How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean

Are thy returns! ev’n as the flowers in spring;

To which, besides their own demean,

The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.

Grief melts away

Like snow in May,

As if there were no such cold thing.

*

Who would have thought my shrivelled heart

Could have recovered greenness? It was gone

Quite underground; as flowers depart

To see their mother-root, when they have blown;

Where they together

All the hard weather,

Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

*****

And now in age I bud again,

After so many deaths I live and write;

I once more smell the dew and rain,

And relish versing: O my only light,

It cannot be

That I am he

On whom thy tempests fell all night.

*

These are thy wonders, Lord of love,

To make us see we are but flowers that glide:

Which when we once can find and prove,

Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.

Who would be more,

Swelling through store,

Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.

(George Herbert)

Richard Foster & Gayle Beebe,Tânjirea după Dumnezeu. Şapte căi ale devoţiunii creştine, Editura Casa cărţii, Oradea, 2009

Calea a doua – Viaţa spirituală ca o călătorie

Prezentare de Estera Popovici

Preocuparea autorilor cărţii Tânjirea după Dumnezeu, Richard Foster şi Gayle Beebe, este aceea de a studia şi de a înţelege meandrele procesului de formare spirituală a creştinului. Ca punct iniţial al acestui traseu ei consideră prioritatea iubirii faţă de Divinitate; această iubire este văzută ca principiu ordonator al tuturor celorlalte „iubiri” şi acţiuni ale omului.

În al doilea capitol al cărţii, viaţa este privită ca o călătorie „spre inima Domnului, spre cămările subterane ale sufletului, spre necunoscutul spiritual”. Omul îşi găseşte împlinirea dedicându-se acelor activităţi şi relaţii care conferă semnificaţie maximă existenţei sale, supunându-se, în acelaşi timp, unui proces al devenirii. Pentru a ilustra această concepţie asupra vieţii, autorii fac apel la scrierile unor importanţi gânditori sau teologi, care au trăit în diverse perioade istorice.

Evagrie Ponticul (345-399) a dezvoltat o concepţie despre natura evolutivă a spiritualităţii creştine, concepţie care a influenţat creştinismul până în perioada contemporană. Opera sa cea mai importantă, Monichikos, sondează sufletul omenesc şi este un „ghid” al întoarcerii omului de la o existenţă înstrăinată de Adevăr la una în comuniune intimă cu El. În prima carte, Tratatul practic, carte dedicată vieţii ascetice şi disciplinei, el identifică opt gânduri ale răutăţii cu care se confruntă fiecare om. Efectele distructive ale acestora pot fi învinse doar prin orientarea omului spre dobândirea celor opt virtuţi divine care le corespund în mod direct şi cu care se află în antiteză: cumpătarea – lăcomia, blândeţea – mânia, generozitatea – iubirea de bani şi avariţia, bucuria – invidia, umilinţa – trufia, curăţia – desfrânarea, stăruinţa – lâncezeala şi descurajarea neliniştită, înţelepciunea – întristarea şi depresia. A doua carte, Gnosticul, este o pledoarie pentru înţelegerea raţiunilor realităţilor lumii create, pentru a ajunge la cel mai înalt nivel, descris în Capete Gnostice, când omul ajunge să Îl contemple pe Dumnezeu prin adevărata rugăciune.

George Herbert (1593-1633) a trăit într-o perioadă înnegurată a istoriei, fiind contemporan cu Războiul de 30 de ani dintre catolici şi protestanţi (1618-1648), care a devastat continentul european. Acest război a ruinat, de asemenea, şi încrederea oamenilor în realităţile proclamate de o religie care se exprima prin lupte fracţionare între creştini. G. Herbert oferă o alternativă la această situaţie, folosind limbajul poetic ca expresie a credinţei sale. Prin intermediul metaforei, el articulează o perspectivă sacramentală a existenţei, în care Scriptura, rugăciunea, comunitatea şi viaţa ordonată a anului bisericesc sunt cadrul în care omul se relaţionează la Dumnezeu. Acest proces nu poate fi, însă, lipsit de suferinţă: „Aşa tăios e cel mai drag Prieten, iar rana Lui e leac, nu vatămă… / Şi-acest soi de-nceputuri duc… la ţintă…” (Paradis).

Una dintre capodoperele literaturii universale este Călătoria pelerinului, în care John Bunyan (1628-1688) a meditat, în timpul lungilor perioade de detenţie datorate credinţei, la modul în care omul progresează în cunoaşterea lui Dumnezeu. Protagonistul operei sale este Creştinul, care slujeşte ca model pentru înţelegerea modului în care deciziile şi alegerile pe care şi le asumă omul, provocările şi oportunităţile pe care le întâmpină, constituie toate împreună mediul în care el se întâlneşte cu Creatorul său.

Thomas Merton (1915-1968) a exprimat tânjirea omului după Dumnezeu analizând progresul pe care acesta îl face de la acţiune la contemplare şi, de aici, la contemplarea activă. Scriitorul a mărturisit că şi-a găsit sursele  energiei creative în relaţiile cu prietenii, în opere literare, în rugăciune şi în Biserică, în care vedea „sensul tuturor lucrurilor create”. Este memorabilă expresia din finalul scrierii sale, The Seven Storey Mountain: „Aici se încheie cartea, însă nu şi căutarea”.

Sensul omului, ca fiinţă a devenirii aflată într-o continuă dinamică, este să crească, să se maturizeze, să privească darul vieţii ca o călătorie spre Dumnezeu. Aceasta este calea prin care el îşi realizează vocaţia de a se uni cu Divinul încă din această viaţă, gustând încă de acum din plinătatea veacului care va veni.

Schimbam recent prin email cu D. impresii despre John Donne şi George Herbert, doi dintre poeţii „metafizici” englezi. Primisem nişte versuri din Donne, despre moarte, şi m-am simţit dator să răspund cu o poezie întreagă, pe care aş vrea să o împărtăşesc şi cu cititorii blogului. Nu ştiu dacă se va încumeta cineva să facă o traducere (pentru anumiţi termeni ar trebui să mă consult şi eu cu oameni mai „pedepsiţi” în limba engleză decât mine).

Death

Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,
Nothing but bones,
The sad effect of sadder grones:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.
For we consider’d thee as at some six
Or ten yeares hence,
After the losse of life and sense,
Flesh being turn’d to dust, and bones to sticks.
We lookt on this side of thee, shooting short;
Where we did finde
The shells of fledge souls left behinde,
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort.
But since our Saviours death did put some bloud
Into thy face;
Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in request, much sought for as a good.
For we do now behold thee gay and glad,
As at dooms-day;
When souls shall wear their new aray,
And all thy bones with beautie shall be clad.
Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust Half that we have
Unto an honest faithful grave;
Making our pillows either down, or dust.

Intriguing poem by George Herbert from the Desiring God website.

Bitter-sweet

Ah, my dear angry Lord,
Since thou dost love, yet strike;
Cast down, yet help afford;
Sure I will do the like.

I will complain, yet praise;
I will bewail, approve;
And all my sour-sweet days
I will lament and love.

OUR LIFE IS HID WITH CHRIST IN GOD.

MY words and thoughts do both express this notion,
That LIFE hath with the sun a double motion.
The first IS straight, and our diurnal friend :
The other HID, and doth obliquely bend.
One life is wrapt IN flesh, and tends to earth ;
The other winds t’wards HIM whose happy birth
Taught me to live here so THAT still one eye
Should aim and shoot at that which IS on high—
Quitting with daily labour all MY pleasure,
To gain at harvest an eternal TREASURE.

–George Herbert

Love

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lack’d anything.

‘A guest,’ I answer’d, ‘worthy to be here:’

Love said, ‘You shall be he.’

‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on Thee.’

Love took my hand and smiling did reply,

‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them: let my shame

Go where it doth deserve.’

‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’

‘My dear, then I will serve.’

‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’

So I did sit and eat.

by: George Herbert (1593-1632)

“Maar waarom zou je je leven richten op God?”, vraagt mijn collega Frank tijdens één van onze wandelingen. Hij kan het maar moeilijk bevatten. “Is het niet heel arrogant en dwingend als God eist dat je hem in het centrum van je leven zet?”, vervolgt hij. De vragen blijven een tijdje in mijn hoofd hangen. Hoe leg je dat uit aan iemand die niet gelooft? Wat moet ik antwoorden? Sterker nog, wat wíl ik antwoorden?

Sommige vragen bepalen je bij dingen die heel gewoon voor je zijn, zoals het vallen van de bladeren in de herfst. Je staat er niet bij stil, denkt er niet over na, ze zijn er gewoon. Maar een eerlijke vraag dwingt je tot een keuze. Laat ik de vraag binnenkomen? Ga ik hem van binnenuit beantwoorden? Of kies ik voor het antwoord zoals dat hoort, het antwoord dat al klaarligt op de plank? En overschreeuw ik daarmee mijn eigen twijfels en onzekerheden?

Ik kies voor het eerste, maar merk al snel dat ik in mijn bewoordingen zorgvuldig moet zijn. Hoezeer liggen bepaalde gedachten vast in ingesleten mantra’s en gemeenplaatsen! Ik probeer het aan de hand van een verkorte versie van het bijbelverhaal van Hosea, die een hoer moet trouwen in opdracht van God. “Stel je voor Frank”, zeg ik, “jij bent Hosea en trouwt een hoer. Nadat je getrouwd bent krijg je twee kinderen met haar. Maar ze verlaat je en pleegt weer overspel. Vervolgens krijg je de opdracht haar los te kopen van haar pooier en weer met haar te trouwen. Je gehoorzaamt en doet het. Hoe zou jij je voelen?”. Ik wil keurig van schuld naar verlossing toewerken. Om op die manier Gods vraag om mijzelf aan Hem te geven te rechtvaardigen.

Ik zou het wel weten. Als ik Hosea was, had ik de kerels die aan mijn vrouw hadden gezeten wat aandoen – en daarmee bedoel ik bepaald geen kleding. Frank heeft een andere insteek. Als hij in die situatie zou zitten, zou hij zijn vrouw niet meer terug willen. Als ze niet wil, dan hoeft het ook niet, en daarmee is de kous af. De agressie die bij mij opkomt als ik het verhaal lees, is Frank vreemd. Ik vind dat zeer in hem te waarderen. Maar het staat wel erg ver van me af. Dit verschil zorgt er alleen voor dat het concept van de menselijke schuld ten opzicht van God en Gods rol daarin niet echt bij Frank overkomt. Dit gaat dus niet werken.

Uiteindelijk verschuift het gesprek naar wat het verhaal voor mij betekent. En ik vertel dat ik geloof dat God mij heeft vrijgekocht van al die dingen die eigenlijk een surrogaat zijn voor Gods liefde. Dat ik zonder schuld mag leven. Omdat ik geloof dat Jezus mijn schuld op zich genomen heeft. En dat ik daarom mijzelf en mijn leven aan Hem wil toewijden. Als ik hierover vertel, merk ik dat hier de onzekerheid bloot komt te liggen die onder mijn persoonlijke overtuiging verscholen ligt. Wil ik mijn leven wel echt aan God toewijden? Waarom slaag ik daar dan niet in? Waarom blijf ik altijd het gevoel houden dat God niet écht het centrum van mijn leven is. En val ik voor de verleiding van dingen die op zichzelf goed zijn, maar door mij als alternatief centrum van mijn leven gebruikt worden? Ik kan niet anders dan aan Frank toegeven dat dit voor mij een strijd is. Een strijd waarin ik vaak het onderspit delf. Het overwinningsgevoel wat ik bij veel gelovigen zie, is mij vreemd. Ik kan niet meekomen in de stelligheid waarmee soms door christenen uitspraken worden gedaan, vooral als het over anderen gaat. En eigenlijk vind ik het wel goed zo.

De schat van ontschuldiging door genade is voor mij een zwaar bevochten goed. En – hoe paradoxaal! – iets wat me gegeven wordt nadat ik moe van alle gedachten en gevoelens, vragen en antwoorden stil en ontvankelijk word. Dat is het moment waarop ik bepaald wordt bij het geschenk van Gods liefde voor mij. En bij de persoon en plek waar die liefde het meest sprekend tot uiting komt: Jezus aan een houten kruis. Mijn verlangen is om te ontwikkelen, te groeien – zodat ik die schat ook uit kan delen. De uitdaging? Open blijven staan voor wat God geeft: liefde, Zichzelf. Vanuit mijn studeerkamer hoor ik op de achtergrond mijn vrouw roepen: “Eten!!”.

09.28.09Yesterday_Beauty.mp3

Author: Scott Hodge
Download Size: 50.5MB

Notes: Finding Beauty.pdf

1. The Author

Maybe the best way to do this writing exercise would be to tell the story of a funeral for someone who had no one mourning her at all. There is a problem, though. Who are these fifteen characters telling the story going to be? It’s interesting that I would immediately be interested in this Eleanor Rigby-esque pathetic character. Maybe I’m depressed.

2. The Editor

Oh, great. Another short story that came from a writing exercise. Am I getting paid to read this? At least I don’t have to smell the formaldehyde. Or sit in a chair awkwardly next to people I don’t really know. And try desperately not to get the giggles. I hope all the paragraphs are as short as that first one.

3. The Funeral Home Attendant

When this body arrived I was annoyed. I was hoping that my overnight shift would give me a chance to sleep. When they brought the body in and I cataloged its clothing, I kept a few things. Twenty dollars from the wallet, and a movie ticket stub from the pocket. Yes, I said “the pocket,” “the body,” and so forth. What does it matter, if it’s a she? Do I look like a necrophiliac to you?

4. The Coffin

You and I are going to be touching for such a long time. Maybe after a while neither one of us will feel the other. Maybe after a while you will hold me as much as I hold you. You are heavy and will grow light. I am dense and will grow brittle. I look forward to the darkness and the quiet. It will be more like being a tree. Perhaps I will yearn for the faint warmth I feel during the day. I ache for the sun. I ache for fresh air. But at least I will not be so alone. I will not feel so mutilated and ridiculous. I will not be stared at. I will be I will be I will be around you you you.

5. The Obituary Writer

What can you do with an MFA in Creative Writing? Well, this. It’s like any form. You become comfortable within its rhythms and feel the openings to stretch the limits. And you can do it in your pajamas. That’s something.

6. The Gravedigger

I hope she’s not pregnant. I hope she’s not pregnant. Jesus, if she’s pregnant. Why can’t she be like this stupid bitch. Dead. Not anyone’s problem anymore. I hope she’s not. She’s a lying bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Cunt. Digging holes just reminds me of her, her, her, her. I hope she’s not. Not. Not.

7. The Florist

Why can’t people order flowers for something different? To celebrate the completion of a triathlon. To mourn the passing of a presidential administration. To poke into the showerhead and confuse your roommate in the morning while he’s still half-asleep. To give to prisoners. To sell to raise money for the NRA. I just want to feel challenged for once. I just want to care.

8. The Butterfly

Lovely lovely oh it’s dead. Oooh that’s not far and that looks lovely lovelylove.

9. The Reader

But who was this Jane Doe? Was she like me? Was she like someone I don’t like? This is weird. This is fun. I’m not a reader at all. I’m an author. Oh christ. Authorial intrusion. I’m not just depressed, I’m delusional.

10. The Forensic Investigator

Nothing suspicious here. I want to go home and have a nice long bath and some tea. I want to go home and fuck my wife so hard that I’m absolutely one hundred percent sure she’s alive. I want I want I want.

11. The Sparknotes Employee

Irony. Multiple points of view. Death. Repetition. I got an MA in English Lit for this? Maybe I’m depressed, too.

12. The Carpet

I like the lonely people the best because they don’t attract those other people who just want to step on me and oppress me and grind me down and spill their drinks on me and leave me without a backwards glance. Hey, #11? I’m the ultimate subaltern and I want to rise up. I want I want I want too!

13. The Coin

Someone superstitious put me in here, in this mouth. I will never get out of here. But I still know what I am. I am Lincoln. I am shiny. I have something written on my back. I will endure.

14. The Soul
.
.
.
.
.

15. Jane Doe

The end.

28ème Jour ~Matin

Venez, chantons avec allégresse en l’honneur de l’Éternel ;
Jetons des cris de joie vers celui qui est notre rocher, notre salut.

Une lumière vient,
Elle ressemble à une étoile,
Mais elle est plus qu’une étoile.
Le matin se lève, l’aurore est rose
Mais c’est plus que l’aurore.
Les rivières sont roses,
Mais l’eau du puits est plus fraîche ce main.
Oui, c’est le matin où la clarté
laisse apparaître
Le signe du Fils de l’homme.
Oui, c’est lui !
C’est notre Fils d’homme,
Notre Frère, notre Sauveur,
Notre Emmanuel.
Le matin vient,
Le grand matin nouveau du monde.
Le matin de l’Emmanuel
en son retour,
Dieu parmi nous.

Psaume - Ancien Testament
Intercession
Benedicite (1 strophe)
Capitule

28ème Jour ~Soir

La bonté et la vérité se sont rencontrées ;
La justice et la paix se sont embrassées.
La vérité germera de la terre,
Et la justice regardera du haut des cieux.

Et l’Amour entra, pourtant mon âme
Coupable de péché
S’en retournait, mais l’Amour en flamme
M’ayant bien observé
Déjà s’approchait, touché, s’inquiétait
De ce qui me manquait.

Un invité, dis-je, digne d’être ici :
Alors ce sera toi.
Moi, le méchant, sans grâce ni merci,
Ne me regarde pas.
L’Amour prit ma main, en souriant répondit
Et qui créa l’ouïe ?

C’est vrai, mais je l’ai faussée, ma honte
Doit aller se cacher.
Et toi, sais-tu où l’Amour abonde ?
Alors j’irai prier.
Assieds-toi, dit l’Amour, mange mon Pain !
Et je m’assis, enfin.

Nouveau Testament
Confession, Actions de grâce
Capitule

Ps 95,1 ; Joëlle Gouel (Ps 97,11 et Mt 24,27) ; Ps 85, 11-12 ;  George Herbert, And Love Bade me Welcome ; version fr. Joëlle Gouel, Et l’amour entra. [in Ralph Vaughan Williams, Five Mystical Songs].

31e Jour ~Matin

Coeur, lève-toi, ton Seigneur est ressuscité !

Merg mai departe cu lucrarea mea de control şi postez următoarele trei poezii traduse, plus strofa pe care autorul cărţii o foloseşte ca motto pentru capitolul despre George Herbert.

Cu poemele de faţă m-am opintit mai mult. Aici se vede mai bine predispoziţia poetului pentru forma elaborată, pentru poezia vizuală şi muzicalitatea cuvintelor. Unul dintre texte (Paradise) este, practic, intraductibil în româneşte. Traducerea devine în acest caz o chestiune pur utilitară, neavând posibilitatea păstrării unor elemente fundamentale de stilistică şi expresivitate la care recurge poetul.

Affliction (III)

My heart did heave, and there came forth, Oh God!
By that I knew that thou wast in the grief,
To guide and govern it to my relief,
Making a scepter of the rod:
Hadst thou not had thy part,
Sure the unruly sigh had broke my heart.

But since thy breath gave me both life and shape,
Thou knowest my tallies; and when there’s assign’d
So much breath to a sigh, what’s then behind?
O r if some years with it escape;
The sigh then only is
A gale to bring me sooner to my bliss.

Thy life on earth was grief, and thou art still
Constant unto it, making it to be
A point of honor, now to grieve in me,
And in my members suffer ill.
They who lament one cross,
Thou dying daily, praise thee to thy loss.

Durere (III)

Tresaltă inima şi Ți se-nchină, Doamne!
Și-i semn că Însuţi Te-ai ascuns în cazne,
Să le îndrumi să-mi lase-un dram de tihnă.
Făcut-ai sceptru din toiag:
M-ar fi răpus, de inimă beteag,
De nu mă-mpresurai cu-a ta odihnă.

Dar, cum suflarea Ta mi-a dat şi trup şi grai,
Tu toate păsurile mele le ştiai.
Ce taină, oare, ascunsă-i în suspine?
Din firul vieţii dacă-mi va ciunti
Acest suspin c-o vreme va zori
Cununa fericirii pentru mine.

Tu ai fost Cel obişnuit cu suferinţa,
Ci nu Ți-ai lepădat obişnuinţa:
Mă-nchin, că azi Tu suferi iar, în mine,
Înduri în trupul meu suplicii
Cei care-şi plâng amarul crucii,
Când Tu mori zilnic, Ție să se-nchine.

––––––––––––––––––––

Paradise

I bless thee, Lord, because I                     GROW
Among thy trees, which in a                       ROW
To thee both fruit and order                       OW

What open force, or hidden                        CHARM
Can blast my fruit, or bring me                 HARM,
While the enclosure is thine                       ARM?

Enclose me still for fear I                              START,
But to me rather sharp and                         TART,
Then let me want thy hand and                 ART.

When thou dost greater judgments       SPARE,
And with thy knife but prune and             PARE,
Ev’n fruitful trees more fruitful                  ARE.

Such sharpness shows the sweetest    FRIEND,
Such cuttings rather heal than                   REND,
And such beginnings touch their               END.

Paradis

Fii binecuvântat, o, Doamne, că eu        CRESC
Printre copacii tăi care-ntr-un                ŞIR
Cu rod şi ascultare Ţi-s                                    DATORI.

Dar ce tării ori tainic                                        FARMEC
Rodul mi-ar vătăma, mi-ar face             RĂU
Când mă păzeşte însuşi al Tău                 BRAŢ?

Mă ia în braţe că mă tem să                        ÎNCEP,
Să fii cu mine aprig şi                                    TĂIOS,
Ca mâna să Îţi caut şi                                     MĂIESTRIA.

Când Tu de aspre judecăţi                           SCUTEȘTI
Și cu unealta-Ți ascuţită când               RĂREŞTI,
Chiar pomii ce au roadă şi-o                     SPORESC.

Aşa tăios e cel mai drag                              PRIETEN,
Iar rana lui e leac nu                                   VATĂMĂ
Şi acest soi de-nceputuri duc la           ŢINTĂ.

––––––––––––––––––––

Colossians 3:3

My words and thoughts do both express this notion,
That Life hath with the sun a double motion,
The first Is straight and our diurnal friend,
The other    Hid and doth obliquely bend,
One life is wrapt In flesh and tends to earth,
The other winds towards Him whose happy birth
Taught me to live here so, That still one eye
Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high:
Quitting with daily labor all                  My pleasure,
To gain at harvest an eternal                 Treasure.

Coloseni 3:3

Viaţa şi astrul zilei au câte două căi,
Rosteşte a mea minte cu graiul când ţin sfatul,
Întâia cale    e dreaptă, ca a soarelui, fârtatul,
A doua e           ascunsă, piezişă poate că-i.
O viaţă-i tăinuită   în trup şi e ţârână,
Celaltă se înalţă spre     El, şi-a Lui ivire
Mi-e pildă pentru viaţa    ce veşnic I se închină
Iar ţinta şi menirea îmi      este slava Sa:
Clipă de clipă lepăd                comoara cea de tină,
La secerişul veşnic va fi răsplata     mea.

––––––––––––––––––––

If as a Flower doth spread and die,
Thou wouldst extend me to some good,
Before I were by frost’s extremity
Nipt in the bud. (The Temple)

O viaţă scurtă, cât o floare de-aş avea,
Din mine lucruri bune-ai plămădi,
Până când gerul aspru-ar cuteza
Să-mi ia putinţa de-a mai înflori.

JUSTIN LEWIS-ANTHONY’S “If you see George Herbert …” has been a great read. A breath of fresh air. A challenge to rethink the living out of priestly ministry: everyone’s priestly ministry. The book tackles some of the dangers inherent in “mythos” – the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves – head on. A parish priest goes every evening to watch the passing-by of a regular train just for the joy of it – “because it’s the only thing I don’t run” … (now, if it’s true, whose fault is that!). This is a challenge to the notion of salvation by incessant striving and I’m recommending it to any and all, clergy and laity alike. 3 Minute Theologian contributes a great deal to clarity of thought and purpose. What’s salvation about, for anyone, anyway?

Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts-Schori hit the news headlines at this year’s General Convention as it was understood that she denounced the idea of personal salvation as heresy. “Apparently I wasn’t clear”, writes the bishop in an OPINION column yesterday, the last three paragraphs of which are in my view most helpfully clear … and written at the end of August after several week’s further pondering. Neither knee-jerk reaction nor “incessant striving.”

Salvation depends on love of God and our relationship with Jesus, and we give evidence of our relationship with God in how we treat our neighbors, nearby and far away. Salvation is a gift from God, not something we can earn by our works, but neither is salvation assured by words alone.

Salvation cannot be complete, in an eternal and eschatological sense, until the whole of creation is restored to right relationship. That is what we mean when we proclaim in the catechism that “the mission of the church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ” and that Christian hope is to “live with confidence in newness and fullness of life and to await the coming of Christ in glory and the completion of God’s purpose for the world.” We anticipate the restoration of all creation to right relationship, and we proclaim that Jesus’ life, death and resurrection made that possible in a new way.

At the same time, salvation in the sense of cosmic reconciliation is a mystery. It’s hard to pin down or talk about. It is ultimately the gift of a good and gracious God, not the product of our incessant striving. It is about healing and wholeness and holiness, the fruit of being more than doing. Just like another image we use to speak about restored relationship, the reign of God, salvation is happening all the time, all around us. Where do you see evidence?

via Episcopal Life Online – OPINION.

The train spotting priest is uncomfortable with the notion that he runs everything. Others are uncomfortable because they feel they don’t run enough. This morning I thank God that there’s one thing I know that we humans absolutely DON’T run. And that’s salvation. Thanks for the reminder Bishop Katharine.

Când spuneam că am făcut corectura cărții Tânjirea după Dumnezeu, n-am furnizat o informație chiar completă. Capitolul despre George Herbert conține și niște poezii ale protestantului englez pe care m-am încumetat să le… traduc. Timp nu am avut prea mult, dar, chiar și așa, le-am cam lăsat pe ultimul moment. Mi-am găsit foarte greu dispoziția, însă și curajul să mă înham la asemenea datorie.

Vin deci acum cu aceste „realizări” la judecata domniilor voastre. Cer mai ales celor cu studii de engleză să evalueze și să dea… notă. Desigur că nu mă interesează o evaluare pe scala 1-10, ci comentariile și observațiile pe care le aveți. Am mai primit niște reacții – pentru care le mulțumesc celor care mi le-au oferit cu promptitudine –, dar curiozitatea mă împinge să vreau și alte opinii. E clar că nu mai pot schimba nimic acum, din moment ce cartea este publicată, dar tot aș vrea să îmi pun în discuție „trădările”.

În total, a fost vorba de șase texte plus o strofă folosită ca motto al capitolului. Vi le supun atenției în două reprize, în ordinea în care le-am lucrat eu.

The Altar

A broken A L T A R, Lord thy servant rears,
Made of a heart, and cemented with tears:
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame;
No workman’s tool hath touched the same.
A heart alone
Is such a stone
As nothing but
Thy power doth cut
Wherefore each part
O f my hard heart
M eets in this frame,
To praise thy name.
That if I chance to hold my peace
These stones to praise thee may not cease.
Oh let thy blessed sacrifice be mine,
And sanctify this A L T A R to be thine.

Altarul

Altarul năruit argatul îl durează,
Dintr-a inimi țandări nădite-n lacrimi grele,
Iar mâna Ta de meșter lăsat-a urmă-n ele
Cum cel mai falnic faur pe lume nu cutează.
O piatră așa
Cum inima mea
Puterea Ta
O va sfărâma
Ici cioburi, iacă,
De piatră seacă
Pristol să-Ți fie
Spre slavă, Ție.
Iar de muțenia de-acum o să mă ție,
Nu, pietrele n-or conteni să Te mărească.
Dumnezeiasca jertfă în mine locuiască,
Sfințește altarul ca al Tău să fie.

Am aranjat astfel poezia ca să se observe cât de cât forma gândită de autor (redată foarte exact în cartea tradusă).

––––––––––––––––––––

The British Church

I joy, dear Mother, when I view
Thy perfect lineaments, and hue
Both sweet and bright.

Beauty in thee takes up her place,
And dates her letters from thy face,
When she doth write.

A fine aspect in fit array,
Neither too mean, nor yet too gay,
Shows who is best.

Biserica britanică

Când boiul tău fără cusur întrezăresc,
Preascumpă Mamă, eu mă-nveselesc,
Ce curcubeu iubit și luminat.

Și frumusețea-n tine-și găsi plaiul
Din chipul tău ea își adună graiul
Când prinde-a glăsui.

Chipul tău oacheș, straiul cumpătat,
Nici prea sărac, nici prea împăunat,
Ca tine alta nu-i.

––––––––––––––––––––

The Holy Scriptures (II)

Oh that I knew how all thy lights combine,
And the configurations of their glory!
Seeing not only how each verse doth shine,
But all the constellations of the story.

This verse marks that, and both do make a motion
Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth lie:
Then as dispersed herbs do watch a potion,
These three make up some Christian’s destiny.

Such are thy secrets, which my life makes good,
And comments on thee: for in ev’ry thing
Thy words do find me out, and parallels bring,
And in another make me understood.

Stars are poor books, and oftentimes do miss:
This book of stars lights to eternal bliss.

Sfintele Scripturi (II)

O, dac-aș ști cum împletești lumini
Și care-i taina lor cea minunată!
Să văd nu doar cuvinte ce-nsenini,
Ci toată bolta lor străluminată.

Acest cuvânt și-acela se-nfrățesc,
Apoi cu un al treilea se-mpreună
Și un destin creștin pecetluiesc,
Ca fel de fel de ierbi ce-n leac s-adună.

Așa-Ți sunt tainele, ce-mi umplu viața,
Și vorba despre Tine; căci oriunde
Cuvântul Tău mă caută și mă-nvață,
Când spusa Ta cu alta își răspunde.

Înțelepciunea stelelor e amăgire
Pe lâng-a stelelor Scripturii strălucire.

JORDAN (II)
When first my lines of heav’nly joyes made mention,
Such was their lustre, they did so excell,
That I sought out quaint words, and trim invention;
My thoughts began to burnish, sprout, and swell,
Curling with metaphors a plain intention,
Decking the sense, as if it were to sell.

Thousands of notions in my brain did runne,
Off’ring their service, if I were not sped:
I often blotted what I had begunne;
This was not quick enough, and that was dead.
Nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne,
Much lesse those joyes which trample on his head.

As flames do work and winde, when they ascend,
So did I weave my self into the sense.
But while I bustled, I might heare a friend
Whisper, How wide is all this long pretence!
There is in love a sweetness readie penn’d:
Copie out onely that, and save expense.

George Herbert

Image: view east from Colorado’s Wilkerson Pass at an ordinary noon

He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.

– George Herbert

George Herbert, by Philocrites on Flickr

“Christians are wrong, but all the rest are bores”
- C. S. Lewis, on reading George Herbert before he became a Christian.

I first came across George Herbert in high school through studying the metaphysical poets. I read this poem and was hooked. I remember I didn’t really get the poem, but I still felt something of its weight and beauty:

“My stuffe is flesh, not brasse; my senses live,
And grumble oft, that they have more in me
Then he that curbs them, being but one to five :
Yet I love thee.”

I find that when I read someone’s writing, more than ideas and plots and characters I get an impression of the author. This impression seems to stick with me in a more significant way than the specifics of the book. Maybe that’s just because I have a bad book memory – I always struggle to remember the details, even just hours after I’ve read something!

Anyway, the impression this poem left me with was of someone who was deep in his love and yearning for God, and also was so real, so earthy and ready to admit his weakness, so humble. He was someone who knew the ways of learning and honour and pleasure; who didn’t cling to God in ignorance of these things but fully aware of them:

“I know all these, and have them in my hand :
Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes
I flie to thee, and fully understand
Both the main sale, and the commodities ;
And at what rate and price I have thy love ;
With all the circumstances that may move :
Yet through these labyrinths, not my groveling wit,
But thy silk twist let down from heav’n to me,
Did both conduct and teach me, how by it
To climbe to thee.”

Another reason I love Herbert is his moral and practical conviction. His LONG poem The Church-Porch is brilliant in its wit and wise advice:

The way to make thy son rich is to fill
His mind with rest, before his trunk with riches:
For wealth without contentment climbs a hill
To feel those tempests, which fly over ditches.
But if thy son can make ten pound his measure
Then all thou addest may be called his treasure.

Or this, so moving and insightful:

Be calm in arguing: for fierceness makes
Error a fault, and truth discourtesy.
Why should I feel another man’s mistakes
More than his sickness or poverty?
In love I should: but anger is not love,
Nor wisdom neither: therefore gently move.

George Herbert's parish church, by Philocrites on Flickr

Herbert’s output was huge, and there’s much more to say – but instead of filling up more post-space, go and read for yourself! If you’re ok with reading a computer screen, go here. Otherwise if you’re a bibliophile like me, get to a good 2nd hand bookshop and find some Herbert to fill up your soul.

The ordination at St James Grimsby yesterday morning was full of excitement, anticipation and celebration.  The four new deacons ordained in the north of the Diocese of Lincoln yesterday bring to the church a depth of gifts and competencies which bode well for the future.

Frequently I find that conversations with congregations seem to suggest that the quantity of those coming into and available for stipendiary ministry is the important issue.  I think, however, that it is the quality of those coming forward which will resource the church most effectively in God’s mission and ministry.

As the cost of employing priests increasingly depends on the generosity of congregations, we need to ensure that those in stipendiary ministry bring a quality and competancy  which supports such generosity.  At the same time, the church needs to ensure that it is using all vocations to ministry in such a way as to honour the gifts and talents of those call by God not only into the ordained ministry but also into Reader and other lay ministeries.  Justin Lewis-Anthony recent book – “If you meet George Herbert on the road, Kill Him” challenges the Church of England to rethink how we unfold the practice of priestly ministry.  As the resource of stipendiary ministry reduces, it is time for us to understand how best to use the gifts and talents of those who respond to the call of God.

Just repeating pattens of ministry from the past by stretching the resourse of the stipendiary ordained ever further is a questionabe strategy for mission and ministry.  Lewis-Anthony asks pertinent questions and it is down to us  in the local church, in deaneries and in parishes to respond creatively – if we are to use the gifts and talents of those ordained yeasterday effectively in the cause of the Gospel.

"School House North of Moab UT" by Michael D. Martin @ flickr

One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.

~George Herbert~

Lake George by Old Shoe Woman on Flickr

What do you think of when you hear the name George? Castanza?

Well, when I hear the name George, four people come to mind. I thought it might be fun to do a series on them, since they’re all named George (well, one of them wasn’t really), and they’ve all had an impact on my life in one way or the other. My Georges are Eliot, Handel, Macdonald and Herbert.

So, a woman who pretended to be a man, a man who wore a wig, a Scottish romantic and a Welsh poet. The plan is to write one-ish posts on each of them and how they’ve affected me.

Who are your Georges?

“I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family.”

- another famous George – guess who?

by George Herbert (1593 – 1633).

Whitsunday (1633)

     Listen sweet Dove unto my song,

     And spread thy golden wings in me;

     Hatching my tender heart so long,

Till it get wing, and flie away with thee.

     Where is that fire which once descended                                       5

     On thy Apostles? thou didst then

     Keep open house, richly attended,

Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men.

     Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow,

     That th’ earth did like a heav’n appeare;                                         10

     The starres were coming down to know

If they might mend their wages, and serve here.

     The sunne, which once did shine alone,

     Hung down his head, and wisht for night,

     When he beheld twelve sunnes for one                                           15

Going about the world, and giving light.

     But since those pipes of gold, which brought

     That cordiall water to our ground,

     Were cut and martyr’d by the fault

Of those, who did themselves through their side wound,               20

     Thou shutt’st the doore, and keep’st within;

     Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink:

     And if the braves of conqu’ring sinne

Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink.

     Lord, though we change, thou art the same;                                 25

     The same sweet God of love and light:

     Restore this day, for thy great name,

Unto his ancient and miraculous right.

Notes:

http://www.georgeherbert.org/life/bio.html

http://www.webenglishteacher.com/herbert.html

George Herbert 1593-1633