may it be a damn sight better than the last."
--Col. Sherman T. Potter
Actually, my year personally was pretty good--new apartment, new article under way, other developments which are fraught with interest. Mustn't grumble.
But the state of things is not, shall we say, good all round.
The play la Bete (which I saw last night) spoke to me in a way I didn't expect (I really saw it for la Lumley, whose work I've admired since AbFab). But its central point, that nonsense can drive out sense all too easily, and that our society can, in its quest for novelty, prefer nonsense to sense, is one that caught me on the raw. Ever since I read and vehemently disagreed with the policy prescriptions of Collins & Skover's The Death of Discourse, I've shared their concern with the drowning out of thought by noise. La Bete addresses a part of the same syndrome, but places it in a more personal, small-group struggle for place. Brilliantly acted, and terribly timely.
You can catch a glimpse here:
To those for whom the New Year is difficult
I just posted these words on Facebook. I have decided there is nothing wrong with duplicating posts here.
Photo: Jane Redmont
Last days of Kodachrome
When I think back
On all the crap I learned in high school
It's a wonder
I can think at all
And though my lack of edu---cation
Hasn't hurt me none
I can read the writing on the wall
Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don't take my Kodachrome away
If you took all the girls I knew
When I was single
And brought them all together for one night
I know they'd never match
my sweet imagination
everything looks WORSE in black and white
Kodachrome
They give us those nice bright colors
They give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome
Mama don't take my Kodachrome
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome
Leave your boy so far from home
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
--Paul Simon
"The Low Road"
A couple of months ago I rediscovered this old poem by Marge Piercy. It is from her book The Moon Is Always Female.
What can they doP.S. I just found out on Piercy's website that she wrote a memoir called Sleeping with Cats, published in 2002. Click to link at the name of the book and have a look at the review excerpts.
to you? Whatever they want.
They can set you up, they can
bust you, they can break
your fingers, they can
burn your brain with electricity,
blur you with drugs till you
can t walk, can’t remember, they can
take your child, wall up
your lover. They can do anything
you can’t blame them
from doing. How can you stop
them? Alone, you can fight,
you can refuse, you can
take what revenge you can
but they roll over you.
But two people fighting
back to back can cut through
a mob, a snake-dancing file
can break a cordon, an army
can meet an army.
Two people can keep each other
sane, can give support, conviction,
love, massage, hope, sex.
Three people are a delegation,
a committee, a wedge. With four
you can play bridge and start
an organisation. With six
you can rent a whole house,
eat pie for dinner with no
seconds, and hold a fund raising party.
A dozen make a demonstration.
A hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;
ten thousand, power and your own paper;
a hundred thousand, your own media;
ten million, your own country.
It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again after they said no,
it starts when you say We
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.
December 28: Feast of the Holy Innocents
A.k.a. Childermas to you high-church C of E types.
In addition to the best-known paintings of the Massacre of the Innocents by Giotto di Bondone (above) and Pieter Brueg[h]el the Elder (below), I am posting some other depictions of the killing of the innocents. But first, a biblical reminder.
When the wise men had departed, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him." Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, "Out of Egypt I have called my son."
Fra Angelico
Matteo di Giovanni
Giovanni Pisano
Why the attraction of the subject matter? The drama of course; the sheer injustice; the terror; the worst loss a mother can ever endure: the killing of her child -- multiplied by the hundreds and thousands. Mary and Joseph save their baby from death, but later Mary will endure the loss of her son as an adult and be helpless to protect him, as are the mothers in this scene. As are so many mothers.
In last year's December 28 post, I posted pictures of children much closer to our time as well as information about agencies helping children. Remember them. Care for the vulnerable. Holy Innocents, pray for us, and in your blood and the suffering of your mothers remind us to prevent more pain, more deaths, more tears, and to weep in solidarity with those who mourn. In Christ's name, Amen.
Giovanni Pisano, Pistoia Pulpit, detail
In addition to the best-known paintings of the Massacre of the Innocents by Giotto di Bondone (above) and Pieter Brueg[h]el the Elder (below), I am posting some other depictions of the killing of the innocents. But first, a biblical reminder.
When the wise men had departed, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him." Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, "Out of Egypt I have called my son."
When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah:
- "A voice was heard in Ramah,
- wailing and loud lamentation,
- Rachel weeping for her children;
- she refused to be consoled, because they are no more."
Matthew 2:13-18
Fra Angelico
Matteo di Giovanni
Giovanni PisanoWhy the attraction of the subject matter? The drama of course; the sheer injustice; the terror; the worst loss a mother can ever endure: the killing of her child -- multiplied by the hundreds and thousands. Mary and Joseph save their baby from death, but later Mary will endure the loss of her son as an adult and be helpless to protect him, as are the mothers in this scene. As are so many mothers.
In last year's December 28 post, I posted pictures of children much closer to our time as well as information about agencies helping children. Remember them. Care for the vulnerable. Holy Innocents, pray for us, and in your blood and the suffering of your mothers remind us to prevent more pain, more deaths, more tears, and to weep in solidarity with those who mourn. In Christ's name, Amen.
Giovanni Pisano, Pistoia Pulpit, detailClick on photo to enlarge and see detail.
Bread
Today I made and baked bread for the first time. Bread made with yeast and kneaded by hand. I have of course made all manner of quick breads: corn bread, muffins, that sort of thing. Not real bread, though. I do have a memory of making little loaves in my mother's oven for some kind of school project, and the funny thing is I don't remember yeast or kneading, but I do remember that the bread rose. Maybe my memory is faulty.
I have two roundish loaves cooling on a rack and of course I could not resist cutting into one and tasting it before it was completely cool. It was good.
These are whole wheat loaves, 100% whole wheat. The recipe is the "Plain and Simple" bread from the Cheese Board's book. I don't own loaf pans, and I don't like pan-shaped bread anyway, so I made rounds (one is actually an oval) and I sprayed the loaves, as they say you should to get more of a crust. It worked, but I need an oven thermometer. I think the oven was too hot. I followed the directions religiously because I wanted to make the basic recipe first and then fiddle with it once I had the hang of it, and the directions said 450 degrees for 5 minutes and then 400. Crust nearly burned. Anyway, I am pleased with myself and with the bread, the house smelled a little like France all of a sudden, and kneading really does get out your aggressions.
I still have writer's block, though. My latest Facebook update says "baking bread and battling writer's block." I need to stay off Facebook. Which mostly I do when I am writing. I am working on a book chapter and now that it is late at night and the bread is out it will probably start "cookin'," but I am trying not to stay up too late, so I'll have to go to bed trusting that the words and more importantly, the sentences will appear in the morning.
Some of this, as I mentioned in the last day or so, is undoubtedly related to the way in which my job drains me of my own writing voice and of much of my energy, but there are other causes too. At any rate, analyzing my writing process is not my purpose here and does not belong here.
The wonderful Fran (formerly of FranIAm blog), who is a dear friend and spiritual sister, now has a blog called There Will Be Bread and there she writes with great fluency and beauty, straight from the heart, and with a good mind, too. I on the other hand am rather dry these days. At least, though, there is bread with crust and crumb, right here, tonight.
Holy One of Blessing, your presence fills creation, bringing forth bread from the earth.*
* Contemporary translation, in inclusive language, of the traditional Jewish ha-motzi, the blessing over the bread.
Photos: Jane Redmont
December 27: John, Evangelist - this year's icon and blog flashback
This year's icon: St. John by William Hart McNichols, S.J. Part of a triptych of Mary, Jesus, and John (remember the scene of Mary and "the disciple whom Jesus loved" at the foot of the cross before Jesus' death) so there is more sadness than glory in this representation.
Last year's icon: St. John, by El Greco. At last year's blog post for December 27.
Cross country skiing in Greensboro
I must be one of the few Greensboro residents who keeps cross country skis by the front door. I live in hope. Also, I don't have enough storage space.
I used the skis early last March when we had a good snow, and today I used them again. Yesterday the sky was grey-white and heavy. Today the sun was bright and the sky clear. Perfect for skiing, though cold.
At last the huge plot of land here is good for something. On Facebook I referred to it all summer as the Humongous Lawn and I was forever mowing it --and suffering from the mosquitos, who love me, and from wasp stings, because we had an infestation. Today I made trails and got quite the little workout.
I love the smell of snow. To me it is the smell of winter vacation. This isn't the Alps, but even in this semi-suburban neighborhood the smell reminds me of ski trips and crisp air at high altitude.
Taking the skis off...
White Christmas
It snowed yesterday. It snowed today. We have over six inches of snow here in Greensboro.
Trees near house, white sky, late afternoon, December 26.
White on white, front lawn.
Snow on leaves, December 26.
Torn leaf, snow.
Some large evergreen limbs tore off and fell in the storm. Not to worry, the tree is nowhere near the house. No repeats of the Great Tree Disaster. By the way, the house you see in the background is a neighbor's house, not mine.
+Maya Pavlova, indoors looking out. I took the photo from outside and you can see both +Maya looking out and the snowy landscape reflected in the window.
Heavily laden branches.
Consider the fig tree...
Cat on flannel sheets on a cold night.
Click on each photo to enlarge slightly and see more detail.
All photos taken with my BlackBerry camera.
Trees near house, white sky, late afternoon, December 26.
White on white, front lawn.
Snow on leaves, December 26.
Torn leaf, snow.
Some large evergreen limbs tore off and fell in the storm. Not to worry, the tree is nowhere near the house. No repeats of the Great Tree Disaster. By the way, the house you see in the background is a neighbor's house, not mine.
+Maya Pavlova, indoors looking out. I took the photo from outside and you can see both +Maya looking out and the snowy landscape reflected in the window.
Heavily laden branches.
Consider the fig tree...
Cat on flannel sheets on a cold night.Click on each photo to enlarge slightly and see more detail.
All photos taken with my BlackBerry camera.
December 26: St. Stephen's Day - blog flashback
Well, the Episcopal Church has transferred the feast of Stephen till tomorrow, today being a Sunday (you can't liturgically celebrate a Sunday and a saint's day on the same day, or rather you can, but you may not).
Meanwhile, the Roman Catholic Church --or at least the U.S. Catholic Conference of Bishops-- has bagged Stephen entirely, because the 26th is not only a Sunday but the first Sunday after Christmas, which in the Catholic Church is the Feast of the Holy Family.
Since I have no liturgical celebrations to attend or at which to preach or officiate, I'm sticking to the original calendar. Today is the feast of Stephen, so there.
No energy, or rather, still hardly any words. Writer's block or something. Here is last year's post on Stephen, which itself has a flashback to two years before that and a feast of St. Stephen poem. Gentle readers, you have probably forgotten both posts anyway, so enjoy the (re-) read.
And thank you for bearing with me. I am well but in a bit of an odd relationship to words. Trying to find a voice again. My job tends to destroy it and I recently spent two or three weeks correcting final papers in other people's voices, many of them with bad grammar, syntax, and usage. Lord, have mercy on your indentured servants in the academy.
Posted on December 27, dated December 26.
Orthodox icon: Stephen the Protomartyr
Meanwhile, the Roman Catholic Church --or at least the U.S. Catholic Conference of Bishops-- has bagged Stephen entirely, because the 26th is not only a Sunday but the first Sunday after Christmas, which in the Catholic Church is the Feast of the Holy Family.
Since I have no liturgical celebrations to attend or at which to preach or officiate, I'm sticking to the original calendar. Today is the feast of Stephen, so there.
No energy, or rather, still hardly any words. Writer's block or something. Here is last year's post on Stephen, which itself has a flashback to two years before that and a feast of St. Stephen poem. Gentle readers, you have probably forgotten both posts anyway, so enjoy the (re-) read.
And thank you for bearing with me. I am well but in a bit of an odd relationship to words. Trying to find a voice again. My job tends to destroy it and I recently spent two or three weeks correcting final papers in other people's voices, many of them with bad grammar, syntax, and usage. Lord, have mercy on your indentured servants in the academy.
Posted on December 27, dated December 26.
Orthodox icon: Stephen the Protomartyr
Looking closely at Christmas
First Sunday after Christmas, December 26, 2010John 1:1-18
Have you ever looked at a flower? What do you see? Maybe beautiful color, the shape of the leaves, the way the petals are constructed. Maybe you look at a flower in terms of where it fits, or the color of the outfit or the décor it will decorate. But there is more to the flower. We just need to see it differently. The theoretical physicist, Richard Feynman, who worked on both the Manhattan Project and served on the commission that investigated the Challenger disaster, said her looked at flowers differently.
Once, during a TV interview, Feynman held up a flower. He commented that his artist-friend had said how wonderful it was that everyone could see its beauty, that no specialized knowledge was necessary to appreciate the wonder of the flower.
Feynman agreed that this was partially true, everyone could look at the flower and see it; but as a scientist, he was able to “see” much more of the flower than most of us. He could see the beauty of the cells working together to support life; the mystery of the flower’s color, locked in its cells, that attracted insects; which, in turn, would lead him to wonder about the insect’s perception of color. In short, Feynman “saw” much more in that flower in a few minutes that most of us would see in a lifetime of looking.
We need to look at Christmas as closely as Feynman looks at the flower. Like Feynman, we can look into the holiday and see what many people miss: the mystery of the Incarnation. We have an additional, different task: having seen what others missed, we must tell what we have seen and heard.
The snowstorm today may change this, but I’ll bet you a cup of Bishop’s Blend that this week’s trash pick-up will be littered with discarded Christmas trees. Today, the world around us has moved on. Christmas Day is nice, but that was yesterday.
But we Christians have another eleven days to ponder the mystery of the season. Sure the relatives and friends may still be around for another day or two, or maybe having spent Christmas with one set of parents, we will be off to spend New Years with another, but on the whole, society will move into white sales and is getting ready for New Years Eve and the Bowl games. This gives us space to ponder Christmas more deeply. Now that we are free of the commercial sides of the cultures holiday, we can go deeper. Now we can “see” Christmas in new, deeper ways.
This first half of the first chapter of the Gospel of John is the perfect place to start. It invites us to look at the Incarnation in the same way that Richard Feynman looked at the flower. The prologue to John’s gospel is the same Gospel lesson for Christmas Day and the Sunday following Christmas. So we’ve been given the chance to marinate in the words a bit. We love the beauty of the words and even if they are a mystery to us they become part of us.
The prologue from John sets the tone for the whole Gospel; if you want to know the point of the Gospel of John, it’s in verse 18: “No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.”
As I’ve said, only Matthew and Luke have nativity stories. So there are no animals in this Gospel. No manger, no shepherds and in John’s Gospel there no angels until the empty tomb. What we do have is not a story, but a hymn, a poem. This is a hymn to Christ, maybe one of the earliest hymns in the Church. And it is a
For many of us Christmas is only about the baby. But look at this Christmas flower more deeply. See John’s hymn of the Incarnation. Look deeply into what God is doing and appreciate the mystery.
As I said on Christmas Eve, the baby whose birth we celebrate is also the Risen Christ. That means that the baby we celebrate is also the crucified Christ. To separate the story of Jesus’ birth from the crucifixion is to engage in a kind of denial. We like to welcome, cuddle and make silly faces at little babies. But Jesus’ birth reminds us that Jesus is the one who is not received. Luke tells us Jesus was born in a manger, maybe a cave, not only because there was no room in the inn, but perhaps because there was no room in the hearts of any of Joseph’s family for him and his pregnant girlfriend. Matthew’s story reminds us that the very people who hoped for God’s messiah would not receive him when they finally got the one for whom they hoped. Jesus and his family would become refugees instead. John tells us that Jesus was not recognized and he was rejected. The Nativity reminds us that when God came to us, he came as one who is weak and vulnerable, not just as the holy infant, but also as the adult who was sent to the cross and executed.
But Jesus, the weak, flesh-and-bone Christ, has real power. It is not the world’s power; it is not the power to conquer or be prosperous. Jesus’ power transforms us into the people God made us to be. Jesus’ power is to smother sin with love, to overcome fear with hope, to give us the tools and the power to choose faith. Jesus’ power transforms our vision so that we see us and all creation as God does—something lovely, something worth living, as people worth dying for.
Most people think that’s naïve and silly. They reject that kind of power. But Jesus, the rejected yet powerful one, comes full of grace and truth, which means that each Christmas we are presented us with a choice. We can be transformed by the power of the gospel to be God’s people, walking in God’s vulnerable ways. Or we can reject him and continue business as usual. Business as usual means sitting in the darkness, shielding our eyes, and turning away from the life-giving light. The story around which we gather today is one of transforming hope for a new life. We are invited to cooperate with God’s divine initiative, to allow God’s light to help us see the path more clearly, to make a new beginning as God’s people. Where that happens, heaven and earth do sing, there is joy to the world, and the waste places do break forth together in singing.
The Church gives us not one day, but twelve, to celebrate and look deeply into the birth of Christ, Emmanuel, God-with-us. If you have ever dreamed of a Christmas free of all the cultural trappings and commercial distractions that have surrounded us since August, here’s your chance. We can be like the physicist Feynman. We are called to ponder the mystery. Bask in the hope. Live the wonder. Tell the story. Because God does not abandon us like trees on the first trash day after Christmas. God is with us. Right now. Right here. The divinely naïve, lovingly risk-taking God of power and transformation has come to humanity. And we are changed.
See Also: Christmas Vigil and 2nd Sunday after Christmas
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