me; there are very real, underlying reasons for my gravitation toward apocalyptic poetry, British spelling, pastoral ministry / theology over a corporate career, and so forth.
Some have referred to 'it' as the 'masculine principle.' I'm not sure I like the terminology because of its empirical and extrinsic undertones; the 'masculine principle' is actually something of a mystical, embodied, natural nature that I can only take something of a stab toward - of course, part of my inability to describe is most likely intimately wrapped up in my immaturity and emasculation in relation to the reality. The so-called 'masculine principle' - at least as I feel it in my particular bones - is something of a need for clear differentiation, a need to draw distinguishing lines in the world, to operate within a hierarchy, to clearly know one's and others' particular roles in the world; it is a desperate need to be needed, for one thing, but also to contribute uniquely and/or meaningfully to the family and society, to know that one's forceful testosterone-driven urges can be channelled into activity that can be appreciated or - ideally - desired.
Obviously, this is not a 'principle' unto itself. The need to be needed, the need to have one's testosterone-driven urges affirmed in positive action, implies that there are other parties that fulfill and affirm this need. It is also just as true that some of these 'other parties' - particularly and most importantly a woman - have needs and desires of their own that are complemented by masculinity. But as to the 'other parties' in a societal and sub-societal construct: what happens to role-seekers in a confused hierarchy that offers two unsatifactory roles - androgeny or brutality?
-r
04 December 2008
The Univocity of Being
'The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of thinking . . . the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind. If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker.'
-Albert Einstein
I have trouble breaking things into 'units'; I see wholes and even complexities in the individual 'units', and so I strive to not over-simplify the units while also bearing true testimony to the interconnectedness. For example:
Even in a universe of nebulae and RNA, the machine gun is a complex device unto itself. There are chambres, inter-related mechanisms that depend upon one another, and of course the ammunition which consists of uniform but individual shells; some machine guns incorporate a gas piston while others operate on direct impingement. And so on, ad nauseum. Each individual element could clink away harmlessly unto itself, but in the context of the whole, each element almost mystically comes together in an efficient whole.
In World War I, the machine gun set the tone for military 'engagements.' Human beings would cross large plains - 'no man's land' - in the hope of crossing before the machine gun nests could/would mow them down; such charges were largely unsuccessful though mechanically necessary. The machine gun and the tank foreshadowed the bright future of human warfare.
The machine gun did not appear out of thin air, clinking away harmlessly unto itself; the machine gun is one mechanism in a whole that almost mystically operates within the systemme of a whole. It arose out of numerous technological advances, but more basically out of theologies/philosophies and social movements that allowed certain actions and restricted others and participated in large and invisible realities. Simply put, the machine gun is the fruit of a tree, a node of a larger organism that is embodied in the node of humanity who in fact is a node of, interacts with, and participates in larger organisms.
The same philosophies in the Enlightenment that ultimately contributed to the advent of the Industrial Revolution fueled the philosophy of utilitarianism and efficiency-as-good that produced the machine gun, the assembly line, and the German/British soldier in the trenches at the helm of the machine gun nest mowing down others. The protestant rejection of the Real Presence contributed to the socio-political reality of Europe/America that led to the Enlightenment which led to the machine gun. The univocity of being in Dun Scotus and the theological wordings of the 'neo-Franciscans' contributed to and largely set much of the tone for the Renaissance which coincided with in some sense and fueled the protestant Reformation. The rejection of the Real Presence reintroduced a potent version of the understanding of the 'spiritual' divorced from the 'physical' which contributed to the neo-Gnosticism of the Enlightenment which in turn led to the reinterpretation of 'secularity' which in turn led to the Industrial Revolution which led to the machine gun which led to the secular government's military spending diverted toward weapons research in the machine gun among many other technologies. . . .Ends-justifies-the-means emerges in a culture where virtue can/has collapse(d) as a discourse, which in this case relates to the divorce in protestantism and the secular culture it birthed, which leads to the choice to use the atomic bomb at the end of World War II, killing myriads of human beings including the majority of the Catholic population who had been evangelising the island nation.
. . .We now have the ability to do so much and know so much and (we say) be so much. We have clean nuclear energy and electronic social networks and better machine guns and advanced medical procedures that save lives who would be lost in previous ages and new philosophies that feed from the old philosophies. But I perceive a confusion and a continuation of the chains that have been mystically feeding upon themselves, in recent centuries but new forms of the old human condition: we drink organic green tea for our health and then take birth control pills; we donate money to charities and then continue living in sin. A teenager commits suicide because of an oppressive reality that participates in the hopelessness that comes with the gradual deconstruction of modernity that historically needed to happen but still affects a life.
Here, I am not concerned with expressing the 'opposite', which is the continuing reality and 'solution.' -That is, the Incarnation and Real Presence of our God who is our salvation. Good is the Being in everything; evil is not an ontological reality. But an evil action will still murder your mother - and that will effect your life dramatically. In the same way, Christ's in-breaking into the world was, is still, and will be the continuing evidence of God's loving Sovereignty, yet we live in what is often called a 'post-Christian' era.
Here, we deal with things like this: Is it stupid to say that all our life-extensions and purchasing powers and technological leaps are distending humanity? On the other hand, is it 'witchcraft' or heresy to perform a heart surgery that saves a human's life? What is Babel? Where did it begin, where does it break into being? How do we speak about Babel? How do we engage ourselves in the Reality of Christ our Lord, who reveals the paper-thin claims of sovereignty that Babel makes for itself?
But, primarily, here is where I run into trouble in articulation. I see Babel. I can taste it and see it everywhere. And I can see God's judgment presently and in its eventual coming, its particular wrath against our culture. Yet how do we, with human eyes and hearts and minds, describe the invisible and demonic principalities and powers? Where do we draw the lines on the manifestations, around the manifestations? are all these things amoral or good or evil? In some sense, all technology is humanity's response to God's curse of labour; but is all technology therefore evil/sinister?
Technology is only one among many things at work within the aims of the invisible principalities; but it is something tangible that I can address . . . I think.
-r
-Albert Einstein
I have trouble breaking things into 'units'; I see wholes and even complexities in the individual 'units', and so I strive to not over-simplify the units while also bearing true testimony to the interconnectedness. For example:
Even in a universe of nebulae and RNA, the machine gun is a complex device unto itself. There are chambres, inter-related mechanisms that depend upon one another, and of course the ammunition which consists of uniform but individual shells; some machine guns incorporate a gas piston while others operate on direct impingement. And so on, ad nauseum. Each individual element could clink away harmlessly unto itself, but in the context of the whole, each element almost mystically comes together in an efficient whole.
In World War I, the machine gun set the tone for military 'engagements.' Human beings would cross large plains - 'no man's land' - in the hope of crossing before the machine gun nests could/would mow them down; such charges were largely unsuccessful though mechanically necessary. The machine gun and the tank foreshadowed the bright future of human warfare.
The machine gun did not appear out of thin air, clinking away harmlessly unto itself; the machine gun is one mechanism in a whole that almost mystically operates within the systemme of a whole. It arose out of numerous technological advances, but more basically out of theologies/philosophies and social movements that allowed certain actions and restricted others and participated in large and invisible realities. Simply put, the machine gun is the fruit of a tree, a node of a larger organism that is embodied in the node of humanity who in fact is a node of, interacts with, and participates in larger organisms.
The same philosophies in the Enlightenment that ultimately contributed to the advent of the Industrial Revolution fueled the philosophy of utilitarianism and efficiency-as-good that produced the machine gun, the assembly line, and the German/British soldier in the trenches at the helm of the machine gun nest mowing down others. The protestant rejection of the Real Presence contributed to the socio-political reality of Europe/America that led to the Enlightenment which led to the machine gun. The univocity of being in Dun Scotus and the theological wordings of the 'neo-Franciscans' contributed to and largely set much of the tone for the Renaissance which coincided with in some sense and fueled the protestant Reformation. The rejection of the Real Presence reintroduced a potent version of the understanding of the 'spiritual' divorced from the 'physical' which contributed to the neo-Gnosticism of the Enlightenment which in turn led to the reinterpretation of 'secularity' which in turn led to the Industrial Revolution which led to the machine gun which led to the secular government's military spending diverted toward weapons research in the machine gun among many other technologies. . . .Ends-justifies-the-means emerges in a culture where virtue can/has collapse(d) as a discourse, which in this case relates to the divorce in protestantism and the secular culture it birthed, which leads to the choice to use the atomic bomb at the end of World War II, killing myriads of human beings including the majority of the Catholic population who had been evangelising the island nation.
. . .We now have the ability to do so much and know so much and (we say) be so much. We have clean nuclear energy and electronic social networks and better machine guns and advanced medical procedures that save lives who would be lost in previous ages and new philosophies that feed from the old philosophies. But I perceive a confusion and a continuation of the chains that have been mystically feeding upon themselves, in recent centuries but new forms of the old human condition: we drink organic green tea for our health and then take birth control pills; we donate money to charities and then continue living in sin. A teenager commits suicide because of an oppressive reality that participates in the hopelessness that comes with the gradual deconstruction of modernity that historically needed to happen but still affects a life.
Here, I am not concerned with expressing the 'opposite', which is the continuing reality and 'solution.' -That is, the Incarnation and Real Presence of our God who is our salvation. Good is the Being in everything; evil is not an ontological reality. But an evil action will still murder your mother - and that will effect your life dramatically. In the same way, Christ's in-breaking into the world was, is still, and will be the continuing evidence of God's loving Sovereignty, yet we live in what is often called a 'post-Christian' era.
Here, we deal with things like this: Is it stupid to say that all our life-extensions and purchasing powers and technological leaps are distending humanity? On the other hand, is it 'witchcraft' or heresy to perform a heart surgery that saves a human's life? What is Babel? Where did it begin, where does it break into being? How do we speak about Babel? How do we engage ourselves in the Reality of Christ our Lord, who reveals the paper-thin claims of sovereignty that Babel makes for itself?
But, primarily, here is where I run into trouble in articulation. I see Babel. I can taste it and see it everywhere. And I can see God's judgment presently and in its eventual coming, its particular wrath against our culture. Yet how do we, with human eyes and hearts and minds, describe the invisible and demonic principalities and powers? Where do we draw the lines on the manifestations, around the manifestations? are all these things amoral or good or evil? In some sense, all technology is humanity's response to God's curse of labour; but is all technology therefore evil/sinister?
Technology is only one among many things at work within the aims of the invisible principalities; but it is something tangible that I can address . . . I think.
-r
25 November 2008
Standard Three
1. I have stopped photographing for Xanga because my camera is not really good enough quality for such an intricate experiment. But I do hope to continue handwriting at some point.
2. Blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek, blessed are the peacemakers. Universal realities strike me poignantly in fresh particularities; human brokenness/fallenness, for instance, strikes in one particular instance and reminds me of Christian truth. It wasn't anything particularly (in itself) poignant, but I have been recently and poignantly reminded that most of us human beings are broken in some way or another - broken, screwed up, screwed over, insecure, selfish, however you want to put it. I'm simply speaking of what exists, of what I have observed in myself and most of those around me - this is definitely not a universal, catch-all statement, though I have suspicion that there is something vaguely universal to it. This knowledge does not (hopefully) diminish the capacity to love, because the expressed brokenness is simply something of human lack - the brokenness behind a bully's taunts. However, this knowledge sometimes encounters me in a poignant way as it strikes out at another person, shakes me up a bit, and saddens me.
It seems each of us is generally a mixture of what-will/should-be-a-saint and the fallen creature in what is to the human mind largely indistinguishable elements; here's a simple example: in many social settings, I observe genuine and beautiful acquaintance/friendship with healthy conversation, with true charity and goodwill shared. At the same time, in any given group setting, with little element of transition between any 'good' or 'ill', there is something of an incessant posturing, something of deep hunger for affirmation expressed in odd ways, something of steam-rolling, sometimes pent-up rage or jealousy, sometimes gossip, etc. The two 'sides' - the saint, the sinner - go hand-in-hand, as the person is a platform of all these liturgical works happening at the same time. Often, that is to say, behind an empty posture or destructive word is an anointed person who may even be trying to love in some way or another.
In acknowledging this, I am reminded of the broken persons that Jesus Christ our Lord encountered. By and large, from what I can tell, everyone that our Lord encountered was broken, screwed up, insecure, selfish, and so forth. Yet it was those who had nothing to hold but their brokenness - no complacent cushions of social stability or social status or wealth - who were most willing and able to be forgiven and to forgive. These fools and children are the realists of the human race. Blessed are the meek, blessed are the poor in spirit - they are blessed. And blessed are the merciful.
3. Roman Ibis and Mrs. von Bora: My silly drama was obscure. Edward Morgan Blake - the 'Comedian' - is a brutal and sadistic 'hero' from the graphic novel (and now upcoming movie) Watchmen. Jon Osterman is the casual modernist; Rorschach is a rough-edged hero similar to the Comedian. Blake intrigues me insofar as he took himself so lightly (or perhaps too seriously, in a masturbatory way) that he really was a moral-minded person attempting to make a parody of the nihilistic violence of American culture. He took on the persona of violence as a sort of attempt at a parable - though there is more to his complex character than this summation. Similar comparisons could be made to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, whom various Christian sects cite as an example of acceptable Christian violence; according to what I've read and have heard from persons who know much about Bonhoeffer, the truth of the matter is that Bonhoeffer knew exactly what he was doing, and his hope was exactly the opposite of what everyone (now) wants to make out of it. He knew he would pay a price for his choice of violence, and he didn't glorify his choice. The Comedian seemed to know he would pay a price for his vigilantism.
The point being this: Sometimes things are not what they seem; sometimes persons who make a 'serious' point are not communicating on the surface of the action. I 'hit' your obscure conversation from an odd angle, but I think there is room for dialogue between the two. Then again, this is all still very obscure.
-r
19 November 2008
St. Agnes Smirks, St. Theodore Grabs a Torch. . .
| In working on classwork, I stumbled upon a commentary of Church Fathers which pointed me to someone else which led me to read about this person, who . . . and so on. St. Theodore of Amasea makes me smile broadly, and I'm sad this little snippet couldn't have come in a timely manner (his feast-day is 9 November). This is from NewAdvent.org's article on the matter, - and I'm not sure which is richer, St. Theodore or NewAdvent's austere treatment: 'When the edict against the Christians was issued by the emperors, [St. Theodore] was brought before the Court at Amasea and asked to offer sacrifice to the gods. Theodore, however, denied their existence and made a noble profession of his belief in the Divinity of Jesus Christ. The judges, pretending pity for his youth, gave him time for reflection. This he employed in burning the Temple of Cybele. He was again taken prisoner, and after many cruel torments was burned at the stake.' What can be added? -r |
14 November 2008
Apocalypticism, cont'd
This is perhaps a better, while second-hand, synopsis/answer regarding this fellow Stringfellow's setting of the tone for the [post-]modern apocalyptic vision; and, again, I find it interesting that someone who is so relatively uncelebrated by apocalypticists has actually cast such an influence on those of us who would seek to 'borrow' and continue the apocalyptic voice.
In answer to various previous questions here in previous years, this is something of what the 'apocalyptic perspective and voice' is about:
'. . . Stringfellow saw God's creation caught in a dramatic and final battle. Apocalyptic is but the name we give for the struggle to live in accordance with God's good creation as those who no longer have to fear death, baptized as we are into Christ's death and resurrection. We believe that is why Stringfellow was able to challenge our liberal idealism which assumed that if we could just get people of goodwill to work together, somehow we could solve our social problems. He knew that any such "solution" would be far too pale a response to the powers [and principalities] we confront. Yet exactly because he knew we were part of an apocalyptic drama, he never gave up hope despite his clear-eyed vision of the terrors of the struggle. The question was not whether as Christians we were going to accomplish much, but whether we were going to live faithfully.'
-From 'Creation as Apocalyptic' in Stanley Hauerwas's Dispatches from the Front
-r
In answer to various previous questions here in previous years, this is something of what the 'apocalyptic perspective and voice' is about:
'. . . Stringfellow saw God's creation caught in a dramatic and final battle. Apocalyptic is but the name we give for the struggle to live in accordance with God's good creation as those who no longer have to fear death, baptized as we are into Christ's death and resurrection. We believe that is why Stringfellow was able to challenge our liberal idealism which assumed that if we could just get people of goodwill to work together, somehow we could solve our social problems. He knew that any such "solution" would be far too pale a response to the powers [and principalities] we confront. Yet exactly because he knew we were part of an apocalyptic drama, he never gave up hope despite his clear-eyed vision of the terrors of the struggle. The question was not whether as Christians we were going to accomplish much, but whether we were going to live faithfully.'
-From 'Creation as Apocalyptic' in Stanley Hauerwas's Dispatches from the Front
-r
Apocalyptic Vision
In what little I've read of this fellow, he is intriguing to me. Like T.S. Eliot, he is apparently one of those persons who so participated in apocalyptic vision (and, particularly, re-embodied it in a modern context, set the present tone for it) that I already owe a great deal to him without even knowing him. It's always odd to find the persons who were dreaming something of what you thought were your dreams, and dreaming them in such vivid colours long before you were born - to the point that you can only assume your vision somehow, in some small way, exists only insofar as it participates in theirs.
'The problem of America as a nation, in biblical perspective, remains the elementary issue of repentance. . . . Topically, repentance is not about forswearing wickedness as such; repentance concerns the confession of vanity. For America - for any nation at any time - repentance means confessing blasphemy.'[1]
'From the point of view of either biblical religion, the monstrous American heresy is in thinking that the whole drama of history takes place between God and human beings. The truth, biblically and theologically and empirically, is quite otherwise: the drama of this history takes place amongst God and human beings and the principalities and powers, the great institutions and ideologies active in the world. It's the corruption and shallowness of humanism which beguiles Jew or Christian into believing that human beings are masters of institutions or ideology. Or to put it a bit differently, racism is not an evil in human hearts or minds: racism is a principality, a demonic power, a representative image, an embodiment of death over which human beings have little or no control, but which works its awful influence over human life.'[2]
'Rejecting the suggestion that Christ's "resistance and renunciation of temptation to political authority" on Palm Sunday counsels political quietism, Stringfellow wrote:
["]Quite the contrary, it is the example of utter and radical involvement in the existence of the world, an involvement which does not retreat even in the face of the awful power of death. The counsel of Palm Sunday is that Christians are free to enter into the depths of the world's existence with nothing to offer the world but their own lives. And this is to be taken literally. What the Christian has to give to the world is his very life.["]'[3]
'"The truly apocalyptic view of the world is that things do not repeat themselves. It isn't absurd, e.g., to believe that the age of science and technology is the beginning of the end for humanity; that the idea of great progress is a delusion, along with the idea that the truth will ultimately be known; that there is nothing good or desirable about scientific knowledge and that mankind, in seeking it, is falling into a trap. It is by no means obvious that this is not how things are.'[4]
-r
[1]From p.230 of Politics and Spirituality [1984] by William Stringfellow
[2]From William Stringfellow's 1963 address to the Religion and Race Conference, as quoted by Bill Wylie-Kellermann in the article 'In One Another's Light: Reading King and Stringfellow'
[3]From p.113 of Dispatches from the Front [1994] by Stanley Hauerwas
[4]From Culture and Value by Ludwig Wittgenstein
'The problem of America as a nation, in biblical perspective, remains the elementary issue of repentance. . . . Topically, repentance is not about forswearing wickedness as such; repentance concerns the confession of vanity. For America - for any nation at any time - repentance means confessing blasphemy.'[1]
'From the point of view of either biblical religion, the monstrous American heresy is in thinking that the whole drama of history takes place between God and human beings. The truth, biblically and theologically and empirically, is quite otherwise: the drama of this history takes place amongst God and human beings and the principalities and powers, the great institutions and ideologies active in the world. It's the corruption and shallowness of humanism which beguiles Jew or Christian into believing that human beings are masters of institutions or ideology. Or to put it a bit differently, racism is not an evil in human hearts or minds: racism is a principality, a demonic power, a representative image, an embodiment of death over which human beings have little or no control, but which works its awful influence over human life.'[2]
'Rejecting the suggestion that Christ's "resistance and renunciation of temptation to political authority" on Palm Sunday counsels political quietism, Stringfellow wrote:
["]Quite the contrary, it is the example of utter and radical involvement in the existence of the world, an involvement which does not retreat even in the face of the awful power of death. The counsel of Palm Sunday is that Christians are free to enter into the depths of the world's existence with nothing to offer the world but their own lives. And this is to be taken literally. What the Christian has to give to the world is his very life.["]'[3]
'"The truly apocalyptic view of the world is that things do not repeat themselves. It isn't absurd, e.g., to believe that the age of science and technology is the beginning of the end for humanity; that the idea of great progress is a delusion, along with the idea that the truth will ultimately be known; that there is nothing good or desirable about scientific knowledge and that mankind, in seeking it, is falling into a trap. It is by no means obvious that this is not how things are.'[4]
-r
[1]From p.230 of Politics and Spirituality [1984] by William Stringfellow
[2]From William Stringfellow's 1963 address to the Religion and Race Conference, as quoted by Bill Wylie-Kellermann in the article 'In One Another's Light: Reading King and Stringfellow'
[3]From p.113 of Dispatches from the Front [1994] by Stanley Hauerwas
[4]From Culture and Value by Ludwig Wittgenstein
12 November 2008
Autumn at Trevecca (photos from 3 November)
In racing around campus in a cart, fixing machinery and holding tools, I couldn't help but notice Trevecca's participation in Autumn. I was able to get these pictures before the landscaping brigades swept through with their leaf-blowers.
...
...
-r
08 November 2008
Against the Fashionable Heresies
I'm currently working full-steam ahead on a seminar that a partner and I will be teaching on Stanley Hauerwas. In the course of reading loads of his stuff, the pieces finally came together for me in how to explain why it is that I'm growing weary of reading protestant theological writing, particularly (for reasons that will be explained) the writing of the 'emergent' church and neo-protestant variety.
To put it in a nutshell, a synopsis, it's the same old protestant writing, only dressed up in different clothing. It's like protestant churches that strap on an image of liturgy without embodying the theology that organically created those beautiful churches and liturgies. The only difference I've found, ultimately, is that several of those writing neo-protestant theology have more hubris than the average protestant in being able to 'out-protest' their peers - that is, in being able to distinguish themselves not only from the Catholic Church but now also from the other protestant ecclesial communities. Yet what is it about [neo-]protestant theological writing that bugs me now? why did this sort of theology seem so rich to me in the past?
'If the LORD Does not Build the House. . .'
Protestant theology isolates Jesus unto Himself and comes close to succumbing (if it does not eventually succumb to) a sort of Docetism and Gnosticism - diminishing-to-nonexistent Jesus' humanity and treating physicality/particularity as evil. Neo-protestant theology ends up unknowingly effecting the same Docetic/Gnostic outcome but sometimes manages to throw in a little more pride as well. As Karl Barth correctly suggests in his Church Dogmatics, Jesus should be acknowledged as the undisputed centre of salvation and the Gospel. The 'emergent' church and other neo-protestant theological flavours have embraced Jesus' humanity, often to the point of even emphasising the importance of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Yet these movements continue to slice Jesus apart from His human context as it extends through the particular Church. The problem with this, as I will gradually explain, is more than just this framing, but the framing is evidence of and contributor to the heretical picture within it.
These writers and thinkers - these people - do not let our Lord Jesus Christ, His works, and His actions make literal statement for themselves as the true and complete Gospel - particularly God's selecting of a certain Virgin, Jesus' selecting twelve particular apostles, and Jesus' living among the Church He was establishing and His talking again and again (especially toward the end) about the Holy Spirit and Christ's ministry through the Church as it would take shape. Instead, disappointed in the massive failure of protestant theology to manifest anything, these writers seek to reform protestantism; they read from their own idealisms and concepts and search for the words in His mouth. Hence, Jesus taught a certain ideal community that transcends particularities, and we are to be the Church by being the ecclesial community of Christ that attaches ourselves to the ideals of Christ and lives by these ideals and principles. It's protestantism realising that works are important in the life of the Christian, but somehow (and some of the writers grow frustrated with this) it's not enough.
The reader may wonder: what is so heretical about these teachings of ideals and transcendence? What are we to say of Jesus as the centre of the Church? What about His call to follow Him and obey what He taught? What are we to say of the Kingdom of God which transcends earthly kingdoms? What are we to say of His disciples' and even apostles' oblivious and contradictory attitudes toward Christ? Jesus is the centre of the Church, let us agree, if we are saying that He is in Himself the fulfillment and full embodiment of the Kingdom of God, the nexus and indwelling of God's Will/Word as the very God and very Man. Let us also agree that He called us to live as citizens of a transcendent Kingdom, and that we are called to something beyond earthly kingdoms. Let us finally acknowledge that the disciples and apostles took every opportunity they seemed to be able to take in order to miss Jesus' boat. Yet, all this said, we are still citizens who are living on earth and in a particular physicality. We are also not saved simply by our adherence to ideals, nor saved on the power of our good works. Jesus did not set out to establish a jingoistic motto but a Church, and He who had all authority in heaven and earth exercised all authority in the commissioning of His apostles and disciples to carry out Himself to the world.
John 6: An Ikon, within which We Find an All-too-familiar Drama
The mistake of the 'emergent' church and neo-protestant gnostics and arians is the same as that of the idealists in our Lord Jesus' ranks as spoken of in John 6. When Jesus the Lord of us teaches a very startling, very particular, and somewhat quaint notion - a little piece of doggerel about eating His flesh and drinking His blood in order to live - many of the Jews in the synagogue seek clarification. But Jesus the Lord of us does not clarify what must have been elaborate and figurative and idealistic proposition that deserves volumes of theological writing to explain away and yet only receives a few words in such protestant volumes. Our Lord Jesus simply teaches it again in His stark, literal, and embodied way, and consequently many of His disciples decide to leave His Presence. His words did not have the idealistic, figurative vestments they would have preferred in such radical teaching. In the same way, protestants and neo-protestants leave His Presence and walk at a distance due to the difficult teaching.
Here is where we come to the crux of the matter. Jesus Christ turns to the Twelve and asks, 'You do not also want to go away, do you?' And St. Peter answers, 'Lord, to whom else would we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have believed and have come to know that You are the Holy One of God.'
Many of the Twelve, if not all of them, were idealists; I find a bit of comfort in this, as an idealist, that there is room in the Kingdom even for us and our visions. A quick look around within the Holy Church (particularly in America) will reveal a serious need for major reforms - but reform in the Chestertonian sense and not 'reform' of neo-protestantism's boring, dull, violent, incongruous, and merely idealistic flavour. As T.S. Eliot writes in his 'Choruses from "The Rock"', 'And if the Temple is to be cast down / We must first build the Temple.' I would say that we need to live in the Temple and know the God of the Temple before we start tearing down the Temple.
And there is the joke and tragedy of protestant and neo-protestant theology. I suspect many of these writers would rather Christ not have come in the flesh, they would rather He not have established the particular Church - and all of this is done for the love of Him. But He did exactly this, came and established and sent the Spirit, and it is ultimately no love to sigh and pine and do violence to Him in order to 'save' Him from the snickering caricatures of Constantine and Gregory the Great. Neo-protestant theological writers wax lengthily about the Church as an 'ecclesial space for peace' or 'the community of breaking bread' and so forth - endless sterile constructions within which the Church is supposedly supposed to find its meaning. But why 'the community of breaking bread'? what's so great about bread, divorced to itself? These people have historically left the Real Presence and the very particular and singular Church that Christ sent forth, and are henceforth out in the wilderness of their self-appointed exile sending us dispatches in smoke-signals and notes written in handfuls of dust.
Meanwhile, the organic Growth that Jesus established has (as His parable mysteriously suggested) grown and filled the world. There is a rich history of theological meditations to thrive in and do novel work within; theological writing is good so long as it finds root in the organic reality of Christ and His Bride. It's these disembodied abstractions and shots in the dark that are driving me crazy.
-r
To put it in a nutshell, a synopsis, it's the same old protestant writing, only dressed up in different clothing. It's like protestant churches that strap on an image of liturgy without embodying the theology that organically created those beautiful churches and liturgies. The only difference I've found, ultimately, is that several of those writing neo-protestant theology have more hubris than the average protestant in being able to 'out-protest' their peers - that is, in being able to distinguish themselves not only from the Catholic Church but now also from the other protestant ecclesial communities. Yet what is it about [neo-]protestant theological writing that bugs me now? why did this sort of theology seem so rich to me in the past?
'If the LORD Does not Build the House. . .'
Protestant theology isolates Jesus unto Himself and comes close to succumbing (if it does not eventually succumb to) a sort of Docetism and Gnosticism - diminishing-to-nonexistent Jesus' humanity and treating physicality/particularity as evil. Neo-protestant theology ends up unknowingly effecting the same Docetic/Gnostic outcome but sometimes manages to throw in a little more pride as well. As Karl Barth correctly suggests in his Church Dogmatics, Jesus should be acknowledged as the undisputed centre of salvation and the Gospel. The 'emergent' church and other neo-protestant theological flavours have embraced Jesus' humanity, often to the point of even emphasising the importance of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Yet these movements continue to slice Jesus apart from His human context as it extends through the particular Church. The problem with this, as I will gradually explain, is more than just this framing, but the framing is evidence of and contributor to the heretical picture within it.
These writers and thinkers - these people - do not let our Lord Jesus Christ, His works, and His actions make literal statement for themselves as the true and complete Gospel - particularly God's selecting of a certain Virgin, Jesus' selecting twelve particular apostles, and Jesus' living among the Church He was establishing and His talking again and again (especially toward the end) about the Holy Spirit and Christ's ministry through the Church as it would take shape. Instead, disappointed in the massive failure of protestant theology to manifest anything, these writers seek to reform protestantism; they read from their own idealisms and concepts and search for the words in His mouth. Hence, Jesus taught a certain ideal community that transcends particularities, and we are to be the Church by being the ecclesial community of Christ that attaches ourselves to the ideals of Christ and lives by these ideals and principles. It's protestantism realising that works are important in the life of the Christian, but somehow (and some of the writers grow frustrated with this) it's not enough.
The reader may wonder: what is so heretical about these teachings of ideals and transcendence? What are we to say of Jesus as the centre of the Church? What about His call to follow Him and obey what He taught? What are we to say of the Kingdom of God which transcends earthly kingdoms? What are we to say of His disciples' and even apostles' oblivious and contradictory attitudes toward Christ? Jesus is the centre of the Church, let us agree, if we are saying that He is in Himself the fulfillment and full embodiment of the Kingdom of God, the nexus and indwelling of God's Will/Word as the very God and very Man. Let us also agree that He called us to live as citizens of a transcendent Kingdom, and that we are called to something beyond earthly kingdoms. Let us finally acknowledge that the disciples and apostles took every opportunity they seemed to be able to take in order to miss Jesus' boat. Yet, all this said, we are still citizens who are living on earth and in a particular physicality. We are also not saved simply by our adherence to ideals, nor saved on the power of our good works. Jesus did not set out to establish a jingoistic motto but a Church, and He who had all authority in heaven and earth exercised all authority in the commissioning of His apostles and disciples to carry out Himself to the world.
John 6: An Ikon, within which We Find an All-too-familiar Drama
The mistake of the 'emergent' church and neo-protestant gnostics and arians is the same as that of the idealists in our Lord Jesus' ranks as spoken of in John 6. When Jesus the Lord of us teaches a very startling, very particular, and somewhat quaint notion - a little piece of doggerel about eating His flesh and drinking His blood in order to live - many of the Jews in the synagogue seek clarification. But Jesus the Lord of us does not clarify what must have been elaborate and figurative and idealistic proposition that deserves volumes of theological writing to explain away and yet only receives a few words in such protestant volumes. Our Lord Jesus simply teaches it again in His stark, literal, and embodied way, and consequently many of His disciples decide to leave His Presence. His words did not have the idealistic, figurative vestments they would have preferred in such radical teaching. In the same way, protestants and neo-protestants leave His Presence and walk at a distance due to the difficult teaching.
Here is where we come to the crux of the matter. Jesus Christ turns to the Twelve and asks, 'You do not also want to go away, do you?' And St. Peter answers, 'Lord, to whom else would we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have believed and have come to know that You are the Holy One of God.'
Many of the Twelve, if not all of them, were idealists; I find a bit of comfort in this, as an idealist, that there is room in the Kingdom even for us and our visions. A quick look around within the Holy Church (particularly in America) will reveal a serious need for major reforms - but reform in the Chestertonian sense and not 'reform' of neo-protestantism's boring, dull, violent, incongruous, and merely idealistic flavour. As T.S. Eliot writes in his 'Choruses from "The Rock"', 'And if the Temple is to be cast down / We must first build the Temple.' I would say that we need to live in the Temple and know the God of the Temple before we start tearing down the Temple.
And there is the joke and tragedy of protestant and neo-protestant theology. I suspect many of these writers would rather Christ not have come in the flesh, they would rather He not have established the particular Church - and all of this is done for the love of Him. But He did exactly this, came and established and sent the Spirit, and it is ultimately no love to sigh and pine and do violence to Him in order to 'save' Him from the snickering caricatures of Constantine and Gregory the Great. Neo-protestant theological writers wax lengthily about the Church as an 'ecclesial space for peace' or 'the community of breaking bread' and so forth - endless sterile constructions within which the Church is supposedly supposed to find its meaning. But why 'the community of breaking bread'? what's so great about bread, divorced to itself? These people have historically left the Real Presence and the very particular and singular Church that Christ sent forth, and are henceforth out in the wilderness of their self-appointed exile sending us dispatches in smoke-signals and notes written in handfuls of dust.
Meanwhile, the organic Growth that Jesus established has (as His parable mysteriously suggested) grown and filled the world. There is a rich history of theological meditations to thrive in and do novel work within; theological writing is good so long as it finds root in the organic reality of Christ and His Bride. It's these disembodied abstractions and shots in the dark that are driving me crazy.
-r
21 October 2008
09 October 2008
01 October 2008
H' Polis Technou
A: Write
(We live relatively near the Nashville Motor Speedway. . .)
(My line of work. . .)
B: Gesture Parable
(We live relatively near the Nashville Motor Speedway. . .)
(My line of work. . .)
B: Gesture Parable
20 September 2008
19 September 2008
Still Looking for Doors: Real Holiness, Real Presence
Well, the attempt at true, real realism is slow in coming to fruition; again, eventually I intend to scan images of handwritten entries for any of this frivolous blog-writing. It's a long story that isn't the least bit interesting here. In any case, something in heart/mind/soul clicked for me near the end of these week-long seminar classes (this latter class dealing with the Thessalonian correspondence).
Inspired by the love, fortitude, and patience of my dear patron, I continue to play out bridgework in my head and seek doorways, looking for the small ways to allow the doors to open a few inches wider - or at least looking to slide something under the closed doors. There is already a hushed-up, steady trickle of Nazarenes who are being reconciled to the Church, generally without any Catholic 'evangelism', and there is promise of the floodgates gradually bursting in some way at some point. I'm in the process of writing a little booklet (with all the other writing projects) that helps build a bridge and perhaps hint at why so many Nazarenes so easily find a home in the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church.
To keep it concise here, I have noticed a stark contrast in Nazarene holiness theology with that of most other protestant holiness theologies (or lack of such a disciplined, dogmatic theology thereof). Nazarene holiness theology does affirm and dogmatically defend something that the vast majority of protestant 'ecclesial communities' deny and repudiate. Namely, the Nazarene denomination affirms and defends the biblical notion that real, complete purification from the power of sin is an authentic possibility and reality in the present life. While many protestant denominations/groups want to keep things simple and disparate in a sort of neo-Gnosticism that denies any escape from sin 'in this present physical life', the Nazarene denomination at least goes so far as to uphold and teach its doctrine of entire sanctification.
Now, even this Nazarene belief ultimately plays itself out in various ways that (*left to themselves*) are simplistic, incomplete, and unhelpful; however, it is indeed notable and beautiful that the Nazarene denomination has protected and dogmatised a foothold that most other protestant groups have altogether missed, ignored, or squashed. This reveals itself to be an important foothold as it begins to colour one's understanding of our Lord Jesus Christ and His Incarnation. Protestantism in general has sustained a fetish for pushing God back into His kingdom of heaven, a penchant for avoiding the actual nasty details of Holy Scripture (e.g. the Great Commission, Paul's view of sanctification, etc.), almost reluctantly noting the humanity of our Lord, and celebrating His eventual return, but forcefully and bitterly rejecting any image of Christ or the Kingdom *beginning to be incarnated in our midst even now.* It seems to me that this is a sort of inherited distaste for the Catholic view of the Church as the literal Body of Christ, the Catholic view of Sacrament, etc. It is such a bitter distaste that it even ironically rejects what our Lord Jesus Christ had to say about the matter, as recorded in Holy Scripture.
In any case, while other protestant groups seal themselves off, the Nazarene denomination allows room for belief that God can and does presently break into our world in a real, meaningful way. In Catholic hindsight, I can see that the Article of Faith entitled 'Entire Sanctification' might as well be called something like 'The Sacrament of Confirmation Lite,' because the Catholic Sacrament actually embodies and completes what the Wesleyan wanderings hungrily and openly seek. Of course, it is much more technical than that (Wesley fixed dogma inside of charisma instead of vice-versa), but my point is clear. The point is that Nazarenes have acknowledged this reality.
The case can best be made by a case-in-point - an actual, particular embodiment. As a Nazarene, I desired to please God. I desired to love the LORD our God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength, to be truly holy as the LORD our God is holy. I cast my lots with the Nazarene denomination because it spoke of the hope of a real holiness; I sought this authentic, real holiness. What I ended up discovering is that in order to be the most pleasing Christian/Nazarene to God, I must be a Catholic, because Nazarene denomination derives any substance or grace from a lingering Presence outside the denomination. The hunger and thirst for real righteousness is a good hunger and thirst, and that hunger and thirst for Real Holiness finds its ultimate fulfilment in kneeling at the altar at the feet of the Real Presence.
(Lord, we are not worthy to receive Thee, but only say the word and we shall be healed.)
-r
Inspired by the love, fortitude, and patience of my dear patron, I continue to play out bridgework in my head and seek doorways, looking for the small ways to allow the doors to open a few inches wider - or at least looking to slide something under the closed doors. There is already a hushed-up, steady trickle of Nazarenes who are being reconciled to the Church, generally without any Catholic 'evangelism', and there is promise of the floodgates gradually bursting in some way at some point. I'm in the process of writing a little booklet (with all the other writing projects) that helps build a bridge and perhaps hint at why so many Nazarenes so easily find a home in the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church.
To keep it concise here, I have noticed a stark contrast in Nazarene holiness theology with that of most other protestant holiness theologies (or lack of such a disciplined, dogmatic theology thereof). Nazarene holiness theology does affirm and dogmatically defend something that the vast majority of protestant 'ecclesial communities' deny and repudiate. Namely, the Nazarene denomination affirms and defends the biblical notion that real, complete purification from the power of sin is an authentic possibility and reality in the present life. While many protestant denominations/groups want to keep things simple and disparate in a sort of neo-Gnosticism that denies any escape from sin 'in this present physical life', the Nazarene denomination at least goes so far as to uphold and teach its doctrine of entire sanctification.
Now, even this Nazarene belief ultimately plays itself out in various ways that (*left to themselves*) are simplistic, incomplete, and unhelpful; however, it is indeed notable and beautiful that the Nazarene denomination has protected and dogmatised a foothold that most other protestant groups have altogether missed, ignored, or squashed. This reveals itself to be an important foothold as it begins to colour one's understanding of our Lord Jesus Christ and His Incarnation. Protestantism in general has sustained a fetish for pushing God back into His kingdom of heaven, a penchant for avoiding the actual nasty details of Holy Scripture (e.g. the Great Commission, Paul's view of sanctification, etc.), almost reluctantly noting the humanity of our Lord, and celebrating His eventual return, but forcefully and bitterly rejecting any image of Christ or the Kingdom *beginning to be incarnated in our midst even now.* It seems to me that this is a sort of inherited distaste for the Catholic view of the Church as the literal Body of Christ, the Catholic view of Sacrament, etc. It is such a bitter distaste that it even ironically rejects what our Lord Jesus Christ had to say about the matter, as recorded in Holy Scripture.
In any case, while other protestant groups seal themselves off, the Nazarene denomination allows room for belief that God can and does presently break into our world in a real, meaningful way. In Catholic hindsight, I can see that the Article of Faith entitled 'Entire Sanctification' might as well be called something like 'The Sacrament of Confirmation Lite,' because the Catholic Sacrament actually embodies and completes what the Wesleyan wanderings hungrily and openly seek. Of course, it is much more technical than that (Wesley fixed dogma inside of charisma instead of vice-versa), but my point is clear. The point is that Nazarenes have acknowledged this reality.
The case can best be made by a case-in-point - an actual, particular embodiment. As a Nazarene, I desired to please God. I desired to love the LORD our God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength, to be truly holy as the LORD our God is holy. I cast my lots with the Nazarene denomination because it spoke of the hope of a real holiness; I sought this authentic, real holiness. What I ended up discovering is that in order to be the most pleasing Christian/Nazarene to God, I must be a Catholic, because Nazarene denomination derives any substance or grace from a lingering Presence outside the denomination. The hunger and thirst for real righteousness is a good hunger and thirst, and that hunger and thirst for Real Holiness finds its ultimate fulfilment in kneeling at the altar at the feet of the Real Presence.
(Lord, we are not worthy to receive Thee, but only say the word and we shall be healed.)
-r
23 August 2008
This
Didn't have a scanner readily available for this 'project,' or else I would have simply begun my quirky notion instead of writing about it (yuck!). The Sacrament and who He is, is slowly spilling His consequences into all areas of my life, as the literal notion of 'sacrament' would seem to suggest - a symbol/embodiment that bridges and embodies realities beyond its immediate self.
. . .But enough of that for now. BASICALLY, without long explanation here, I've decided to hand-write the novel (I have yet to get beyond outlines) and, in the throes of this passion, decided to hand-write anymore entries that may come along in this weird and ethereal 'blog' thing. O God of Progress: you may try so hard to be something horrific and shoddy and sterile, but there are ways to subvert you into something oddly and particularly beautiful.
. . .A meaty recipe along these lines, a juicy personal pipe-dream for some distant future: Pull together a group of people as though for a drama and make a nuanced, solid world/situation/'stage' as well as character sketches for deep, authentic characters. Each actor-of-sorts takes home a written hand-out describing the world/situation/stage as well as the respective character sketch. Simmer and stir, dialogue is encouraged. Reconvene in a month and hire a stenographer for the occasion. Create the story in a session or sessions, and with each person speaking in character. At the end of the process, pay the stenographer, thank her/him, and receive the manuscript. Copy as necessary, staple, do whatever EXCEPT any content editing, give to whomever.
-r
. . .But enough of that for now. BASICALLY, without long explanation here, I've decided to hand-write the novel (I have yet to get beyond outlines) and, in the throes of this passion, decided to hand-write anymore entries that may come along in this weird and ethereal 'blog' thing. O God of Progress: you may try so hard to be something horrific and shoddy and sterile, but there are ways to subvert you into something oddly and particularly beautiful.
. . .A meaty recipe along these lines, a juicy personal pipe-dream for some distant future: Pull together a group of people as though for a drama and make a nuanced, solid world/situation/'stage' as well as character sketches for deep, authentic characters. Each actor-of-sorts takes home a written hand-out describing the world/situation/stage as well as the respective character sketch. Simmer and stir, dialogue is encouraged. Reconvene in a month and hire a stenographer for the occasion. Create the story in a session or sessions, and with each person speaking in character. At the end of the process, pay the stenographer, thank her/him, and receive the manuscript. Copy as necessary, staple, do whatever EXCEPT any content editing, give to whomever.
-r
18 August 2008
Icarus and His Winged Condom
The greatest tragedy is not
That of the human sins
Screamed from the pulpits
But that of happily left alone doggy-doors for rot
-Rot, redefined,
Assigned a place between the temples,
Clean forehead, palms, fingertips,
Soapy mouths, and hair parts
Of a corpse;
Suds sundered, brow parted,
Open hands to the south
All stripped
Of any remorse.
Behold, the Soap
That will wipe away the Sin of the world
Before Lamb can;
Behold the Rope, the caking Blood
That we refuse to call a bleeding
Out [gurgggle. . .];
So we eat the cotton
And we pray for God's blessing
To the nourishment of our bodies
So we can wear the cake
And reheat it, too,
To the sundering of our souls.
Icarus with his winged condom
Weeps over a melt-down dying home;
Jezebel and her question-mark hair dyes
Gnashes at God for the baldness gene.
-r
That of the human sins
Screamed from the pulpits
But that of happily left alone doggy-doors for rot
-Rot, redefined,
Assigned a place between the temples,
Clean forehead, palms, fingertips,
Soapy mouths, and hair parts
Of a corpse;
Suds sundered, brow parted,
Open hands to the south
All stripped
Of any remorse.
Behold, the Soap
That will wipe away the Sin of the world
Before Lamb can;
Behold the Rope, the caking Blood
That we refuse to call a bleeding
Out [gurgggle. . .];
So we eat the cotton
And we pray for God's blessing
To the nourishment of our bodies
So we can wear the cake
And reheat it, too,
To the sundering of our souls.
Icarus with his winged condom
Weeps over a melt-down dying home;
Jezebel and her question-mark hair dyes
Gnashes at God for the baldness gene.
-r
13 August 2008
Blacksmith
A yawn so wide and so much it hurts
Too much for a throat to swallow
I have been all or none, gape or shut,
Brooding in the dark corners of the deepest rooms
Or baring so much it rips the corners,
The dark, the yawn
Of a tragically self-reliant soul
An iron slab sundered and warped inward
Under past absolute melting points and the lip-cracking kiln
Until he now, stabilised, lives out the daily liturgy:
The eternally terminal inward curve
Or bites off parts unprofitably in protest, shatters outward, flailing in all angles.
Enter the Blacksmith, who is not I nor a sheer act of mine:
I would be cold statue or lit gunpowder,
Unstable, instant arrival at one, gape or freeze,
But it seems she will linger and arrive again gingerly at the city limits,
Hair clippings perhaps shedding, mystery, her giggling,
All that is mine gladly slid to the floor,
Her drifting back into the eyes' horizons,
Reaching to hold hands with the woad war-paint man
With his hasty fuse madly lit over the gunpowder that is a moment;
She defuses him with her hands' warmth
And her laugh
And the lesson of her moment.
Please, tell me more; teach me more;
Iron art slowly warms;
I am beginning to tarry.
-r
Too much for a throat to swallow
I have been all or none, gape or shut,
Brooding in the dark corners of the deepest rooms
Or baring so much it rips the corners,
The dark, the yawn
Of a tragically self-reliant soul
An iron slab sundered and warped inward
Under past absolute melting points and the lip-cracking kiln
Until he now, stabilised, lives out the daily liturgy:
The eternally terminal inward curve
Or bites off parts unprofitably in protest, shatters outward, flailing in all angles.
Enter the Blacksmith, who is not I nor a sheer act of mine:
I would be cold statue or lit gunpowder,
Unstable, instant arrival at one, gape or freeze,
But it seems she will linger and arrive again gingerly at the city limits,
Hair clippings perhaps shedding, mystery, her giggling,
All that is mine gladly slid to the floor,
Her drifting back into the eyes' horizons,
Reaching to hold hands with the woad war-paint man
With his hasty fuse madly lit over the gunpowder that is a moment;
She defuses him with her hands' warmth
And her laugh
And the lesson of her moment.
Please, tell me more; teach me more;
Iron art slowly warms;
I am beginning to tarry.
-r
11 August 2008
2 for Mystery, 0 for Empiricals
--
I had
Stumbled upon
Someone else's poesis,
Staged from the pregnant dawn when time first trickled out,
Stage
NASHVILLE, who whispers discontent
UNION STATION, quietly anticipating
THE TRAIN, asleep, sun-down on her anger
THE TRACKS
SUNSET
THE STORM, brooding unseen in the backdrop
THE NORTH
Staged,
Not yet framed, not as yet created
In that first dawn of time's spilling out,
But a mind's eye hinting at
The Eyes,
The Being of supreme Imagination
Who can conceive every
Stage, Drama,
Conceived and Conceivable,
Always embodied everywhere;
But often lost to the finite, fretful eye, a
Glimmer of this cosmic tin occasionally flickers in the river.
NASHVILLE--
A few minutes early, I
Decide, haphazardly, to light
Up on the patio behind
Union Station by
The train tracks.
UNION STATION--
Intangibly, I could sense
A dark energy wafting incensed
From the North, an unsettled cosmic exchange, when
The train cracked
CLACK
(Shudder,Shudder--)
A taste of burning metal
Shrouded sunset and half-hidden silk moon
Slapped clattering against
The dark violet front of the North
Lightning, flash lightning, violence,
Sharp bolts
Steady moan of the violin train and tracks
White light and sparking off
Union Station's cold granite gol gothic facade,
A cosmic conversation, cobalt and granite seraphims.
Shock
Melts into a throbbing unfolding,
Train squealing on,
Train squealing, squealing, on,
Storm rolling in, arriving,
Smoke puffing backward against my intentions,
A cosmic conversation, cobalt and granite seraphims.
--I had stumbled
--I had stumbled upon
--Go away,
Go away from me, LORD,
I am sinful.
--
Which came first,
Water, Thirst?
Drops lance down the window,
Comets, weave:
'Will this drop intersect that drop?'
The Interrupter makes it out as a horoscope.
But
Moved beyond awe or games into bared horoscope,
No snowflake imitating,
No drop intersecting alike in a test-tube,
No test-tube,
No test,
There will remain unknown yet a rhythm
Or cosmic Smile playing pots and pans.
I had
Stumbled upon
Someone else's poesis,
Staged from the pregnant dawn when time first trickled out,
Stage
NASHVILLE, who whispers discontent
UNION STATION, quietly anticipating
THE TRAIN, asleep, sun-down on her anger
THE TRACKS
SUNSET
THE STORM, brooding unseen in the backdrop
THE NORTH
Staged,
Not yet framed, not as yet created
In that first dawn of time's spilling out,
But a mind's eye hinting at
The Eyes,
The Being of supreme Imagination
Who can conceive every
Stage, Drama,
Conceived and Conceivable,
Always embodied everywhere;
But often lost to the finite, fretful eye, a
Glimmer of this cosmic tin occasionally flickers in the river.
NASHVILLE--
A few minutes early, I
Decide, haphazardly, to light
Up on the patio behind
Union Station by
The train tracks.
UNION STATION--
Intangibly, I could sense
A dark energy wafting incensed
From the North, an unsettled cosmic exchange, when
The train cracked
CLACK
(Shudder,Shudder--)
A taste of burning metal
Shrouded sunset and half-hidden silk moon
Slapped clattering against
The dark violet front of the North
Lightning, flash lightning, violence,
Sharp bolts
Steady moan of the violin train and tracks
White light and sparking off
Union Station's cold granite gol gothic facade,
A cosmic conversation, cobalt and granite seraphims.
Shock
Melts into a throbbing unfolding,
Train squealing on,
Train squealing, squealing, on,
Storm rolling in, arriving,
Smoke puffing backward against my intentions,
A cosmic conversation, cobalt and granite seraphims.
--I had stumbled
--I had stumbled upon
--Go away,
Go away from me, LORD,
I am sinful.
--
Which came first,
Water, Thirst?
Drops lance down the window,
Comets, weave:
'Will this drop intersect that drop?'
The Interrupter makes it out as a horoscope.
But
Moved beyond awe or games into bared horoscope,
No snowflake imitating,
No drop intersecting alike in a test-tube,
No test-tube,
No test,
There will remain unknown yet a rhythm
Or cosmic Smile playing pots and pans.
05 August 2008
Leviathan Has Attention Deficit Disorder
(Leviathan does not typically carry two forms of I.D.
And will not wait in D.O.T. lines forever.)
. . .When the wasps first lit on the awning
In the first light of the dawn of spring,
We continued to open our windows and spanked our children's talking-back asses raw,
Getting them out of our hair and into the out-of-doors.
(The wasps invited more.)
-Good old Amos!
Amos burned an American flag in the Capitol building
And refused to serve the mandatory community service
And did not apologise to the troops or minorities in mandatory written form
And did not laugh at the cued jokes
And did not sacrifice his head at the altar of the omniscient Stages of Development
And did not trim his hair according to medical breakthroughs
And did not set forth according to the captain of industry's maps, and
Said instead, 'Mr. Mayor Incarnate, Mrs. State Secretary, - the Flood will make a statuary
Out of them, out of us, on that day She interrupts and arrives.
Heavy-chested, in hives, our dam-workers will have had their fill of woes in
Our negligence we have summoned a sigh rise forth,
We tease our pearly-eyed inviting women in the south whilst from the North
Back-burner pots even now bubble over to sleepy shadows, and the
Toothy fed feasts of ours remove fear of the Waters rising in the West.
Clammy-eyed, those dam-workers can't continue to hold all our woes.'
(The wasps have even now disappeared amid, within the awning)
'For our centuries, we have thrust our City down in the "valley"
And made the "valley" all ours;
When the time falls ripe, the River will come to lay claim Her bed,
And She shall only know in her heart that She has been meant
To sleep in Her bed (our "valley"),
Even as Leviathan disregards any hooks or screams in his next drumstick meal
-These ant legs on Her bed
She does not comprehend
-But She feels the rhythm of the Order of Vocations,
She has always known Her bed well.
'Bid farewell to this present house, children-
So I say, and you laugh, and your hands shield your temples from me.
Leviathan can't be hooked and flashed forever.
When will we hear? will you see?
For we have already woven wasps within
All walls, and swallowed Leviathan goldfish with giggles;
But these are our new walls, dammed "valley"
-Because we disliked the hue of the old walls
That are still in our place by the river bed
-Because we preferred Her bed to our own
And forsook the gentle Stream in Her bed
-But these are our news walls, dammed "valley",
That were made out of negligence, bile, wasp eggs . . .'
(Dregs and smiley clanks await and are summoned for silly Amos profusely;
We still hum, doubt; new
News bulletins flee from the Bells that might - that have just now sounded the toll:)
'When will we hear? will you see?
-Who me? but I do love the City,
but I love the River who loves Her valley,
I do love the Name who set our City.'
-r
And will not wait in D.O.T. lines forever.)
. . .When the wasps first lit on the awning
In the first light of the dawn of spring,
We continued to open our windows and spanked our children's talking-back asses raw,
Getting them out of our hair and into the out-of-doors.
(The wasps invited more.)
-Good old Amos!
Amos burned an American flag in the Capitol building
And refused to serve the mandatory community service
And did not apologise to the troops or minorities in mandatory written form
And did not laugh at the cued jokes
And did not sacrifice his head at the altar of the omniscient Stages of Development
And did not trim his hair according to medical breakthroughs
And did not set forth according to the captain of industry's maps, and
Said instead, 'Mr. Mayor Incarnate, Mrs. State Secretary, - the Flood will make a statuary
Out of them, out of us, on that day She interrupts and arrives.
Heavy-chested, in hives, our dam-workers will have had their fill of woes in
Our negligence we have summoned a sigh rise forth,
We tease our pearly-eyed inviting women in the south whilst from the North
Back-burner pots even now bubble over to sleepy shadows, and the
Toothy fed feasts of ours remove fear of the Waters rising in the West.
Clammy-eyed, those dam-workers can't continue to hold all our woes.'
(The wasps have even now disappeared amid, within the awning)
'For our centuries, we have thrust our City down in the "valley"
And made the "valley" all ours;
When the time falls ripe, the River will come to lay claim Her bed,
And She shall only know in her heart that She has been meant
To sleep in Her bed (our "valley"),
Even as Leviathan disregards any hooks or screams in his next drumstick meal
-These ant legs on Her bed
She does not comprehend
-But She feels the rhythm of the Order of Vocations,
She has always known Her bed well.
'Bid farewell to this present house, children-
So I say, and you laugh, and your hands shield your temples from me.
Leviathan can't be hooked and flashed forever.
When will we hear? will you see?
For we have already woven wasps within
All walls, and swallowed Leviathan goldfish with giggles;
But these are our new walls, dammed "valley"
-Because we disliked the hue of the old walls
That are still in our place by the river bed
-Because we preferred Her bed to our own
And forsook the gentle Stream in Her bed
-But these are our news walls, dammed "valley",
That were made out of negligence, bile, wasp eggs . . .'
(Dregs and smiley clanks await and are summoned for silly Amos profusely;
We still hum, doubt; new
News bulletins flee from the Bells that might - that have just now sounded the toll:)
'When will we hear? will you see?
-Who me? but I do love the City,
but I love the River who loves Her valley,
I do love the Name who set our City.'
-r
04 August 2008
Recent Playings
I'm currently writing an article concerning the nature of art, the exploration of objectively 'good art,' and so forth - which I'll most likely post in some form here when finished. For the time being, here are some relatively recent works of a similar subject . . .
Untitled
Acryllic on ceiling tile; grid formed from air-conditioning unit packaging. More industrial-inspired art.
1996 Camry, 4-cylinder Automatic
Hurrah. Palette and materials speak for themselves.
Hurrah. Palette and materials speak for themselves.
Carya monolithis, Monument to Modernity
This was my second and (to date) last attempt at an experimental medium inspired by industrial sanding. I painted layer after layer of varying colours on a piece of plywood - in this case: white, then blue, then yellow, then red - and then used a power-sander to 'shave' it to what can be seen here. This is sacramentally intentionally ugly beyond all attempt - a picture of a 'tree,' based on poem concerning the same subject. While the central subject is blue-separated-from-yellow with a 'balloon string' trunk, there is the subtle outline of a 'real' tree along the outside of the test-tube tree. The inscription translates: 'Ginsberg, Ginsberg - you were the blind, mute bastard of Komos; you are the one who spoke of the end of the world.'
This was my second and (to date) last attempt at an experimental medium inspired by industrial sanding. I painted layer after layer of varying colours on a piece of plywood - in this case: white, then blue, then yellow, then red - and then used a power-sander to 'shave' it to what can be seen here. This is sacramentally intentionally ugly beyond all attempt - a picture of a 'tree,' based on poem concerning the same subject. While the central subject is blue-separated-from-yellow with a 'balloon string' trunk, there is the subtle outline of a 'real' tree along the outside of the test-tube tree. The inscription translates: 'Ginsberg, Ginsberg - you were the blind, mute bastard of Komos; you are the one who spoke of the end of the world.'
Untitled
Acryllic on cardboard. Using a small piece of cardboard for this work was an attempt to afford 'sacramental' movement - to bring a physical correlation to the image portrayed.
Acryllic on cardboard. Using a small piece of cardboard for this work was an attempt to afford 'sacramental' movement - to bring a physical correlation to the image portrayed.
Untitled
Acryllic on ceiling tile; grid formed from air-conditioning unit packaging. More industrial-inspired art.
Untitled . . . 'That Shirt'
Materials: red acryllic, pages from a Church of the Nazarene Manual, a letter box, an empty toilet paper tube, a broken mirror, a black marker, a red marker, two image clippings, a dress shirt, a tie, a Church of the Nazarene return address label, nails, and a bandage.
I made this just prior to my Confirmation, as a sort of reflection of the journey to reach that point of deliverance. At first, as in the first picture, I had the tie untied and open, but the 'tie noose' idea clicked and, in my opinion, really completed the piece.
In the first place (and this is the level I was operating on), this is loaded with all kinds of personal expressions and realities. In my struggle over/with the Nazarene denomination and with my coming to deeply understand the steep cost of becoming Catholic, I seriously considered suicide. The pages and illustrations and notes on and inside the shirt have to do with my trying to help 'fix' the Nazarene denomination's catechesis and doctrinal crisis, as well as the utter despair that followed.
However, I think a photograph of this seems incomplete without a viewer looking at it; it seems to have struck something beyond whatever it was I was trying to strike at. I've noticed that the piece itself makes the viewer the 'piece of art,' on display in a profound way. This seems to be a conduit/window that 'stirs up' the human struggle with ugly realities, in oneself and in others. In some instances, the viewer averts her/his eyes quickly. In some instances, the viewer stares quizzically. Sometimes - and usually only after a few encounters - the viewer timidly and curiously moves closer to peer into the 'heart' of the shirt. Any given person can have (and has had) any or all reactions to the piece, even as the human (at least our present and particular manifestations) seems to do with her/his life.
Materials: red acryllic, pages from a Church of the Nazarene Manual, a letter box, an empty toilet paper tube, a broken mirror, a black marker, a red marker, two image clippings, a dress shirt, a tie, a Church of the Nazarene return address label, nails, and a bandage.
I made this just prior to my Confirmation, as a sort of reflection of the journey to reach that point of deliverance. At first, as in the first picture, I had the tie untied and open, but the 'tie noose' idea clicked and, in my opinion, really completed the piece.
In the first place (and this is the level I was operating on), this is loaded with all kinds of personal expressions and realities. In my struggle over/with the Nazarene denomination and with my coming to deeply understand the steep cost of becoming Catholic, I seriously considered suicide. The pages and illustrations and notes on and inside the shirt have to do with my trying to help 'fix' the Nazarene denomination's catechesis and doctrinal crisis, as well as the utter despair that followed.
However, I think a photograph of this seems incomplete without a viewer looking at it; it seems to have struck something beyond whatever it was I was trying to strike at. I've noticed that the piece itself makes the viewer the 'piece of art,' on display in a profound way. This seems to be a conduit/window that 'stirs up' the human struggle with ugly realities, in oneself and in others. In some instances, the viewer averts her/his eyes quickly. In some instances, the viewer stares quizzically. Sometimes - and usually only after a few encounters - the viewer timidly and curiously moves closer to peer into the 'heart' of the shirt. Any given person can have (and has had) any or all reactions to the piece, even as the human (at least our present and particular manifestations) seems to do with her/his life.
Untitled
Acryllic on canvas. An experiment with a colour-contrast method. This piece is based on the coronation ceremony for a new pope, in which (traditionally) a barefoot monk interrupts on three occasions, lighting a flax rag on an iron pole and pronouncing, 'Holy Father, thus passes the glory of the world.'
-r
Acryllic on canvas. An experiment with a colour-contrast method. This piece is based on the coronation ceremony for a new pope, in which (traditionally) a barefoot monk interrupts on three occasions, lighting a flax rag on an iron pole and pronouncing, 'Holy Father, thus passes the glory of the world.'
-r
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