tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67201075499892857782024-02-19T06:44:12.152-08:00she sits and looks outUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-269267732371711032010-11-09T22:46:00.000-08:002010-11-09T23:52:45.389-08:00Water Glasses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdikdUM_BEGC7Y0P1hr_ntZdo8BMQO55nvHuvrSdE_A0Trv6WNSF3dOw7Ler4-ZPlvt1SSrp4j7ABf2_5KxTAs96gyb68MEC9pLIPfUJQ73uoFXZsiP5J0G1F40odel0L1QQC8OWHMMA/s1600/TwoGlasses1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOdikdUM_BEGC7Y0P1hr_ntZdo8BMQO55nvHuvrSdE_A0Trv6WNSF3dOw7Ler4-ZPlvt1SSrp4j7ABf2_5KxTAs96gyb68MEC9pLIPfUJQ73uoFXZsiP5J0G1F40odel0L1QQC8OWHMMA/s200/TwoGlasses1.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They were perched </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On the stand</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I woke up today,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Your water glass</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And mine,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Still sitting from just</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Two evenings past,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When our mouths</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Were dry</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And emptied of</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Their secrets.</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I stared at them and</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thought of all</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I said and did</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Not say</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And wondered if </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You were somewhere</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thinking the same.</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They looked so natural,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Resting there.</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We were quite </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The attractive pair.</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But there is no need</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For sets of two</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In this room of one,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So I washed them off</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And put them up </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Where they can be</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Upside-down and empty,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No longer streaked</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With foretastes of</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Our separate, salty</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tears.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-4442962987312417332010-11-08T22:10:00.000-08:002010-11-08T22:18:48.305-08:00"There There" by Radiohead<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://s0.ilike.com/play#Radiohead:There+There:16385:s2305843.9522879.2706214.0.2.20%2Cstd_b3b161951fa9429784aac07786e8c5c7"><b>Click play.</b></a></span></div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In pitch dark I go walking in your landscape. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Broken branches trip me as I speak.<br />
Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there.<br />
Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there.<br />
<br />
There's always a siren<br />
Singing you to shipwreck<br />
<i>(Don't try, don't reach out<br />
Don't try, don't reach out) </i><br />
Steer away from these rocks<br />
We'd be a walking disaster<br />
<i>(Don't reach out, don't reach out<br />
Don't reach out, don't reach out)</i><br />
Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there.<br />
<i>(There's someone on your shoulder)<br />
(There's someone on your shoulder) </i><br />
Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there.<br />
<i>(There's someone on your shoulder)<br />
(There's someone on your shoulder)</i><br />
There there!<br />
<br />
Why so green and lonely?<br />
And lonely<br />
And lonely<br />
<br />
Heaven sent you to me<br />
To me<br />
To me<br />
<br />
We are accidents<br />
Waiting, waiting to happen.<br />
<br />
We are accidents<br />
Waiting, waiting to happen.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJZnofoRJAKnnGKf1Su6uqU3CvyvgDrpKcwNmhYEX_daoMB7OBD3DNqFfOVM8OMxjyaaqLuj4ffuTb2slkt_y3cEnAGPpYoGV7-O3-jH-eVitdQErAEjDb2Vmy1daeTQl9jn2g2feaTk/s1600/forbidden-love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJZnofoRJAKnnGKf1Su6uqU3CvyvgDrpKcwNmhYEX_daoMB7OBD3DNqFfOVM8OMxjyaaqLuj4ffuTb2slkt_y3cEnAGPpYoGV7-O3-jH-eVitdQErAEjDb2Vmy1daeTQl9jn2g2feaTk/s200/forbidden-love.jpg" width="170" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-24332216701991494842010-11-07T22:45:00.000-08:002010-11-09T22:50:27.899-08:00For Atlas, When She's Tired<div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's all in the knuckles, </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You see,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And that knot </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the middle </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Of your back.</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As long as you </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Focus</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And keep it still </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And taut</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And controlled</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When the water </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Starts to creep </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From your eyes</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And your lip </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Twitches </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like a mutinous</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Little spy - </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That's when you have to</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Squeeze tighter </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And harder</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just a little bit </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Longer.</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because it's all resting</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On you, </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You see,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And you won't break </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you don't want to,</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And if you falter</span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then everything, </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Everything,</span></i></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Falls to the floor </span></div><div style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With a splash </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And a thud</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And the crowd </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just stares at their shoes</span></div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">While you stand there, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Shivering -</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just another naked girl</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With nothing to hold on to.</span></div></div></div><div style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 11px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhwIPHT2FWdhhe0Gx5_UlSoMfklZrRoZFs2_0Qz4lEG_0h6RH345etDcoZjZQZQS4o8mVo413nNNrrqVG2_I4WJmCbMnXu_CUlVqUNN48rAQ-0uOWi-FxXu7rYZS25t81IY_YP5EJdro/s1600/female+atlas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhwIPHT2FWdhhe0Gx5_UlSoMfklZrRoZFs2_0Qz4lEG_0h6RH345etDcoZjZQZQS4o8mVo413nNNrrqVG2_I4WJmCbMnXu_CUlVqUNN48rAQ-0uOWi-FxXu7rYZS25t81IY_YP5EJdro/s1600/female+atlas.jpg" /></a></div><div style="font-size: 11px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-74406961162467715582010-09-10T23:44:00.000-07:002010-09-11T11:52:14.497-07:00What We Don't Remember on 9/11<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On this eve of 9/11, I am overcome with sadness. Not only because this day, 9 years ago, was so painful for my country, but because 9/11's anniversary sparks an overwhelming wave of patriotism... and patriotism can be very frightening. </span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The simple definition of patriotism is love of one's country - and there's absolutely nothing wrong with appreciating your national identity and heritage. But why don't we see a surge of this type of patriotism on July 2? It's the anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, a monumental piece of legislation that proved democracy works when people band together to boycott unjust systems and march peacefully to our nation's capital. Why don't we wave our flags proudly every August 18th? On that day in 1920, women in this country were given the right to cast their ballots alongside their husbands, fathers, and brothers. These are the moments in our country's history where we see American ideals like equality and freedom truly triumph over oppression and ignorance.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But, despite the fact that these dates ought to make us "proud to be an American", they mean nothing to the majority of our citizens. We would rather wave our flags on the 4th of July or D-Day or, as of late, 9/11. In my opinion, this is where we need to be careful. When the days that define us are days characterized by bloodshed, war, and terror... who does that say that we are as a people? Our national memory, like all nation's, is skewed: we are always, always the good guys. Unfortunately, the facts of history do not always align with our perception of it.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When we think of the 4th of July, we envision a small group of determined colonists who, against all odds, overthrew an empire. This is partially true... but we conveniently forget that, in the eyes of the Native Americans who already inhabited our "colonies", we </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">were</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> the empire. The US government put the Native American death toll conservatively between 1 and 4 million during those years. Other experts describe a genocide of greater magnitude than the Holocaust. We look to Hollywood films starring attractive actors for our perspective on the 2,500 or so Americans killed at Pearl Harbor, yet I doubt we would pay to see high-definition footage of the over 200,000 charred bodies that blanketed the ground in Hiroshima and Nagasaki after we dropped not one, but two atomic bombs. We also conveniently forget the 110,000 Japanese Americans that we forced to live in internment camps following the attack. </span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then there's 9/11 - a day when 2,996 Americans were suddenly and tragically killed. I remember watching the news footage in my high school classroom and seeing the streets of New York coated with ash and tears and death. It was traumatic. Psychologists have even done studies on the effect that 9/11 had on my entire generation. This is why I can't even conceive what it would be like to live in Iraq and watch as 100,000 of your civilians are killed - not in one tragic day, but over the course of many tragic days and years. The majority of these men, women, and children do not receive news footage or memorials built in their honor. They are merely collateral damage. They are the "price of freedom"... or so we say.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I do love my fellow Americans, including quite a few soldiers. They are in my family, in my neighborhood, and among my facebook friends. But we're supposed to be honest with the people we love. Maybe, just maybe, instead of blindly supporting our troops on this day, we should gently question them. Maybe we should grab our young engineers by the shoulders and say, "Don't work for Lockheed Martin and devote your talents to building smarter bombs! Design devices that make dirty water drinkable! Show us how to make strong and safe houses that the poor can afford!" Maybe we should go into our churches and say, "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you! When evil men come to destroy you, put your hope in God - not horses or chariots! You may be fed to a lion, you may be thrown in jail, but you'll be in good company!" In light of all the "God Bless America" stickers I see, I can't help but think of the Amish school shooting a few years back. Within a few hours of that soul-destroying event, members of the community reached out to the shooter's family and extended forgiveness to them. They even set up a charitable fund for the family of the shooter. Can you imagine? How would the world react to </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">that</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> foreign policy? If Jesus was a radical, and we are a self-proclaimed "Christian" nation, why do we continue to follow the worn tracks of anger and violence? Even the "eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth" mandate was intended to keep justice restrained so that we do </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">not</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> respond to a few thousand murders by committing a few hundred thousand more. </span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And, so, on this day, I remember. I remember the brokenness of humanity and the wounds we inflict on each other. I remember my own capacity for hatred and violence. I remember my nation's history, both the noble and the obscene, so that I do not repeat its mistakes. I remember that a willingness to die for something does not require a willingness to kill for it. I remember the 1 in 8 American soldiers who have returned from war with PTSD. I remember all of this on this day... and I pray for peace.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction....The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation."</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> - Martin Luther King, Jr</span></div><div style="color: #333333; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREPP1hGWg2g0yHJi6NMOTkXOPG6tBD6edbwUyKKmS3rHt0CtKRcGs2D8QpTT3rz-Yw0CJ73uB6_62acnKe_QZYMO8NLP89J1OL2YWF15Mdh0X7F_cwP-y_tfiZShHcxoWsDg-rZ08zOs/s1600/Amishschool4_000+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREPP1hGWg2g0yHJi6NMOTkXOPG6tBD6edbwUyKKmS3rHt0CtKRcGs2D8QpTT3rz-Yw0CJ73uB6_62acnKe_QZYMO8NLP89J1OL2YWF15Mdh0X7F_cwP-y_tfiZShHcxoWsDg-rZ08zOs/s320/Amishschool4_000+(1).jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amish response to hatred and violence</td></tr>
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</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-80194516921065893182010-09-06T12:13:00.000-07:002010-09-06T12:13:34.818-07:00Outwit, Outplay, Outlast<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 18px;"><i>"Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion." -Brennan Manning</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 18px;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I hate feeling useless. My best days are days when I climb into bed at night and know, unquestionably, that I offered something unique and valuable to the world. In turn, my worst days are when I can't seem to justify why I matter... why I'm still worthy of love when I didn't fill a niche or "pull my weight." My life is like a series of <i>Survivor </i>episodes<i>, </i>and I end each day before a panel of skeptical judges who must decide whether or not I'm worth keeping around.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; line-height: 18px;">In our "tit-for-tat-I'll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine" culture, I've grown used to grounding my security in my competency. I'm usually not the smartest person in the room - but I'm rarely the dumbest. I'm not an expert at anything - but I'm at least average at almost everything. And, on most days, in most situations, that's enough to convince the imaginary tribal council in my head that I deserve to stay a little longer before I'm kicked to the outskirts of society where the worthless and the marginalized go. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">And that's where my problems with God begin. When dealing with an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-complete entity, there's not much you can bring to the table. My ability to "talk a good game" is useless in the presence of the One who created speech. So how can I be secure in a relationship where I hold no power? How can I be loved by someone who doesn't need<i> </i>me? What do I have to have to offer when I have nothing to offer?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I've yet to figure out how this plays out in community. On one hand, community has to be transactional on some level. After all, somebody has to pay the bills, cook the meals, mop the floor. If you are doing these things, you can still curl up in bed at night and say, "I matter because of <i>XYZ</i>." The tribal council in your brain will be appeased for the time being. However, I truly believe that God knows how much we struggle to grasp His non-transactional style of love and gives us community to serve as a model. If, over time, I can see what it is to be loved collectively and indiscriminately by a group of people who still know my individual shortcomings, maybe I can begin to grasp the "furious longing of God" for His children whom he loves both personally and en masse. Maybe I'll begin to rest in the security that, no matter what I do or how little I offer, He's not going to vote me off or cast me away.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"We unwittingly project onto God our own attitudes and feelings toward ourselves... But we cannot assume that He feels about us the way we feel about ourselves -- unless we love ourselves compassionately, intensely, and freely." -Brennan Manning</i></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-35960724538480164752010-08-30T00:13:00.016-07:002010-08-30T00:33:02.782-07:00Why Do We Fear Community?<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you ask the average postmodern twentysomething if man is inherently good or evil, they're going to say "good" 9 times out of 10. If you ask that same twentysomething if they'd be willing to open a bank account with a stranger who shares their worldview, they're going to look at you like you're crazy. Americans perpetually preach the doctrine of autonomy and independence while statistics show that we're </span><a href="http://www.newsweek.com/2009/08/20/lonely-planet.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">lonelier than ever</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">. We want to be loved and known, but we maintain our relationships via 140-character tweets rather than engaging in meaningful, face-to-face interactions with the people around us.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
Why?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
I've been pondering that question quite a bit lately. Why </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">is </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the idea of community... of interdependence... of a collectivist mentality so terrifying? Some may point to recent examples of "communities gone bad" (Jonestown, Branch Davidians, etc.) to explain their misgivings, but I think our fears run much deeper than that. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
<br />
Lately, I've been exploring the works of </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_790020172"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Marina Abramovi</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marina_Abramovi%C4%87"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">ć</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, a performance artist from the 1970s who examined the complex relationship between performer and audience. The video below describes a controversial piece that was performed in Germany but ultimately proved too provocative for US galleries. (Disclaimer: This clip contains a bit of nudity...)</span></span></span></span></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ennfeVSirDU?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ennfeVSirDU?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;">The comparison I'm about to make is far from perfect. Actively engaging in community is a far cry from passively surrendering to a crowd of strangers, but both do require you to put your life and your well-being, at least partially, in the hands of others. This is, in my opinion, why we fear community. Despite our hopeful platitudes on the benevolence of humanity, on some very real, instinctive level, we know better: <i>People are evil and, if given the chance, they will destroy me. </i>We would prefer a kinder summary, but our behavior (and our history books) betray us. The audience members of Rhythm 0 were not animals - they were likely upper- to middle-class, educated patrons of the arts. The undergraduates chosen for the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanford_prison_experiment">Stanford prison experiment</a> were probably good kids from good families. And, yet, when allowed to exert power over others, even "civilized" individuals are quick to abuse and terrorize. As much as it's nice to talk about peace and love in theory, the thought of really living as one is simply not an option for most of us. Charles Bukowski said it well:<i> </i></span></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i>beware the average man the average woman</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i>beware their love, their love is average</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i>seeks average</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 13px;"><i>but there is genius in their hatred</i></span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I think this is why, of all the things that Jesus could have prayed for His church, he prayed for unity. It is in our close, interdependent relationships that we reveal who and what we really are. Nice people are not uncommon - I meet at least one or two every week. But truly loving communities are rare indeed... and our deepest wounds are usually inflicted upon us by the ones who are supposed to love us the most. I think Jesus knew that the most powerful statement about who He was couldn't come from an army of "nice people." There's nothing especially unique or inspiring about that. Jesus knew that what the world needs most (and sees least) are people who love each other like family when they're not... who carry each other's burdens when they don't have to... who sacrifice for each other when there's nothing to be gained. This is the type of behavior that points to something transcendent and other-worldly in the lives of everyday, broken human beings.</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;">And the early church understood this. In his book <i>Life on the Vine: Cultivating the Fruit of the Spirit in Christian Community</i>, Phillip Kenneson describes the reputation of Christians in their early days:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><i>Because the Greek word for Christ (christos) was so similar to the word for kind (chrestos), apparently many people mistakenly (though perhaps fittingly) called Jesus' early followers not "Christians" but "the kind ones."</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;">I don't think that most Americans would feel comfortable calling today's Christians "kind ones." A recent study conducted by the Barna Group, an Evangelical research and polling group, found that the majority of Americans view Christians as "judgmental," "hypocritical," and "homophobic." Perhaps it is because, unlike the early church, we do not practice what we preach by sharing our possessions with each other and the poor among us... or opening our doors to strangers who need shelter... or loving one another deeply like brothers and sisters in the family of God.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 13px;">If we did, maybe community wouldn't be so scary after all.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-84918021431318804492010-08-17T14:09:00.007-07:002010-11-09T22:54:00.341-08:00Albuquerque (posted late)<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today I got off the bus in Albuquerque, NM. It is beautiful here, but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m wandering around in a cheesy 1970s TV sitcom. I keep expecting a police officer with aviators and too-tight pants to stop me on the street and say, “You’re not from around here are you, little lady?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdFfrBk5YynXFWdM6-WO33MmzNqn0Uq2j6PEfEWf0US_awFDG-HOqSGHgrAjbmv16Uu6X9Um-OM8caScOgAp1flR3Jrwpw8XIVxuXX5s7bZ5er5ncqos5ahCC_RbHZnfUgYBTLVLZ4Fs/s1600/DSC_7838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdFfrBk5YynXFWdM6-WO33MmzNqn0Uq2j6PEfEWf0US_awFDG-HOqSGHgrAjbmv16Uu6X9Um-OM8caScOgAp1flR3Jrwpw8XIVxuXX5s7bZ5er5ncqos5ahCC_RbHZnfUgYBTLVLZ4Fs/s320/DSC_7838.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m spending the night at the Route 66 Hostel , a quaint and quirky little house a few blocks from the main strip. So far, I have made two friends. Stone, the lanky doorman that gave me a discount because I recognized his Philly Love T-shirt, and Cyrus, an out-of-town salesman who ate the last half of my chocolate cake after telling me never to move to Cleveland. The hostel is quiet now, and I am sitting on the porch watching passers-by and smoking a clove. I’ve smoked quite a bit on this trip. Sometimes, it’s because I’m someplace seedy and I want to look less vulnerable and sometimes, like now, it’s my own shallow attempt at appearing mysterious and interesting. My legs are tucked underneath me because the porch is crawling in beetles and, although I’d rather not come into contact with them directly, I sort of enjoy watching them wander.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I had quite a few interesting conversations while roaming the strip today – mainly with men. I think I fall into a category that I like to call “approachably pretty.” I’m attractive enough to turn a head or two, but not so attractive that your average run-of-the-mill dude considers me out of his league. With my camera slung over my arm, it’s easy to strike up a conversation. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Is that for a class or something?...Why don’t you take my picture?...What kind of lens are you using? </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Most of the time, I don’t mind. Why not be friendly for 15 minutes and enjoy a free beer when you can? The bartenders at the place where I had dinner tonight seemed sad. They were all skinny and tattooed with unnaturally dark hair, and I wondered if they wrote poetry on their skin to make them feel more comfortable in it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I passed by a greenhouse of sorts and bought myself a bouquet of mystery blossoms. I’ve never been able to identify flowers outside of your generic tulip/carnation/rose variety, but these small blooms were red and orange and a little wild-looking – like they’d just moved up to the weight class above "weeds." I took to them instantly. Carrying them around the strip all afternoon made me feel feminine and free and grateful to be exactly who I am, exactly where I am… at least for today.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-87093488887564337362010-04-08T22:57:00.003-07:002010-04-09T00:15:44.630-07:00Holding Hands<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I took a crowded bus home this evening. So crowded, in fact, that there were multiple people standing and only one open seat. That seat was the one directly next to a middle-aged, homeless black man wrapped in a blanket. He stank horribly and shook violently from head to toe. For reasons I still don't fully understand, I sat down next to him.<br />
<br />
As the bus pulled away from the stop, I found myself staring at his hands. They were worn, tired hands with dirty nail beds and permanent callouses. He would clasp them in his lap, but as soon as he was still for a second or two, the shaking would begin... and it would get worse and worse until he unclasped them and adjusted himself into a new position. Within seconds, more shaking. It was was clear that he was trying to rest by leaning his head against the glass, but the shaking made it almost impossible.<br />
</span></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Hold his hand."<br />
<br />
</span></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It took me off-guard, this prompt from God. I'm always skeptical of people who say "God told me this" or "Jesus told me that." All too often, people just drop God's name in the mix as a means of justifying doing whatever they please. I can assure you, in this instance, that was not the case. As a matter of fact, I was so appalled by the suggestion that I pulled a Gideon and decided to put God through a few quick tests to make sure I heard Him correctly. (If you don't get the Gideon reference, read about it </span><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Judges+6:36-40&version=NIV"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.) So I prayed, "Lord, if you want me to hold his hand, have him cross his legs right now." He did. "Lord, if you want me to hold his hand, have him turn his head and look at me right now." He did that too.<br />
<br />
Not the response I was hoping for.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I became very aware of my surroundings. This bus was crowded. What would it look like if I just reached over and grabbed this strange man? And what would his reaction be? I didn't understand why he was shaking. Maybe he was an addict or maybe he was sick or maybe he was just mentally ill. What if he was schizophrenic and when I touched him, he suddenly yelled at me or hit me or lunged at me or something? A million scenarios, none of them positive, began to scroll through my head.<br />
<br />
And that's when I remembered Peter - the disciple who said he would never leave Christ on the eve of his arrest only to deny Him in the face of difficulty. How often do I imagine myself accomplishing great things for God's kingdom? Sacrificing my money, my comfort, my time, my very life to honor my Savior. Yet, there I was, afraid to risk looking even remotely foolish in front of a small group of strangers that I would likely never see again. Was this too great a sacrifice for the One who sacrificed all for me? How could I claim to love Christ and deny Him in His poor?<br />
<br />
That's when I reached over and placed my hand on top of his. He looked at me, expressionless, and I gave him a slight squeeze. For the next 10 minutes or so, we just rode on the bus next to each other, staring straight ahead, while I held his hand and did my best to calm his shaking. I kept praying, "What now, Lord? What do you want me to say? Do I talk to him? Do I tell him about You?"... nothing. So I just continued to sit with him in silence and watch the raindrops trail across the window.<br />
<br />
When we arrived at my stop, I let go of his hand and he looked at me with eyes full of an emotion I can't quite pinpoint. The moment felt oddly poignant. As I walked home, I wondered how long it had been since he had been touched compassionately by another human being. I wondered if, like so many of DC's homeless, he had been invisible, despised, alienated for days and months and years... enough time for it to erode away his sense of human dignity and inherent worth. As someone who relies a lot on her words, it was strange to sit in silence on the bus with this man, but I think that, more than anything that I could say or any amount of money that I could give, he just needed to be touched.<br />
<br />
Lord, have mercy.</span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-22365247990252060292010-03-22T21:47:00.002-07:002010-03-22T21:51:26.637-07:00Blood on My Hands<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sometimes I am paralyzed by the degree that I am blessed. Why am I tempted by excess when so many go to bed hungry? Why do I stir up conflict when I have never known war? Why do I deal harshly with others when God has dealt so gently with me?</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I sat on the bus on the way to work this morning and cried. I couldn't help it, and it was embarrassing. More often than I care to admit as of late, I find that I am unable to keep myself from tears. I looked at the Starbucks cup in my hands, and I thought of the farmers who are exploited for their labor so that Americans like me can avoid inconvenience. I looked at my pants, and I wondered if a child without shoes made them. I looked at the homeless men that we passed on the street and considered the times that I have avoided their gaze, ashamed at my lack of compassion for the very poor so loved by Christ.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I realize that God has been granting me the blessing and the curse of stripping my heart. I find that I am raw, disturbed, outraged, grieved yet also blissful, calm, brave, and, in fleeting moments, compassionate. He has paid us the terrible compliment of engineering us for the heroic - not for solitary, mighty acts once in awhile but the great and awful burden of daily walking with justice and mercy in a world wrought with unspeakable terror and abuse. How can I possibly avoid slipping into the ease of comfort that always perpetuates injustice? Moreover, why do <i>I</i> get to know Him at all? Why am I one of the few, the fortunate few, in this broken land that can call Him <i>Abba, Father</i>? As I consider the blood on my hands and on my legs and on my feet, I cannot help but rejoice and mourn and rage and wonder at these things.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Maranatha, maranatha, maranatha...</i></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-72729530474976197162010-03-15T22:18:00.000-07:002010-03-15T22:18:55.938-07:00"The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZOpWvaoShVT0ExdAe958UEiTWnZZTQxHLVc5TRapsc_zEct-HTQEVVXt4ggY9HyaPT9fk59-ZK2gCWF6CWcfHfF_1eTfohLBEJpT5pE7oWv1u60K6d-fI1hsmj6ONvFk4XxIpJyf40w/s1600-h/hollow+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZOpWvaoShVT0ExdAe958UEiTWnZZTQxHLVc5TRapsc_zEct-HTQEVVXt4ggY9HyaPT9fk59-ZK2gCWF6CWcfHfF_1eTfohLBEJpT5pE7oWv1u60K6d-fI1hsmj6ONvFk4XxIpJyf40w/s200/hollow+man.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mistah Kurtz -- he dead.</span></span></i></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A penny for the Old Guy</span></span></i></span></div></i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We are the hollow men</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We are the stuffed men</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Leaning together</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our dried voices, when</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We whisper together</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Are quiet and meaningless</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As wind in dry grass</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or rats' feet over broken glass</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In our dry cellar</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Shape without form, shade without colour,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Paralysed force, gesture without motion;</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Those who have crossed</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Violent souls, but only</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As the hollow men</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The stuffed men.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">II</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Eyes I dare not meet in dreams</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In death's dream kingdom</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">These do not appear:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There, the eyes are</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sunlight on a broken column</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There, is a tree swinging</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And voices are</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the wind's singing</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">More distant and more solemn</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Than a fading star.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Let me be no nearer</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In death's dream kingdom</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Let me also wear</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Such deliberate disguises</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In a field</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Behaving as the wind behaves</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">No nearer --</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not that final meeting</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the twilight kingdom</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">III</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is the dead land</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is cactus land</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here the stone images</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Are raised, here they receive</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The supplication of a dead man's hand</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Under the twinkle of a fading star.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Is it like this</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In death's other kingdom</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Waking alone</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At the hour when we are</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Trembling with tenderness</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lips that would kiss</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Form prayers to broken stone.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">IV</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The eyes are not here</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There are no eyes here</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In this valley of dying stars</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In this hollow valley</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In this last of meeting places</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We grope together</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And avoid speech</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Gathered on this beach of the tumid river</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sightless, unless</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The eyes reappear</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">As the perpetual star</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Multifoliate rose</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of death's twilight kingdom</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The hope only</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of empty men.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">V</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here we go round the prickly pear</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Prickly pear prickly pear</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here we go round the prickly pear</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At five o'clock in the morning.</span></span></i></span></div></i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Between the idea</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the reality</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Between the motion</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the act</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Falls the Shadow</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For Thine is the Kingdom</span></span></i></span></div></i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Between the conception</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the creation</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Between the emotion</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the response</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Falls the Shadow</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Life is very long</span></span></i></span></div></i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Between the desire</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the spasm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Between the potency</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the existence</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Between the essence</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the descent</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Falls the Shadow</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For Thine is the Kingdom</span></span></i></span></div></i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For Thine is</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Life is</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For Thine is the</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><i style="font-family: 'lucida sans', 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is the way the world ends</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is the way the world ends</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is the way the world ends</span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not with a bang but a whimper.</span></span></i></span></div></i></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-54244921550238369372010-03-13T17:24:00.000-08:002010-03-13T17:24:18.964-08:00A Graduation Speech Given by C.S. Lewis ("The Inner Ring")<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWzCoJ5ISnFFQSilW9g0gJhPzMdGu4dZ1W4fWc62kvHlvT1t8zkW75Q4BwEyNx9SX2xTzTW9vVupSHhUauh30n-FUNIix2k5TcyWsCUhfvbH4Hy4niK9TPu_nmFIB7GONhRXszgW-jRI/s1600-h/2_cslewis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWzCoJ5ISnFFQSilW9g0gJhPzMdGu4dZ1W4fWc62kvHlvT1t8zkW75Q4BwEyNx9SX2xTzTW9vVupSHhUauh30n-FUNIix2k5TcyWsCUhfvbH4Hy4niK9TPu_nmFIB7GONhRXszgW-jRI/s200/2_cslewis.jpg" width="147" /></a></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">May I read you a few lines from Tolstoy’s War and Peace?</span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When Boris entered the room, Prince Andrey was listening to an old general, wearing his decorations, who was reporting something to Prince Andrey, with an expression of soldierly servility on his purple face. “Alright. Please wait!” he said to the general, speaking in Russian with the French accent, which he used when he spoke with contempt. The moment he noticed Boris he stopped listening to the general who trotted imploringly after him and begged to be heard, while Prince Andrey turned to Boris with a cheerful smile and a nod of the head. Boris now clearly understood-what he had already guessed-that side by side with the system of discipline and subordination which were laid down in the Army Regulations, there existed a different and a more real system-the system which compelled a tightly laced general with a purple face to wait respectfully for his turn while a mere captain like Prince Andrey chatted with a mere second lieutenant like Boris, Boris decided at once that he would be guided not by the official system but by this other unwritten system.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When you invite a middle-aged moralist to address you, I suppose I must conclude, however unlikely the conclusion seems, that you have a taste for middle-aged moralizing. I shall do my best to gratify it. I shall in fact give you advice about the world in which you are going to live. I do not mean by this that I am going to attempt to talk on what are called current affairs. You probably know quite as much about them as I do. I am not going to tell you- except in a form so general that you will hardly recognize it-what part you ought to play in post-war reconstruction. It is not, in fact, very likely that any of you will be able, in the next ten years, to make any direct contribution to the peace or prosperity of Europe. You will be busy finding jobs, getting married, acquiring facts. I am going to do something more old-fashioned than you perhaps expected. I am going to give advice. I am going to issue warnings. Advice and warnings about things which are so perennial that no one calls them “current affairs.”</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And of course everyone knows what a middle-aged moralist of my type warns his juniors against. He warns them against the World, the Flesh, and the Devil. But one of this trio will be enough to deal with today. The Devil, I shall leave strictly alone. The association between him and me in the public mind has already gone quite as deep as I wish: in some quarters it has already reached the level of confusion, if not of identification. I begin to realize the truth of the old proverb that he who sups with that formidable host needs a long spoon. As for the Flesh, you must be very abnormal young people if you do not know quite as much about it as I do. But on the World I think I have something to say.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In the passage I have just read from Tolstoy, the young second lieutenant Boris Dubretskoi discovers that there exist in the army two different systems or hierarchies. The one is printed in some little red book and anyone can easily read it up. It also remains constant. A general is always superior to a colonel and a colonel to a captain. The other is not printed anywhere. Nor is it even a formally organized secret society with officers and rules which you would be told after you had been admitted. You are never formally and explicitly admitted by anyone. You discover gradually, in almost indefinable ways, that it exists and that you are outside it; and then later, perhaps, that you are inside it. There are what correspond to passwords, but they too are spontaneous and informal. A particular slang, the use of particular nicknames, an allusive manner of conversation, are the marks. But it is not constant. It is not easy, even at a given moment, to say who is inside and who is outside. Some people are obviously in and some are obviously out, but there are always several on the border-line. And if you come back to the same Divisional Headquarters, or Brigade Headquarters, or the same regiment or even the same company, after six weeks’ absence, you may find this second hierarchy quite altered. There are no formal admissions or expulsions. People think they are in it after they have in fact been pushed out of it, or before they have been allowed in: this provides great amusement for those who are really inside. It has no fixed name. The only certain rule is that the insiders and outsiders call it by different names. From inside it may be designated, in simple cases, by mere enumeration: it may be called “You and Tony and me.” When it is very secure and comparatively stable in membership it calls itself “we.” When it has to be suddenly expanded to meet a particular emergency it calls itself “All the sensible people at this place.” From outside, if you have despaired of getting into it, you call it “That gang” or “They” or “So-and-so and his set” or “the Caucus” or “the Inner Ring.” If you are a candidate for admission you probably don’t call it anything. To discuss it with the other outsiders would make you feel outside yourself. And to mention it in talking to the man who is inside, and who may help you if this present conversation goes well, would be madness.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Badly as I may have described it, I hope you will all have recognized the thing I am describing. Not, of course, that you have been in the Russian Army or perhaps in any army. But you have met the phenomenon of an Inner Ring. You discovered one in your house at school before the end of the first term. And when you had climbed up to somewhere near it by the end of your second year, perhaps you discovered that within the Ring there was a Ring yet more inner, which in its turn was the fringe of the great school Ring to which the house Rings were only satellites. It is even possible that the School Ring was almost in touch with a Masters’ Ring. You were beginning, in fact, to pierce through the skins of the onion. And here, too, at your university-shall I be wrong in assuming that at this very moment, invisible to me, there are several rings-independent systems or concentric rings-present in this room? And I can assure you that in whatever hospital, inn of court, diocese, school, business, or college you arrive after going down, you will find the Rings-what Tolstoy calls the second or unwritten systems.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">All this is rather obvious. I wonder whether you will say the same of my next step, which is this. I believe that in all men’s lives at certain periods, and in many men’s lives at all periods between infancy and extreme old age, one of the most dominant elements is the desire to be inside the local Ring and the terror of being left outside. This desire, in one of its forms, has indeed had ample justice done to it in literature. I mean, in the form of snobbery. Victorian fiction is full of characters who are hag-ridden by the desire to get inside that particular Ring which is, or was, called Society. But it must be clearly understood that “Society,” in that sense of the word, is merely one of a hundred Rings and snobbery therefore only one form of the longing to be inside. People who believe themselves to be free, and indeed are free, from snobbery, and who read satires on snobbery with tranquil superiority, may be devoured by the desire in another form. It may be the very intensity of their desire to enter some quite different Ring which renders them immune from the allurements of high life. An invitation from a duchess would be very cold comfort to a man smarting under the sense of exclusion from some artistic or communist coterie. Poor man-it is not large, lighted rooms, or champagne, or even scandals about peers and Cabinet Ministers that he wants: it is the sacred little attic or studio, the heads bent together, the fog of tobacco smoke, and the delicious knowledge that we-we four or five all huddled beside this stove-arc the people who know. Often the desire conceals itself so well that we hardly recognize the pleasures of fruition. Men tell not only their wives but themselves that it is a hardship to stay late at the office or the school on some bit of important extra work which they have been let in for because they and So-and-so and the two others are the only people left in the place who really know how things are run. But it is not quite true. It is a terrible bore, of course, when old Fatty Smithson draws you aside and whispers “Look here, we’ve got to get you in on this examination somehow” or “Charles and I saw at once that you’ve got to be on this committee.” A terrible bore... ah, but how much more terrible if you were left out! It is tiring and unhealthy to lose your Saturday afternoons: but to have them free because you don’t matter, that is much worse.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Freud would say, no doubt, that the whole thing is a subterfuge of the sexual impulse. I wonder whether the shoe is not sometimes on the Other foot, I wonder whether, in ages of promiscuity, many a virginity has not been lost less in obedience to Venus than in obedience to the lure of the caucus. For of course, when promiscuity is the fashion, the chaste are outsiders. They are ignorant of something that other people know. They are uninitiated. And as for lighter matters, the number who first smoked or first got drunk for a similar reason is probably very large.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I must now make a distinction. I am not going to say that the existence of Inner Rings is an evil. It is certainly unavoidable. There must be confidential discussions: and it is not only not a bad thing, it is (in itself) a good thing, that personal friendship should grow up between those who work together. And it is perhaps impossible that the official hierarchy of any organization should quite coincide with its actual workings. If the wisest and most energetic people invariably held the highest posts, it might coincide; since they often do not, there must be people in high positions who are really deadweights and people in lower positions who are more important than their rank and seniority would lead you to suppose. In that way the second, unwritten system is bound to grow up. It is necessary; and perhaps it is not a necessary evil. But the desire which draws us into Inner Rings is another matter. A thing may be morally neutral and yet the desire for that thing may be dangerous. As Byron has said:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The unexpected death of some old lady.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The painless death of a pious relative at an advanced age is not an evil. But an earnest desire for her death on the part of her heirs is not reckoned a proper feeling, and the law frowns on even the gentlest attempt to expedite her departure. Let Inner Rings be an unavoidable and even an innocent feature of life, though certainly not a beautiful one: but what of our longing to enter them, our anguish when we are excluded, and the kind of pleasure we feel when we get in?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have no right to make assumptions about the degree to which any of you may already be compromised. I must not assume that you have ever first neglected, and finally shaken off, friends whom you really loved and who might have lasted you a lifetime, in order to court the friendship of those who appeared to you more important, more esoteric. I must not ask whether you have ever derived actual pleasure from the loneliness and humiliation of the outsiders after you yourself were in: whether you have talked to fellow members of the Ring in the presence of outsiders simply in order that the outsiders might envy; whether the means whereby, in your days of probation, you propitiated the Inner Ring, were always wholly admirable. I will ask only one question-and it is, of course, a rhetorical question which expects no answer. In the whole of your life as you now remember it, has the desire to be on the right side of that invisible line ever prompted you to any act or word on which, in the cold small hours of a wakeful night, you can look back with satisfaction? If so, your case is more fortunate than most.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I said I was going to give advice, and advice should deal with the future, not the past. I have hinted at the past only to awake you to what I believe to be the real nature of human life. I don’t believe that the economic motive and the erotic motive account for everything that goes on in what we moralists call the World. Even if you add Ambition I think the picture is still incomplete. The lust for the esoteric, the longing to be inside, take many forms which are not easily recognizable as Ambition. We hope, no doubt, for tangible profits from every Inner Ring we penetrate: power, money, liberty to break rules, avoidance of routine duties, evasion of discipline. But all these would not satisfy us if we did not get in addition the delicious sense of secret intimacy. It is no doubt a great convenience to know that we need fear no official reprimands from our official senior because he is old Percy, a fellow-member of our ring. But we don’t value the intimacy only for the sake of convenience; quite equally we value the convenience as a proof of the intimacy.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My main purpose in this address is simply to convince you that this desire is one of the great permanent mainsprings of human action. It is one of the factors which go to make up the world as we know it-this whole pell-mell of struggle, competition, confusion, graft, disappointment, and advertisement, and if it is one of the permanent mainsprings then you may be quite sure of this. Unless you take measures to prevent it, this desire is going to be one of the chief motives of your life, from the first day on which you enter your profession until the day when you are too old to care. That will be the natural thing-the life that will come to you of its own accord. Any other kind of life, if you lead it, will be the result of conscious and continuous effort. If you do nothing about it, if you drift with the stream, you will in fact be an “inner ringer.” I don’t say you’ll be a successful one; that’s as may be. But whether by pining and moping outside Rings that you can never enter, or by passing triumphantly further and further in-one way or the other you will be that kind of man. I have already made it fairly clear that I think it better for you not to be that kind of man.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But you may have an open mind on the question. I will therefore suggest two reasons for thinking as I do.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It would be polite and charitable, and in view of your age reasonable too, to suppose that none of you is yet a scoundrel. On the other hand, by the mere law of averages (I am saying nothing against free will) it is almost certain that at least two or three of you before you die will have become something very like scoundrels. There must be in this room the makings of at least that number of unscrupulous, treacherous, ruthless egotists. The choice is still before you: and I hope you will not take my hard words about your possible future characters as a token of disrespect to your present characters. </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And the prophecy I make is this. To nine out of ten of you the choice which could lead to scoundrelism will come, when it does come, in no very dramatic colors. Obviously bad men, obviously threatening or bribing, will almost certainly not appear. Over a drink or a cup of coffee, disguised as a triviality and sandwiched between two jokes, from the lips of a man, or woman, whom you have recently been getting to know rather better and whom you hope to know better still-just at the moment when you are most anxious not to appear crude, or naif, or a prig-the hint will come. It will be the hint of something which is not quite in accordance with the technical rules of fair play: something which the public, the ignorant, romantic public, would never understand: something which even the outsiders in your own profession are apt to make a fuss about: but something, says your new friend, which “we”-and at the word “we” you try not to blush for mere pleasure-something “we always do.” And you will be drawn in, if you are drawn in, not by desire for gain or ease, but simply because at that moment, when the cup was so near your lips, you cannot bear to be thrust back again into the cold outer world. It would be so terrible to see the other man’s face-that genial, confidential, delightfully sophisticated face-turn suddenly cold and contemptuous, to know that you had been tried for the Inner Ring and rejected. And then, if you are drawn in, next week it will be something a little further from the rules, and next year something further still, but all in the jolliest, friendliest spirit. It may end in a crash, a scandal, and penal servitude: it may end in millions, a peerage and giving the prizes at your old school. But you will be a scoundrel.</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That is my first reason. Of all the passions the passion for the Inner Ring is most skilful in making a man who is not yet a very bad man do very bad things. My second reason is this. The torture allotted to the Danaids in the classical underworld, that of attempting to fill sieves with water, is the symbol not of one vice but of all vices. It is the very mark of a perverse desire that it seeks what is not to be had. The desire to be inside the invisible line illustrates this rule. As long as you are governed by that desire you will never get what you want. You are trying to peel an onion: if you succeed there will be nothing left. Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is surely very clear when you come to think of it. If you want to be made free of a certain circle for some wholesome reason-if, say, you want to join a musical society because you really like music-then there is a possibility of satisfaction. You may find yourself playing in a quartet and you may enjoy it. But if all you want is to be in the know, your pleasure will be short-lived. The circle cannot have from within the charm it had from outside. By the very act of admitting you it has lost its magic. Once the first novelty is worn off the members of this circle will be no more interesting than your old friends. Why should they be? You were not looking for virtue or kindness or loyalty or humor or learning or wit or any of the things that can be really enjoyed. You merely wanted to be “in.” And that is a pleasure that cannot last. As soon as your new associates have been staled to you by custom, you will be looking for another Ring. The rainbow’s end will still be ahead of you. The old Ring will now be only the drab background for your endeavor to enter the new one.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And you will always find them hard to enter, for a reason you very well know. You yourself once you are in, want to make it hard for the next entrant, just as those who are already in made it hard for you. Naturally. In any wholesome group of people which holds together for a good purpose, the exclusions are in a sense accidental. Three or four people who are together for the sake of some piece of work exclude others because there is work only for so many or because the others can’t in fact do it. Your little musical group limits its numbers because the rooms they meet in are only so big. But your genuine Inner Ring exists for exclusion. There’d be no fun if there were no outsiders. The invisible line would have no meaning unless most people were on the wrong side of it. Exclusion is no accident: it is the essence.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The quest of the Inner Ring will break your hearts unless you break it. But if you break it, a surprising result will follow. If in your working hours you make the work your end, you will presently find yourself all unawares inside the only circle in your profession that really matters. You will be one of the sound craftsmen, and other sound craftsmen will know it. This group of craftsmen will by no means coincide with the Inner Ring or the Important People or the People in the Know. It will not shape that professional policy or work up that professional influence which fights for the profession as a whole against the public: nor will it lead to those periodic scandals and crises which the Inner Ring produces. But it will do those things which that profession exists to do and will in the long run be responsible for all the respect which that profession in fact enjoys and which the speeches and advertisements cannot maintain. And if in your spare time you consort simply with the people you like, you will again find that you have come unawares to a real inside: that you are indeed snug and safe at the center of something which, seen from without, would look exactly like an Inner Ring. But the difference is that its secrecy is accidental, and its exclusiveness a by-product, and no one was led thither by the lure of the esoteric: for it is only four or five people who like one another meeting to do things that they like. This is friendship. Aristotle placed it among the virtues. It causes perhaps half of all the happiness in the world, and no Inner Ring can ever have it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We are told in Scripture that those who ask get. That is true, in senses I can’t now explore. But in another sense there is much truth in the schoolboy’s principle “them as asks shan’t have.” To a young person, just entering on adult life, the world seems full of Insides,” full of delightful intimacies and confidentialities, and he desires to enter them. But if he follows that desire he will reach no “inside” that is worth reaching. The true road lies in quite another direction. It is like the house in Alice Through the Looking Glass.</span></span></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-56371122652067299612010-03-02T20:37:00.003-08:002010-03-02T20:54:27.950-08:00My First Meeting with Greg<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've never done adult education before, and I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting when I sauntered up to the Mission at 6pm yesterday. I know the building itself quite well - I go there once a week for church. The men that live there, on the other hand, have remained a mystery to me for the most part. I smile when I come in and smile when I walk out because I am, after all, a caring Christian. How will they know our love if we don't nod politely as we breeze by and go about our way?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's bothered me for the past few months, that distance. The way I claim to be an advocate of social justice, yet rarely spend quality time with those outside of my socioeconomic circle. The way I avoid eye contact with the homeless of DC, convinced I am too busy bustling around and saving the world to make time to have a short conversation with another struggling sojourner.<br />
<br />
I think, when I'm honest, I was expecting to feel pretty heroic working with Greg. Here I am, the educated young professional, choosing to forego a happy hour and help you, illiterate homeless man, get your life back on track! Wow! What a noble person I am. <br />
<br />
I suppose it just goes to show that even our best motives are deeply polluted.<br />
<br />
Greg does not fit into the box I had mentally prepared for him. At 47-years-old, he is a former Marine and father of three. One of his children is in college studying education. He was born in DC and attended mediocre-to-bad public schools all his life. He graduated from high school, joined the military and, somewhere down the line, got married and divorced. I don't know why his children and wife are now far from him or why he lives at the Mission, but I assume that whatever caused the former led to the latter as well.<br />
<br />
When we had situated ourselves at the table, I asked Greg, "What made you decide to get a tutor?" He looked at me and said, "I have a hard time understanding my Bible. And I can't know Jesus if I can't read His word." As I transitioned us into the battery of tests that would tell me what reading level Greg was on, he interrupted me and asked if we could pray a little before we started. "I'm nervous," he said, "because I've never been good at reading - always better at drawing - and without the Holy Spirit, I'm not gonna be able to focus." So we prayed. For the next hour and a half, he prayed a lot more. As a matter of fact, Greg seemed to talk to Jesus as much, if not more, than he talked to me in the course of our first lesson together. He prayed in thanks, he prayed for strength, he prayed for focus, he prayed for me, he prayed, he prayed, he prayed...<br />
<br />
Despite what I sometimes believe, my degree and elevated financial situation make me no less dependent on the Holy Spirit than Greg. Jesus pointed out in the Sermon on the Mount that we can't change the color of a single hair on our heads - no matter how much earthly power we accumulate. As I sat there analyzing questions that assessed Greg's literacy skills, I couldn't help but notice his fluency in the only area that really counts.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I am the one who will be getting tutored on Mondays.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-29019521785541165702010-02-28T17:54:00.007-08:002010-02-28T18:12:43.378-08:00Mozart's Requiem Mass in D Minor<div style="text-align: center;"><embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Zi8vJ_lMxQI&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table><tbody>
<tr><td lang="en" valign="TOP" width="50%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"><b>Introitus</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: ARIAL; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: ARIAL; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">Grant them eternal rest, O Lord,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">and may perpetual light shine on them.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2d4c69; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">Thou, O God, art praised in Sion,</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2d4c69; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">and unto Thee shall the vow</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2d4c69; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">be performed in Jerusalem.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2d4c69; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">Hear my prayer, unto Thee shall all flesh come.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2d4c69; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">Grant them eternal rest, O Lord,</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #2d4c69; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;">and may perpetual light shine on them.<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Kyrie</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><br />
</b>Lord have mercy upon us.<br />
Christ have mercy upon us.<br />
Lord have mercy upon us.<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sequentia</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><br />
</b></span>Day of wrath, that day<br />
Will dissolve the earth in ashes<br />
As David and the Sibyl bear witness.<br />
What dread there will be<br />
When the Judge shall come<br />
To judge all things strictly.<br />
A trumpet, spreading a wondrous sound<br />
Through the graves of all lands,<br />
Will drive mankind before the throne.<br />
Death and Nature shall be astonished<br />
When all creation rises again<br />
To answer to the Judge.<br />
A book, written in, will be brought forth<br />
In which is contained everything that is,<br />
Out of which the world shall be judged.<br />
When therefore the Judge takes His seat<br />
Whatever is hidden will reveal itself.<br />
Nothing will remain unavenged.<br />
What then shall 1 say, wretch that I am,<br />
What advocate entreat to speak for me,<br />
When even the righteous may hardly be secure?<br />
King of awful majesty,<br />
Who freely savest the redeemed,<br />
Save me, O fount of goodness.<br />
Remember, blessed Jesu,<br />
That I am the cause of Thy pilgrimage,<br />
Do not forsake me on that day.<br />
Seeking me Thou didst sit down weary,<br />
Thou didst redeem me, suffering death on the cross.<br />
Let not such toil be in vain.<br />
Just and avenging Judge,<br />
Grant remission<br />
Before the day of reckoning.<br />
I groan like a guilty man.<br />
Guilt reddens my face.<br />
Spare a suppliant, O God.<br />
Thou who didst absolve Mary Magdalene<br />
And didst hearken to the thief,<br />
To me also hast Thou given hope.<br />
My prayers are not worthy,<br />
But Thou in Thy merciful goodness grant<br />
That I burn not in everlasting fire.<br />
Place me among Thy sheep<br />
And separate me from the goats,<br />
Setting me on Thy right hand.<br />
When the accursed have been confounded<br />
And given over to the bitter flames,<br />
Call me with the blessed.<br />
I pray in supplication on my knees.<br />
My heart contrite as the dust,<br />
Safeguard my fate.<br />
Mournful that day<br />
When from the dust shall rise<br />
Guilty man to be judged.<br />
Therefore spare him, O God.<br />
Merciful Jesu,<br />
Lord Grant them rest.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Offertorium</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><br />
</b></span>Lord Jesus Christ, King of glory,<br />
deliver the souls of all the faithful<br />
departed from the pains of hell and from the bottomless pit.<br />
Deliver them from the lion's mouth.<br />
Neither let them fall into darkness<br />
nor the black abyss swallow them up.<br />
And let St. Michael, Thy standard-bearer,<br />
lead them into the holy light<br />
which once Thou didst promise<br />
to Abraham and his seed.<br />
<br />
We offer unto Thee this sacrifice<br />
of prayer and praise.<br />
Receive it for those souls<br />
whom today we commemorate.<br />
Allow them, O Lord, to cross<br />
from death into the life<br />
which once Thou didst promise to Abraham<br />
and his seed.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Sanctus</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><br />
</b></span>Holy, holy, holy,<br />
Lord God of Sabaoth.<br />
Heaven and earth are full of Thy glory.<br />
Hosanna in the highest.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Benedictus</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><br />
</b></span>Blessed is He who cometh in the name of the Lord.<br />
Hosanna in the highest.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Agnus Dei</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><br />
</b></span>Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world,<br />
grant them rest.<br />
Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world,<br />
grant them everlasting rest.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Communio</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px;"><b><br />
</b></span>May eternal light shine on them, O Lord.<br />
with Thy saints for ever, because<br />
Thou art merciful.<br />
Grant the dead eternal rest, O Lord,<br />
and may perpetual light shine on them,<br />
with Thy saints for ever,<br />
because Thou are merciful.</span></b></span></b></span></span></b></span></b></span></span></b></span></b></span></span></b></span></b></span></span></b></span></span></b></span></b></span></b></span></span></span></span></span></div></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-51781506419089915742010-02-26T17:58:00.000-08:002010-02-26T17:58:32.838-08:00When I Am Old<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbvp9k7P6WpmqmG6nN0Sid8rps3FsVp6xy-Xryx76IuepMAtnHlv57pisIkZYFU4e6bYtPKrxdfpKu-pxGHWDgEpqpLceshqVK8KoiJ0OhYLgoPlirK1yEHtAYkzSbjhKWgZRqy_UWkRU/s1600-h/grandmother460x276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbvp9k7P6WpmqmG6nN0Sid8rps3FsVp6xy-Xryx76IuepMAtnHlv57pisIkZYFU4e6bYtPKrxdfpKu-pxGHWDgEpqpLceshqVK8KoiJ0OhYLgoPlirK1yEHtAYkzSbjhKWgZRqy_UWkRU/s320/grandmother460x276.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am, by some standards, at that perfect age in life - where I am old enough to do everything but not too old for anything. Many people, women in particular, seem to spend their whole lives longing to be (or at least appear to be) in this exact stage.<br />
<br />
This week, a simple, but profoundly comforting thought has come to me: I think that I will like myself when I am old. I like myself well enough right now, but, when I consider my trajectory, I think that I will find even more beauty, more to love in the person I am in the process of becoming. <br />
<br />
At 50 or 70 or even 90, I know that Texas summers will have taken their toll on my skin - but I think those wrinkles will hold a great deal of wisdom. My thighs will have inevitably grown larger, but I think my heart will have expanded even more. My cool gray hair will hopefully be a sign that I, over the course of many years, have grown less hot-tempered and more inclined to be still, to contemplate, and to pray.<br />
<br />
So be patient with me in the meantime. When I am impulsive or selfish or mean or just plain stubborn, remember: I'm growing out of it... and, hopefully, you, too, will like the me I am when I am old.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-2196452099276081992010-02-22T20:38:00.001-08:002010-02-22T20:40:06.865-08:00"I Am Not Yours" by Sara Teasdale<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4DGJvfFprEQ3QlS5WmYhtnbeVSynd2627NAjxULM-Imt5Y3zvcM01VUy1C0nVlNokGXcj-jdd-qlQ4gFFV7Evc7EBlv4s_tJM3JCpF6K2xcaTKGjty806Wtu1nHfS3MQyQKPqJTKMjI/s1600-h/Woman+Praying+by+Tree_smaller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4DGJvfFprEQ3QlS5WmYhtnbeVSynd2627NAjxULM-Imt5Y3zvcM01VUy1C0nVlNokGXcj-jdd-qlQ4gFFV7Evc7EBlv4s_tJM3JCpF6K2xcaTKGjty806Wtu1nHfS3MQyQKPqJTKMjI/s400/Woman+Praying+by+Tree_smaller.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not yours, not lost in you,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Not lost, although I long to be</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lost as a candle lit at noon,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lost as a snowflake in the sea.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">You love me, and I find you still</div><div style="text-align: center;">A spirit beautiful and bright,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yet I am I, who long to be</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lost as a light is lost in light.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out</div><div style="text-align: center;">My senses, leave me deaf and blind,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Swept by the tempest of your love,</div><div style="text-align: center;">A taper in a rushing wind. </div></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-69317287067151957922010-02-17T13:10:00.003-08:002010-02-28T18:20:33.691-08:00Lent: A Time of Morning<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today is the first day of Lent, and everybody has been asking me what I'm "giving up" this year. Last time around, I gave up alcohol which, although great for my cells, didn't really do that much for my soul. Instead of repeating that process by arbitrarily picking something else I like and giving it up, I'm going to try to take on something new instead.<br />
<br />
From this point forward (or, at the very least, till Easter), my mornings are sacred. As much as I understand how necessary it is to be still and center myself on things of substance at the start of the day, I love to sleep... and I </span> <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">really</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> love to snooze. This is not conducive to morning prayer - especially when I tell myself that I will just pray in my bed... laying down... with my eyes closed... curled up in the fetal position. It's time for a new routine. For this Lenten season, I'm giving the first full hour of my day, everyday, to God. I guess that means I'm giving up my snooze button for Lent this year...</span></span></div></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBS8nl2pvAFixVaCEzIsnpPdr3_p2JFCJqJ49Xf4kbxd0lob1UzbhVebcEXMGkJwSu3VSP63GEZ9Przh-sqooElOzSU-YYHVxW8lGS9SQhuJW5hznizMvtQ6rxQ7BB8yJIoVKsf3YjJZ4/s1600-h/usa-pope-lent-2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBS8nl2pvAFixVaCEzIsnpPdr3_p2JFCJqJ49Xf4kbxd0lob1UzbhVebcEXMGkJwSu3VSP63GEZ9Przh-sqooElOzSU-YYHVxW8lGS9SQhuJW5hznizMvtQ6rxQ7BB8yJIoVKsf3YjJZ4/s200/usa-pope-lent-2008.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-42246083425146841142010-02-15T18:52:00.000-08:002010-02-15T18:53:35.154-08:00"Kiss the Quivering Lip" by Stephan Bauman<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8i3eP3yL6H0m6GSbHpfFoyCEFJTppviwAzhYMovNDWmtvkHosY4pc97bee261AJEKEm6VawXLmgCXCYm-dVcOe-dY_RR6qPkct7o9lV391EA5t5aHW4bryrFEK4SjLHAPpxs_ww7tkU/s400/photo+Thamar+and+Jesula.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: small; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 20px; "><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; text-align: center; ">Families<br />Wrapped their loved ones<br />In linens beautiful.<br />Some wrote epithets<br />Of grief<br />Of love<br />And attached it<br />To their feet.</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; text-align: center; "><br />Some<br />Desperate<br />Some opportunistic<br />Stole the shoes and clothes<br />Of the dead.<br />Naked we come<br />Naked we go.<br /><br />There was man<br />I know him<br />He rescued<br />Two, three<br />And then four more.<br /><br /></div><span><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; text-align: center; ">I was told a mother ran in<br />As others ran out.<br />She flung her body<br />Across her child.<br />None greater<br />They say<br />Than she who gives her life<br />For another.<br /><br /></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; text-align: center; ">Thamar<br />Had a baby today<br />She named her<br />Jesula,<br />"God with us".<br />Her family waited<br />Until after birth<br />To tell of her firstborn son:<br />"He's gone<br />To where Jesula<br />Has come."<br />She wailed, "Please, no, please<br />Bring him to me,<br />Please?"</div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; text-align: center; "><br />Chase this crowded room<br />This press of humanity<br />This weight of history;<br />Triage the punctured soul<br />Wash the suffering wound<br />And breathe the dying flicker.<br /><br />Lay<br />Your gentle head<br />O Mercy<br />Upon this Haitian bosom<br />Of anguish<br />Of grief<br />And kiss the quivering lip<br />Of mother<br />Of child<br />Of sinner<br />Of saint.</div><div style="text-align: right;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; ">(from underthemango.com)</div></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-40336972242134402342010-02-14T11:06:00.002-08:002010-02-14T11:09:39.386-08:00"Gacela of Unforeseen Love" by Federico García Lorca<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejlY4NRxMNfumPsP_9wof90WAsh5v6he6eEWYTGpUXtKauajzfz_I3-4mv0anJ49T3KNq6vkVooi73oAVZB5MYV93MrXo3y8tBrkcJ2b2Ni4ASaFcWwx7lw3_C9fVrkepZmrbylkpsu4/s1600-h/gacela.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhejlY4NRxMNfumPsP_9wof90WAsh5v6he6eEWYTGpUXtKauajzfz_I3-4mv0anJ49T3KNq6vkVooi73oAVZB5MYV93MrXo3y8tBrkcJ2b2Ni4ASaFcWwx7lw3_C9fVrkepZmrbylkpsu4/s200/gacela.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438178355491977730" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">No one understood the fragrance<br />of the dark magnolia of your womb.<br />No one knew how you tormented<br />a hummingbird of love between your teeth.<br /><br />A thousand Persian ponies bedded down<br />in the moonlit plaza of your forehead<br />while for four nights I lassoed<br />your waist, the enemy of snow.<br /><br />Between gypsum and jasmine, your glance<br />was a pale branchful of seeds.<br />I searched my breast to give you<br />the ivory letters that spell always,<br /><br />always, always: garden of my agony,<br />your body forever fugitive,<br />the blood of your veins in my mouth<br />and your mouth already my tomb, emptied of light</span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-59659872669319903592010-02-12T15:52:00.001-08:002010-02-12T15:54:04.123-08:00"Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)" by Marvin Gaye<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi078XTG-5SdjfCUuQTCCkfvmt-dq8mklV5Gh08QsG9zel_fa20EzlH2R2fCFJ7cOG04bch7rWCGIZniAo_Zo2OI5QquVDVjqynSZ7r-mw9C9z7aTsovgd1cs4iX-pcB-MfMdMyw9I8dwc/s1600-h/marvin.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi078XTG-5SdjfCUuQTCCkfvmt-dq8mklV5Gh08QsG9zel_fa20EzlH2R2fCFJ7cOG04bch7rWCGIZniAo_Zo2OI5QquVDVjqynSZ7r-mw9C9z7aTsovgd1cs4iX-pcB-MfMdMyw9I8dwc/s200/marvin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437509219388898002" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rockets, moon shots<br />Spend it on the have nots<br />Money, we make it<br />Fore we see it you take it<br />Oh, make you wanna holler<br />The way they do my life<br />Make me wanna holler<br />The way they do my life<br />This ain't livin', This ain't livin'<br />No, no baby, this ain't livin'<br />No, no, no<br />Inflation no chance<br />To increase finance<br />Bills pile up sky high<br />Send that boy off to die<br />Make me wanna holler<br />The way they do my life<br />Make me wanna holler<br />The way they do my life<br />Dah, dah, dah<br />Dah, dah, dah<br />Hang ups, let downs<br />Bad breaks, set backs<br />Natural fact is<br />I can't pay my taxes<br />Oh, make me wanna holler<br />And throw up both my hands<br />Yea, it makes me wanna holler<br />And throw up both my hands<br />Crime is increasing<br />Trigger happy policing<br />Panic is spreading<br />God know where we're heading<br />Oh, make me wanna holler<br />They don't understand<br />Dah, dah, dah<br />Dah, dah, dah<br />Dah, dah, dah<br />Mother, mother<br />Everybody thinks we're wrong<br />Who are they to judge us<br />Simply cause we wear our hair long</span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-42695868354268008362010-02-11T14:48:00.000-08:002010-02-11T14:50:31.043-08:00"A Prodigal" by Elizabeth Bishop<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNlt9_j8MtK1a4Aitb39tTOJq469VhKtV9NrRgTvlAX0cpvKIGGl_b85lm9suFNP_eMW4NMCKrzTIV8cAL30z3f1ogpoIvrb0VA1mYlY9lfgdesrBDCtcIL-n7APf2QJkTQDvUxbsVu0/s1600-h/prodigal.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNlt9_j8MtK1a4Aitb39tTOJq469VhKtV9NrRgTvlAX0cpvKIGGl_b85lm9suFNP_eMW4NMCKrzTIV8cAL30z3f1ogpoIvrb0VA1mYlY9lfgdesrBDCtcIL-n7APf2QJkTQDvUxbsVu0/s200/prodigal.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437121912431795762" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The brown enormous odor he lived by<br />was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,<br />for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty<br />was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung.<br />Light-lashed, self-righteous, above moving snouts,<br />the pigs' eyes followed him, a cheerful stare--<br />even to the sow that always ate her young--<br />till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head.<br />But sometimes mornings after drinking bouts<br />(he hid the pints behind the two-by-fours),<br />the sunrise glazed the barnyard mud with red<br />the burning puddles seemed to reassure.<br />And then he thought he almost might endure<br />his exile yet another year or more.<br /><br />But evenings the first star came to warn.<br />The farmer whom he worked for came at dark<br />to shut the cows and horses in the barn<br />beneath their overhanging clouds of hay,<br />with pitchforks, faint forked lightnings, catching light,<br />safe and companionable as in the Ark.<br />The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.<br />The lantern--like the sun, going away--<br />laid on the mud a pacing aureole.<br />Carrying a bucket along a slimy board,<br />he felt the bats' uncertain staggering flight,<br />his shuddering insights, beyond his control,<br />touching him. But it took him a long time<br />finally to make up his mind to go home.</span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-62516201011056775812010-02-10T10:18:00.004-08:002010-02-11T17:01:43.496-08:00"Michael Martin, Porter" by Dorothy Day (1937)<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7Bni0RotZlfT9j8t0TnM11PtrtTIghCXdfPQ3VThoX8iGQh0lBATb1_E1rNHBf4YMxB75dtUDk2FL2ObWlKzxEVOlFy0h_pQ20NnB9cMyJSl8FcCn77ZtLx1nxyR1jlAYF7sbpdxqbc/s1600-h/DD.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7Bni0RotZlfT9j8t0TnM11PtrtTIghCXdfPQ3VThoX8iGQh0lBATb1_E1rNHBf4YMxB75dtUDk2FL2ObWlKzxEVOlFy0h_pQ20NnB9cMyJSl8FcCn77ZtLx1nxyR1jlAYF7sbpdxqbc/s200/DD.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436681405686168754" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; ">I find a little paragraph in my notebook, "Michael Martin, porter, idle for five years, brought in $2."</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;">It was a thanksgiving offering, he explained, and he wanted to give it to some of our children in honor of his daughter in Ireland.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And I remembered how I spoke down in Palm Beach last month before the Four Arts Club, on the invitation of a convert. They told me, when I had finished, "You know we never pay speakers," and another woman said, with a tremor, "Miss Day, I hope you can convey to your readers and listeners that we would give our very souls to help the poor, if we saw any constructive way of doing it." And still another told me, "The workers come to my husband's mill and beg him with tears in their eyes to save them from unions. I hope you don't mind me saying so, but I think you are all wrong with it comes to unions."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">They all were deeply moved, they told me, by the picture of conditions in Arkansas and the steel districts and the coal-mining districts, but: "You can't do anything with them, you know, these poor people. It seems to me the best remedy is birth control."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We are told always to keep a just attitude toward the rich, and we try. But as I thought of our breakfast line, our crowded house with people sleeping on the floor, when I thought of cold tenement apartments around us, and the lean gaunt faces of the men who come to us for help, desperation in their eyes, it was impossible not to hate, with a heart hatred and with a strong anger, the injustices of this world.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">St. Thomas says that anger is not a sin, provided there is no undue desire for revenge. We want no revolution; we want the brotherhood of men. We want men to love one another. We want all men to have sufficient for their needs. But when we meet people who deny Christ in His poor we feel, "Here are atheists indeed."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Our pastor said recently that sixty million of our one hundred and thirty million here in the United States professed no religion, and I thought with grief that it was the fault of those professing Christians who repelled the others. They turned first from Christ crucified because He was a poor worker, buffeted and spat upon and beaten. And now - strange thought - the devil has so maneuvered that the people turn from Him because those who profess Him are clothed in soft raiment and sit at well-spread tables and deny the poor.</div></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-10705952434870234952010-02-08T07:09:00.006-08:002010-02-08T07:14:33.871-08:00"Women" by Adrienne Rich<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhT74VcP_eH5nAazk85UXPlAB9Mpik50c5mvS9r1ZEdHJc0MO4ltxBZ3BIL1erEiZmGe5-1MkCgML501mre9j3jP2vve-6djI2SnC_q2HMnv4JldtY42iDfOFLqeg_sBBj-aGHpWe1M8/s1600-h/adriennerich.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZhT74VcP_eH5nAazk85UXPlAB9Mpik50c5mvS9r1ZEdHJc0MO4ltxBZ3BIL1erEiZmGe5-1MkCgML501mre9j3jP2vve-6djI2SnC_q2HMnv4JldtY42iDfOFLqeg_sBBj-aGHpWe1M8/s200/adriennerich.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435891097807690114" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; font-family:georgia;">My three sisters are sitting</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">on rocks of black obsidian.<br />For the first time, in this light, I can see who they are.<br /><br />My first sister is sewing her costume for the procession.<br />She is going as the Transparent lady<br />and all her nerves will be visible.<br /><br />My second sister is also sewing,<br />at the seam over her heart which has never healed entirely,<br />At last, she hopes, this tightness in her chest will ease.<br /><br />My third sister is gazing<br />at a dark-red crust spreading westward far out on the sea.<br />Her stockings are torn but she is beautiful.</span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-38683760967100766292010-02-06T23:26:00.029-08:002010-11-08T12:02:08.397-08:00Hippie Love<div style="text-align: center;">He looked homeless</div><div style="text-align: center;">in his yellowed beard</div><div style="text-align: center;">and torn khakis.</div><div style="text-align: center;">When the quartet played,</div><div style="text-align: center;">he yelled, "Bravo!"</div><div style="text-align: center;">and swayed</div><div style="text-align: center;">with bliss-closed eyes.<br />
<br />
Then in she walked<br />
<br />
with teasing hips</div><div style="text-align: center;">and thick eyebrows -</div><div style="text-align: center;">all purple and laughing and lovely.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Pulled close,</div><div style="text-align: center;">he kissed her<br />
smitten</div><div style="text-align: center;">to whisper<br />
<br />
"I'm so glad you're here."</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-79600405485648510292010-02-06T12:58:00.002-08:002010-02-11T17:02:58.879-08:00"Poverty and Precarity" by Dorothy Day (1952)<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><div style="clear: none; line-height: 14px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">It is hard to write about poverty.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;">We live in a slum neighborhood. It is becoming ever more crowded with Puerto Ricans, those who have the lowest wages in the city, who do the hardest work, who are small and undernourished from generations of privation and exploitation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></span><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We need to always be thinking about and writing about poverty, for if we are not among its victims its reality fades from us. We must talk about poverty, because people insulated by their own comfort lose sight of it. So many decent people come in to visit and tell us how their families were brought up in poverty, and how, through hard work and cooperation, they managed to educate all the children. They contend that healthful habits and a stable family situation enable people to escape from the poverty class, no matter how mean the slum they may once have been forced to live in. So why can't everybody do it? No, these people don't know about the poor. Their conception of poverty is of something neat and well ordered as a nun's cell.</span></span></b></span></div></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And maybe no one can be told; maybe they will have to experience it. Or maybe it is a grace which they must pray for. We usually get what we pray for, and maybe we are afraid to pray for it. </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And yet I am convinced that it is the grace we most need in this age of crisis, this time when expenditures reach into the billions to defend "our American way of life." Maybe this defense itself will bring down upon us the poverty we are afraid to pray for.</span></span></b></span></div></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;">...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">No one working with </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The Catholic Worker</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> gets a salary, so our readers feel called upon to give and help us keep the work going. And then we experience a poverty of another kind, a poverty of reputation. It is said often and with some scorn, "Why don't they get jobs and help the poor that way? Why are they living off others, begging?"</span></span></span></div></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I can only explain to such critics that it would complicate things to give a salary to Roger for his work of fourteen hours a day in the kitchen, clothes room, and office; to pay Jane a salary for running the women's house and Beth and Annabelle for giving out clothes, for making stencils all day and helping with the sick and the poor, and then have them all turn the money right back in to support the work. Or to make it more complicated, they might all go out and get jobs, and bring the money home to pay their board and room and the salaries of others to run the house. It is simpler just to be poor. It is simpler to beg. The main thing is not to hold on to anything.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But the tragedy is that we do, we all do hold on - to our books, our tools, such as typewriters, our clothes; and instead of rejoicing when they are taken from us we lament. We protest when people take our time or privacy. We are holding on to these "goods" too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Precarity," or precariousness, is an essential element in true voluntary poverty, a saintly priest from Martinique has written us. </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"True poverty is rare," he writes. "Nowadays religious communities are good, I am sure, but they are mistaken about poverty. They accept, admit, poverty on principle, but everything must be good and strong, buildings must be fireproof. Precarity is everywhere rejected, and precarity is an essential element of poverty. This has been forgotten.</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Here in our monastery we want precarity in everything except the church. These last days our refectory was near collapsing. We have put several supplementary beams in place and thus it will last maybe two or three years more. </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Precarity enables us better to help the poor. When a community is always building, enlarging, and embellishing, there is nothing left over for the poor. We have no right to do so as long as there are slums and breadlines somewhere."</span></span></b></span></div></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;">...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span></span><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">One way to keep poor is not to accept money which is the result of defrauding the poor.</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Here is a story of St. Ignatius of Sardinia, a Capuchin recently canonized. Ignatius used to go out from his monastery with a sack to beg from the people of the town, but he would never go to a merchant who had build up his fortune by defrauding the poor. Franchino, the rich man, fumed every time the saint passed his door. His concern, however, was not the loss of the opportunity to give alms, but fear of public opinion. He complained at the friary, whereupon the Father Guardian ordered St. Ignatius to beg from the merchant the next time he went out.</span></span></span></div></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;">"Very well," said Ignatius obediently. "If you wish it, Father, I will go, but I would not have the Capuchins dine on the blood of the poor."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The merchant received Ignatius with great flattery and gave him generous alms, asking him to come again in the future. But hardly had Ignatius left the house with his sack on his shoulder when drops of blood began oozing down the sack. They trickled down on Franchino's doorstep and ran down through the street to the monastery. Everywhere Ignatius went, a trickle of blood followed him. When he arrived at the friary, he laid the sack at the Father Guardian's feet. "What is this?" gasped the Guardian. "This," St. Ignatius said, "is the blood of the poor."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This story appeared in the last column written by a great Catholic layman, a worker for social justice, F. P. Kenkel, editor of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Social Justice Review</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> in St. Louis (and always a friend of Peter Maurin's).</span></span></span></div></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Mr. Kenkel's last comment was that </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">the universal crisis in the world today was created by love of money. "The Far East and the Near East [and he might have said all Africa and Latin America also] together constitute a great sack from which blood is oozing. The flow will not stop as long as our interests in those people are dominated largely by financial and economic considerations.</span></span></b></span></div></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div class="photo photo_center" style="clear: both; line-height: 14px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; text-align: center; "><div class="photo_img" style="clear: none; line-height: 14px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; width: 180px; "><a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=61362825&op=1&view=all&subj=308371816061&aid=-1&auser=0&oid=308371816061&id=8302368" style="cursor: pointer; color: rgb(59, 89, 152); text-decoration: none; "><img src="http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs180.snc3/20749_10100208099773264_8302368_61362825_6598162_a.jpg" style="text-align: justify;border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; " /></a></div><div class="caption" style="text-align: justify;clear: none; line-height: 12px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-size: 9px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: auto; width: 180px; ">A child working in a sweatshop</div></div><div class="clear_center" style="clear: both; line-height: 14px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 0px; "><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Voluntary poverty, Peter Maurin would say, is the answer. </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Through voluntary poverty we will have the means to help our brothers. We cannot even see our brothers in need without first stripping ourselves. It is the only way we have of showing our love.</span></span></b></div></span></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720107549989285778.post-66816584087034719172010-02-04T16:20:00.005-08:002010-02-04T16:50:51.011-08:00"The Lovers of the Poor" by Gwendolyn Brooks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-jMHclpxQEQawyMZa-8ChJOZoa82V3fBWmWDAup4GGJ5FplpYkGiipF3bf3YoRl2pggl-lspf2VrCleZEr04vCt5u_amyIfW1akQsCv8OBves97Po8J6eOs_9qenjLpLYotclbKQx3A/s1600-h/white+gloves.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-jMHclpxQEQawyMZa-8ChJOZoa82V3fBWmWDAup4GGJ5FplpYkGiipF3bf3YoRl2pggl-lspf2VrCleZEr04vCt5u_amyIfW1akQsCv8OBves97Po8J6eOs_9qenjLpLYotclbKQx3A/s200/white+gloves.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434554117390470482" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Lovers of the Poor<br /><br />arrive. The Ladies from the Ladies' Betterment<br />League<br />Arrive in the afternoon, the late light slanting<br />In diluted gold bars across the boulevard brag<br />Of proud, seamed faces with mercy and murder hinting<br />Here, there, interrupting, all deep and debonair,<br />The pink paint on the innocence of fear;<br />Walk in a gingerly manner up the hall.<br />Cutting with knives served by their softest care,<br />Served by their love, so barbarously fair.<br />Whose mothers taught: You'd better not be cruel!<br />You had better not throw stones upon the wrens!<br />Herein they kiss and coddle and assault<br />Anew and dearly in the innocence<br />With which they baffle nature. Who are full,<br />Sleek, tender-clad, fit, fiftyish, a-glow, all<br />Sweetly abortive, hinting at fat fruit,<br />Judge it high time that fiftyish fingers felt<br />Beneath the lovelier planes of enterprise.<br />To resurrect. To moisten with milky chill.<br />To be a random hitching post or plush.<br />To be, for wet eyes, random and handy hem.<br />Their guild is giving money to the poor.<br />The worthy poor. The very very worthy<br />And beautiful poor. Perhaps just not too swarthy?<br />Perhaps just not too dirty nor too dim<br />Nor--passionate. In truth, what they could wish<br />Is--something less than derelict or dull.<br />Not staunch enough to stab, though, gaze for gaze!<br />God shield them sharply from the beggar-bold!<br />The noxious needy ones whose battle's bald<br />Nonetheless for being voiceless, hits one down.<br />But it's all so bad! and entirely too much for them.<br />The stench; the urine, cabbage, and dead beans,<br />Dead porridges of assorted dusty grains,<br />The old smoke, heavy diapers, and, they're told,<br />Something called chitterlings. The darkness. Drawn<br />Darkness, or dirty light. The soil that stirs.<br />The soil that looks the soil of centuries.<br />And for that matter the general oldness. Old<br />Wood. Old marble. Old tile. Old old old.<br />Note homekind Oldness! Not Lake Forest, Glencoe.<br />Nothing is sturdy, nothing is majestic,<br />There is no quiet drama, no rubbed glaze, no<br />Unkillable infirmity of such<br />A tasteful turn as lately they have left,<br />Glencoe, Lake Forest, and to which their cars<br />Must presently restore them. When they're done<br />With dullards and distortions of this fistic<br />Patience of the poor and put-upon.<br />They've never seen such a make-do-ness as<br />Newspaper rugs before! In this, this "flat,"<br />Their hostess is gathering up the oozed, the rich<br />Rugs of the morning (tattered! the bespattered . . . ),<br />Readies to spread clean rugs for afternoon.<br />Here is a scene for you. The Ladies look,<br />In horror, behind a substantial citizeness<br />Whose trains clank out across her swollen heart.<br />Who, arms akimbo, almost fills a door.<br />All tumbling children, quilts dragged to the floor<br />And tortured thereover, potato peelings, soft-<br />Eyed kitten, hunched-up, haggard, to-be-hurt.<br />Their League is allotting largesse to the Lost.<br />But to put their clean, their pretty money, to put<br />Their money collected from delicate rose-fingers<br />Tipped with their hundred flawless rose-nails seems . . .<br />They own Spode, Lowestoft, candelabra,<br />Mantels, and hostess gowns, and sunburst clocks,<br />Turtle soup, Chippendale, red satin "hangings,"<br />Aubussons and Hattie Carnegie. They Winter<br />In Palm Beach; cross the Water in June; attend,<br />When suitable, the nice Art Institute;<br />Buy the right books in the best bindings; saunter<br />On Michigan, Easter mornings, in sun or wind.<br />Oh Squalor! This sick four-story hulk, this fibre<br />With fissures everywhere! Why, what are bringings<br />Of loathe-love largesse? What shall peril hungers<br />So old old, what shall flatter the desolate?<br />Tin can, blocked fire escape and chitterling<br />And swaggering seeking youth and the puzzled wreckage<br />Of the middle passage, and urine and stale shames<br />And, again, the porridges of the underslung<br />And children children children. Heavens! That<br />Was a rat, surely, off there, in the shadows? Long<br />And long-tailed? Gray? The Ladies from the Ladies'<br />Betterment League agree it will be better<br />To achieve the outer air that rights and steadies,<br />To hie to a house that does not holler, to ring<br />Bells elsetime, better presently to cater<br />To no more Possibilities, to get<br />Away. Perhaps the money can be posted.<br />Perhaps they two may choose another Slum!<br />Some serious sooty half-unhappy home!--<br />Where loathe-lover likelier may be invested.<br />Keeping their scented bodies in the center<br />Of the hall as they walk down the hysterical hall,<br />They allow their lovely skirts to graze no wall,<br />Are off at what they manage of a canter,<br />And, resuming all the clues of what they were,<br />Try to avoid inhaling the laden air.</span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0