Poetry on Hope and Faith in Unlikely Places

Sometimes you can find poetic expression in the most unlikely places. Just as it's possible to find steamy marital references in Puritan town-hall records, it's possible to find poetry in John Calvin's commentaries:

[Re: Romans 4:18- 'Who against hope believed in hope, that he might become the father of many nations'] "And, doubtless, there is nothing more injurious to faith than to fasten our minds to tour eyes, that we may from what we see, seek a reason for our hope...for except faith flies upward on celestial wings, so as to look down on all the perceptions of the flesh as on things far below, it will stick fast in the mud of the world...for when he had no ground for hoping he yet in hope relied on the promise of God; and he thought it a sufficient reason for hoping, that the Lord had promised, however incredible the thing was in itself."

After a great explanation of how Abraham shuts his mind to the clamoring of the flesh (I can't possibly have a child at this age, with Sarah!), Calvin has this to say about Abraham 'being not weak in faith':
"..he vacillated not, nor fluctuated, as we usually do under difficult circumstances. There is indeed a twofold weakness of faith - one is that which, by succumbing to trying adversities, occasions a falling away from the supporting power of God - the other arises from imperfection, but does not extinguish faith itself: for the mind is never so illuminated, but that many relics of ignorance remain; the heart is never so strengthened, but that much doubting cleaves to it. Hence with these vices of the flesh, ignorance and doubt, the faithful have a continual conflict, and in this conflict their faith is often dreadfully shaken and distressed, but at length it comes forth victorious; so that they may be said to be strong even in weakness."

The Lord seems to love these paradoxes of comparison and contrast. Even in re-reading the account of Abraham and Sarah being given the most wonderful news of their life, it struck me that God was multitasking. He came down to encourage his child Abraham with a great word of promise about the coming Seed who was to crush the serpent, and also to crush some of the serpent's children in Sodom and Gomorrah. First to bless, then to curse - not only for an object lesson to Abraham regarding what would happen to rebellious covenant children who forgot their teaching "to do righteousness and justice", but also to rescue a covenant child (Lot) who had forgotten how to be salt and light. His wife became salt, and Sodom's darkness exploded from the power of the Light that visited it from on high. Little did Lot know that his prayers to God would be answered so drastically. (In God's kingdom, until we reach heaven, there is never blessing unalloyed.)

The fight of faith is always obscured by what we see:

"All things around us are in opposition to the promises of God: He promises immortality; we are surrounded with mortality and corruption: He declares that he counts us just; we are covered with sins; He testifies that he is propitious and kind to us; outward judgments threaten his wrath. What then is to be done? We must with closed eyes pass by ourselves and all things connected with us, that nothing may hinder or prevent us from believing that God is true."

Amen to that, John! ....and now, wisdom from Icanhascheezburger:

Loving "The Silver Chair" All Over Again

Don't know about anyone else, but for some reason, parts of C.S. Lewis' "The Silver Chair" just didn't hit as hard as other books. In a fit of wakefulness on Sunday, after eight cups of coffee (they can really add up when you have them everywhere you go!), I re-read it. And found some gems.

Have always loved Puddleglum, but the appreciation is deeper now. My parents can sometimes seem to look on The Dark Side of Life in complete contrariness to the immortal Monty Python boys' advice ("always look on the bright side of life!"). And life is such, on this sin-saturated world of ours, that they're quite often right. However, they are the people that you lean on in times of real trouble, just like Jill and Eustace.

"Many have taken ship at the pale beaches," replied the Warden, "and -"
"Yes, I know," interrupted Puddleglum. "And few return to the sunlit lands. You needn't say it again. You are a chap of one idea, aren't you?"
The children huddled close together on either side of Puddleglum. They had thought him a wet blanket while they were still above ground, but down here he seemed the only comforting thing they had.

Puddleglum is one of those characters that you grow to love. First he's irritating with his constant string of 'what-ifs' that always tend to disaster. Then he's a solid rock on which to lean, though he tends to rub a bit raw. Then he's a rock in a tossing sea, and you can depend on him to do the hard things like put his foot in a magical fire in order to save his unappreciative friends from enchanted doom. He is loyal, he is steady, and the only time he really gets excited is when there's a test of his serious view of life.

The Prince has been harder to appreciate. Although I've read this book more than ten times, and have some passages memorized, he seems one of those characters that I ought to love and appreciate, and it just didn't quite hit the heart strings yet. He did strike me as more like Hamlet in character than appearance - overfond of soliloquy and his own voice, knowingly egotistical, and foolhardy in his acceptance of adventure. Some of that could be put down to enchantment of the green serpent, but he was foolhardy in his independence before he became enchanted. Altogether, he didn't seem like a proper replacement for his father, Prince Caspian the Seafarer.
Until today.

His speech to the Witch is a masterpiece of kingly courtesy - politely asking for good treatment at the hand of an oppressor takes a lot of courage. That kind of courage means that you are requiring of yourself the inability to sink to the level of the torturer; they will be given fair words until strong ones are required. They must prove themselves evil in the presence of other witnesses. "Please it you to grant me and my friends safe conduct and a guide through your dark realm." Rilian starts to take leadership naturally, and it is seamless, but these great words have escaped me til now.

[On his formerly enchanted shield, the Lion now figures brightly.] "Doubtless," said the Prince. "This signifies that Aslan will be our good lord, whether he means us to live or die. And all's one, for that. Now, by my counsel, we shall all kneel and kiss his likeness, and then all shake hands one with another, as true friends that may shortly be parted. And then, let us descend into the city and take the adventure that is set us."

By this cheerful acceptance that his life is in Aslan's hands, the Prince is more than saying that he is just as able to live or die at Aslan's command. What he's really saying is that whether he is buried alive (and no one hears of him ever again), or gets out and rules Narnia, his life is not wasted. It is hard, sometimes, to believe that your continued life will be of any use if no one knows the sacrifices you made, or if your goals were not met - what would be the point of a life that no one sees? Rilian is affirming an ancient Christian principle: whether one dies or lives, in poverty or in great blessing, it is good that the Lord do with you what He wishes. Hamlet struggled long with the idea that a life cut short by his own hand ("to die! To sleep! no more") would be better than living in pain. Rilian accepts that Aslan might have called three noble people out of their own lives to wander about the countryside, beset by cannibalistic giants and serpents disguised as beautiful enchantresses, just for all four of them to perish underground in an attempt at freedom. (Yes, insert Braveheart music here.) And here is an end of the matter:

"Friends," said the Prince, "when once a man is launched on such an adventure as this, he must bid farewell to hopes and fears, otherwise death or deliverance will both come too late to save his honour and his reason."

This post is dedicated to my mum and my sisters, the bravest women I know. :)

Aaaaaah, I Can Feel The Burn- In My Fingertips

So I read an article on Helium that made me desire to walk outside in the muggy Arizona weather (anything over 10% humidity is muggy)for an hour, just because I was so pumped. Proper motivation comes by reading, and reading by the preachers of the Internet.

Well, not quite true. I had been wondering why my exercise 'regime' (mostly 20-30 minute walks under duress and in a bad attitude, 2-3 times per week) wasn't working. I'm not gaining, but I'm not losing anything either. Just like the turtle, I plod along, get a bit of satisfaction on crossing something off the list, get a little hungry and whammo - my jeans size hasn't changed. And, there's That Pair Of Jeans that I'm stashing away at the back of one of my drawers, in a deep dark corner. Occasionally, I take it out and look at it longingly, as if to say, "some day darling - some day we shall be together, no matter what the cost". But just like a man and his mistress in all those period films like "Dr. Zhivago" or most recently "Becoming Jane", circumstances and society have cruelly gotten in my way. Specifically, circumstances of ice cream and pizza still being in this world, and the society that I run with still liking them. Therefore, I could not help but be drawn to them like a moth to a flame, and tragically, get burned on the scales every time. And yet - and yet the fascination remains. (Doesn't this just sound like one of those books that attempt to appeal to your worst instincts and then call it a Poignant Exploration of Art? Hogwash.)

So now I've decided to take some Drastic Measures and stride out to the forest and End It All, sacrificing my desires of artichoke dip and cheesecake to the higher call of Health and Wellness, although not in that order, and die of pneumonia in the rain to preserve my honour. (Actually, this is lightly akin to Rufus Sewell's character in the Thomas Hardy adaptation film "The Woodlanders". And just like Sir Ulrich Lichtensteihn in "A Knight's Tale", he spends his ill-starred passion on THE WRONG GIRL. Why on earth these good-looking Tools of Fate don't see that the stunning beauty by their side isn't the one they want to chase, I don't know - I tell them enough when I'm watching that they're being muppets.)

Anyway. So the same rules apply to writing. I may THINK that I have done All There Is To Do, coming up with creative ideas and worrying about grammatical structure and misplaced commas, but the only thing that will bump me up into earning more than $3/article on Helium is writing every morning, scribbling at night, and generally making a nuisance of myself until someone is impressed and notices. Stubbornness - it's got to pay off somehow! So back to the drawing board - or, writing pages - more creative exercises in The Artist's Way.
And someday, when I've added ten pounds to my diaries but not to my frame, I shall count all the calluses on my fingers and be proud. Right now, I need some coffee to get started. :)

Waiting for Redbox

It's a fairly typical night at the Reyburn house - Mum's raptly watching the Les Miserables musical (no doubt we'll hear its merits and demerits tomorrow), Dad got bored with Marius' histrionics and went to bed, and I'm writing articles on Helium because I'm waiting for Redbox.

Redbox offers these addictive texting deals, where you can save the stunning amount of a whole dollar if they get to advertise to you. No doubt Satan used the same sort of argument with Eve when debating the various merits and demerits of the Tree of Good and Evil system. "Yes, Eve, I do hear you on that. Yes, yes, it's good to know your limits - but surely one can explore just the possibility that maybe it doesn't matter? I know you have a spiritual budget that doesn't include consequences for forbidden things, but how do you know that you've hit that limit yet?"

Perhaps Marius' histrionics are having an effect on me, and this link between Satan and Redbox is farfetched. Perhaps they have nothing in common but a certain medieval link to the colour of ripe pomegranates. But I know human nature.

I know that I shall TELL myself that all will be well, I'll run down to the Redbox dispenser at precisely 11:49 pm and will be back in plenty of time tomorrow so that my card doesn't get charged. It's a foolproof plan, except for the nature of the card holder; she tends to forget things, get caught up in the moment, crawl into bed with a sleepy smile and have the Redbox DVD smirking at her in the morning. I am tired; I ought to just pay the $1 fee and be happy for affordable entertainment. Why won't that happen? Because, just like Eve, I always think there is something better that the universe is holding back from me.

Oh, wretched consumer that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?!

The Joy of Discipline

I woke up early this morning because I was feeling fat.

Not because of the beauty of the slightly misty morning, not because it would be an amazing experience to stride along with my sister to the garage and talk together about Life, not because of the example of the disciplined dogwalkers also up early. Although all of these things did happen along the way, they were merely an intriguing byproduct of the knowledge that my goal of lost weight hasn't been reached. (The budget doesn't cover new clothes.)

Sometimes, people's lives are completely changed because they're out of work and need a new car, so they begin some garage business and make a fortune in the next 15 years. All adulation and glory when you reach the finish line, a lot of tears and heartaches and late nights up trying not to worry until that happens. Or, someone finally hears the gospel call because it is previewed by the very real threat of hellish death. Talk about a trailer for a film that no one wants to see!

C.S. Lewis wrote, at the end of "Surprised by Joy", that joy itself is a byproduct - when he searched for it, it eluded him and frustrated him. He would see it, run after it to grasp it, and joy would melt out of his hands like the morning sun - burning his fingers along the way. When he plodded after pursuing the very real person of Christ, joy did come - but intermittently, along the road toward eternity. (I'm listening to U2's song "Beautiful Day" as I write - the line "After the Flood, all the colours came out" is particularly appropriate here.) If you haven't seen the film "The Road", it's a beauty-out-of-ashes story of a man's love for his son; great relationships are like that, forged out of hardship and toil.

My sister and I have now spent three months together in Scotland. Because of all of the late nights and weeping sessions and prayer times and films laughed at together, we have a host of great memories and funny insider jokes. If we tried to shortcut the process and just skip past all of the times where our conversations went nowhere and feelings were hurt, there would be very shallow memories of no enduring depth. I call it the "Dust to Glory" sequence; man is born from dust, but God propels him to glory through the dust. If you fall into the snatching routine, as Satan tempted Jesus to do in the desert, and shortcut the process of birthing pangs of joy - you might gain the world for a time. But you will lose your own soul along the way.

The walk today was a great success - trees blooming in pink and white, dogs frisking around in deep green grass, random red rubber bands strewn along the walkway, large-eyed children staring up from prams. And mist to cover it all with an air of mystery. Every once in a while, the sun would break free of the clouds and shards of light would pierce the field, as if the Creator couldn't bear to shroud the living in gray any more. John Piper is right - "joy is that for which suffering is preparing us".

Communication Potholes II

.....so, clearly, I just fell into a Communication pothole in the previous blog post. My sister just pointed out that everything made sense until I veered off into venting about Christian artists. The communication train derailed out of the station.

This is what I was trying to say. Christian authors and musicians communicate with different mediums, but the authors often get themselves mired in jargon, whereas the musicians often wrap themselves up in sweetness of Christian living that the Bible never promoted. "Hopeful garments are saturated in desperation, not Christian proficiency." (Jan Meyers, "The Allure of Hope") Jesus literally drove away many of His followers by telling them the cost of discipleship - possibly no home, no earthly inheritance, no assurance of wealth, rejection, no earthly throne, loving your enemies, being a servant. They 'walked with Him no more" when He told them point-blank that they had to be chosen by the Father, and there was no way for them to influence their own salvation. The reason why it infuriates me that Christian communicators fail to get this across is because they promote Jesus without saying His hard sayings in words that can be understood. (Obviously, I just did the same thing, so you can forget about saying that I'm being judgmental. What a powerful phrase turned prissy - 'being judgmental'. All that says anymore is that you're acting like a hurt little child on a playground, unable to hear the slightest criticism.)

Another phrase that riles is "it's just semantics". It's one of those phrases that formerly meant something, and now it communicates "I don't want to be bothered with exploring whether there is a difference in meaning or not". All roads do not lead to the gospel. All words do not mean the same - even a child could tell you that much. There is such a thing as truth and lies, and it takes time to ascertain which is which, even in the Garden of Eden. "It's just semantics" is usually followed by "well, it doesn't matter anyway" which is a poorly expressed way of saying "I don't care enough about this topic to possibly argue with you, because then the clumsy fabric of tolerance will be ripped away like the Temple curtain, and expose all the dead bones of bad thinking behind it".

All of these things are examples of poor communication, which is verbal laziness. God gave us words, so that we can mirror Him as The Word, and we ought to respect that gift.

Communication Potholes

Sometimes, communication is like shouting through a door.

Tried that with my sister recently - somehow, even though I had enunciated, the phrase "I was writing about how I didn't want to do the morning pages" turned into "You're saying you don't have a potato??! What?" Sometimes clear words just aren't enough because they've been obscured by your desire to be lazy.

That's right, lazy. I could have opened the door and walked over to my sister and said my phrase if I really wanted her to understand me. That's what I think about most theologians/preachers/teachers/professors who try so hard to be clever that they confuse their readers who feel they are wading through a word bog. Or, it can be indubitably surmised that those who obfuscate the clear rendering of key subtexts may befuddle their most allegiant admirers, akin to miring themselves in expressionary swampland. (I'm now getting editorial 'redlining' from blogspot, who doesn't appreciate my efforts to look smart.)

If you only write for a certain audience, don't complain that most people can't understand you. You didn't intend to be understood, you decided to stand like a lone reed, waving sadly on the abandoned banks of the Lake of Intellect. ("Ours, my boy, is a high and lonely destiny" - Uncle Andrew from C.S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew) There are few Christian authors that I really enjoy, just as there are few Christian musicians whose music I can stand, because it seems as though both types of artist are trying desperately to make Christianity into a mold it never intended to fill - Heavenly Hooey.

Many Christian authors seem to indicate that, as long as you throw a few verses into a fiction/therapy/job book, add a semi-original paragraph about either God's Love or God's Sovereignty (depending on whether you're Non-Denominational or Anything Else), you're golden. Hand over the harp, let the angels sing and the publishers quote.

Christian musicians - if there are any more 'worship bands' ready to make another album of songs that are bigoted enough to exclude anything about God's wrath against sinners or eternal hellfire....please just stay at home. I almost wish that you'd experience Johnny Cash's wretched drug-filled lifestyle rather than listen to how you want to wrap sweet Jesus in fuzzy pink blankets and cuddle up to him for eternity. I am sorry to be so harsh, but it must be a Christian artist rule not to tell your fellow musician that they need to edit.

(Feel free to leave instructive notes on this blog. By this last paragraph, I'm obviously asking for snarky feedback.)