“At this point everything becomes clear or unclear, bright or dark. For here we are standing at the centre. And however high and mysterious and difficult everything we want to know might seem to us, yet we may also say that this is just where everything becomes quite simple, quite straightforward, quite childlike. Right here in this centre, in which as a Professor of Systematic Theology I must call to you, ‘Look! This is the point now! Either knowledge, or the greatest folly!’—here I am in front of you, like a teacher in Sunday school facing his kiddies, who has something to say which a mere four-year-old can really understand. ‘The world was lost, but Christ was born, rejoice, O Christendom!’… ‘God became man for thy good, O man. ‘Tis God’s own Child that binds Himself to thine own blood.’”
- Karl Barth (via More Than 95 Theses)
Friday, December 25, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Perishable
by Elanor
When my husband and I moved into our apartment,
I found in his old room a string of rose-lights,
pink buds, green leaves, all wispy-veined,
that we hung up around the kitchen window.
Their vine was an electrical cord that plugged
into the wall and made the flowers glow red
and made the place look like a ten-year-old girl’s bedroom.
They lasted, evergreen-and-pink, for four seasons.
This morning I found a few fragments of fake leaf,
brown and brittle, on the kitchen table.
They reminded me of the bulldozers on our street last week
ripping up pockmarked pavement to put in new
smooth black stuff that steamed in piles
before it was steamrollered level,
and of Roman roads that lasted a long time but not forever.
Then I thought of how indignant I was to learn that
when you buy yourself a house, expect
to have work done on it every ten years or so—
retiling, recarpeting, reroofing.
When I buy something, especially at so great a price,
I don’t want to have to pay for it again.
When my husband and I moved into our apartment,
I found in his old room a string of rose-lights,
pink buds, green leaves, all wispy-veined,
that we hung up around the kitchen window.
Their vine was an electrical cord that plugged
into the wall and made the flowers glow red
and made the place look like a ten-year-old girl’s bedroom.
They lasted, evergreen-and-pink, for four seasons.
This morning I found a few fragments of fake leaf,
brown and brittle, on the kitchen table.
They reminded me of the bulldozers on our street last week
ripping up pockmarked pavement to put in new
smooth black stuff that steamed in piles
before it was steamrollered level,
and of Roman roads that lasted a long time but not forever.
Then I thought of how indignant I was to learn that
when you buy yourself a house, expect
to have work done on it every ten years or so—
retiling, recarpeting, reroofing.
When I buy something, especially at so great a price,
I don’t want to have to pay for it again.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Christmas Art
I just discovered a Christian artist the other day named Daniel Bonnell. His work is incredible. Take a look here.
Seeing Shepherds
Seeing Shepherds
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