September days separate for me the difference between where I live now and where I used to live. It's 5:30 p.m. and 97°F outside. Nearly mid-September. I hope it cools into the 80s soon. It's been a hot summer.
(I know, I know, you have worse problems.)
It's our 22nd day of homeschooling. We're learning things. Mostly me. I think my daughter has a classic case of predominately inattentive ADHD. We're thinking about getting her tested, but more on that later. Pray for me to be full of understanding and kindness. All that being said, she's doing a great job. I'm very proud of both Sophie and Avery.
We visited a mountain today. We swam under its waterfall, I took pictures, and I discovered, while making a piddling hike, how out-of-shape I am. (My mirror says, a bit wryly for my taste, "I showed you so." My scale, he just lies low, fearing to draw my attention.)
I huffed my way back up from the falls - pushing Gigantor uphill in a stroller over rocks and through sand, with the stroller skiing as often as rolling. Gigantor, by the way, is precious little sweet Jack Henry. Here he is - his three-year-old brother is holding him, or being held down by him, depending on where you're sitting, I suppose.
Jack's Charminy soft. Squeezably so. When he wakes up in the morning and I hold his warm body against my chest, I am exorcised. Something restrictive, stressful, sick leaves me. It is similar to what writing does for me. But Jack makes it easy. He just has to be. I catch him staring at me from his car seat, his head is craned up and backward to see me driving, to see me. He sees me see him and he smiles. And, with a smile, something oppressive, something wrong peels away from me. There are so very many instruments of God's grace.
Today a virginal gateway draws near: through her the God who is above all creatures will “come into the world” “bodily,” according to St Paul’s expression (Heb 1.6; Col 2.9). Today, from the stump of Jesse a shoot has sprouted (Is 11.1) from which will grow a flower for the world, united in its nature to the divinity. Today, from earthly nature a heaven has been created on earth by him who, in former times, made the firmament solid by separating it from the waters and setting it in the heights. But this heaven is more astonishing than the former, since he who in the first case created the sun has now himself arisen from this new heaven like a sun of justice (Mal 3.20)... Eternal light, begotten before the ages from eternal light, immaterial and incorporeal being, takes his body from this woman and, like a bridegroom, comes forth from his bridal chamber (Ps 18.6)...
Today, the “son of a carpenter” (Mt 13.55), the ever-active Word of the one who made all things through him, strong arm of God Most High... has made for himself a living ladder whose base is set on the earth and whose summit reaches the sky. Upon it God rests; this is what Jacob beheld in dream (Gn 28.12); by it God descended from his immovability or, rather, bent down in condescension and thus “appeared on earth and moved among men” (Bar 3.38). For these symbols represent his coming here below, his descent through pure grace, his earthly existence, the true knowledge he gave of himself to those on earth. The spiritual ladder, the Virgin, has been set on earth since she takes her origin from the earth, but her head has been raised to heaven... It is through her and the holy Spirit that “the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (Jn 1.14). It is through her and the holy Spirit that the union of God with men is accomplished.
- St John of Damascus (c. 675-749), monk, theologian, doctor of the Church, Homily on the Nativity of the Virgin (trans. SC 80)
HT: The Daily Gospel
You scored as Moltmannian Eschatology, Jürgen Moltmann is one of the key eschatological thinkers of the 20th Century. Eschatology is not only about heaven and hell, but God's plan to make all things new. This should spur us on to political and social action in the present.
What's your eschatology? created with QuizFarm.com |
This is all, quite honestly, a mess. While it is probably indicative of my eschatology, I would like to offer up my reservations about how much "political action" I think one should be involved in as a Christian. I do not believe the kingdom of God is waiting upon us to shoulder our way into power again, as the Church once enjoyed. That kind of power, we know, is corruptive - it is still true that God's kingdom is not of this world.
P.S.: Don't really know much about Moltmann and his beliefs, so I'm not terribly comfortable being identified with a Moltmannian eschatology. Then again, since I am ignorant, it might just peg me.
P.P.S.: In all fairness, I would also like to add that a few short years ago, this table would have been completely reversed.
After Annunciation
This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
There'd have been no room for the child.
- Madeleine L'Engle
"You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children."
Memory Eternal!
We went to Wal-Mart yesterday to pick up some groceries for breakfast and lunch. There, where she always sits, was the elderly plastic-wrapped lady serving up her always-delectable food-like samples. The children could hardly be restrained.
As we arrived at her table of plenty, we saw that she had samples of cheese and cottage-cheese-fruit mix. (The boy was not happy and could not be convinced that what he thought was yogurt - his favoritest food - was cottage cheese with mixed berries.) These particular dairy products had been pumped full of wonder-working bacteria that make one regular. Now, this is not a kind of product we Lyonses would normally require, being your run-of-the-mill, regular types. But it was cheese.
We threw our napkins in the trash, and continued shopping.
At 7:30 p.m., the yellow-haired child returned from the bathroom and said, "My butt just threw up in the toilet."
The experience taught me three things: (1) Children make excellent connections between past experiences and never-before-encountered ones, (2) "My butt just threw up in the toilet" is much funnier at 7:30 p.m. than it is at 4:00 a.m., and (3) If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Why is it that you believe what you believe? Is your belief merely an intellectual exercise - a kind of Pascal's Wager? Faith and theology, are felt, lived and prayed things. There is, sometimes, simply an intrinsic, unprovable rightness of a thing, like a sunset or the ocean. Like love. Like the Sistine Chapel or "Ave Maria." Like Dostoevsky and Milton and Hopkins. I hear "Christus Vincit" and I am undone.
A kiss says more than a contract ever could.
Do you know what I mean? Faith and theology are not things that can simply be explained, outlined, and bulleted. I can't hold them in my hand. And that's their beauty. These things about which we construct this or that particularity of our theologies is Mystery. Certainly, we must love the Lord our God with all our mind. But we must also understand the limitations thereof.
And I can be particularly thick. So please do not ask me for proofs. I cannot give you proofs, unless you will accept a rose. Or a poem.
" 'God, have mercy upon all of them, have all these unhappy and turbulent souls in Thy keeping, and set them in the right path. All ways are Thine. Save them according to Thy wisdom. Thou art love. Thou wilt send joy to all!' Alyosha murmured, crossing himself, and falling into peaceful sleep" (Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, final sentences of Chapter 11, Book 1).
I have always imagined John the Baptist as grizzled and middle-aged. But he wasn't. He was only six months older than his Cousin. And he died before Him. How old would that have made him? 31 or 32? He sat in a jail cell while Christ ministered to others. And he is blessed in his obscurity. He is blessed in becoming less and less. His star fell. And he, happily, though sometimes without understanding, fell with it until his very life was extinguished. And the world went on, following its own path or, even, following Christ. But no longer following John.
John the Baptist decreased. John the Baptist's life is an exemplar of his teaching. He bowed before obscurity that the Light of the world might be seen all the more clearly.
I read this morning St Ignatius of Loyola speak of three humilities. I could barely classify myself in the first and lowest humility - the humility to have Christ as Lord. The second and third love obscurity and poverty and the cross. But I am not so humble. I still want to be rich more than I want to be poor. I would still rather be somebody than nobody. I am not a humble man. I am not sure that I want to be. I am not sure that I want to want to be. But therein, I believe, is my salvation.
This life is not about what we do with ourselves so much as it is about who we are. That is not to say that this life is not about loving. Of course it is. What I mean is that it is not about becoming a success in whatever profession I profess. I count it all as nothing that I might gain Christ. My success is not my ambition. So I change poopy diapers, I attempt to teach pronouns to one daughter and patterns to the next. I clean up other people's messes. Here in this obscurity and lowliness, and only here, can I learn to love and serve God. I am not Christ's unless I am Christ's. And I cannot give Christ to others if I do not possess Him.
I am a proud man. I sometimes think that I am too proud to be able to call myself a follower of Christ. So now, with no coffee yet in me this Labor Day morning, I want to tell you that I need this blessed obscurity that I have for so long resisted and despised and feared - that I still struggle against. If I were to be famous, perhaps even successful, I would lose my soul.
