To a friend, in expectation

...against all the odds, at the least likely moment, (or the most likely, if seen a-rightly) when The Story seemed the darkest and writer's block appeared to have wrestled the Author to the tomb, the Epic crescendoed in spite of everything, and He called those who once were slaves, "My Friends".

...and The Story only continues to crescendo, (though it seems to be pianissimo) and we wait to see it unfold, we Friends of The Main Character.

...wine in hand, or singing in church (though probably not at the same time, mores the pity :), or watching the cursor blink, or wishing the kiddos would be quiet for just a second so I can think, or hearing the alarm signaling "Wake UP!" [snooze...snooze...snooze...snooze, "Oh, alright!], The Well-Planned Script unfolds RIGHT in front of us, and no more.

...then, sometime, The Supper, The Lamb, His Bride, love, Love, LOVE truly will astonish us, and we will be astonished, I think, by its obviousness.

...and in the meantime, the Unobvious, the Mystery, the "I wonder", the "I'm a little unclear here, but onward and upward and higher and further, by hook or crook or (and I am thankful here) The Cross, the Tomb, the Throne."  The to-be-glorified still waiting in this glorious mundane obscurity.

Peace of the Lord, in this meantime.

Lipsmacking Righteous Indignation. Scott Cairns on Prayer

This "response" of God to my prayers made me laugh, made me think, made me sober.  

"Possible Answers to Prayer"

By Scott Cairns

Your petitions—though they continue to bear   
just the one signature—have been duly recorded.   
Your anxieties—despite their constant,

relatively narrow scope and inadvertent   
entertainment value—nonetheless serve   
to bring your person vividly to mind.

Your repentance—all but obscured beneath   
a burgeoning, yellow fog of frankly more   
conspicuous resentment—is sufficient.

Your intermittent concern for the sick,   
the suffering, the needy poor is sometimes   
recognizable to me, if not to them.

Your angers, your zeal, your lipsmackingly   
righteous indignation toward the many   
whose habits and sympathies offend you— 
        
these must burn away before you’ll apprehend   
how near I am, with what fervor I adore
precisely these, the several who rouse your passions.

Scott Cairns is a Orthodox poet that I "discovered" a few years ago.  His words are typically close-to-the-bone and oblique, which I have to say, I love.  While I am Presbyterian in my approach to worship and heurmenuetic, I love how Mr. Cairns, from his Orthodox understanding unearths a strata of the love of God's creation that I can sometimes miss. 

He is my favorite poet.  If you happen to like this poem.  Google his name and you might enjoy the ride, as I have.  You might even start buying his books, as I did.

Citation: Cairns, Scott. Compass of Affection. Paraclete Press. 2006. Page 91.

Lest we forget, Dead Poet's Society helps me remember

The difference between "urgent" and "important".  What a great movie.

PHOTO CITATION: <https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-frc3/t1.0-9/p403x403/1979566_560331330732577_690248050_n.jpg>

Wine vs. Grape Juice

I am currently reading (at a suitably slow and comfortable pace for such a delicious book) "A Mapmaker's Dream".  This is one of those books I refuse to rush, since it is littered with thought-provoking gems buried every few paragraphs.  I don't want it to end, so I am just leaving it lying around, and pick it up every once in a while, preferably with a glass of Pinot Noir in hand.

One sentence made me catch my breath, since it so artistically captures a thought that I have been mulling for several years:

"Our thoughtfulness is integral to the observation of a porpoise frolicking at our bow, since it alone determines the level of joy we might feel.  The sound of Saint Mark's bells pealing across the water at dusk is less the sound of clappers against brass, either; it is the echo of an invitation being extended to all of us to participate in something deeply imagined."

I would add to that thought, this: while the peal of St. Mark's bells is more than clappers against brass, it is no less.  The more deeply imagined a thing is, the more readily we delight in the instrument itself that calls us to remember and imagine again.  And also, if the instrument is well suited to the occasion, so much the better.  Here I am thinking of taking the Lord's Supper with pasteurized grape juice, instead of the more richly redolent symbolism of the wine that the Lord [suggested] (?)  If Saint Mark's bells echoing peals are a call to a place deeply imagined, then clappers against a well-crafted brass bell is much better suited to the occasion than a ball of tin foil hitting a plastic cup.

The Wine and the Bread remind me that I am acknowledging my dependence on the death of the God/man for my redemption.  If I am not careful, grape juice can derail me toward thinking about Mr. Welch's tee-totalling agenda instead of ever more deeply imagining the significance of His sacrifice for me.

"Taste and see" we are told.  "Put your finger into my side" the Lord commanded Thomas.  "Drink the wine, and eat this bread" we are told.  A God who created us knows that our embedded senses invite us to participate in something higher up and further in.  Let's not discount the importance of the proper clapper and the well-tuned brass.

In vino veritas? Perhaps.