March 29, 2007
The Inner Sanctuary of the Soul
I'm reading "A Testament of Devtion" by Thomas Kelly when I can't sleep at night, which is fairly often, and I just have to post from it because it is so provoking.
"In this humanistic age we suppose man is the initiator and God is the responder. But the Living Christ within us is the initiator and we are the responders. God the Lover, the accuser, the revealer of light and darkness presses within us. 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock.'"
- Yes Jesus, knock. Pound urgently. Beat upon that door until I can bear it no more and rush to fling it wide open, and your Holy Light burst in and illuminates everything inside, and your sweet and burning scent overtakes every cubic inch of air, and I will soak up Your light, I will breath in Your scent. Knock Jesus, knock, without hesitation or reservation, on Rich's heart, on Maisie's heart, on my mom and my brother and my sister's heart, on my whole family's heart and on my friends' hearts, on the hearts of the human race. Knock, Jesus. You are welcome here and I love the sound of your fist upon my heart, your desire to come in, to be present, to reside.
"And all our apparent initiative is already a response, a testimonial to His secret presence and working within us.
"The basic response of the soul to the Light is internal adoration and joy, thankfulness and worship, self-surrender and listening. The secret places of the heart cease to be our noisy workshop.
- The secret places of my heart are so noisy with irritating and mindlessly repetitive obsessive-compulsive like thoughts, worries, planning, arrogance and self-impressiveness. Where is the eternity in my heart?
"They become a holy sanctuary of adoration and self-oblation [making an offering], where we are kept in perfect peace, if our minds be stayed on Him who has found us in the inward springs of our life. And in brief intervals of overpowering visitation we are able to carry the sanctuary frame of mind out into the world, into its turmoil and fitfulness, and in a hyperaesthesia of the soul, we see all mankind tinged with deeper shadows, and touched with Galilean glories. Powerfully are the springs of our will moved to an abandon of singing love toward God; powerfully are we moved to a new and overcoming love toward time-blinded men and all creation. In this Center of Creation all things are ours, and we are Christ's and Christ is God's. We are owned men, ready to run and not be weary and to walk and not faint.
"But the light fades, the will weakens, the humdrum returns. Can we stay this fading? No, and we should not try, for we must learn the disciplines of His will, and pass beyond this first lesson of His Grace. But the Eternal Inward Light does not die when ecstacy dies [when the wonderful and "hyperaesthesia of the soul" from experiencing moments of inward intimacy with God fades], nor exist only intermittantly, with the flickerings of our psychic states. Continuously renewed immediacy, not receding memory of the Divine Touch, lies at the base of religious living. Let us explore together the secret of a deeper devotion, a more subterranean sanctuary of the soul, where the Light Within never fades, but burns, a perpetual Flame ... The 'bright shoots of everlastingness' can become a steady light within, if we are deadly in earnest in our dedication to the Light, and are willing to pass out of first stages into maturer religious living.
**"Only if this is possible can the light from the inner sanctuary of the soul be a workaday light for the marketplace, a guide for perplexed feet, a recreator of cultural-patterns for the race of mankind."**
"In this humanistic age we suppose man is the initiator and God is the responder. But the Living Christ within us is the initiator and we are the responders. God the Lover, the accuser, the revealer of light and darkness presses within us. 'Behold, I stand at the door and knock.'"
- Yes Jesus, knock. Pound urgently. Beat upon that door until I can bear it no more and rush to fling it wide open, and your Holy Light burst in and illuminates everything inside, and your sweet and burning scent overtakes every cubic inch of air, and I will soak up Your light, I will breath in Your scent. Knock Jesus, knock, without hesitation or reservation, on Rich's heart, on Maisie's heart, on my mom and my brother and my sister's heart, on my whole family's heart and on my friends' hearts, on the hearts of the human race. Knock, Jesus. You are welcome here and I love the sound of your fist upon my heart, your desire to come in, to be present, to reside.
"And all our apparent initiative is already a response, a testimonial to His secret presence and working within us.
"The basic response of the soul to the Light is internal adoration and joy, thankfulness and worship, self-surrender and listening. The secret places of the heart cease to be our noisy workshop.
- The secret places of my heart are so noisy with irritating and mindlessly repetitive obsessive-compulsive like thoughts, worries, planning, arrogance and self-impressiveness. Where is the eternity in my heart?
"They become a holy sanctuary of adoration and self-oblation [making an offering], where we are kept in perfect peace, if our minds be stayed on Him who has found us in the inward springs of our life. And in brief intervals of overpowering visitation we are able to carry the sanctuary frame of mind out into the world, into its turmoil and fitfulness, and in a hyperaesthesia of the soul, we see all mankind tinged with deeper shadows, and touched with Galilean glories. Powerfully are the springs of our will moved to an abandon of singing love toward God; powerfully are we moved to a new and overcoming love toward time-blinded men and all creation. In this Center of Creation all things are ours, and we are Christ's and Christ is God's. We are owned men, ready to run and not be weary and to walk and not faint.
"But the light fades, the will weakens, the humdrum returns. Can we stay this fading? No, and we should not try, for we must learn the disciplines of His will, and pass beyond this first lesson of His Grace. But the Eternal Inward Light does not die when ecstacy dies [when the wonderful and "hyperaesthesia of the soul" from experiencing moments of inward intimacy with God fades], nor exist only intermittantly, with the flickerings of our psychic states. Continuously renewed immediacy, not receding memory of the Divine Touch, lies at the base of religious living. Let us explore together the secret of a deeper devotion, a more subterranean sanctuary of the soul, where the Light Within never fades, but burns, a perpetual Flame ... The 'bright shoots of everlastingness' can become a steady light within, if we are deadly in earnest in our dedication to the Light, and are willing to pass out of first stages into maturer religious living.
**"Only if this is possible can the light from the inner sanctuary of the soul be a workaday light for the marketplace, a guide for perplexed feet, a recreator of cultural-patterns for the race of mankind."**
My Neighbor Lily
I take Maisie for a walk pretty much every day. We generally take the same route every time. Two days ago we were out on our typical way, a street over from ours. A lady I'd met one time before came out of her house, I'm pretty sure she saw me coming and decided she wanted to talk. She had previously called Maisie a boy and I didn't correct her. I didn't figure I'd see her again. When she came out this time, she did it again. I wheeled Maisie in her stroller up the lady's driveway to chat, where she realised she was a girl. Lily, as she later introduced herself, is fairly old. Probably late 70s but it might be more accurate to guess in her 80s. She kept mentioning various boyfriends she'd had throughout her life and never mentioned a husband...
Anyway, she remarked on how beautiful Maisie is, as people often (ok, ALWAYS) do and said she would probably be tall, could probably be Miss America one day. Lily asked if I'd watched the show the night before.
"No, but I saw that Miss Tennessee won" I said with feigned enthusiasm.
"Yeah, I can't believe it. She was a mixed girl". I couldn't believe THAT.
"Oh, I know, she was BEAUTIFUL!" I said genuinely, acting like I didn't catch what she meant.
This led in to a racial slur-laden conversation about physical appearance, the other black Miss America contestant, beauty and ugliness. Some of what she said was so insulting, I couldn't believe she wasn't even bothered by it. Most people, including the older man we ran into this past Saturday at the yard sale, will lower their voice because they know what they are saying is inappropriate, but Lily just let loose.
I am angry that people remark on Maisie's loveliness and then slander black people. I feel like her beauty is maligned with their ignorance and predjudice. Then again, it so far has provided me two opportunities to challenge some probably life-long predjudices and maybe provoke some inner change in those people.
Lily said something awful about black people being ugly. Even as I type this I'm uncomfortable and angry. I said "Oh, I don't think so."
"You don't?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, waiting for me to explain.
"I don't know how anyone can call ANYONE ugly. We're all made by God. That's like telling God He didn't do a good enough job. Do you feel comfortable doing that?"
Her answer was unexpected. "Even God's own son was ugly."
"I don't think so. Where does it say that"
"Isaiah 53." I was surprised - she even listed the verse.
I answered "Well, it says there was nothing about him that would draw our attention to him. That doesn't mean he was ugly" (and I thought later, that had Jesus been ugly, that would have drawn people's attention to him...I guess he was one of those faces you just sort of forget, unless of course you actually came within earshot of him. You would probably never forget that encounter). "Well, anyway" I continued, "I can tell you he sure as heck wasn't white."
"Oh really?" Lily said.
"If he was from Israel, he looked like what people from Israel look like, and it isn't blonde hair and blue eyes and white skin."
She didn't really seem phased by that. We talked for a little while longer and I pointed out the back of our house across the ditch and over from her driveway. She seems sort of lonely.
It's quite obvious that these two encounters are not random chance. I'm a bit bothered that it seems that God has seen fit to use Maisie's beauty to bring about situations to challenge people. But, she is His first, then mine. I hope I can teach her to see the beauty of God's handiwork.
Anyway, she remarked on how beautiful Maisie is, as people often (ok, ALWAYS) do and said she would probably be tall, could probably be Miss America one day. Lily asked if I'd watched the show the night before.
"No, but I saw that Miss Tennessee won" I said with feigned enthusiasm.
"Yeah, I can't believe it. She was a mixed girl". I couldn't believe THAT.
"Oh, I know, she was BEAUTIFUL!" I said genuinely, acting like I didn't catch what she meant.
This led in to a racial slur-laden conversation about physical appearance, the other black Miss America contestant, beauty and ugliness. Some of what she said was so insulting, I couldn't believe she wasn't even bothered by it. Most people, including the older man we ran into this past Saturday at the yard sale, will lower their voice because they know what they are saying is inappropriate, but Lily just let loose.
I am angry that people remark on Maisie's loveliness and then slander black people. I feel like her beauty is maligned with their ignorance and predjudice. Then again, it so far has provided me two opportunities to challenge some probably life-long predjudices and maybe provoke some inner change in those people.
Lily said something awful about black people being ugly. Even as I type this I'm uncomfortable and angry. I said "Oh, I don't think so."
"You don't?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, waiting for me to explain.
"I don't know how anyone can call ANYONE ugly. We're all made by God. That's like telling God He didn't do a good enough job. Do you feel comfortable doing that?"
Her answer was unexpected. "Even God's own son was ugly."
"I don't think so. Where does it say that"
"Isaiah 53." I was surprised - she even listed the verse.
I answered "Well, it says there was nothing about him that would draw our attention to him. That doesn't mean he was ugly" (and I thought later, that had Jesus been ugly, that would have drawn people's attention to him...I guess he was one of those faces you just sort of forget, unless of course you actually came within earshot of him. You would probably never forget that encounter). "Well, anyway" I continued, "I can tell you he sure as heck wasn't white."
"Oh really?" Lily said.
"If he was from Israel, he looked like what people from Israel look like, and it isn't blonde hair and blue eyes and white skin."
She didn't really seem phased by that. We talked for a little while longer and I pointed out the back of our house across the ditch and over from her driveway. She seems sort of lonely.
It's quite obvious that these two encounters are not random chance. I'm a bit bothered that it seems that God has seen fit to use Maisie's beauty to bring about situations to challenge people. But, she is His first, then mine. I hope I can teach her to see the beauty of God's handiwork.
March 24, 2007
Some pictures I took...Please don't yank these for profit
Not that I think they are that amazing but...anyway
A Not-Coincidence
So today is Saturday. I've been wrestling with my thoughts for hours. This morning some friends in our area had a yard sale so we put Maisie in the stroller and walked over (about a mile away). We were there for a while, chatting. A little while before we left an older man pulled up to come and look over the things out for sale. I was holding Maisie and as he was looking around, he stopped, came over to me and said "Oh, it's good to see a white baby".
"What?" I said, partially because he was mumbling and I was hoping against hope that was not what he really said, partially because I couldn't believe he would dare to say something like that, partially because I wanted him to repeat it, hoping he would hear what an ass he sounded like.
"I said it's good to see a little white baby out here". My friend looked at me in disbelief, mouth gaping with lack of words.
My adrenaline started flowing. I wanted to to provoke him so that I might have a chance to show him that just because we were white doesn't make us racists. So I said "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean".
He said "Well, you know, it's just that every baby you see is either a little black baby or a little mixed baby".
I WANTED TO CHOKE HIM. I wanted to tell him "You make me sick".
I just half-laughed with disbelief and said "They're people, too, you know."
I felt weak, ineffective, dumb (as in not being able to speak).
Maybe it did something, maybe it didn't.
Then Rich and I decided to take a different way home. One of the things that irks me most about Memphis, and would likely irk me in other cities if we lived in an older part of the city, is that there are SO many streets that start one place, end at an intersection and zig zig up a block or two, or end completely and start again four streets over, with no connection in between. So began our journey home.
We intended to take a certain street all the way back. First we ended up going in a circle because the street we were on curved around to another street we had been near. Then we walked a block, zig zagged another block, walked two more blocks, and the road disappeared. After a series of irritating turns in an attempt to find where the street picks up again, we ended up on Macon. Everyone in Berclair knows that street divides this area between the "good" side of the street and the "bad". Well, at least as far as real estate goes. In actuality, it's not entirely true. We know people that live "on the north side of Macon" (tremble) and it is not bad.
The actual road of Macon, however, has some rundown and dingy blocks. So there we found ourselves walking, another not-coincidence. It was a challenge to me. Being the minority is uncomfortable. Please, this was not "the white girl finally getting a sense of what it's like". It's not the first time. I just wish that it wasn't an issue. Why does what's different from us have to scare us - both the majority being scared of the minority as well as the minority being afraid of the majority?
Why do people settle for the easy solution like mob-mentality instead of thinking for themselves, seeing clearly and loving well? Why are we so paralyzed to face fears that don't risk our lives or cause physical harm? Why are we so apathetic?
I really feel like poverty and expectations are the real issues. Why is it 2007 and these still haven't been addressed?
I don't have answers.
"What?" I said, partially because he was mumbling and I was hoping against hope that was not what he really said, partially because I couldn't believe he would dare to say something like that, partially because I wanted him to repeat it, hoping he would hear what an ass he sounded like.
"I said it's good to see a little white baby out here". My friend looked at me in disbelief, mouth gaping with lack of words.
My adrenaline started flowing. I wanted to to provoke him so that I might have a chance to show him that just because we were white doesn't make us racists. So I said "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean".
He said "Well, you know, it's just that every baby you see is either a little black baby or a little mixed baby".
I WANTED TO CHOKE HIM. I wanted to tell him "You make me sick".
I just half-laughed with disbelief and said "They're people, too, you know."
I felt weak, ineffective, dumb (as in not being able to speak).
Maybe it did something, maybe it didn't.
Then Rich and I decided to take a different way home. One of the things that irks me most about Memphis, and would likely irk me in other cities if we lived in an older part of the city, is that there are SO many streets that start one place, end at an intersection and zig zig up a block or two, or end completely and start again four streets over, with no connection in between. So began our journey home.
We intended to take a certain street all the way back. First we ended up going in a circle because the street we were on curved around to another street we had been near. Then we walked a block, zig zagged another block, walked two more blocks, and the road disappeared. After a series of irritating turns in an attempt to find where the street picks up again, we ended up on Macon. Everyone in Berclair knows that street divides this area between the "good" side of the street and the "bad". Well, at least as far as real estate goes. In actuality, it's not entirely true. We know people that live "on the north side of Macon" (tremble) and it is not bad.
The actual road of Macon, however, has some rundown and dingy blocks. So there we found ourselves walking, another not-coincidence. It was a challenge to me. Being the minority is uncomfortable. Please, this was not "the white girl finally getting a sense of what it's like". It's not the first time. I just wish that it wasn't an issue. Why does what's different from us have to scare us - both the majority being scared of the minority as well as the minority being afraid of the majority?
Why do people settle for the easy solution like mob-mentality instead of thinking for themselves, seeing clearly and loving well? Why are we so paralyzed to face fears that don't risk our lives or cause physical harm? Why are we so apathetic?
I really feel like poverty and expectations are the real issues. Why is it 2007 and these still haven't been addressed?
I don't have answers.
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