Happy New Year
scriptum in vigilio inceptionis anni redemptionis nostrae 2003
Dear friends and readers, pray for a poor sinner. Illum oportet crescere; me autem minui (John 3.30). The "old man" must decrease, that life and light and joy and hope may increase.
There are harbingers! Also, apprehensions.
But join me, if you will, as we come to the setting of the year, in the last few verses of the Phos Hilaron :
You are worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices,
O Son of God, O Giver of Life,
and to be glorified through all the worlds.
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Robert Royal on Thomas Merton
In First Things, six years ago. Found via the Flos Carmeli comment-box.
This is, I believe, the same Robert Royal who has written a very readable (but sobering to the point of being depressing ... if not heart-sickening) volume about The Catholic Martyrs of the Twentieth Century. Also, a Crossroad Spiritual Classics volume on Dante Alighieri.
Royal's assessment of the "several-storied" Thomas Merton shows an awareness of the flaws of this ineluctably compelling figure, but on balance generous and patient. (In this respect, Royal's essay differs slightly but significantly from a 1999 article in Touchstone by Eric Scheske, which grouped Merton with Jack Kerouac and J. D. Salinger as "three American sophomores."
In First Things, six years ago. Found via the Flos Carmeli comment-box.
This is, I believe, the same Robert Royal who has written a very readable (but sobering to the point of being depressing ... if not heart-sickening) volume about The Catholic Martyrs of the Twentieth Century. Also, a Crossroad Spiritual Classics volume on Dante Alighieri.
Royal's assessment of the "several-storied" Thomas Merton shows an awareness of the flaws of this ineluctably compelling figure, but on balance generous and patient. (In this respect, Royal's essay differs slightly but significantly from a 1999 article in Touchstone by Eric Scheske, which grouped Merton with Jack Kerouac and J. D. Salinger as "three American sophomores."
Dana Gioia's essays
I haven't quite succeeded in taking myself ad lectum yet. I have, however, found my way into the essays of poet Dana Gioia. Here, there are many pieces dealing with poets I enjoy, or even revere. Some poets we do not revere, but recognize.
Even when writing about a poet whose esthetic temperament differs appreciably from his own, Mr Gioia is charitably shrewd and consistently perspicacious. With respect to the work of James Tate, Gioia shows a surprising amount of patience and finds much to praise. His note on Adrienne Rich shows a salutary awareness of the difference between poems and slogans (although when I've encountered Rich, whom I don't often read, the poems are usually poems). The piece on Auden is disappointingly small, but well. And there is a justly magnanimous assessment of Richard Wilbur, who with sanity and skill has produced much that is ineffaceable.
It often happens that we will resist a poet's poems, until we discover the poet's prose. Mr Gioia is an admirably sane poet, whose resistance to the baser forms of histrionics and wildness might be at the expense of attracting immediate attention, but his essays show that he is equipped with a fine critical mind, and a soul that knows how properly to appreciate the invaluably good.
I haven't quite succeeded in taking myself ad lectum yet. I have, however, found my way into the essays of poet Dana Gioia. Here, there are many pieces dealing with poets I enjoy, or even revere. Some poets we do not revere, but recognize.
Even when writing about a poet whose esthetic temperament differs appreciably from his own, Mr Gioia is charitably shrewd and consistently perspicacious. With respect to the work of James Tate, Gioia shows a surprising amount of patience and finds much to praise. His note on Adrienne Rich shows a salutary awareness of the difference between poems and slogans (although when I've encountered Rich, whom I don't often read, the poems are usually poems). The piece on Auden is disappointingly small, but well. And there is a justly magnanimous assessment of Richard Wilbur, who with sanity and skill has produced much that is ineffaceable.
It often happens that we will resist a poet's poems, until we discover the poet's prose. Mr Gioia is an admirably sane poet, whose resistance to the baser forms of histrionics and wildness might be at the expense of attracting immediate attention, but his essays show that he is equipped with a fine critical mind, and a soul that knows how properly to appreciate the invaluably good.
Monday, December 30, 2002
George F. Will
in The Woven Figure (p. 144)
Novelist Walker Percy defined a "deconstructionist" as an academic who claims that the meaning of all communication is radically indeterminate but who leaves a message on his wife's answering machine requesting pepperoni pizza for dinner.
I must take myself to the place where all serious thinking gets done, and no small amount of working (i.e., bed) and read more of Mr Will. I do not recommend reading Mr Will in chapels, as you might encounter a sentence like the one above, and become audibly seismic with laughter.
Update, 12.40 am (now, the 31st!) : Yes. I must go to bed. To read the first essay/column, about the scarcity of civility and the erosion of manners in "Dennis Rodman's America," or to re-read Will's obituaries of men who were unswervingly loyal to bad ideas, Allen Ginsberg and Alger Hiss.
in The Woven Figure (p. 144)
Novelist Walker Percy defined a "deconstructionist" as an academic who claims that the meaning of all communication is radically indeterminate but who leaves a message on his wife's answering machine requesting pepperoni pizza for dinner.
I must take myself to the place where all serious thinking gets done, and no small amount of working (i.e., bed) and read more of Mr Will. I do not recommend reading Mr Will in chapels, as you might encounter a sentence like the one above, and become audibly seismic with laughter.
Update, 12.40 am (now, the 31st!) : Yes. I must go to bed. To read the first essay/column, about the scarcity of civility and the erosion of manners in "Dennis Rodman's America," or to re-read Will's obituaries of men who were unswervingly loyal to bad ideas, Allen Ginsberg and Alger Hiss.
Via Ad Orientem
A splendid article in the Manchester Union-Leader about Melkite Catholics in the Granite State.
A splendid article in the Manchester Union-Leader about Melkite Catholics in the Granite State.
Carlo Carretto (1910-88)
From his book In Search of the Beyond (Orbis, 1976), trans. Sarah Fawcett. In chapter 17, "Blessed are the pure in heart," Carretto, a Little Brother of Jesus in North Africa, quotes the Jesuit paleontologist Teilhard de Chardin : "Raise me up until, at long last, it becomes possible for me in perfect chastity to embrace the universe" [p. 161].
Carretto continues his meditation :
I do not know where one could find a more beautiful way of expressing the beatitude of purity.
Today I would translate Jesus's words, 'Blessed are the pure in heart' as, 'Blessed is he who knows how to embrace chastely the entire universe.'
Jesus did not come in order to add to our burdens, he came to set us free; he did not come to deprive us of them embrace, but to make it chaste.
To be pure is to embrace things chastely; to be impure is to embrace them in a lustful way, defiling them, violating them and prostituting them in the process. Is that not true?
A man embraces his own wife chastely, but not the woman he buys by exerting his male superiority.
We embrace our work chastely, and our house acquired honestly, our toil and our friendships, but not our thefts, our arrogance, our blasphemies, our insincerity or our intolerance.
There is a vast difference between a husband's creative embrace, and the functional embrace of the soldier of fortune who breaks in the doors of the vanquished and rapes the first woman he meets.
As soon as we really understand that Jesus did not come to deny us love and union, but to raise them to a new level for us, making them even more beautiful, more human, more joyful, more authentic, we will have taken a great step forward in our understanding of the Gospel. But often, only too often, we want to try things out in our own way, and nine times out of ten, our misfortunes stem from this desire of ours to 'try,' from this practical if not theoretical denial of the law which God gave us out of love.
From his book In Search of the Beyond (Orbis, 1976), trans. Sarah Fawcett. In chapter 17, "Blessed are the pure in heart," Carretto, a Little Brother of Jesus in North Africa, quotes the Jesuit paleontologist Teilhard de Chardin : "Raise me up until, at long last, it becomes possible for me in perfect chastity to embrace the universe" [p. 161].
Carretto continues his meditation :
I do not know where one could find a more beautiful way of expressing the beatitude of purity.
Today I would translate Jesus's words, 'Blessed are the pure in heart' as, 'Blessed is he who knows how to embrace chastely the entire universe.'
Jesus did not come in order to add to our burdens, he came to set us free; he did not come to deprive us of them embrace, but to make it chaste.
To be pure is to embrace things chastely; to be impure is to embrace them in a lustful way, defiling them, violating them and prostituting them in the process. Is that not true?
A man embraces his own wife chastely, but not the woman he buys by exerting his male superiority.
We embrace our work chastely, and our house acquired honestly, our toil and our friendships, but not our thefts, our arrogance, our blasphemies, our insincerity or our intolerance.
There is a vast difference between a husband's creative embrace, and the functional embrace of the soldier of fortune who breaks in the doors of the vanquished and rapes the first woman he meets.
As soon as we really understand that Jesus did not come to deny us love and union, but to raise them to a new level for us, making them even more beautiful, more human, more joyful, more authentic, we will have taken a great step forward in our understanding of the Gospel. But often, only too often, we want to try things out in our own way, and nine times out of ten, our misfortunes stem from this desire of ours to 'try,' from this practical if not theoretical denial of the law which God gave us out of love.
Mysterium Crucis
The blogger writes on the absolute necessity of wonder, on nature which certifies the supernatural (but is not to be worshiped), and on the 2000-year-young Ecclesia, which had him "enraptured" even from a distance.
The blogger writes on the absolute necessity of wonder, on nature which certifies the supernatural (but is not to be worshiped), and on the 2000-year-young Ecclesia, which had him "enraptured" even from a distance.
Rules for good living?
Someone wonders, How do we become like children, to see the world anew?
I'm not one who consistently embodies the virtue of hope or the quality of joy ... but I'd say, Read the poetry you like to read; say the prayers that you like to say; smile at a passerby every twice in a while; thank Heaven often for your friends; and be on the qui vive, on the "lookout," for God's small surprises --
a white moon in a blue daylight sky; an unexpected moment of peace in a busy day; the sight of a sparrow; the sight of a pair of compassionate eyes coming from a lovely face; the sound of a compassionate voice ... cool air or warm air; beautiful music; the ability to finish a task, or to begin a task; every unimpaired breath; coffee at 5.50 on a Monday morning in December (and be thankful for any day on which you do not need to rush things!) ...
I'd sum up the foregoing by saying : Cultivate gratitude for the smaller things.
Someone wonders, How do we become like children, to see the world anew?
I'm not one who consistently embodies the virtue of hope or the quality of joy ... but I'd say, Read the poetry you like to read; say the prayers that you like to say; smile at a passerby every twice in a while; thank Heaven often for your friends; and be on the qui vive, on the "lookout," for God's small surprises --
a white moon in a blue daylight sky; an unexpected moment of peace in a busy day; the sight of a sparrow; the sight of a pair of compassionate eyes coming from a lovely face; the sound of a compassionate voice ... cool air or warm air; beautiful music; the ability to finish a task, or to begin a task; every unimpaired breath; coffee at 5.50 on a Monday morning in December (and be thankful for any day on which you do not need to rush things!) ...
I'd sum up the foregoing by saying : Cultivate gratitude for the smaller things.
Sunday, December 29, 2002
Caryll Houselander (1901-54)
Magnificat meditation for December 30th
There is nothing that is so irksome as the ache of an old wound, and it is from countless old wounds, old sores, and welts and suppurating sores and gangrenous wounds that the world is bleeding to death. It is old wounds that are poisoning the life-stream of humanity.
It is no wonder that there has never before been so conscious a longing for a "new heaven and a new earth." Men look more wistfully on the first leaf of spring than they have ever done before.
To wake one morning to see the first prick of green on a city tree is to experience joy like the receiving of a sacrament. To look out of the window upon a patch of blue sky newly washed with rain is an experience as poignant and sweet as a sudden vivid memory of childhood, in which for a moment we walk on thinly sandalled feet through the long, dewy grass of a tangled garden that is no more.
So old are we, so old our aching wounds, that the loveliness which is actually here and now seems to be a memory. The heart cries out to be made new to renew the earth.
This is precisely what happens when we become children. We are made new; our newness renews the earth.
We are restored to the sense of wonder. We see the stars, the coming of spring, the familiar faces of our friends, the white bread on the table; for the first time we dimly apprehend the mystery of the sacramental quality of our daily life.
Magnificat meditation for December 30th
There is nothing that is so irksome as the ache of an old wound, and it is from countless old wounds, old sores, and welts and suppurating sores and gangrenous wounds that the world is bleeding to death. It is old wounds that are poisoning the life-stream of humanity.
It is no wonder that there has never before been so conscious a longing for a "new heaven and a new earth." Men look more wistfully on the first leaf of spring than they have ever done before.
To wake one morning to see the first prick of green on a city tree is to experience joy like the receiving of a sacrament. To look out of the window upon a patch of blue sky newly washed with rain is an experience as poignant and sweet as a sudden vivid memory of childhood, in which for a moment we walk on thinly sandalled feet through the long, dewy grass of a tangled garden that is no more.
So old are we, so old our aching wounds, that the loveliness which is actually here and now seems to be a memory. The heart cries out to be made new to renew the earth.
This is precisely what happens when we become children. We are made new; our newness renews the earth.
We are restored to the sense of wonder. We see the stars, the coming of spring, the familiar faces of our friends, the white bread on the table; for the first time we dimly apprehend the mystery of the sacramental quality of our daily life.
24 prayers of St John Chrysostom
(1) O Lord, deprive me not of thy heavenly blessings.
(2) O Lord, deliver me from eternal torments.
(3) O Lord, if I have sinned in mind or thought, in word or deed, forgive me.
(4) O Lord, deliver me from every ignorance and heedlessness, from littleness of soul and stony hardness of heart.
(5) O Lord, deliver me from every temptation.
(6) O Lord, enlighten my heart which evil desire hath darkened.
(7) O Lord, I, being man, have sinned: do thou, being God, in lovingkindness forgive me, for thou knowest the weakness of my soul.
(8) O Lord, send down thy grace to help me, that I may glorify thy holy Name.
(9) O Lord Jesus Christ, enrol me, thy servant, in the book of life, and grant me a blessed end.
(10) O Lord my God, even if I have done nothing good in thy sight, yet grant me, according to thy grace, to make a beginning of good.
(11) O Lord, sprinkle on my heart the dew of thy grace.
(12) O Lord of heaven and earth, remember me, thy sinful servant, cold of heart and impure, in thy Kingdom.
(13) O Lord, receive me in repentance.
(14) O Lord, leave me not.
(15) O Lord, lead me not into temptation.
(16) O Lord, grant me thought of good.
(17) O Lord, grant me tears, a remembrance of death, and a sense of peace.
(18) O Lord, grant me mindfulness to confess my sins.
(19) O Lord, grant me humility, charity, and obedience.
(20) O Lord, grant me endurance, magnanimity, and gentleness.
(21) O Lord, plant in me the root of all blessings, the fear of thee in my heart.
(22) O Lord, vouchsafe that I may love thee with all my heart and soul and in all things obey thy will.
(23) O Lord, shield me from evil men and devils and passions and all other unlawful things.
(24) O Lord, who knowest thy creation and what thou hast willed for it; may thy will also be fulfilled in me a sinner; for thou art blessed for evermore. Amen.
:: :: ::
From A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers, foreword by Alexander Schmemann, explanatory notes by Nicolas Zernov (Saint Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1983, eleventh impression 1991), pp 14-15
(1) O Lord, deprive me not of thy heavenly blessings.
(2) O Lord, deliver me from eternal torments.
(3) O Lord, if I have sinned in mind or thought, in word or deed, forgive me.
(4) O Lord, deliver me from every ignorance and heedlessness, from littleness of soul and stony hardness of heart.
(5) O Lord, deliver me from every temptation.
(6) O Lord, enlighten my heart which evil desire hath darkened.
(7) O Lord, I, being man, have sinned: do thou, being God, in lovingkindness forgive me, for thou knowest the weakness of my soul.
(8) O Lord, send down thy grace to help me, that I may glorify thy holy Name.
(9) O Lord Jesus Christ, enrol me, thy servant, in the book of life, and grant me a blessed end.
(10) O Lord my God, even if I have done nothing good in thy sight, yet grant me, according to thy grace, to make a beginning of good.
(11) O Lord, sprinkle on my heart the dew of thy grace.
(12) O Lord of heaven and earth, remember me, thy sinful servant, cold of heart and impure, in thy Kingdom.
(13) O Lord, receive me in repentance.
(14) O Lord, leave me not.
(15) O Lord, lead me not into temptation.
(16) O Lord, grant me thought of good.
(17) O Lord, grant me tears, a remembrance of death, and a sense of peace.
(18) O Lord, grant me mindfulness to confess my sins.
(19) O Lord, grant me humility, charity, and obedience.
(20) O Lord, grant me endurance, magnanimity, and gentleness.
(21) O Lord, plant in me the root of all blessings, the fear of thee in my heart.
(22) O Lord, vouchsafe that I may love thee with all my heart and soul and in all things obey thy will.
(23) O Lord, shield me from evil men and devils and passions and all other unlawful things.
(24) O Lord, who knowest thy creation and what thou hast willed for it; may thy will also be fulfilled in me a sinner; for thou art blessed for evermore. Amen.
:: :: ::
From A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers, foreword by Alexander Schmemann, explanatory notes by Nicolas Zernov (Saint Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1983, eleventh impression 1991), pp 14-15
Lewis & Kubrick & the Rocky Banality Picture Show
the Late Late Late Shows : not a wonderful life !!
Wee hours television included a semi-enticing hour-long program on PBS about the writing of Clive Staples Lewis. A "drive-by" exploration, if you will, of some of his more famous works, both Narnia and the merely Christian. Distracting interludes, when no one was talking, of "nature" being filmed at its most cloyingly pretty. One expected to hear, "And now, Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" at any second. Main complaint : the speakers/commentators weren't captioned often enough. An unfamous theology professor from Wheaton was captioned twice; but I caught only by implication that the fellow in clergyish white was one of Joy Gresham's sons. Debra Winger was identified as Debra Winger.
Also on the tube during the wee hours this past night was Stanley Kubrick's 1980 film The Shining. The more I see of Kubrick, the more I'm troubled. Granted, this was a horror film based on a Stephen King novel. But as cinematic artiste, Kubrick seemed always to have an insalubrious fascination with evil. He seemed anti-American in Dr. Strangelove; or, How I Gave My Film an Exceedingly Pretentious Subtitle and anti-family in every film from Lolita to A Clockwork Orange to Eyes Wide Shut. Parents are insufferable or they're dolts or they're psycopaths. Marriage is a sham. The American dream is a mocking mirage at best (as in the Sam Mendes film American Beauty, a film that bothered me less than it bothered some, in part because of Kevin Spacey's incessantly magnetizing watchability in just about anything), and a terrible nightmare at worst.
I suppose it could be said in Kubrick's favor that, much like C. S. Lewis (a man with whom he has ostensibly little in common), he reminds us that good and evil do exist, and are different. But Kubrick makes his evil almost gorgeous, with really splendid and beautiful cinematography, at least in films like Shining and Eyes Wide. So, in Kubrick, we're dealing with an artist of indisputable genius whose energies, it seems to me, were devoted -- with constancy & consistency & consummate skill -- to the mockery of the sacred, especially of family. Would it be apt to call him a Nietzschean figure?
I don't know what word would be apt for that grossly overrated bit of 1970s cultural detritus that VH-1 airs periodically, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It cannot be watched for more than two or three minutes at a time, and even that brief a glance is a ghastly squandering of our precious temporal resources. The film is as oppressive as Stalin, as funny as AIDS. The soundtrack is vile, the acting pubescent, the philosophy that of the bathhouse : a lethally sad hedonism that thinks it's discovered something new. An idiotically carnal banality that just knows it's smarter than the normal people. In reparation for the dangerous and sickening idiocy of this mind-numbingly boring (yet wildly popular?) piece of dreck, I think we should all start our Lents about six weeks before Ash Wednesday.
Where have you gone, Frank Capra? Our nation turns its soiled soul, its wounded heart, its bleary eyes to you!
the Late Late Late Shows : not a wonderful life !!
Wee hours television included a semi-enticing hour-long program on PBS about the writing of Clive Staples Lewis. A "drive-by" exploration, if you will, of some of his more famous works, both Narnia and the merely Christian. Distracting interludes, when no one was talking, of "nature" being filmed at its most cloyingly pretty. One expected to hear, "And now, Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" at any second. Main complaint : the speakers/commentators weren't captioned often enough. An unfamous theology professor from Wheaton was captioned twice; but I caught only by implication that the fellow in clergyish white was one of Joy Gresham's sons. Debra Winger was identified as Debra Winger.
Also on the tube during the wee hours this past night was Stanley Kubrick's 1980 film The Shining. The more I see of Kubrick, the more I'm troubled. Granted, this was a horror film based on a Stephen King novel. But as cinematic artiste, Kubrick seemed always to have an insalubrious fascination with evil. He seemed anti-American in Dr. Strangelove; or, How I Gave My Film an Exceedingly Pretentious Subtitle and anti-family in every film from Lolita to A Clockwork Orange to Eyes Wide Shut. Parents are insufferable or they're dolts or they're psycopaths. Marriage is a sham. The American dream is a mocking mirage at best (as in the Sam Mendes film American Beauty, a film that bothered me less than it bothered some, in part because of Kevin Spacey's incessantly magnetizing watchability in just about anything), and a terrible nightmare at worst.
I suppose it could be said in Kubrick's favor that, much like C. S. Lewis (a man with whom he has ostensibly little in common), he reminds us that good and evil do exist, and are different. But Kubrick makes his evil almost gorgeous, with really splendid and beautiful cinematography, at least in films like Shining and Eyes Wide. So, in Kubrick, we're dealing with an artist of indisputable genius whose energies, it seems to me, were devoted -- with constancy & consistency & consummate skill -- to the mockery of the sacred, especially of family. Would it be apt to call him a Nietzschean figure?
I don't know what word would be apt for that grossly overrated bit of 1970s cultural detritus that VH-1 airs periodically, The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It cannot be watched for more than two or three minutes at a time, and even that brief a glance is a ghastly squandering of our precious temporal resources. The film is as oppressive as Stalin, as funny as AIDS. The soundtrack is vile, the acting pubescent, the philosophy that of the bathhouse : a lethally sad hedonism that thinks it's discovered something new. An idiotically carnal banality that just knows it's smarter than the normal people. In reparation for the dangerous and sickening idiocy of this mind-numbingly boring (yet wildly popular?) piece of dreck, I think we should all start our Lents about six weeks before Ash Wednesday.
Where have you gone, Frank Capra? Our nation turns its soiled soul, its wounded heart, its bleary eyes to you!
a poem
by edward estlin cummings
!hope
faith!
!life
love!
bells cry bells
(the sea of the sky is
ablaze with their
voices)all
shallbe and was
are drowned by
prodigious a
now of magnificent
sound(which
makes
this
whenworld squirm
turns
houses to
people and streets
into faces and cities
to eyes)drift
bells glide
seethe
glow
(undering proudly
humbly overing)
all bright all
things swim climb minds
(down
slowly swoop wholly
up
leaping through merciful
sunlight)to
burst
in
a thunder of oneness
dream!
!joy
truth!
!soul
by edward estlin cummings
!hope
faith!
!life
love!
bells cry bells
(the sea of the sky is
ablaze with their
voices)all
shallbe and was
are drowned by
prodigious a
now of magnificent
sound(which
makes
this
whenworld squirm
turns
houses to
people and streets
into faces and cities
to eyes)drift
bells glide
seethe
glow
(undering proudly
humbly overing)
all bright all
things swim climb minds
(down
slowly swoop wholly
up
leaping through merciful
sunlight)to
burst
in
a thunder of oneness
dream!
!joy
truth!
!soul
William Shakespeare
Sonnet 29
WHEN in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,—and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Sonnet 29
WHEN in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee,—and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
The Beatles
well, Sir Paul especially
Here, There and Everywhere
To lead a better life,
I need my love to be here --
Here,
making each day of the year,
changing my life with a wave of her hand ...
nobody can
deny that there's something there.
There,
running my hands through her hair
both of us thinking how good it can be ...
Someone is speaking
but she doesn't know he's there.
I want her everywhere
and if she's beside me I know I need never care.
But to love her is to need her
everywhere,
knowing that love is to share
each one believing that love never dies
watching her eyes
and hoping I'm always there.
I want her everywhere
and if she's beside me I know I need never care.
But to love her is to need her
everywhere,
knowing that love is to share
each one believing that love never dies
watching her eyes
and hoping I'm always there.
I will be there, and everywhere.
Here, there and everywhere.
well, Sir Paul especially
Here, There and Everywhere
To lead a better life,
I need my love to be here --
Here,
making each day of the year,
changing my life with a wave of her hand ...
nobody can
deny that there's something there.
There,
running my hands through her hair
both of us thinking how good it can be ...
Someone is speaking
but she doesn't know he's there.
I want her everywhere
and if she's beside me I know I need never care.
But to love her is to need her
everywhere,
knowing that love is to share
each one believing that love never dies
watching her eyes
and hoping I'm always there.
I want her everywhere
and if she's beside me I know I need never care.
But to love her is to need her
everywhere,
knowing that love is to share
each one believing that love never dies
watching her eyes
and hoping I'm always there.
I will be there, and everywhere.
Here, there and everywhere.
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Shakespeare
from As You Like It
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
'This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
I would not change it.
from As You Like It
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
'This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.'
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones and good in every thing.
I would not change it.
The Collect
Holy Innocents, Dec. 28 : via the 1928 Book of Common Prayer
O Almighty God, who out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast ordained strength, and madest infants to glorify thee by their deaths; Mortify and kill all vices in us, and so strengthen us by thy grace, that by the innocency of our lives, and constancy of our faith even unto death, we may glorify thy holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Holy Innocents, Dec. 28 : via the 1928 Book of Common Prayer
O Almighty God, who out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast ordained strength, and madest infants to glorify thee by their deaths; Mortify and kill all vices in us, and so strengthen us by thy grace, that by the innocency of our lives, and constancy of our faith even unto death, we may glorify thy holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Friday, December 27, 2002
a poem by
Theodore Roethke (1908-63)
All the Earth, All the Air
1
I stand with standing stones.
The stones stay where they are.
The twiny winders wind;
The little fishes move.
A ripple wakes the pond.
2
This joy's my fall. I am! --
A man rich as a cat,
A cat in the fork of a tree,
When she shakes out her hair.
I think of that, and laugh.
3
All innocence and wit,
She keeps my wishes warm;
When, easy as a beast,
She steps along the street,
I start to leave myself.
4
The truly beautiful,
Their bodies cannot lie:
The blossom stings the bee.
The ground needs the abyss,
Say the stones, say the fish.
5
A field recedes in sleep.
Where are the dead? Before me
Floats a single star.
A tree glides with the moon.
The field is mine! Is mine!
6
In a lurking-place, I lurk,
One with the sullen dark.
What's hell but a cold heart?
But who, faced with her face,
Would not rejoice?
Theodore Roethke (1908-63)
All the Earth, All the Air
1
I stand with standing stones.
The stones stay where they are.
The twiny winders wind;
The little fishes move.
A ripple wakes the pond.
2
This joy's my fall. I am! --
A man rich as a cat,
A cat in the fork of a tree,
When she shakes out her hair.
I think of that, and laugh.
3
All innocence and wit,
She keeps my wishes warm;
When, easy as a beast,
She steps along the street,
I start to leave myself.
4
The truly beautiful,
Their bodies cannot lie:
The blossom stings the bee.
The ground needs the abyss,
Say the stones, say the fish.
5
A field recedes in sleep.
Where are the dead? Before me
Floats a single star.
A tree glides with the moon.
The field is mine! Is mine!
6
In a lurking-place, I lurk,
One with the sullen dark.
What's hell but a cold heart?
But who, faced with her face,
Would not rejoice?
an estlin cummings poem
the 92nd in the book called 95 poems
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
the 92nd in the book called 95 poems
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Traditional Collect : St John the Evangelist
from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer
Shed upon thy Church, we beseech thee, O Lord, the brightness of thy light, that we, being illumined by the teaching of thine apostle and evangelist John, may so walk in the light of thy truth, that at length we may attain to the fullness of eternal life; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer
Shed upon thy Church, we beseech thee, O Lord, the brightness of thy light, that we, being illumined by the teaching of thine apostle and evangelist John, may so walk in the light of thy truth, that at length we may attain to the fullness of eternal life; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Thursday, December 26, 2002
W. H. Auden
Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.
Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
Or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.
When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.
Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
Or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.
When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.
'We believe' vs 'I believe'
from the Dec. 2002 issue of First Things
In While we're at it (scan down a ways) Fr Neuhaus has a comment on the micro-controversy surrounding pronouns in the creed :
I doubt if it should be at the top of anybody’s list of crises needing attention, but there is this ongoing argument about whether the Creed in the Liturgy should begin with "I believe" or "We believe." It was changed to the latter some three decades ago, and now Rome wants it changed back. Bishop Donald Trautman of Erie, Pennsylvania, has been for years a major player in what is termed liturgical renewal, and he recently gave a major speech decrying in somewhat alarmist tones what he views as Rome’s efforts to slow down, or even reverse, all the good things that have happened.
[...]
Yet more interesting is the reason Bishop Trautman objects to Rome’s proposal. "Are we to tell our people now that the bishops’ approval of these texts some thirty–five years ago and Rome’s confirmation of that approval was flawed? Has the English–speaking world been praying with inaccurate texts confirmed by the Holy See?" I suppose the answer to both questions is yes. Liberals are generally insistent that Rome should admit that it makes mistakes. Apparently it’s a bit dicier when the suggestion is that bishops should admit that bishops make mistakes.
[...]
As for the English texts, it is true, as I think almost all scholars acknowledge, that many of them are inaccurate translations. At least as big a problem is that the English translations are so banal and vulgar. Recall Father George Rutler’s answer when asked if there is anything he misses since leaving the Anglican communion: "Oh yes, the liturgy in English." So what are we to make of Bishop Trautman’s complaint? With respect, he is an unhappy defender of the old guard of a liturgical establishment that over more than three decades has done a lot of things that many Catholics, and now Rome, think are deeply flawed. Why should that be so hard to accept, especially if one is devoted, as Bishop Trautman so manifestly is, to open–ended criticism and change? Why should the professional establishment of liturgists be exempt from such criticism and change?
I've often said, here and elsewhere, that Fr Neuhaus is one of the finest minds of the Ecclesia, & to my mind, one of the finest prose stylists -- a master of hair's-breadth distinctions, with a gimlet eye for the holes in the rhetoric of his intellectual opponents, and the undisputed champion of the calm, adverbial demurral or dismissal.
from the Dec. 2002 issue of First Things
In While we're at it (scan down a ways) Fr Neuhaus has a comment on the micro-controversy surrounding pronouns in the creed :
I doubt if it should be at the top of anybody’s list of crises needing attention, but there is this ongoing argument about whether the Creed in the Liturgy should begin with "I believe" or "We believe." It was changed to the latter some three decades ago, and now Rome wants it changed back. Bishop Donald Trautman of Erie, Pennsylvania, has been for years a major player in what is termed liturgical renewal, and he recently gave a major speech decrying in somewhat alarmist tones what he views as Rome’s efforts to slow down, or even reverse, all the good things that have happened.
[...]
Yet more interesting is the reason Bishop Trautman objects to Rome’s proposal. "Are we to tell our people now that the bishops’ approval of these texts some thirty–five years ago and Rome’s confirmation of that approval was flawed? Has the English–speaking world been praying with inaccurate texts confirmed by the Holy See?" I suppose the answer to both questions is yes. Liberals are generally insistent that Rome should admit that it makes mistakes. Apparently it’s a bit dicier when the suggestion is that bishops should admit that bishops make mistakes.
[...]
As for the English texts, it is true, as I think almost all scholars acknowledge, that many of them are inaccurate translations. At least as big a problem is that the English translations are so banal and vulgar. Recall Father George Rutler’s answer when asked if there is anything he misses since leaving the Anglican communion: "Oh yes, the liturgy in English." So what are we to make of Bishop Trautman’s complaint? With respect, he is an unhappy defender of the old guard of a liturgical establishment that over more than three decades has done a lot of things that many Catholics, and now Rome, think are deeply flawed. Why should that be so hard to accept, especially if one is devoted, as Bishop Trautman so manifestly is, to open–ended criticism and change? Why should the professional establishment of liturgists be exempt from such criticism and change?
I've often said, here and elsewhere, that Fr Neuhaus is one of the finest minds of the Ecclesia, & to my mind, one of the finest prose stylists -- a master of hair's-breadth distinctions, with a gimlet eye for the holes in the rhetoric of his intellectual opponents, and the undisputed champion of the calm, adverbial demurral or dismissal.
A certain mood
Une certaine humeur
After three days of splendour and joy, today has been ... forgive us as we search for the appropriate euphemism ... uhmmm ... interesting. Vex an Englishman : pronounce all 4 syllables ... "in - tuh - ress - ting" (vs. 'intristing') ...
Oh, actually? "Intristing" might not be all that bad to describe parts of today.
But it has had its good moments, its moments of unimpaired & unfeigned gratitude for the really cool, really good, really simple things.
But I am extremely tired at the moment. But before I collapse to the floor from fatigue, let me simply say that my schedule is undergoing a kind of adjustment whereby the mornings will not be as bloggable as they once were. So maybe the stray note toward vespers. (Of course, just watch tomorrow there'll be 14 posts between 5 am and 7 am. So ignore everything I just said, or take it cum grano salis.)
:: :: :: :: ::
Possible autobiography titles
A Nimble Lummox Perpetrates Adhesive Balderdash; or, Stultitia Vincit Omnia
Things I Can't Forget (But Would Prefer To)
:: :: :: :: ::
You know what it was? It was all that trudging through the snow, beginning before sun-up. [Insert loud yawn here.]
Une certaine humeur
After three days of splendour and joy, today has been ... forgive us as we search for the appropriate euphemism ... uhmmm ... interesting. Vex an Englishman : pronounce all 4 syllables ... "in - tuh - ress - ting" (vs. 'intristing') ...
Oh, actually? "Intristing" might not be all that bad to describe parts of today.
But it has had its good moments, its moments of unimpaired & unfeigned gratitude for the really cool, really good, really simple things.
But I am extremely tired at the moment. But before I collapse to the floor from fatigue, let me simply say that my schedule is undergoing a kind of adjustment whereby the mornings will not be as bloggable as they once were. So maybe the stray note toward vespers. (Of course, just watch tomorrow there'll be 14 posts between 5 am and 7 am. So ignore everything I just said, or take it cum grano salis.)
:: :: :: :: ::
Possible autobiography titles
A Nimble Lummox Perpetrates Adhesive Balderdash; or, Stultitia Vincit Omnia
Things I Can't Forget (But Would Prefer To)
:: :: :: :: ::
You know what it was? It was all that trudging through the snow, beginning before sun-up. [Insert loud yawn here.]
Song lyric by New Order
1988, if memory serves
True Faith
I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
I don't care 'cause I'm not there
And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow
Again and again I've taken too much
Of the things that cost you too much
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun ...
When I was a very small boy
Very small boys talked to me
Now that we've grown up together
They're afraid of what they see
That's the price that we all pay
Our valued destiny comes to nothing
I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there was just no way of knowing
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun ...
I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
The chances are we've gone too far
You took my time and you took my money
Now I fear you've left me standing
In a world that's so demanding
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun ...
:: :: ::
Do any other St Blog's parishioners remember this one? (I can think of one, or perhaps two, who might.)
And the video with the three weird-looking Swiss Guard Munchkin types bouncing on the trampoline, and then hitting each other?
Ah, the excellent and oft bewildering alternative music of the eighties!
1988, if memory serves
True Faith
I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
I don't care 'cause I'm not there
And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow
Again and again I've taken too much
Of the things that cost you too much
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun ...
When I was a very small boy
Very small boys talked to me
Now that we've grown up together
They're afraid of what they see
That's the price that we all pay
Our valued destiny comes to nothing
I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there was just no way of knowing
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun ...
I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
The chances are we've gone too far
You took my time and you took my money
Now I fear you've left me standing
In a world that's so demanding
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near
To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear
I used to think that the day would never come
That my life would depend on the morning sun ...
:: :: ::
Do any other St Blog's parishioners remember this one? (I can think of one, or perhaps two, who might.)
And the video with the three weird-looking Swiss Guard Munchkin types bouncing on the trampoline, and then hitting each other?
Ah, the excellent and oft bewildering alternative music of the eighties!
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
Bethlehem
by Dr Eric Milner-White, Anglican Dean of York Minster (1884-1963)
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO!
What is this wonder which openeth the heavens
with hosts of hymns and angels?
Who is this babe, rough-lying in the straw
beside the cattle?
And who is this infant, born of a woman,
to whom shepherds and kings kneel?
This is a Shepherd, the chief Shepherd, the good Shepherd,
Shepherd of all mankind,
who giveth his life for the sheep.
And this is a King, the King of kings,
sovereign of all souls,
whose kingdom can have no end.
Who in the day of eternity and splendour
subsisted in the Form of God;
yet chose the bitterness of a mortal lot
for us, for me,
THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY,
my Shepherd, my King, my All.
Let us also go unto Bethlehem
singing the hymn of knowledge
and of adoration :
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO!
Eric Milner-White, My God, My Glory : Aspirations, Acts, and Prayers on the Desire for God, ed. Joyce Huggett (London : Triangle/SPCK, 1994), p. 58
:: :: :: :: ::
Jesus is Come
by Eric Milner-White
JESUS IS COME --
the Word of God hath spoken it :
first to Mary by the tongue of her travail,
to Joseph next in the night-visions,
to poor shepherds by a chorus of angels,
to the wise and wealthy through the shining of a star,
to the whole world by a Babe.
The Word of God hath spoken it,
JESUS IS COME --
to save the pitiful lost sons of men :
save, by the glory of a lowly life,
which all eyes should see;
save, by the voice of truth,
which all ears may hear;
save, by the compassion of a heart,
which we pierced.
The Word of God, HIMSELF, hath spoken it,
Jesus, SAVIOUR, IS COME
that we might have life
more and more abundantly.
His infinite lowliness hath exalted us,
his infinite love forgiven and renewed,
his infinite majesty summoned us
to an infinite hope and crown.
JESUS IS COME --
who is over all, God, blessed for ever.
Milner-White, ibid., p. 59
:: :: :: :: ::
Incarnation
by Eric Milner-White
What is man that thou visitest him,
and the son of man that thou so regardest him?
LORD, let me kneel before thy miracle
-- an infant in a stable
on a human mother's breast,
from all eternity thine only begotten Son,
thy Word from before beginning,
God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God,
of his own choice, of thine own purpose,
made mortal man.
What is man that thou visitest him,
and the son of man that thou so regardest him?
O CHRIST, let me kneel before the wonder of thy Glory
thus made manifest to all flesh;
to be made one with thy lowliness,
one with thine obedience,
one with thy majesty of love,
in a union, that by thy grace
shall know no divorce
unto the ages of ages. Amen.
Milner-White, ibid., p. 57
by Dr Eric Milner-White, Anglican Dean of York Minster (1884-1963)
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO!
What is this wonder which openeth the heavens
with hosts of hymns and angels?
Who is this babe, rough-lying in the straw
beside the cattle?
And who is this infant, born of a woman,
to whom shepherds and kings kneel?
This is a Shepherd, the chief Shepherd, the good Shepherd,
Shepherd of all mankind,
who giveth his life for the sheep.
And this is a King, the King of kings,
sovereign of all souls,
whose kingdom can have no end.
Who in the day of eternity and splendour
subsisted in the Form of God;
yet chose the bitterness of a mortal lot
for us, for me,
THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY,
my Shepherd, my King, my All.
Let us also go unto Bethlehem
singing the hymn of knowledge
and of adoration :
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO!
Eric Milner-White, My God, My Glory : Aspirations, Acts, and Prayers on the Desire for God, ed. Joyce Huggett (London : Triangle/SPCK, 1994), p. 58
:: :: :: :: ::
Jesus is Come
by Eric Milner-White
JESUS IS COME --
the Word of God hath spoken it :
first to Mary by the tongue of her travail,
to Joseph next in the night-visions,
to poor shepherds by a chorus of angels,
to the wise and wealthy through the shining of a star,
to the whole world by a Babe.
The Word of God hath spoken it,
JESUS IS COME --
to save the pitiful lost sons of men :
save, by the glory of a lowly life,
which all eyes should see;
save, by the voice of truth,
which all ears may hear;
save, by the compassion of a heart,
which we pierced.
The Word of God, HIMSELF, hath spoken it,
Jesus, SAVIOUR, IS COME
that we might have life
more and more abundantly.
His infinite lowliness hath exalted us,
his infinite love forgiven and renewed,
his infinite majesty summoned us
to an infinite hope and crown.
JESUS IS COME --
who is over all, God, blessed for ever.
Milner-White, ibid., p. 59
:: :: :: :: ::
Incarnation
by Eric Milner-White
What is man that thou visitest him,
and the son of man that thou so regardest him?
LORD, let me kneel before thy miracle
-- an infant in a stable
on a human mother's breast,
from all eternity thine only begotten Son,
thy Word from before beginning,
God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God,
of his own choice, of thine own purpose,
made mortal man.
What is man that thou visitest him,
and the son of man that thou so regardest him?
O CHRIST, let me kneel before the wonder of thy Glory
thus made manifest to all flesh;
to be made one with thy lowliness,
one with thine obedience,
one with thy majesty of love,
in a union, that by thy grace
shall know no divorce
unto the ages of ages. Amen.
Milner-White, ibid., p. 57
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
Collect : Traditional (Christmas)
from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, p. 161
O God, who hast caused this holy night to shine with the illumination of the true Light: Grant us, we beseech thee, that as we have known the mystery of that Light upon earth, so may we also perfectly enjoy him in heaven; where with thee and the Holy Spirit he liveth and reigneth, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.
from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, p. 161
O God, who hast caused this holy night to shine with the illumination of the true Light: Grant us, we beseech thee, that as we have known the mystery of that Light upon earth, so may we also perfectly enjoy him in heaven; where with thee and the Holy Spirit he liveth and reigneth, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.
Psalm 148. Laudate Dominum.
O PRAISE the LORD from the heavens: * praise him in the heights.
2 Praise him, all ye angels of his: * praise him, all his host.
3 Praise him, sun and moon: * praise him, all ye stars and light.
4 Praise him, all ye heavens, * and ye waters that are above the heavens.
5 Let them praise the Name of the LORD: * for he spake the word, and they were made; he commanded, and they were created.
6 He hath made them fast for ever and ever: * he hath given them a law which shall not be broken.
7 Praise the LORD from the earth, * ye dragons and all deeps;
8 Fire and hail, snow and vapours, * wind and storm, fulfilling his word;
9 Mountains and all hills; * fruitful trees and all cedars;
10 Beasts and all cattle; * creeping things and flying fowls;
11 Kings of the earth, and all peoples; * princes, and all judges of the world;
12 Young men and maidens, old men and children, praise the Name of the LORD: * for his Name only is excellent, and his praise above heaven and earth.
13 He shall exalt the horn of his people: all his saints shall praise him; * even the children of Israel, even the people that serveth him.
O PRAISE the LORD from the heavens: * praise him in the heights.
2 Praise him, all ye angels of his: * praise him, all his host.
3 Praise him, sun and moon: * praise him, all ye stars and light.
4 Praise him, all ye heavens, * and ye waters that are above the heavens.
5 Let them praise the Name of the LORD: * for he spake the word, and they were made; he commanded, and they were created.
6 He hath made them fast for ever and ever: * he hath given them a law which shall not be broken.
7 Praise the LORD from the earth, * ye dragons and all deeps;
8 Fire and hail, snow and vapours, * wind and storm, fulfilling his word;
9 Mountains and all hills; * fruitful trees and all cedars;
10 Beasts and all cattle; * creeping things and flying fowls;
11 Kings of the earth, and all peoples; * princes, and all judges of the world;
12 Young men and maidens, old men and children, praise the Name of the LORD: * for his Name only is excellent, and his praise above heaven and earth.
13 He shall exalt the horn of his people: all his saints shall praise him; * even the children of Israel, even the people that serveth him.
Monday, December 23, 2002
[Note : There's a chance that the title of this next prayer might one day become the title of this web-log. I mean, Tenebrae et Lux has been the sobriquet of this blogspot for how long, now? six or seven days? Oh, that's dreadfully, dreadfully long. We're due for a change, don't you think?]
:: :: :: :: ::
Phos Hilaron
from the 1979 BCP : Evening Prayer, Rite 1
O gracious Light,
pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven,
O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed!
Now as we come to the setting of the sun,
and our eyes behold the vesper light,
we sing thy praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Thou art worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices,
O Son of God, O Giver of life,
and to be glorified though all the worlds.
:: :: :: :: ::
Phos Hilaron
from the 1979 BCP : Evening Prayer, Rite 1
O gracious Light,
pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven,
O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed!
Now as we come to the setting of the sun,
and our eyes behold the vesper light,
we sing thy praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Thou art worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices,
O Son of God, O Giver of life,
and to be glorified though all the worlds.
Happy Christmas to all who read this page
In case I forget, and am occupied with other matter in the coming 72 hours, I extend to all of you -- and even to those who can only afford the slightest glance -- a very happy, merry Christmas. Blessings of the Octave that leads us to the year of redemption twenty hundred and three.
To those who look at this web-log with a measure of distress, to whose who have been alienated and disaffected or just plain turned off by what they have found here, I am truly sorry. I hope in the immediate future & thereafter to work toward making this a page of beauty and of peace and of good, good cheer.
I think that's all for now. I have to pour myself a tall cold glass of water, and look at the wonderful sky that God as given us this day. As the day wanes (a hundred minutes of daylight left in these parts), all vesperal benedictions & wishes for Christmas peace upon your minds, your hearts, your souls, and upon those of your loved ones.
God bless you, God love you!
In case I forget, and am occupied with other matter in the coming 72 hours, I extend to all of you -- and even to those who can only afford the slightest glance -- a very happy, merry Christmas. Blessings of the Octave that leads us to the year of redemption twenty hundred and three.
To those who look at this web-log with a measure of distress, to whose who have been alienated and disaffected or just plain turned off by what they have found here, I am truly sorry. I hope in the immediate future & thereafter to work toward making this a page of beauty and of peace and of good, good cheer.
I think that's all for now. I have to pour myself a tall cold glass of water, and look at the wonderful sky that God as given us this day. As the day wanes (a hundred minutes of daylight left in these parts), all vesperal benedictions & wishes for Christmas peace upon your minds, your hearts, your souls, and upon those of your loved ones.
God bless you, God love you!
Music before Mass yesterday
As I was grooming & dressing after the mandatory ablutions, for some reason a somewhat modern canticle, a rather rough-hewn specimen of psalmody, entered my noggin and exited ex ore meo.
I guess it was because I have a Revised English Bible by my bed. And the abbreviation is REB. And I have used, before, that abbreviation in a dreadful blogging pun, echoing the early 1980s anthem of Mr William Broad (Idol) :
IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR
SHE CRIED MORE MORE MORE
WITH A REBEL YELL
MORE MORE MORE
So, as I was dressing & combing & shaving for holy Mass, I was giving to my reflection this very spirited anthem. My guardian angel must have been bewildered, and more than mildly distressed.
As I was grooming & dressing after the mandatory ablutions, for some reason a somewhat modern canticle, a rather rough-hewn specimen of psalmody, entered my noggin and exited ex ore meo.
I guess it was because I have a Revised English Bible by my bed. And the abbreviation is REB. And I have used, before, that abbreviation in a dreadful blogging pun, echoing the early 1980s anthem of Mr William Broad (Idol) :
IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR
SHE CRIED MORE MORE MORE
WITH A REBEL YELL
MORE MORE MORE
So, as I was dressing & combing & shaving for holy Mass, I was giving to my reflection this very spirited anthem. My guardian angel must have been bewildered, and more than mildly distressed.
Memorandum to the translators : Mighty God, not God-Hero
Below, the first six verses of the ninth chapter of the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, from the Nova Vulgata (see left margin under "Sacred Scripture" for link to the Vulgate).
:: :: :: :: ::
Isaiah 9 : 1-6
1 Populus, qui ambulabat in tenebris,
vidit lucem magnam;
habitantibus in regione umbrae mortis
lux orta est eis.
2 Multiplicasti exsultationem
et magnificasti laetitiam;
laetantur coram te
sicut laetantes in messe,
sicut exsultant, quando dividunt spolia.
3 Jugum enim oneris eius
et virgam umeri eius
et sceptrum exactoris eius
fregisti, sicut in die Madian.
4 Quia omnis caliga incedentis cum tumultu
et vestimentum mixtum sanguine
erit in combustionem, cibus ignis.
5 Parvulus enim natus est nobis,
filius datus est nobis;
et factus est principatus super umerum eius;
et vocabitur nomen eius
admirabilis Consiliarius, Deus fortis,
Pater aeternitatis, Princeps pacis.
6 Magnum erit eius imperium,
et pacis non erit finis
super solium David et super regnum eius,
ut confirmet illud et corroboret in iudicio et iustitia
amodo et usque in sempiternum:
zelus Domini exercituum faciet hoc.
Below, the first six verses of the ninth chapter of the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, from the Nova Vulgata (see left margin under "Sacred Scripture" for link to the Vulgate).
:: :: :: :: ::
Isaiah 9 : 1-6
1 Populus, qui ambulabat in tenebris,
vidit lucem magnam;
habitantibus in regione umbrae mortis
lux orta est eis.
2 Multiplicasti exsultationem
et magnificasti laetitiam;
laetantur coram te
sicut laetantes in messe,
sicut exsultant, quando dividunt spolia.
3 Jugum enim oneris eius
et virgam umeri eius
et sceptrum exactoris eius
fregisti, sicut in die Madian.
4 Quia omnis caliga incedentis cum tumultu
et vestimentum mixtum sanguine
erit in combustionem, cibus ignis.
5 Parvulus enim natus est nobis,
filius datus est nobis;
et factus est principatus super umerum eius;
et vocabitur nomen eius
admirabilis Consiliarius, Deus fortis,
Pater aeternitatis, Princeps pacis.
6 Magnum erit eius imperium,
et pacis non erit finis
super solium David et super regnum eius,
ut confirmet illud et corroboret in iudicio et iustitia
amodo et usque in sempiternum:
zelus Domini exercituum faciet hoc.
Other music at yesterday's Mass
-- O sanctissima, O piissima, in a passably decent English version with, praise God, the Ora pro nobis allowed to remain in Latin.
-- A hymn composed in 1993 "Christ, be our light; shine in the darkness," etc. Modern, but of a simplicity that was by no wise at odds with the holy.
-- O sanctissima, O piissima, in a passably decent English version with, praise God, the Ora pro nobis allowed to remain in Latin.
-- A hymn composed in 1993 "Christ, be our light; shine in the darkness," etc. Modern, but of a simplicity that was by no wise at odds with the holy.
O Antiphon for December 23rd
O EMMANUEL, God with us, Our King and Lawgiver, the expected of the nations and their Savior: Come to save us, O Lord our God. Amen.
O EMMANUEL, Rex et legifer noster, expectatio gentium, et Salvator earum: veni ad salvandum nos, Domine, Deus noster.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent page at praiseofglory.com, with meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner, and Peter John Cameron; and a seasonal poem by Jessica Powers.
Doxos meditates upon Emmanuel -- if God is with us, who can be against us?
O EMMANUEL, God with us, Our King and Lawgiver, the expected of the nations and their Savior: Come to save us, O Lord our God. Amen.
O EMMANUEL, Rex et legifer noster, expectatio gentium, et Salvator earum: veni ad salvandum nos, Domine, Deus noster.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent page at praiseofglory.com, with meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner, and Peter John Cameron; and a seasonal poem by Jessica Powers.
Doxos meditates upon Emmanuel -- if God is with us, who can be against us?
Psalm 139. Domine, probasti.
O LORD, thou hast searched me out, and known me. * Thou knowest my down-sitting, and mine uprising; thou understandest my thoughts long before.
2 Thou art about my path, and about my bed; * and art acquainted with all my ways.
3 For lo, there is not a word in my tongue, * but thou, O LORD, knowest it altogether.
4 Thou hast beset me behind and before, * and laid thine hand upon me.
5 Such knowledge is too wonderful and excellent for me; * I cannot attain unto it.
6 Whither shall I go then from thy Spirit? * or whither shall I go then from thy presence?
7 If I climb up into heaven, thou art there; * if I go down to hell, thou art there also.
8 If I take the wings of the morning, * and remain in the uttermost parts of the sea;
9 Even there also shall thy hand lead me, * and thy right hand shall hold me.
10 If I say, Peradventure the darkness shall cover me; * then shall my night be turned to day.
11 Yea, the darkness is no darkness with thee, but the night is as clear as the day; * the darkness and light to thee are both alike.
12 For my reins are thine; * thou hast covered me in my mother's womb.
13 I will give thanks unto thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: * marvellous are thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well.
14 My bones are not hid from thee, * though I be made secretly, and fashioned beneath in the earth.
15 Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being imperfect; * and in thy book were all my members written;
16 Which day by day were fashioned, * when as yet there was none of them.
17 How dear are thy counsels unto me, O God; * O how great is the sum of them!
18 If I tell them, they are more in number than the sand: * when I wake up, I am present with thee.
19 Wilt thou not slay the wicked, O God? * Depart from me, ye blood-thirsty men.
20 For they speak unrighteously against thee; * and thine enemies take thy Name in vain.
21 Do not I hate them, O LORD, that hate thee? * and am not I grieved with those that rise up against thee?
22 Yea, I hate them right sore; * even as though they were mine enemies.
23 Try me, O God, and seek the ground of my heart; * prove me, and examine my thoughts.
24 Look well if there be any way of wickedness in me; * and lead me in the way everlasting.
O LORD, thou hast searched me out, and known me. * Thou knowest my down-sitting, and mine uprising; thou understandest my thoughts long before.
2 Thou art about my path, and about my bed; * and art acquainted with all my ways.
3 For lo, there is not a word in my tongue, * but thou, O LORD, knowest it altogether.
4 Thou hast beset me behind and before, * and laid thine hand upon me.
5 Such knowledge is too wonderful and excellent for me; * I cannot attain unto it.
6 Whither shall I go then from thy Spirit? * or whither shall I go then from thy presence?
7 If I climb up into heaven, thou art there; * if I go down to hell, thou art there also.
8 If I take the wings of the morning, * and remain in the uttermost parts of the sea;
9 Even there also shall thy hand lead me, * and thy right hand shall hold me.
10 If I say, Peradventure the darkness shall cover me; * then shall my night be turned to day.
11 Yea, the darkness is no darkness with thee, but the night is as clear as the day; * the darkness and light to thee are both alike.
12 For my reins are thine; * thou hast covered me in my mother's womb.
13 I will give thanks unto thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: * marvellous are thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well.
14 My bones are not hid from thee, * though I be made secretly, and fashioned beneath in the earth.
15 Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being imperfect; * and in thy book were all my members written;
16 Which day by day were fashioned, * when as yet there was none of them.
17 How dear are thy counsels unto me, O God; * O how great is the sum of them!
18 If I tell them, they are more in number than the sand: * when I wake up, I am present with thee.
19 Wilt thou not slay the wicked, O God? * Depart from me, ye blood-thirsty men.
20 For they speak unrighteously against thee; * and thine enemies take thy Name in vain.
21 Do not I hate them, O LORD, that hate thee? * and am not I grieved with those that rise up against thee?
22 Yea, I hate them right sore; * even as though they were mine enemies.
23 Try me, O God, and seek the ground of my heart; * prove me, and examine my thoughts.
24 Look well if there be any way of wickedness in me; * and lead me in the way everlasting.
Sunday, December 22, 2002
Ernest Dowson (1867-1900)
The estimable & highly esteemed Lane Core has given us a page of the poems of Ernest Dowson (here indexed by title).
Dowson is best known for the widely anthologized Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae. Examples of his work are to be found in many Catholic anthologies of the early 20th century, not excluding Joyce Kilmer's Anthology of Catholic Poets (updated in 1955 by James Edward Tobin).
We note that there are four translations from the French of Paul Verlaine! Here is Dowson's rendering of the unsubtly lugubrious Il pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville.
Here is perhaps one of Dowson's best, and most noticeably Catholic poems, to be compared in theme if not in quality to Longfellow's sonnet 1 in "Divina Commedia," in which "The loud vociferations of the street / Become an undistinguishable roar."
Benedictio Domini
by Ernest Dowson
Without, the sullen noises of the street!
The voice of London, inarticulate,
Hoarse and blaspheming, surges in to meet
The silent blessing of the Immaculate.
Dark is the church, and dim the worshippers,
Hushed with bowed heads as though by some old spell,
While through the incense-laden air there stirs
The admonition of a silver bell.
Dark is the church, save where the altar stands,
Dressed like a bride, illustrious with light,
Where one old priest exalts with tremulous hands
The one true solace of man’s fallen plight.
Strange silence here; without, the sounding street
Heralds the world’s swift passage to the fire;
O Benediction, perfect and complete!
When shall men cease to suffer and desire?
Owing perhaps to his reading in French, Dowson employed the alexandrine oftener than most English-language poets (the 12-syllable line, iambic hexameter), used to advantage in Seraphita and in Carthusians. And we note Dowson's dexterity, or even facility, with the villanelle.
We note in Dowson a little fragility; he is very much a man of his age, and (some might think) a bit too wistful and melodious for our sophisticated sensibilities. By those who remember him, he is often paired with his contemporary Lionel Johnson (1867-1902) who wrote the admonitory song "The Dark Angel."
If any are tempted to think that Dowson is best forgotten, we would disagree. There is in his unsophistication (a better word will come to me) something of value, an unjaundiced world-view and an unflippant esthetic. And thanks again to Lane Core for remembering the literary moments and poetic lives that others all too readily forget.
The estimable & highly esteemed Lane Core has given us a page of the poems of Ernest Dowson (here indexed by title).
Dowson is best known for the widely anthologized Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae. Examples of his work are to be found in many Catholic anthologies of the early 20th century, not excluding Joyce Kilmer's Anthology of Catholic Poets (updated in 1955 by James Edward Tobin).
We note that there are four translations from the French of Paul Verlaine! Here is Dowson's rendering of the unsubtly lugubrious Il pleure dans mon coeur Comme il pleut sur la ville.
Here is perhaps one of Dowson's best, and most noticeably Catholic poems, to be compared in theme if not in quality to Longfellow's sonnet 1 in "Divina Commedia," in which "The loud vociferations of the street / Become an undistinguishable roar."
Benedictio Domini
by Ernest Dowson
Without, the sullen noises of the street!
The voice of London, inarticulate,
Hoarse and blaspheming, surges in to meet
The silent blessing of the Immaculate.
Dark is the church, and dim the worshippers,
Hushed with bowed heads as though by some old spell,
While through the incense-laden air there stirs
The admonition of a silver bell.
Dark is the church, save where the altar stands,
Dressed like a bride, illustrious with light,
Where one old priest exalts with tremulous hands
The one true solace of man’s fallen plight.
Strange silence here; without, the sounding street
Heralds the world’s swift passage to the fire;
O Benediction, perfect and complete!
When shall men cease to suffer and desire?
Owing perhaps to his reading in French, Dowson employed the alexandrine oftener than most English-language poets (the 12-syllable line, iambic hexameter), used to advantage in Seraphita and in Carthusians. And we note Dowson's dexterity, or even facility, with the villanelle.
We note in Dowson a little fragility; he is very much a man of his age, and (some might think) a bit too wistful and melodious for our sophisticated sensibilities. By those who remember him, he is often paired with his contemporary Lionel Johnson (1867-1902) who wrote the admonitory song "The Dark Angel."
If any are tempted to think that Dowson is best forgotten, we would disagree. There is in his unsophistication (a better word will come to me) something of value, an unjaundiced world-view and an unflippant esthetic. And thanks again to Lane Core for remembering the literary moments and poetic lives that others all too readily forget.
Working a small miracle of evangelical love
Weigel on Cardinal Law in the Globe. Glimpsed both at Bettnet & at In Between Naps.
Weigel on Cardinal Law in the Globe. Glimpsed both at Bettnet & at In Between Naps.
O Antiphon for December 22nd
O KING OF THE GENTILES and their desired One, the Cornerstone that makes both one: Come, and deliver man, whom you formed out of the dust of the earth. Amen.
O REX GENTIUM, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, including the seven O Antiphons, and meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner SJ, Peter John Cameron OP, and a poem by Jessica Powers (Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD).
Huw Raphael at Doxos meditates (beautifully!) on the Rex Gentium. The link may take a little bit of time. In his meditation, he notes an Orthodox Jewish antiphon of phrasing similar to today's antiphon, but also notes the important differences. And as for differences between two human beings, they are overcome & overwhelmed, made insignificant & unimportant, diminished altogether and completely, by the difference between our creatureliness & the creative Majesty of God. (If my paraphrase is apt.) We shouldn't play the "division" game amongst ourselves, because in Christ there is neither Jew or Greek.
O KING OF THE GENTILES and their desired One, the Cornerstone that makes both one: Come, and deliver man, whom you formed out of the dust of the earth. Amen.
O REX GENTIUM, et desideratus earum, lapisque angularis, qui facis utraque unum: veni, et salva hominem, quem de limo formasti.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, including the seven O Antiphons, and meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner SJ, Peter John Cameron OP, and a poem by Jessica Powers (Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD).
Huw Raphael at Doxos meditates (beautifully!) on the Rex Gentium. The link may take a little bit of time. In his meditation, he notes an Orthodox Jewish antiphon of phrasing similar to today's antiphon, but also notes the important differences. And as for differences between two human beings, they are overcome & overwhelmed, made insignificant & unimportant, diminished altogether and completely, by the difference between our creatureliness & the creative Majesty of God. (If my paraphrase is apt.) We shouldn't play the "division" game amongst ourselves, because in Christ there is neither Jew or Greek.
Psalm 133. Ecce, quam bonum!
BEHOLD, how good and joyful a thing it is, * for brethren to dwell together in unity!
2 It is like the precious oil upon the head, that ran down unto the beard, * even unto Aaron's beard, and went down to the skirts of his clothing.
3 Like as the dew of Hermon, * which fell upon the hill of Sion.
4 For there the LORD promised his blessing, * and life for evermore.
BEHOLD, how good and joyful a thing it is, * for brethren to dwell together in unity!
2 It is like the precious oil upon the head, that ran down unto the beard, * even unto Aaron's beard, and went down to the skirts of his clothing.
3 Like as the dew of Hermon, * which fell upon the hill of Sion.
4 For there the LORD promised his blessing, * and life for evermore.
Saturday, December 21, 2002
Psalm 131. Domine, non est.
LORD, I am not high-minded; * I have no proud looks.
2 I do not exercise myself in great matters * which are too high for me.
3 But I refrain my soul, and keep it low, like as a child that is weaned from his mother: * yea, my soul is even as a weaned child.
4 O Israel, trust in the LORD * from this time forth for evermore.
LORD, I am not high-minded; * I have no proud looks.
2 I do not exercise myself in great matters * which are too high for me.
3 But I refrain my soul, and keep it low, like as a child that is weaned from his mother: * yea, my soul is even as a weaned child.
4 O Israel, trust in the LORD * from this time forth for evermore.
Wilfrid Stinissen
from Praying the Name of Jesus (Liguori, 1999), p.60
Note : The first half of this book is a reissuance of Lev Gillet (A Monk of the Eastern Church) 's On the Invocation of the Name of Jesus. The second half (pp. 67-132) is Wilfrid Stinissen's On Praying the Name of Jesus. The selection below is from Fr Stinissen :
In paradise man lived in his heart. He was in harmony with God and there was a complete accord between his intellect and his feelings. The result of the Fall is that the unity in man's nature was broken up and torn apart. He has lost his center and the result is that he is now drowning in superficial things. The harmony of paradise, which was given to us and for which we were created, has become lost. Thoughts, images, desires and feelings now fight against one another and it is difficult for us to turn the whole of our being toward God. Even if the soul in its depths has a painful yearning for him, the surface is teeming with smaller and larger cravings which constantly say "no." This split has its seat in the head, where thoughts and images "whirl around like snowflakes or swarms of mosquitoes in the summer" (Theofan Eremitan, 1815-1894).
I wonder if "Theofan Eremitan," as the translator has let the name stand, is actually Theophan the Recluse.
from Praying the Name of Jesus (Liguori, 1999), p.60
Note : The first half of this book is a reissuance of Lev Gillet (A Monk of the Eastern Church) 's On the Invocation of the Name of Jesus. The second half (pp. 67-132) is Wilfrid Stinissen's On Praying the Name of Jesus. The selection below is from Fr Stinissen :
In paradise man lived in his heart. He was in harmony with God and there was a complete accord between his intellect and his feelings. The result of the Fall is that the unity in man's nature was broken up and torn apart. He has lost his center and the result is that he is now drowning in superficial things. The harmony of paradise, which was given to us and for which we were created, has become lost. Thoughts, images, desires and feelings now fight against one another and it is difficult for us to turn the whole of our being toward God. Even if the soul in its depths has a painful yearning for him, the surface is teeming with smaller and larger cravings which constantly say "no." This split has its seat in the head, where thoughts and images "whirl around like snowflakes or swarms of mosquitoes in the summer" (Theofan Eremitan, 1815-1894).
I wonder if "Theofan Eremitan," as the translator has let the name stand, is actually Theophan the Recluse.
Dante
from La Vita Nuova, sonnet found in section XIII
Tutti li miei penser parlan d'Amore;
E hanno in lor sì gran varietate,
Ch'altro mi fa voler sua potestate,
Altro folle ragiona il suo valore,
Altro sperando m'apporta dolzore,
Altro pianger mi fa spesse fiate;
E sol s'accordano in cherer pietate,
Tremando di paura che è nel core.
Ond'io non so da qual matera prenda
E vorrei dire, e non so ch'io mi dica :
Così mi trovo in amorosa erranza!
E se con tutti voi fare accordanza,
Convenemi chiamar la mia nemica,
Madonna la Pietà, che mi difenda.
:: :: :: :: ::
(trans. Mark Musa)
All my thoughts are telling me of Love;
They have in them such great diversity
That one thought makes me welcome all his power,
Another calls Love's power unreasonable,
Another makes me hope and brings delight,
Another moves me oftentimes to tears.
Only in begging pity all agree,
Which I should do trembling with fearful heart.
Now I know not from which to take my cue;
I want to speak but don't know what to say.
Thus do I wander in a maze of Love.
And if I want to harmonize these thoughts,
To do so I must call upon my foe,
By asking Lady Pity for defense.
from La Vita Nuova, sonnet found in section XIII
Tutti li miei penser parlan d'Amore;
E hanno in lor sì gran varietate,
Ch'altro mi fa voler sua potestate,
Altro folle ragiona il suo valore,
Altro sperando m'apporta dolzore,
Altro pianger mi fa spesse fiate;
E sol s'accordano in cherer pietate,
Tremando di paura che è nel core.
Ond'io non so da qual matera prenda
E vorrei dire, e non so ch'io mi dica :
Così mi trovo in amorosa erranza!
E se con tutti voi fare accordanza,
Convenemi chiamar la mia nemica,
Madonna la Pietà, che mi difenda.
:: :: :: :: ::
(trans. Mark Musa)
All my thoughts are telling me of Love;
They have in them such great diversity
That one thought makes me welcome all his power,
Another calls Love's power unreasonable,
Another makes me hope and brings delight,
Another moves me oftentimes to tears.
Only in begging pity all agree,
Which I should do trembling with fearful heart.
Now I know not from which to take my cue;
I want to speak but don't know what to say.
Thus do I wander in a maze of Love.
And if I want to harmonize these thoughts,
To do so I must call upon my foe,
By asking Lady Pity for defense.
Yes
Even though I've (am getting ready to duck under the desk) never read The Lord of the Rings (50 pp. of The Hobbit two decades ago; 30 pp. of Silmarillion one decade ago -- both readings truncated by the time-limitation on library borrowings), I am enjoying the snippets from J. R. R. Tolkien's letters that we find from time to time over at Quenta Nârwenion.
And in the Magnificat monthly (p. 60 in Jan. 2003 issue).
Even though I've (am getting ready to duck under the desk) never read The Lord of the Rings (50 pp. of The Hobbit two decades ago; 30 pp. of Silmarillion one decade ago -- both readings truncated by the time-limitation on library borrowings), I am enjoying the snippets from J. R. R. Tolkien's letters that we find from time to time over at Quenta Nârwenion.
And in the Magnificat monthly (p. 60 in Jan. 2003 issue).
Bishops are people, too!
And indeed they are. Hasten ye to Bettnet and read a very sagacious and instructive post on why "hierarchy" and "laity" should never be viewed as two opposing classes or camps.
And indeed they are. Hasten ye to Bettnet and read a very sagacious and instructive post on why "hierarchy" and "laity" should never be viewed as two opposing classes or camps.
Orthros Prayer
via goarch : Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America
In the morning are we filled with Your mercy, O Lord, and we rejoice and delight in all of our days. Let us delight therefore even in the days that you make us lowly and for the years that we have seen evils. And look upon Your servants and upon Your works and lead their sons aright. And let the light of the Lord our God be upon us, and the works of our hands may You guide aright. Yea, the works of our hands may You guide aright.
Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.
You are more holy than all the Powers of Heaven, More honored than all, you are our foundation, O Theotokos, Mistress of the World. Entreat the Savior to save us from the multitude of stumbling blocks and rescue from danger those who pray to you, as you are the good one.
It is good to give praise to the Lord and to chant Your name O Exulted One. To proclaim Your mercy in the morning and Your truth in the night!
via goarch : Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America
In the morning are we filled with Your mercy, O Lord, and we rejoice and delight in all of our days. Let us delight therefore even in the days that you make us lowly and for the years that we have seen evils. And look upon Your servants and upon Your works and lead their sons aright. And let the light of the Lord our God be upon us, and the works of our hands may You guide aright. Yea, the works of our hands may You guide aright.
Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.
You are more holy than all the Powers of Heaven, More honored than all, you are our foundation, O Theotokos, Mistress of the World. Entreat the Savior to save us from the multitude of stumbling blocks and rescue from danger those who pray to you, as you are the good one.
It is good to give praise to the Lord and to chant Your name O Exulted One. To proclaim Your mercy in the morning and Your truth in the night!
O Antiphon for December 21st
O DAWN OF THE EAST, brightness of light eternal, and Sun of Justice: Come, and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. Amen.
O ORIENS, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol justitiae: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, including the seven O Antiphons, and meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner SJ, Peter John Cameron OP, and a poem by Jessica Powers (Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD).
Huw Raphael at Doxos meditates on the Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, sol justitiae, with a bit of Cynewulf in the old Anglo-Saxon, and a thought about the Catholic side of neo-paganism (I think I see his point, and I think I concur : Most neo-pagans are yearning for liturgy & symbolism without, shall we say, a procrustean moral theology -- the poetry of religion without a pedantical fixation on prosody or scansion).
Also, go to Doxos, to learn about the eighth O Antiphon of the Sarum Liturgy. It seems quite fitting, appropriate, meet, and just.
O DAWN OF THE EAST, brightness of light eternal, and Sun of Justice: Come, and enlighten those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. Amen.
O ORIENS, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol justitiae: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, including the seven O Antiphons, and meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner SJ, Peter John Cameron OP, and a poem by Jessica Powers (Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD).
Huw Raphael at Doxos meditates on the Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, sol justitiae, with a bit of Cynewulf in the old Anglo-Saxon, and a thought about the Catholic side of neo-paganism (I think I see his point, and I think I concur : Most neo-pagans are yearning for liturgy & symbolism without, shall we say, a procrustean moral theology -- the poetry of religion without a pedantical fixation on prosody or scansion).
Also, go to Doxos, to learn about the eighth O Antiphon of the Sarum Liturgy. It seems quite fitting, appropriate, meet, and just.
Psalm 104. Benedic, anima mea.
PRAISE the LORD, O my soul: * O LORD my God, thou art become exceeding glorious; thou art clothed with majesty and honour.
2 Thou deckest thyself with light as it were with a garment, * and spreadest out the heavens like a curtain.
3 Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters, * and maketh the clouds his chariot, and walketh upon the wings of the wind.
4 He maketh his angels winds, * and his ministers a flaming fire.
5 He laid the foundations of the earth, * that it never should move at any time.
6 Thou coveredst it with the deep like as with a garment; * the waters stand above the hills.
7 At thy rebuke they flee; * at the voice of thy thunder they haste away.
8 They go up as high as the hills, and down to the valleys beneath; * even unto the place which thou hast appointed for them.
9 Thou hast set them their bounds, which they shall not pass, * neither turn again to cover the earth.
10 He sendeth the springs into the rivers, * which run among the hills.
11 All beasts of the field drink thereof, * and the wild asses quench their thirst.
12 Beside them shall the fowls of the air have their habitation, * and sing among the branches.
13 He watereth the hills from above; * the earth is filled with the fruit of thy works.
14 He bringeth forth grass for the cattle, * and green herb for the service of men;
15 That he may bring food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man; * and oil to make him a cheerful countenance, and bread to strengthen man's heart.
16 The trees of the LORD also are full of sap; * even the cedars of Lebanon which he hath planted;
17 Wherein the birds make their nests; * and the firtrees are a dwelling for the stork.
18 The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats; * and so are the stony rocks for the conies.
19 He appointed the moon for certain seasons, * and the sun knoweth his going down.
20 Thou makest darkness that it may be night; * wherein all the beasts of the forest do move.
21 The lions, roaring after their prey, * do seek their meat from God.
22 The sun ariseth, and they get them away together, * and lay them down in their dens.
23 Man goeth forth to his work, and to his labour, * until the evening.
24 O LORD, how manifold are thy works! * in wisdom hast thou made them all; the earth is full of thy riches.
25 So is the great and wide sea also; * wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts.
26 There go the ships, and there is that leviathan, * whom thou hast made to take his pastime therein.
27 These wait all upon thee, * that thou mayest give them meat in due season.
28 When thou givest it them, they gather it; * and when thou openest thy hand, they are filled with good.
29 When thou hidest thy face, they are troubled: * when thou takest away their breath, they die, and are turned again to their dust.
30 When thou lettest thy breath go forth, they shall be made; * and thou shalt renew the face of the earth.
31 The glorious majesty of the LORD shall endure for ever; * the LORD shall rejoice in his works.
32 The earth shall tremble at the look of him; * if he do but touch the hills, they shall smoke.
33 I will sing unto the LORD as long as I live; * I will praise my God while I have my being.
34 And so shall my words please him: * my joy shall be in the LORD.
35 As for sinners, they shall be consumed out of the earth, * and the ungodly shall come to an end.
36 Praise thou the LORD, O my soul. * Praise the LORD.
PRAISE the LORD, O my soul: * O LORD my God, thou art become exceeding glorious; thou art clothed with majesty and honour.
2 Thou deckest thyself with light as it were with a garment, * and spreadest out the heavens like a curtain.
3 Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters, * and maketh the clouds his chariot, and walketh upon the wings of the wind.
4 He maketh his angels winds, * and his ministers a flaming fire.
5 He laid the foundations of the earth, * that it never should move at any time.
6 Thou coveredst it with the deep like as with a garment; * the waters stand above the hills.
7 At thy rebuke they flee; * at the voice of thy thunder they haste away.
8 They go up as high as the hills, and down to the valleys beneath; * even unto the place which thou hast appointed for them.
9 Thou hast set them their bounds, which they shall not pass, * neither turn again to cover the earth.
10 He sendeth the springs into the rivers, * which run among the hills.
11 All beasts of the field drink thereof, * and the wild asses quench their thirst.
12 Beside them shall the fowls of the air have their habitation, * and sing among the branches.
13 He watereth the hills from above; * the earth is filled with the fruit of thy works.
14 He bringeth forth grass for the cattle, * and green herb for the service of men;
15 That he may bring food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man; * and oil to make him a cheerful countenance, and bread to strengthen man's heart.
16 The trees of the LORD also are full of sap; * even the cedars of Lebanon which he hath planted;
17 Wherein the birds make their nests; * and the firtrees are a dwelling for the stork.
18 The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats; * and so are the stony rocks for the conies.
19 He appointed the moon for certain seasons, * and the sun knoweth his going down.
20 Thou makest darkness that it may be night; * wherein all the beasts of the forest do move.
21 The lions, roaring after their prey, * do seek their meat from God.
22 The sun ariseth, and they get them away together, * and lay them down in their dens.
23 Man goeth forth to his work, and to his labour, * until the evening.
24 O LORD, how manifold are thy works! * in wisdom hast thou made them all; the earth is full of thy riches.
25 So is the great and wide sea also; * wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts.
26 There go the ships, and there is that leviathan, * whom thou hast made to take his pastime therein.
27 These wait all upon thee, * that thou mayest give them meat in due season.
28 When thou givest it them, they gather it; * and when thou openest thy hand, they are filled with good.
29 When thou hidest thy face, they are troubled: * when thou takest away their breath, they die, and are turned again to their dust.
30 When thou lettest thy breath go forth, they shall be made; * and thou shalt renew the face of the earth.
31 The glorious majesty of the LORD shall endure for ever; * the LORD shall rejoice in his works.
32 The earth shall tremble at the look of him; * if he do but touch the hills, they shall smoke.
33 I will sing unto the LORD as long as I live; * I will praise my God while I have my being.
34 And so shall my words please him: * my joy shall be in the LORD.
35 As for sinners, they shall be consumed out of the earth, * and the ungodly shall come to an end.
36 Praise thou the LORD, O my soul. * Praise the LORD.
Friday, December 20, 2002
2002 Christmas message to the Anglican Communion
of Dr Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury, whose election has been confirmed and whose formal enthronement will occur in February.
of Dr Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury, whose election has been confirmed and whose formal enthronement will occur in February.
I've recently added
the weblog Credo ut intelligam to the Places Oft Visited (lego ut intelligam linguam germanicam!).
the weblog Credo ut intelligam to the Places Oft Visited (lego ut intelligam linguam germanicam!).
dylan & rust : do they never sleep?
The blogger at Rosa Mystica has had occasion to inquire of the blogger at Tenebrae et Lux : Musica Fracta :
Brother, when do you sleep?
C'est ainsi que je lui ai repondu :
On the best nights, it's a straight 10 pm to 5.30 am. But often, sleep gets disturbed, or overtakes one early and briefly, so there's a split-shift Grover Cleveland thing going on (8-midnight, 3-7 am).
I do sleep!
The blogger at Rosa Mystica has had occasion to inquire of the blogger at Tenebrae et Lux : Musica Fracta :
Brother, when do you sleep?
C'est ainsi que je lui ai repondu :
On the best nights, it's a straight 10 pm to 5.30 am. But often, sleep gets disturbed, or overtakes one early and briefly, so there's a split-shift Grover Cleveland thing going on (8-midnight, 3-7 am).
I do sleep!
Psalm 90. Domine, refugium.
from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer
LORD, thou hast been our refuge, * from one generation to another.
2 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made, * thou art God from everlasting, and world without end.
3 Thou turnest man to destruction; * again thou sayest, Come again, ye children of men.
4 For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, * and as a watch in the night.
5 As soon as thou scatterest them they are even as a sleep; * and fade away suddenly like the grass.
6 In the morning it is green, and groweth up; * but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and withered.
7 For we consume away in thy displeasure, * and are afraid at thy wrathful indignation.
8 Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee; * and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.
9 For when thou art angry all our days are gone: * we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told.
10 The days of our age are threescore years and ten; and though men be so strong that they come to fourscore years, * yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow; so soon passeth it away, and we are gone.
11 But who regardeth the power of thy wrath? * or feareth aright thy indignation?
12 So teach us to number our days, * that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
13 Turn thee again, O LORD, at the last, * and be gracious unto thy servants.
14 O satisfy us with thy mercy, and that soon: * so shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life.
15 Comfort us again now after the time that thou hast plagued us; * and for the years wherein we have suffered adversity.
16 Show thy servants thy work, * and their children thy glory.
17 And the glorious majesty of the LORD our God be upon us: * prosper thou the work of our hands upon us; O prosper thou our handy-work.
from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer
LORD, thou hast been our refuge, * from one generation to another.
2 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made, * thou art God from everlasting, and world without end.
3 Thou turnest man to destruction; * again thou sayest, Come again, ye children of men.
4 For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, * and as a watch in the night.
5 As soon as thou scatterest them they are even as a sleep; * and fade away suddenly like the grass.
6 In the morning it is green, and groweth up; * but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and withered.
7 For we consume away in thy displeasure, * and are afraid at thy wrathful indignation.
8 Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee; * and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.
9 For when thou art angry all our days are gone: * we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told.
10 The days of our age are threescore years and ten; and though men be so strong that they come to fourscore years, * yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow; so soon passeth it away, and we are gone.
11 But who regardeth the power of thy wrath? * or feareth aright thy indignation?
12 So teach us to number our days, * that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
13 Turn thee again, O LORD, at the last, * and be gracious unto thy servants.
14 O satisfy us with thy mercy, and that soon: * so shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life.
15 Comfort us again now after the time that thou hast plagued us; * and for the years wherein we have suffered adversity.
16 Show thy servants thy work, * and their children thy glory.
17 And the glorious majesty of the LORD our God be upon us: * prosper thou the work of our hands upon us; O prosper thou our handy-work.
Afterthoughts on the Professio
One of the salutary effects of posting the Professio was observed this morning. I was on the verge of posting a rant about an article in the Boston Herald. I didn't. The thought occurred to me, "It matters, yes, but it matters not." I don't dare claim that I've made the perfect transition between fretting & fulminating about trivia & ephemera to being a serene, monastic contemplative in constant awareness of God's love and mercy, one who has learned "to care and not to care" ... but since posting the creed, I'm a bit more aware of the benefits of sentire cum Ecclesia, and of not propagating too much that distracts oneself & others from the holy mysteries.
Unless, of course, it's a benign recapitulation of my favorite eighties pop-tunes.
There are four words that might be considered the ShrinkLit version of the Professio, if one can employ such a jarring juxtaposition. Saw it in a book of articles by John Cardinal Wright (1909-79; my high school, class of 1927). It's a four-word Latin phrase that neatly encapsulates the difference between the votive and the VOTF, and it means "but for the greater wisdom of the Church."
salvo meliori Ecclesiae sapientia
Those four words are the implicit preface to any reflection given here. (Maybe I should make it explicit, when speaking directly of the mysteries of faith, and actually type out those words, much as Archbishop Sheen and others have given JMJ as a kind of personal anamnesis.)
There are both tenebrae and lux to be found hereat. And as said before, the lux is God's, the tenebrae are mine.
One of the salutary effects of posting the Professio was observed this morning. I was on the verge of posting a rant about an article in the Boston Herald. I didn't. The thought occurred to me, "It matters, yes, but it matters not." I don't dare claim that I've made the perfect transition between fretting & fulminating about trivia & ephemera to being a serene, monastic contemplative in constant awareness of God's love and mercy, one who has learned "to care and not to care" ... but since posting the creed, I'm a bit more aware of the benefits of sentire cum Ecclesia, and of not propagating too much that distracts oneself & others from the holy mysteries.
Unless, of course, it's a benign recapitulation of my favorite eighties pop-tunes.
There are four words that might be considered the ShrinkLit version of the Professio, if one can employ such a jarring juxtaposition. Saw it in a book of articles by John Cardinal Wright (1909-79; my high school, class of 1927). It's a four-word Latin phrase that neatly encapsulates the difference between the votive and the VOTF, and it means "but for the greater wisdom of the Church."
salvo meliori Ecclesiae sapientia
Those four words are the implicit preface to any reflection given here. (Maybe I should make it explicit, when speaking directly of the mysteries of faith, and actually type out those words, much as Archbishop Sheen and others have given JMJ as a kind of personal anamnesis.)
There are both tenebrae and lux to be found hereat. And as said before, the lux is God's, the tenebrae are mine.
O Antiphon for December 20th
O KEY OF DAVID, and Scepter of the House of Israel, who opens and no man shuts, who shuts and no man opens: Come, and bring forth the captive from his prison, he who sits in darkness and in the shadow of death. Amen.
O CLAVIS DAVID, et sceptrum domus Israël, qui aperis, et nemo claudit, claudis, et nemo aperuit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, including the seven O Antiphons, and meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner SJ, Peter John Cameron OP, and a poem by Jessica Powers (Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD).
Huw Raphael at Doxos meditates on the Clavis David, and illustrates his meditation with quotations from the Apocalypse, from St John Chrysostom, and with an icon. The link takes time!
O KEY OF DAVID, and Scepter of the House of Israel, who opens and no man shuts, who shuts and no man opens: Come, and bring forth the captive from his prison, he who sits in darkness and in the shadow of death. Amen.
O CLAVIS DAVID, et sceptrum domus Israël, qui aperis, et nemo claudit, claudis, et nemo aperuit: veni, et educ vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in tenebris, et umbra mortis.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, including the seven O Antiphons, and meditations by Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Hugo Rahner SJ, Peter John Cameron OP, and a poem by Jessica Powers (Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD).
Huw Raphael at Doxos meditates on the Clavis David, and illustrates his meditation with quotations from the Apocalypse, from St John Chrysostom, and with an icon. The link takes time!
Psalm 88. Domine, Deus.
O LORD God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: * O let my prayer enter into thy presence, incline thine ear unto my calling;
2 For my soul is full of trouble, * and my life draweth nigh unto the grave.
3 I am counted as one of them that go down into the pit, * and I am even as a man that hath no strength;
4 Cast off among the dead, like unto them that are slain, and lie in the grave, * who are out of remembrance, and are cut away from thy hand.
5 Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, * in a place of darkness, and in the deep.
6 Thine indignation lieth hard upon me, * and thou hast vexed me with all thy storms.
7 Thou hast put away mine acquaintance far from me, * and made me to be abhorred of them.
8 I am so fast in prison * that I cannot get forth.
9 My sight faileth for very trouble; * LORD, I have called daily upon thee, I have stretched forth my hands unto thee.
10 Dost thou show wonders among the dead? * or shall the dead rise up again, and praise thee?
11 Shall thy loving-kindness be showed in the grave? * or thy faithfulness in destruction?
12 Shall thy wondrous works be known in the dark? * and thy righteousness in the land where all things are forgotten?
13 Unto thee have I cried, O LORD; * and early shall my prayer come before thee.
14 LORD, why abhorrest thou my soul, * and hidest thou thy face from me?
15 I am in misery, and like unto him that is at the point to die; * even from my youth up, thy terrors have I suffered with a troubled mind.
16 Thy wrathful displeasure goeth over me, * and the fear of thee hath undone me.
17 They came round about me daily like water, * and compassed me together on every side.
18 My lovers and friends hast thou put away from me, * and hid mine acquaintance out of my sight.
O LORD God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: * O let my prayer enter into thy presence, incline thine ear unto my calling;
2 For my soul is full of trouble, * and my life draweth nigh unto the grave.
3 I am counted as one of them that go down into the pit, * and I am even as a man that hath no strength;
4 Cast off among the dead, like unto them that are slain, and lie in the grave, * who are out of remembrance, and are cut away from thy hand.
5 Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, * in a place of darkness, and in the deep.
6 Thine indignation lieth hard upon me, * and thou hast vexed me with all thy storms.
7 Thou hast put away mine acquaintance far from me, * and made me to be abhorred of them.
8 I am so fast in prison * that I cannot get forth.
9 My sight faileth for very trouble; * LORD, I have called daily upon thee, I have stretched forth my hands unto thee.
10 Dost thou show wonders among the dead? * or shall the dead rise up again, and praise thee?
11 Shall thy loving-kindness be showed in the grave? * or thy faithfulness in destruction?
12 Shall thy wondrous works be known in the dark? * and thy righteousness in the land where all things are forgotten?
13 Unto thee have I cried, O LORD; * and early shall my prayer come before thee.
14 LORD, why abhorrest thou my soul, * and hidest thou thy face from me?
15 I am in misery, and like unto him that is at the point to die; * even from my youth up, thy terrors have I suffered with a troubled mind.
16 Thy wrathful displeasure goeth over me, * and the fear of thee hath undone me.
17 They came round about me daily like water, * and compassed me together on every side.
18 My lovers and friends hast thou put away from me, * and hid mine acquaintance out of my sight.
The integritous Peggy Noonan
Just doing my best to propagate and to popularize a not un-nifty neologism, found in Peggy's latest. A column in which she reminds us, touching on the Oh, No! Lott Again! matter, and the comparisons some (not excl. yours truly) have made to other fatuous, offensive, insensitive, ill-thought, ill-tempered or even malicious words spoken by partisans opposite :
... there's no reason the standards of conservatives should be as elastic as those of the left.
Point well taken.
Just doing my best to propagate and to popularize a not un-nifty neologism, found in Peggy's latest. A column in which she reminds us, touching on the Oh, No! Lott Again! matter, and the comparisons some (not excl. yours truly) have made to other fatuous, offensive, insensitive, ill-thought, ill-tempered or even malicious words spoken by partisans opposite :
... there's no reason the standards of conservatives should be as elastic as those of the left.
Point well taken.
All righty then
Something funky with the archive mechanism. Blogspot is not showing them on the main page. And of course, one can type 2002_10_06 and the rest of it, and find the archives ... but with a much-earlier version of the left margin (and even though all archives have republished of late, it's still showing "Tenebrae : A Broken Music" as the title.
But it's happening to others, and I suppose this happens periodically. Startling, a tad, when it does.
Was reading a little Anne Lamott earlier : her book on writing, Bird by Bird. Seems to be a book primarily about how to write fiction, which is something I wish I could do but have not the interest or the initiative, the imagination or the energy to do. I'll write here, about various & sundry things. And I'll write poetry. But I don't write fiction. Or even read it much anymore.
But back to Lamott. The style is glib, the prose is that of your basic American middle-aged progressive hipper-than-thou smart-ass. So generic in the effort to be eye-catching. Jokes about Tricia Nixon, for heaven's sake.
But I'll continue reading it, because there are moments when the afore-described posture mutes itself, and where I might be actually learning something. If ever the fictive impulse strikes.
But of course, all my efforts at fiction have been bald transcriptions of "reality," i.e., autobiography with the names changed.
That's my favorite part. Not storytelling, because I can't do it. But changing the names of the real people. Thinking up fitting pseudonyms for the unwritten roman-à-clef. Cynthia's last name keeps changing.
Why don't I continue with the miscellany-post by mentioning (yet again!) how glad I am I got the Musa translation of La Vita Nuova, with the poems in both English and Italian? I now must set to memorizing many of these poems, or parts of them. Expect to see the sonnet from section XIII appearing in this space shortly ... in both languages.
Perhaps to bed. God bless you all. Tomorrow, yet another BCP psalm, & the Clavis antiphon ...
And maybe we'll see the archives back in the left margin! Maybe!
No. Can't stop yet. Must mention that my friend Deb -- whom I hadn't seen in nine years, until this very week -- is logical, good-humored, & sweet. And a sharpish observer of all things, from the momentous to the trivial. A shared trove of pop-culture references : a must. And enough dissimilarity so that conversation is not blandified. And though I'm generally opposed to tattoos as being a bit, well, too conspicuous and unsubtle an attempt at improvement, I am so totally in favor of Dante wristwatch tattoos, with little blue stars.
Would Anne Lamott daydream of using the word "blandified"? Would any of you dream of glimpsing the words "Dante wristwatch tattoo" in a felicitously cheerful concatenation? (See, those are things that no Strunk & White can learn you.)
Something else you won't find in instruction manuals. Wallace Stevens. "Spring vanishes the scraps of winter." Vanishes meaning causes to vanish. You see a line like that for the first time, and you stare at the page in blank and holy wonder.
Of course, you see certain faces (and not merely the faces called flowers that float out of the ground), and there's that same blank and holy wonder. It's like : "Excuse me, could you stop being beautiful, for two seconds, please? It's too bloody distracting, and for another thing, you're abashing us average folk. Your effortless God-created marvellous glorious splendor does make one feel woefully inadequate. So, perhaps you could diminish the splendor somewhat, with a rheostatic knob, or a dimmer."
Do I need to go to sleep, or is the writing just now getting interesting?
Interesting or no, it's waking me up a little.
Am upset to have missed the VH-1 specials on the early 1980s. Tonight was 1986 and 87. And, boy, was popular culture one big glamorously pullulating suppurating ultrahomogenized pretergenericized wasteland during that period! At least as presented by VH-1. Top Gun, hair bands, Tiffany ... hrrrmph. I went alternative at just the right time. The 1986-88 period was owned by the Smiths, Morrissey solo, the Cure, Tracy Chapman, and maybe REM for "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)." The Waterboys. The Proclaimers. The Cocteau Twins. All things collegiate and poetic and intelligent and wistful-tristful ... but you had some folks in the second half of the eighties who made Simon LeBon look like Alessandro Scarlatti.
Early eighties ruled, and still do. Remember ABC? "Who broke my heart? You did, you did. Cut through the target, playing Cupid, Cupid. You think you're smart -- stupid, stupid."
One cool pop-ish song from 1987 (that late? not the year before?) : Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over."
Changing directions yet again :
O'Reilly tonight had a Newark City Councillor on, attempting to excuse the existence (or the poet laureateship in the Garden State) for Amiri Baraka. Well. Defense of that fellow is something of a stiff task. It degenerated to shouting. I minded less the shouter I agreed with (Bill).
Now, when I do go to bed, do I read myself to sleep with Lamott or the bishop or Dante? Or something else? The '28 BCP, for instance?
Yes. That sounds good. Good morrow unto all who wake, and a blessed rest to all who sleep, and who therefore are not reading this as I'm writing it, or not immediately after it appears. See why I can't write fiction? Too fretful about the small stuff, can't tell a story.
I wish I was a fisherman, tumbling on the seas, far away from the dry land and its bitter memories ...
See? Even the Waterboys can tell a story. I can't.
Something funky with the archive mechanism. Blogspot is not showing them on the main page. And of course, one can type 2002_10_06 and the rest of it, and find the archives ... but with a much-earlier version of the left margin (and even though all archives have republished of late, it's still showing "Tenebrae : A Broken Music" as the title.
But it's happening to others, and I suppose this happens periodically. Startling, a tad, when it does.
Was reading a little Anne Lamott earlier : her book on writing, Bird by Bird. Seems to be a book primarily about how to write fiction, which is something I wish I could do but have not the interest or the initiative, the imagination or the energy to do. I'll write here, about various & sundry things. And I'll write poetry. But I don't write fiction. Or even read it much anymore.
But back to Lamott. The style is glib, the prose is that of your basic American middle-aged progressive hipper-than-thou smart-ass. So generic in the effort to be eye-catching. Jokes about Tricia Nixon, for heaven's sake.
But I'll continue reading it, because there are moments when the afore-described posture mutes itself, and where I might be actually learning something. If ever the fictive impulse strikes.
But of course, all my efforts at fiction have been bald transcriptions of "reality," i.e., autobiography with the names changed.
That's my favorite part. Not storytelling, because I can't do it. But changing the names of the real people. Thinking up fitting pseudonyms for the unwritten roman-à-clef. Cynthia's last name keeps changing.
Why don't I continue with the miscellany-post by mentioning (yet again!) how glad I am I got the Musa translation of La Vita Nuova, with the poems in both English and Italian? I now must set to memorizing many of these poems, or parts of them. Expect to see the sonnet from section XIII appearing in this space shortly ... in both languages.
Perhaps to bed. God bless you all. Tomorrow, yet another BCP psalm, & the Clavis antiphon ...
And maybe we'll see the archives back in the left margin! Maybe!
No. Can't stop yet. Must mention that my friend Deb -- whom I hadn't seen in nine years, until this very week -- is logical, good-humored, & sweet. And a sharpish observer of all things, from the momentous to the trivial. A shared trove of pop-culture references : a must. And enough dissimilarity so that conversation is not blandified. And though I'm generally opposed to tattoos as being a bit, well, too conspicuous and unsubtle an attempt at improvement, I am so totally in favor of Dante wristwatch tattoos, with little blue stars.
Would Anne Lamott daydream of using the word "blandified"? Would any of you dream of glimpsing the words "Dante wristwatch tattoo" in a felicitously cheerful concatenation? (See, those are things that no Strunk & White can learn you.)
Something else you won't find in instruction manuals. Wallace Stevens. "Spring vanishes the scraps of winter." Vanishes meaning causes to vanish. You see a line like that for the first time, and you stare at the page in blank and holy wonder.
Of course, you see certain faces (and not merely the faces called flowers that float out of the ground), and there's that same blank and holy wonder. It's like : "Excuse me, could you stop being beautiful, for two seconds, please? It's too bloody distracting, and for another thing, you're abashing us average folk. Your effortless God-created marvellous glorious splendor does make one feel woefully inadequate. So, perhaps you could diminish the splendor somewhat, with a rheostatic knob, or a dimmer."
Do I need to go to sleep, or is the writing just now getting interesting?
Interesting or no, it's waking me up a little.
Am upset to have missed the VH-1 specials on the early 1980s. Tonight was 1986 and 87. And, boy, was popular culture one big glamorously pullulating suppurating ultrahomogenized pretergenericized wasteland during that period! At least as presented by VH-1. Top Gun, hair bands, Tiffany ... hrrrmph. I went alternative at just the right time. The 1986-88 period was owned by the Smiths, Morrissey solo, the Cure, Tracy Chapman, and maybe REM for "It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine)." The Waterboys. The Proclaimers. The Cocteau Twins. All things collegiate and poetic and intelligent and wistful-tristful ... but you had some folks in the second half of the eighties who made Simon LeBon look like Alessandro Scarlatti.
Early eighties ruled, and still do. Remember ABC? "Who broke my heart? You did, you did. Cut through the target, playing Cupid, Cupid. You think you're smart -- stupid, stupid."
One cool pop-ish song from 1987 (that late? not the year before?) : Crowded House's "Don't Dream It's Over."
Changing directions yet again :
O'Reilly tonight had a Newark City Councillor on, attempting to excuse the existence (or the poet laureateship in the Garden State) for Amiri Baraka. Well. Defense of that fellow is something of a stiff task. It degenerated to shouting. I minded less the shouter I agreed with (Bill).
Now, when I do go to bed, do I read myself to sleep with Lamott or the bishop or Dante? Or something else? The '28 BCP, for instance?
Yes. That sounds good. Good morrow unto all who wake, and a blessed rest to all who sleep, and who therefore are not reading this as I'm writing it, or not immediately after it appears. See why I can't write fiction? Too fretful about the small stuff, can't tell a story.
I wish I was a fisherman, tumbling on the seas, far away from the dry land and its bitter memories ...
See? Even the Waterboys can tell a story. I can't.
Thursday, December 19, 2002
E * quindi * uscimmo * a * riveder * le * stelle
un tatuaggio intorno al polso di un' amica mia
tatuaggio come polsino, con stelline azzurre fra le parole
ultimo verso dell' ultimo canto dell' Inferno di Dante Alighieri
way cool
a tattoo around a friend's wrist
rather like a wristwatch, with little blue stars between the words
the last verse of the last canto of Dante's Inferno
and * thence * we * came * forth * to * see * again * the * stars
un tatuaggio intorno al polso di un' amica mia
tatuaggio come polsino, con stelline azzurre fra le parole
ultimo verso dell' ultimo canto dell' Inferno di Dante Alighieri
way cool
a tattoo around a friend's wrist
rather like a wristwatch, with little blue stars between the words
the last verse of the last canto of Dante's Inferno
and * thence * we * came * forth * to * see * again * the * stars
Russian Cathedral
by Claude McKay (1890-1948)
Bow down my soul in worship very low
And in the holy silences be lost.
Bow down before the marble man of woe,
Bow down before the singing angel host.
What jewelled glory fills my spirit's eye,
What golden grandeur moves the depths of me!
The soaring arches lift me up on high
Taking my breath with their rare symmetry.
Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light
Of beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne,
Bow down before the wonder of man's might.
Bow down in worship, humble and alone;
Bow lowly down before the sacred sight
Of man's divinity alive in stone.
:: :: :: :: ::
This poem, alluded to, in passing, at Seraphim's LiveJournal.
by Claude McKay (1890-1948)
Bow down my soul in worship very low
And in the holy silences be lost.
Bow down before the marble man of woe,
Bow down before the singing angel host.
What jewelled glory fills my spirit's eye,
What golden grandeur moves the depths of me!
The soaring arches lift me up on high
Taking my breath with their rare symmetry.
Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light
Of beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne,
Bow down before the wonder of man's might.
Bow down in worship, humble and alone;
Bow lowly down before the sacred sight
Of man's divinity alive in stone.
:: :: :: :: ::
This poem, alluded to, in passing, at Seraphim's LiveJournal.
Informal inquiry
Is anyone else out there a fan of the Two Fat Ladies cooking show?
The recipes are a bit beyond my customary sphere of gourmandic experience, but the personalities of the two -- that's why this show is a must. Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson. Aired on the BBC and on America's cable television Food Network from 1996-99 (Jennifer died in August 1999). In re-runs since, but they keep changing the time, and it disappeared altogether for a while.
They sometimes went to convents and abbeys to do their cooking. Jennifer was a devout Brompton Oratory Catholic, who smoked, and who drank, and who blackened her hair, and who wore round eyeglasses, and who spoke through her nose, and who had an endearingly tart sense of humor.
Thought of them just now, reading another blog, and seeing the word "perseverance," and remembering my struggles in adolescence to get the spelling right. Per - SER - ver - ance seemed, to me, to be a reasonable orthography.
But Clarissa, the big blonde barrister in the pairing, once recited a little rhyme :
Patience and perSEVERance
Made a Bishop of His Reverence.
(Jennifer : "Oh, I never heard that one before. Where did you hear it?"
Clarissa : "Oh, everywhere. Since childhood.")
Is anyone else out there a fan of the Two Fat Ladies cooking show?
The recipes are a bit beyond my customary sphere of gourmandic experience, but the personalities of the two -- that's why this show is a must. Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson. Aired on the BBC and on America's cable television Food Network from 1996-99 (Jennifer died in August 1999). In re-runs since, but they keep changing the time, and it disappeared altogether for a while.
They sometimes went to convents and abbeys to do their cooking. Jennifer was a devout Brompton Oratory Catholic, who smoked, and who drank, and who blackened her hair, and who wore round eyeglasses, and who spoke through her nose, and who had an endearingly tart sense of humor.
Thought of them just now, reading another blog, and seeing the word "perseverance," and remembering my struggles in adolescence to get the spelling right. Per - SER - ver - ance seemed, to me, to be a reasonable orthography.
But Clarissa, the big blonde barrister in the pairing, once recited a little rhyme :
Patience and perSEVERance
Made a Bishop of His Reverence.
(Jennifer : "Oh, I never heard that one before. Where did you hear it?"
Clarissa : "Oh, everywhere. Since childhood.")
Entre le boeuf et l'âne gris
1) Entre le boeuf et l'âne gris,
Dort, dort, dort le petit fils;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins,
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
2) Entre les deux bras de Marie,
Dort, dort, dort le fruit de vie;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
3) Entre les roses et les lys,
Dort, dort, dort le petit fils;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
4) Entre les pastoureaux jolis,
Dort, dort, dort le petit fils;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l`entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
5) En ce beau jour si solennel,
Dort, dort, dort l'Emmanuel;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
The emendation seems fitting. Thanks to Mr Riddle and to this webpage of comptines, chansons, et poésies du temps de Noël.
1) Entre le boeuf et l'âne gris,
Dort, dort, dort le petit fils;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins,
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
2) Entre les deux bras de Marie,
Dort, dort, dort le fruit de vie;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
3) Entre les roses et les lys,
Dort, dort, dort le petit fils;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
4) Entre les pastoureaux jolis,
Dort, dort, dort le petit fils;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l`entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
5) En ce beau jour si solennel,
Dort, dort, dort l'Emmanuel;
Mille anges divins, milles séraphins
Volent à l'entour de ce grand Dieu d'amour.
The emendation seems fitting. Thanks to Mr Riddle and to this webpage of comptines, chansons, et poésies du temps de Noël.
Foreshadowing!
Ha! You can't say you weren't warned!
This, from the comment-box attached to one of my 10/15 posts :
This web-log is due for a name-change: I was thinking Lux et Tenebrae or Lux in Tenebris, but either of those would compel you to wrench me out of your (Steven's) place in the alphabetical list ... so, maybe Tenebrae et Lux ???
Ha! You can't say you weren't warned!
This, from the comment-box attached to one of my 10/15 posts :
This web-log is due for a name-change: I was thinking Lux et Tenebrae or Lux in Tenebris, but either of those would compel you to wrench me out of your (Steven's) place in the alphabetical list ... so, maybe Tenebrae et Lux ???
He knappeth the spear in sunder
Psalm 46, verse 9, old-school Book of Common Prayer
Posted at From the Anchor Hold : the entirety of an allocution by His Holiness Pope John Paul II on the upcoming World Day of Peace 2003.
I've skimmed it twice, will go back to read more carefully a bit later. A ringing endorsement of his blessed precedessor's Pacem in Terris. An insistence that concrete steps be taken to insure international amity without "writing the constitution of a global superstate." (I don't see anything about the international court.)
Psalm 46, verse 9, old-school Book of Common Prayer
Posted at From the Anchor Hold : the entirety of an allocution by His Holiness Pope John Paul II on the upcoming World Day of Peace 2003.
I've skimmed it twice, will go back to read more carefully a bit later. A ringing endorsement of his blessed precedessor's Pacem in Terris. An insistence that concrete steps be taken to insure international amity without "writing the constitution of a global superstate." (I don't see anything about the international court.)
O Antiphon for December 19th
O ROOT OF JESSE, that stands for an ensign of the people, before whom the kings keep silence and unto whom the Gentiles shall make supplication: Come, to deliver us, and tarry not. Amen.
O RADIX JESSE, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, jam noli tardare.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, with the seven O Antiphons, and reflections including a meditation by Catherine de Hueck Doherty and a poem by Jessica Powers.
Mr Richardson at Doxos meditates on Radix Jesse. Link may take time. Notable here : cats in a Hoboken closet, the Scandal of Particularity, and some sharpish questions to ask ourselves, e. g., "When do I turn up all the music and keep Jesus jammed behind a locked door so that I can play well with others?"
O ROOT OF JESSE, that stands for an ensign of the people, before whom the kings keep silence and unto whom the Gentiles shall make supplication: Come, to deliver us, and tarry not. Amen.
O RADIX JESSE, qui stas in signum populorum, super quem continebunt reges os suum, quem gentes deprecabuntur: veni ad liberandum nos, jam noli tardare.
:: :: :: :: ::
The Advent 2002 page at praiseofglory.com, with the seven O Antiphons, and reflections including a meditation by Catherine de Hueck Doherty and a poem by Jessica Powers.
Mr Richardson at Doxos meditates on Radix Jesse. Link may take time. Notable here : cats in a Hoboken closet, the Scandal of Particularity, and some sharpish questions to ask ourselves, e. g., "When do I turn up all the music and keep Jesus jammed behind a locked door so that I can play well with others?"
from Psalm 69. Salvum me fac.
SAVE me, O God; * for the waters are come in, even unto my soul.
2 I stick fast in the deep mire, where no ground is; * I am come into deep waters, so that the floods run over me.
3 I am weary of crying; my throat is dry; * my sight faileth me for waiting so long upon my God.
4 They that hate me without a cause are more than the hairs of my head; * they that are mine enemies, and would destroy me guiltless, are mighty.
[...]
7 And why? for thy sake have I suffered reproof; * shame hath covered my face.
8 I am become a stranger unto my brethren, * even an alien unto my mother's children.
9 For the zeal of thine house hath even eaten me; * and the rebukes of them that rebuked thee are fallen upon me.
10 I wept, and chastened myself with fasting, * and that was turned to my reproof.
11 I put on sackcloth also, * and they jested upon me.
12 They that sit in the gate speak against me, * and the drunkards make songs upon me.
13 But, LORD, I make my prayer unto thee * in an acceptable time.
14 Hear me, O God, in the multitude of thy mercy, * even in the truth of thy salvation.
15 Take me out of the mire, that I sink not; * O let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters.
16 Let not the water-flood drown me, neither let the deep swallow me up; * and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me.
17 Hear me, O LORD, for thy loving-kindness is comfortable; * turn thee unto me according to the multitude of thy mercies.
18 And hide not thy face from thy servant; for I am in trouble: * O haste thee, and hear me.
19 Draw nigh unto my soul, and save it; * O deliver me, because of mine enemies.
:: :: :: :: ::
"Comfortable" (line 17) = "strengthening."
SAVE me, O God; * for the waters are come in, even unto my soul.
2 I stick fast in the deep mire, where no ground is; * I am come into deep waters, so that the floods run over me.
3 I am weary of crying; my throat is dry; * my sight faileth me for waiting so long upon my God.
4 They that hate me without a cause are more than the hairs of my head; * they that are mine enemies, and would destroy me guiltless, are mighty.
[...]
7 And why? for thy sake have I suffered reproof; * shame hath covered my face.
8 I am become a stranger unto my brethren, * even an alien unto my mother's children.
9 For the zeal of thine house hath even eaten me; * and the rebukes of them that rebuked thee are fallen upon me.
10 I wept, and chastened myself with fasting, * and that was turned to my reproof.
11 I put on sackcloth also, * and they jested upon me.
12 They that sit in the gate speak against me, * and the drunkards make songs upon me.
13 But, LORD, I make my prayer unto thee * in an acceptable time.
14 Hear me, O God, in the multitude of thy mercy, * even in the truth of thy salvation.
15 Take me out of the mire, that I sink not; * O let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters.
16 Let not the water-flood drown me, neither let the deep swallow me up; * and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me.
17 Hear me, O LORD, for thy loving-kindness is comfortable; * turn thee unto me according to the multitude of thy mercies.
18 And hide not thy face from thy servant; for I am in trouble: * O haste thee, and hear me.
19 Draw nigh unto my soul, and save it; * O deliver me, because of mine enemies.
:: :: :: :: ::
"Comfortable" (line 17) = "strengthening."
Exspectans exspectavi
John Cahill has indeed heard of the Feast of the Expectation of Mary, and has recorded some of its history at his web-log. Go see.
Mention is also made of Dorothy Sayers & her mystery novels (anniversary of Sayers' passing was yesterday). I've read Busman's Honeymoon and found it delightful, but for a slow first 30 pages. Have struggled to get into Have His Carcase. Should try, once again, to read Mind of the Maker ... began reading it, but the library's allotted 3 weeks expired before I could make much progress.
A snippet of Busman's Honeymoon was included by Terry Waite in his more-splendid-than-splendor-itself commonplace book Footfalls in Memory, a smallish anthology of his favorite reading -- fictional, poetical, spiritual.
John Cahill has indeed heard of the Feast of the Expectation of Mary, and has recorded some of its history at his web-log. Go see.
Mention is also made of Dorothy Sayers & her mystery novels (anniversary of Sayers' passing was yesterday). I've read Busman's Honeymoon and found it delightful, but for a slow first 30 pages. Have struggled to get into Have His Carcase. Should try, once again, to read Mind of the Maker ... began reading it, but the library's allotted 3 weeks expired before I could make much progress.
A snippet of Busman's Honeymoon was included by Terry Waite in his more-splendid-than-splendor-itself commonplace book Footfalls in Memory, a smallish anthology of his favorite reading -- fictional, poetical, spiritual.
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
Saint Wivina
Virgin and Religious (c. 1100-1170)
Wivina was the beautiful daughter of a noble family of Flanders in Belgium. She found in the biblical patriarch Abraham a model for her own life. Just as Abraham had left his native land to obey the call of God, so Wivina willed to leave her family's home in order to serve God in solitude. There was, however, a young man named Richard who so longed to win her hand in marriage that, upon her refusing him, he fell desperately ill. Feeling responsible for what had happened, Wivina obtained Richard's recovery by her ardent prayers and fasting. Richard thereupon resolved to imitate Wivina's holiness and chastity, and became a hermit. At the age of twenty-three, Wivina retired to a forest near Brussels, taking only her psalter with her. There she and a like-minded woman built a hermitage for themselves, which subsequently became a convent, that of Grand-Bigard, with Wivina as abbess. On one occasion, the devil extinguished all the candles in the convent during the night office. Thereupon Wivina obtained by her prayers the miraculous rekindling of one candle, from which all the others were then relighted.
:: :: :: :: ::
Saint Athanasius I
Pope (+401)
Anastasius, a native Roman, became Pope in 399. He had as friends three Church Fathers : Saints Jerome, Augustine, and Paulinus of Nola. Jerome described Anastasius as a pontiff of blameless life and apostolic vigilance. In a letter to the bishop of Jerusalem, Pope Anastasius condemns those who would prefer to disseminate their own heretical opinions rather than to profess the teachings of the Catholic Church.
-- via Magnificat, December 2002, pp. 271, 294
Virgin and Religious (c. 1100-1170)
Wivina was the beautiful daughter of a noble family of Flanders in Belgium. She found in the biblical patriarch Abraham a model for her own life. Just as Abraham had left his native land to obey the call of God, so Wivina willed to leave her family's home in order to serve God in solitude. There was, however, a young man named Richard who so longed to win her hand in marriage that, upon her refusing him, he fell desperately ill. Feeling responsible for what had happened, Wivina obtained Richard's recovery by her ardent prayers and fasting. Richard thereupon resolved to imitate Wivina's holiness and chastity, and became a hermit. At the age of twenty-three, Wivina retired to a forest near Brussels, taking only her psalter with her. There she and a like-minded woman built a hermitage for themselves, which subsequently became a convent, that of Grand-Bigard, with Wivina as abbess. On one occasion, the devil extinguished all the candles in the convent during the night office. Thereupon Wivina obtained by her prayers the miraculous rekindling of one candle, from which all the others were then relighted.
:: :: :: :: ::
Saint Athanasius I
Pope (+401)
Anastasius, a native Roman, became Pope in 399. He had as friends three Church Fathers : Saints Jerome, Augustine, and Paulinus of Nola. Jerome described Anastasius as a pontiff of blameless life and apostolic vigilance. In a letter to the bishop of Jerusalem, Pope Anastasius condemns those who would prefer to disseminate their own heretical opinions rather than to profess the teachings of the Catholic Church.
-- via Magnificat, December 2002, pp. 271, 294
TEAHEPBCACPMW Lane Core has hinted that he might re-dub this blog Flux Eternal with all its recent name-changes.
Might I suggest instead 'Ternally in Flux?
And shall I move the URL to http://the-weblog-formerly-known-as-tenebraeabrokenmusic-but-currently-known-as-tenebraeetlux.blogspot.com ??
(The acronym above stands for The Estimable And Highly Esteemed Poet, Blogger, Catholic Apologist, Clairvoyant, Prophet & Mordant Wit. In case you were wondering.)
Might I suggest instead 'Ternally in Flux?
And shall I move the URL to http://the-weblog-formerly-known-as-tenebraeabrokenmusic-but-currently-known-as-tenebraeetlux.blogspot.com ??
(The acronym above stands for The Estimable And Highly Esteemed Poet, Blogger, Catholic Apologist, Clairvoyant, Prophet & Mordant Wit. In case you were wondering.)
A note on the post below
I do like Magnificat. But the Grail Psalter should be replaced, at once.
I'll take the RSV version, for both breviaries and lectionaries, for the sake of uniformity.
For private reading, for now, I guess I'll have to continue to skim the Grail Psalms in Magnificat, to take note of the number, and then cleanse the mental palate with the Psalter of the BCP, 1928 version.
I do like Magnificat. But the Grail Psalter should be replaced, at once.
I'll take the RSV version, for both breviaries and lectionaries, for the sake of uniformity.
For private reading, for now, I guess I'll have to continue to skim the Grail Psalms in Magnificat, to take note of the number, and then cleanse the mental palate with the Psalter of the BCP, 1928 version.
The Gray-ill Psalter
Psalm 127. This morning's reading in Minificat.
Unless the Mighty One
buttresses a given edifice,
unless he gets it up and keeps it up,
its masons did all that work
in point of fact, for diddly.
And if the Lord
fails to keep his sights focussed
on the metropolitan area,
neither armed guards nor any police force
can properly protect it.
It doesn't matter
if you get out of bed early or late
or eat bread very carefully
when God's blessings are spilled out by God
on God's holy ones who dream on.
Truly children
are our sovereign's gift to us,
and are, you might say, apples of the belly.
And young male offspring, particularly,
are akin to missiles aimed at targets.
O the happiness of him
whose stockpile is bursting
at the seams with such as these!
He won't speak shyly or be abashed
at the entry-way where truces are discussed.
:: :: :: :: ::
And "discussed" is a good word to end on ("disgust").
The Textual Abuse Scandal continues in the Catholic Church.
We need to STAMP it out : Stop the Textual Abuse of Modernizing Psalms !!
STORM the gates !! Spare us the Terrific Obscenity of Revision And Modernization !!
We've only just begun.
And here you can find Psalm 127 in slightly more readable versions : 1928 BCP : KJV : RSV .
Psalm 127. This morning's reading in Minificat.
Unless the Mighty One
buttresses a given edifice,
unless he gets it up and keeps it up,
its masons did all that work
in point of fact, for diddly.
And if the Lord
fails to keep his sights focussed
on the metropolitan area,
neither armed guards nor any police force
can properly protect it.
It doesn't matter
if you get out of bed early or late
or eat bread very carefully
when God's blessings are spilled out by God
on God's holy ones who dream on.
Truly children
are our sovereign's gift to us,
and are, you might say, apples of the belly.
And young male offspring, particularly,
are akin to missiles aimed at targets.
O the happiness of him
whose stockpile is bursting
at the seams with such as these!
He won't speak shyly or be abashed
at the entry-way where truces are discussed.
:: :: :: :: ::
And "discussed" is a good word to end on ("disgust").
The Textual Abuse Scandal continues in the Catholic Church.
We need to STAMP it out : Stop the Textual Abuse of Modernizing Psalms !!
STORM the gates !! Spare us the Terrific Obscenity of Revision And Modernization !!
We've only just begun.
And here you can find Psalm 127 in slightly more readable versions : 1928 BCP : KJV : RSV .
A beautifully phrased e-mail policy
We've heard of the Welborn Protocol (everything is publishable), the Core Compact (everything is publishable, but name omitted unless you request to be named), the Riddle Rule (nothing is publishable unles you give the OK) ... I tried for the dylan directive at my quondam crib, which is still the rule here. But for the name of e-mail policies, and for an immortal articulation of said policy, how about (from a recently resigned blogger) Lordmage's Law :
My email submission policy is simple: If you don't want every Jack, Jill, and Jane (Jill's "special friend") to read your email, just inform me; if you do, same. The rebuttable presumption is that you'd rather have Al Gore narrate his adventures in The Congo than have your email to me published.
We've heard of the Welborn Protocol (everything is publishable), the Core Compact (everything is publishable, but name omitted unless you request to be named), the Riddle Rule (nothing is publishable unles you give the OK) ... I tried for the dylan directive at my quondam crib, which is still the rule here. But for the name of e-mail policies, and for an immortal articulation of said policy, how about (from a recently resigned blogger) Lordmage's Law :
My email submission policy is simple: If you don't want every Jack, Jill, and Jane (Jill's "special friend") to read your email, just inform me; if you do, same. The rebuttable presumption is that you'd rather have Al Gore narrate his adventures in The Congo than have your email to me published.
Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia
Orthodox monk and bishop, a convert from Anglicanism, born Timothy Ware in 1934
Words from the beginning of his audiocassette on prayer Discovering the Inner Kingdom : The Prayer of the Heart (Oakwood Publications, 1997) :
Friends, let us begin our reflections with a thought from the seventh-century spiritual writer St Isaac the Syrian :
Be at peace with your own soul, and heaven and earth will be at peace with you.
Orthodox monk and bishop, a convert from Anglicanism, born Timothy Ware in 1934
Words from the beginning of his audiocassette on prayer Discovering the Inner Kingdom : The Prayer of the Heart (Oakwood Publications, 1997) :
Friends, let us begin our reflections with a thought from the seventh-century spiritual writer St Isaac the Syrian :
Be at peace with your own soul, and heaven and earth will be at peace with you.
Republicans : the party of civil rights
Against racism then. Against racism now.
In a Weekly Standard article dated summer 1999, Alvin S. Felzenberg reminds readers of the contributions/advancements to the causes of civil rights made by Republicans from William Lloyd Garrison to Ulysses Grant to Benjamin Harrison to Harding to Coolidge to Dirksen to (on the state level) Barry Goldwater.
He might have mentioned Chester Alan Arthur, and the case of Lizzie Jennings.
From America and Its Presidents, by Earl Schenck Miers (Grosset & Dunlap, 1970), a book intended for schoolchildren in the middle grades. The terminology is dated, but well :
One year as a schoolmaster had been enough for Arthur, and he had come to New York City to establish himself as a lawyer. There in 1855 he became interested in Lizzie [Jennings], a Negro Sunday School superintendent who one Sabbath was put off a trolley-car. At that time the city's streetcar companies made a practice of excluding Negroes from their vehicles and provided no separate system of transportation for them.
Arthur, who inherited a strong dislike for slavery from his clergyman-father, now took the next step by fighting for equal civil rights for the Negro race. He sued the streetcar company on behalf of [Jennings], won a judgment, and for years the Colored People's Legal Rights Association celebrated the anniversary of his victory in court.
His clergyman father? Ah, these religious Republicans. Always trying to use faith to shape politics. Trying to legislate morality. Thank Heaven.
(A further note on Arthur : The World Almanac and Book of Facts tells us, "In 1853 he argued in a fugitive slave case that slaves transported through New York state were thereby freed.")
Felzenberg's article cites percentages of the black vote given to Republicans in recent decades. Sice Nixon's 32% in 1960, the candidate who fared best with Bush Elder in '88 with 18%, then Ford in '76 with 15%. The one who fared worst : Goldwater in 1964 with 6%. As the article was written in 1999, it does not include George W. Bush in 2000 with 9%.
But these small percentages in recent years, Felzenberg opines, is largely due to a revisionism of Democratic legacies on the part of progressive historians, misunderstandings about Goldwater's opposition to the 1964 Civil Rights Act (he had libertarian concerns about some of the language -- unlike Ervin, Byrd, Fulbright, and Gore Senior, whose motives might not have been, shall we say, so pure), and of course a successful propaganda campaign demonizing the GOP and hagiographizing the Dems.
Take FDR (please)! About the pre-presidential Roosevelt, Felzenberg reminds us :
In 1924, Franklin Roosevelt advised Democrats to raise only issues of importance to the entire nation -- which meant that they should stay away from the question of integration.
By contrast :
Presidents Grant, Harrison, Harding, and Coolidge tried to outlaw lynching, protect voting rights, and increase tolerance--but all receive "failing" or "below average" grades from historians who disapprove of their economic policies.
As for the 1960s, were Republicans in large numbers warming up to the rhetoric of folks like George Wallace? Hell no, Felzenberg tells us :
In a 1968 straw poll, even the "country-club" Republican Nelson Rockefeller out-polled Wallace among conservatives, 43 percent to 23 percent. (Given a choice only between two big-spending liberals, they chose the one who did not apply racial tests--proving conservatives of the time were neither racist nor stupid.)
The article is (oh, weak phrase!) worth reading in its entirety. There is much about William Lloyd Garrison -- I can't discern whether the article is part of a book about Garrison, or a review of a book about Garrison -- but this reader values the piece as an antidote to some current misconceptions about the history of our two political parties.
Against racism then. Against racism now.
In a Weekly Standard article dated summer 1999, Alvin S. Felzenberg reminds readers of the contributions/advancements to the causes of civil rights made by Republicans from William Lloyd Garrison to Ulysses Grant to Benjamin Harrison to Harding to Coolidge to Dirksen to (on the state level) Barry Goldwater.
He might have mentioned Chester Alan Arthur, and the case of Lizzie Jennings.
From America and Its Presidents, by Earl Schenck Miers (Grosset & Dunlap, 1970), a book intended for schoolchildren in the middle grades. The terminology is dated, but well :
One year as a schoolmaster had been enough for Arthur, and he had come to New York City to establish himself as a lawyer. There in 1855 he became interested in Lizzie [Jennings], a Negro Sunday School superintendent who one Sabbath was put off a trolley-car. At that time the city's streetcar companies made a practice of excluding Negroes from their vehicles and provided no separate system of transportation for them.
Arthur, who inherited a strong dislike for slavery from his clergyman-father, now took the next step by fighting for equal civil rights for the Negro race. He sued the streetcar company on behalf of [Jennings], won a judgment, and for years the Colored People's Legal Rights Association celebrated the anniversary of his victory in court.
His clergyman father? Ah, these religious Republicans. Always trying to use faith to shape politics. Trying to legislate morality. Thank Heaven.
(A further note on Arthur : The World Almanac and Book of Facts tells us, "In 1853 he argued in a fugitive slave case that slaves transported through New York state were thereby freed.")
Felzenberg's article cites percentages of the black vote given to Republicans in recent decades. Sice Nixon's 32% in 1960, the candidate who fared best with Bush Elder in '88 with 18%, then Ford in '76 with 15%. The one who fared worst : Goldwater in 1964 with 6%. As the article was written in 1999, it does not include George W. Bush in 2000 with 9%.
But these small percentages in recent years, Felzenberg opines, is largely due to a revisionism of Democratic legacies on the part of progressive historians, misunderstandings about Goldwater's opposition to the 1964 Civil Rights Act (he had libertarian concerns about some of the language -- unlike Ervin, Byrd, Fulbright, and Gore Senior, whose motives might not have been, shall we say, so pure), and of course a successful propaganda campaign demonizing the GOP and hagiographizing the Dems.
Take FDR (please)! About the pre-presidential Roosevelt, Felzenberg reminds us :
In 1924, Franklin Roosevelt advised Democrats to raise only issues of importance to the entire nation -- which meant that they should stay away from the question of integration.
By contrast :
Presidents Grant, Harrison, Harding, and Coolidge tried to outlaw lynching, protect voting rights, and increase tolerance--but all receive "failing" or "below average" grades from historians who disapprove of their economic policies.
As for the 1960s, were Republicans in large numbers warming up to the rhetoric of folks like George Wallace? Hell no, Felzenberg tells us :
In a 1968 straw poll, even the "country-club" Republican Nelson Rockefeller out-polled Wallace among conservatives, 43 percent to 23 percent. (Given a choice only between two big-spending liberals, they chose the one who did not apply racial tests--proving conservatives of the time were neither racist nor stupid.)
The article is (oh, weak phrase!) worth reading in its entirety. There is much about William Lloyd Garrison -- I can't discern whether the article is part of a book about Garrison, or a review of a book about Garrison -- but this reader values the piece as an antidote to some current misconceptions about the history of our two political parties.
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