So this past month, I've been reading each Gospel all in one sitting. That's the main reason I haven't been posting as consistently...on Fridays, I barely have time to skim through the book, let alone think and write about what I'm reading. I will not do this again, because taking so much of the Bible all at once makes it into a burden. Starting now, I'm going back to reading small portions every day.
Happy Palm Sunday. Here is a poem to think about in preparation for Easter:
"The Opening," by Elizabeth Rooney
Now is the shining fabric of our day
Torn open, flung apart, rent wide by love.
Never again the tight, enclosing sky,
The blue bowl or the star-illumined tent.
We are laid open to infinity,
For Easter love has burst His tomb and ours.
Now nothing shelters us from God's desire--
Not flesh, not sky, not stars, not even sin.
Now glory waits so He can enter in.
Now does the dance begin.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Jesus
I was fairly distracted reading Luke today. I can't say I paid much attention most of the time. I was mostly thinking that the Gospels are not very suited for reading all at once, because they jump around so often from episode to episode that it's hard to catch any kind of flow in the story. however, this makes them ideal as material for Bible studies and sermons, because they are naturally divided into chunks. How thoughtful of the writers to make them that way. Anyway, what I did do is finally underline a couple verses that I've been caught by every time I read this book:
At that very time Jesus rejoiced greatly in the Holy Spirit and said, "I praise You, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants. Yes, Father, for this way was well-pleasing in Your sight." (10:21)
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, just as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would not have it!" (13:34)
I love these verses, because they are places where Jesus expresses emotion. And in the poetry of the language, you can see the depth of his human and divine feeling for, in the first verse, the glory and mystery of God's ways and, in the second, the helpless situation of the human race. These are like intimate glimpses into Jesus' mind, and what could be more beautiful?
At that very time Jesus rejoiced greatly in the Holy Spirit and said, "I praise You, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants. Yes, Father, for this way was well-pleasing in Your sight." (10:21)
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, just as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would not have it!" (13:34)
I love these verses, because they are places where Jesus expresses emotion. And in the poetry of the language, you can see the depth of his human and divine feeling for, in the first verse, the glory and mystery of God's ways and, in the second, the helpless situation of the human race. These are like intimate glimpses into Jesus' mind, and what could be more beautiful?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Back on Track
While reading Mark today, I realized that, as part of my Gospel-reading New Year's Resolution, these weekly blog posts have actually ended up distracting me from my original purpose. The reason I wanted to read a Gospel each week is to continually confront myself over the course of the year with the person of Jesus. However, when I'm trying to figure out something to write about for my weekly post, it's really easy to fall back on the way I used to relate to God and think I have to learn something new. It's funny, for me, the fastest way for me to get tired of reading the Bible is to think I have to learn something new every time I read it. In the future, I will try to keep these posts less focused on the text and more focused on the meeting point between Jesus and my life.
Earlier, I was thinking about reading the Bible (while I was still in the feeling stale stage) and comparing it to, of all things, C. S. Lewis. I am now reading another one of his works of literary criticism, and he amazes me in the way that, even in a thoroughly academic book, he always finds a way to thrust spiritual realities in through the barrier of the world so that they touch our lives. For a while when I was reading him, I was feeling guilty that I don't get the same kind of epiphany from the Bible that C. S. Lewis gives me. And I think the difference is, C. S. Lewis brings spiritual truth into parts of my mind that it has never gone before. My mental world is still divided into many compartments, and some are used to thinking from an eternal perspective. I use the spiritual compartments when I read the Bible, so that's why it often feels like I'm not learning anything--that part of my mind has already been exposed to the kingdom of heaven. However, C. S. Lewis brings God into the academic world. Not explicitly, but in a way that is unmistakable to the believing Christian. And it is a great thing, because each time, it is though a part of me has a brand new encounter with the divine. The Bible can have the same effect; I just have to allow it to penetrate the parts of my mind I'm not used to exposing.
Earlier, I was thinking about reading the Bible (while I was still in the feeling stale stage) and comparing it to, of all things, C. S. Lewis. I am now reading another one of his works of literary criticism, and he amazes me in the way that, even in a thoroughly academic book, he always finds a way to thrust spiritual realities in through the barrier of the world so that they touch our lives. For a while when I was reading him, I was feeling guilty that I don't get the same kind of epiphany from the Bible that C. S. Lewis gives me. And I think the difference is, C. S. Lewis brings spiritual truth into parts of my mind that it has never gone before. My mental world is still divided into many compartments, and some are used to thinking from an eternal perspective. I use the spiritual compartments when I read the Bible, so that's why it often feels like I'm not learning anything--that part of my mind has already been exposed to the kingdom of heaven. However, C. S. Lewis brings God into the academic world. Not explicitly, but in a way that is unmistakable to the believing Christian. And it is a great thing, because each time, it is though a part of me has a brand new encounter with the divine. The Bible can have the same effect; I just have to allow it to penetrate the parts of my mind I'm not used to exposing.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Blogging
I thought it would be a lot easier than it has been keeping up with my posting while I've been reading the Bible. Last week I read Matthew and thought about some things, but I didn't have time to make them into a coherent post that fits my word limit. Oh well. One of the parts of my resolution was not to feel guilty about failing, haha.
This week I picked up C. S. Lewis's Preface to Paradise Lost. I've been feeling more and more malnourished in my English classes this semester, and it is really difficult to put a finger on why I seem to disagree with my professors on almost every level, even about technical points of the text that seem fairly obvious. But then Lewis came in and, with a kind of clarity I had almost given up hope of ever finding again outside the Bible, named what was happening inside my mind:
"Dr. Leavis does not differ from me about the properties of Milton's epic verse. He describes them very accurately...It is not that he and I see different things when we look at Paradise Lost. He sees and hates the very same that I see and love. Hence the disagreement between us tends to escape from the realm of literary criticism. We differ not about the nature of Milton's poetry, but about the nature of man, or even the nature of joy itself."
It seems to me that the study of literature, and probably that of philosophy as well, is uniquely frustrating, because in it, personal, private beliefs that do not factor into other disciplines at all apparently color every interpretation of even the tiniest phrase. If I do not agree with my professor about something as seemingly irrelevant as the internal coherency of the Bible, I become an outsider in a conversation about Milton's sonnets.
I was starting to think I have just lost interest in the discipline in general, but then I found what C. S. Lewis wrote about Mr. John Milton and reading it was a delight! In large part because C. S. Lewis retains the old-fashioned belief that the poet's purpose is to teach as well as to create "art." Nowadays, people try to use poetry to do all kinds of crazy things: purify language and society, experiment with syntax and its effects on human experience, make sentences that are like cats, and capture the historical moment of our civilization. If that's what poetry does, then I don't like it very much. I can believe in a poetry that exists in order to help people experience how good things, like the sun, really are good and bad things, like self-love, even though they might feel good at first, actually lead to death. But that function is apparently too simple for the current complexity of the information age.
This week I picked up C. S. Lewis's Preface to Paradise Lost. I've been feeling more and more malnourished in my English classes this semester, and it is really difficult to put a finger on why I seem to disagree with my professors on almost every level, even about technical points of the text that seem fairly obvious. But then Lewis came in and, with a kind of clarity I had almost given up hope of ever finding again outside the Bible, named what was happening inside my mind:
"Dr. Leavis does not differ from me about the properties of Milton's epic verse. He describes them very accurately...It is not that he and I see different things when we look at Paradise Lost. He sees and hates the very same that I see and love. Hence the disagreement between us tends to escape from the realm of literary criticism. We differ not about the nature of Milton's poetry, but about the nature of man, or even the nature of joy itself."
It seems to me that the study of literature, and probably that of philosophy as well, is uniquely frustrating, because in it, personal, private beliefs that do not factor into other disciplines at all apparently color every interpretation of even the tiniest phrase. If I do not agree with my professor about something as seemingly irrelevant as the internal coherency of the Bible, I become an outsider in a conversation about Milton's sonnets.
I was starting to think I have just lost interest in the discipline in general, but then I found what C. S. Lewis wrote about Mr. John Milton and reading it was a delight! In large part because C. S. Lewis retains the old-fashioned belief that the poet's purpose is to teach as well as to create "art." Nowadays, people try to use poetry to do all kinds of crazy things: purify language and society, experiment with syntax and its effects on human experience, make sentences that are like cats, and capture the historical moment of our civilization. If that's what poetry does, then I don't like it very much. I can believe in a poetry that exists in order to help people experience how good things, like the sun, really are good and bad things, like self-love, even though they might feel good at first, actually lead to death. But that function is apparently too simple for the current complexity of the information age.
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