And keep your powder dry

I used to really dislike this saying. For me “keeping your powder dry” was a way of NOT depending on God. Nowadays I rather like it, because using one’s brain and giving it our best shot is a way of depending on God. Actually, in reference to yesterday's post, I do know some ways of recovering a sense of love when I’ve lost the ability to feel it. Still, these take time, radical truthfulness and intense vulnerability. And so the “inner wall” is really a symptom that I’ve been letting things slide on that front.

So yes, I will sit down and write down all the messy truth. And, each time, I will remember a poem by Rilke that pretty much changed my life:

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

“Gott spricht zu jedem nur” by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy. (Sorry for being a snob here, but Rilke's poetry is a million times better in German. The translation isn't very good and that's because it's nearly impossible to render his thoughts in translation. German is a stupendously expressive, nuanced and creative language, English doesn't have words for the notions Rilke uses).

I’m still fascinated by the topic of lack of authenticity in religion. Not long ago, Naked Pastor wrote the following: “For the vast majority of those connected with church in any way, it is one of the most inhumane and soul-murderous thing in their lives”. It is a beautiful post, I loved it.

Imperfectly surrendered

There's a phenomenon I'm really scared of. It happens when a sort of inner wall rises up in me and my whole being really ressents doing the "right thing". I don't know where this "wall" comes from but it is really imperious. It' like an inner scream: I don't want to do that.

On those days, I end up really stuck because it seems like the only choices are between a rock and a hard place: withdrawing into selfish concerns or acting without concious love, which I think is hugely counterproductive. No good. By this time, feeling like an undercommitted wretch, I can think of no other options than to ask God to walk me through it.

Somehow, I often thought that there was a problem with me: if only I was more committed and if I had actively sought the experiences that might have taught me this stuff, I wouldn't end up stuck like this. On the other hand, depending on God's intervention might be all the commitment that's needed.

The other day I was praying that God might take me where he wants me to be. Still, when we ask for something in prayer, do we believe that yes, in fact, God will grant us either that, or something better? It strikes me that Jesus asked this question of quite a few people he healed.

Painting: Sick Husband by Vasily Maksimov (click for larger picture)

Please, not another book!

School(s) for Conversion is teaching me nothing. I’m going donate these to my church’s library, or even to the Christian Union of my campus. Maybe someone else will be grateful to know that they are not alone.

I quickly read though the things I already knew, the things I already thought (at this point, reading another Claiborne-type book feels like an insurmountable ordeal). And where the fuck are they? I keep wondering.

And then… the scary thing…

They’re the burnt-out clergyman whom I keep “challenging”. They’re the lapsed catholic white guy who can’t handle his South African heritage and whose cynicism I find more touching than many Christians’ sense of peace. They’re the rich theology professor at my university whose eyes never smile on a photograph. They’re the seventy-year old Quaker who’s desperate for us to read the gospel together instead of sitting around. The “radical Christians” are under there and I can sense their passion, it’s obvious.

Oh shit. I haven’t got a clue how to access that.

The policy-maker on her knees

Our Father who art in Heaven,
Hallowed be the lovey-dovey principles to which anyone can subscribe.
Thy Kingdom have some form of positive influence upon our earthly ones.
Thy will somehow be commensurate with our democratic decisions, within the bounds of our lovely welfare states.
Give us this day our daily prosperity and a 3% growth.
And forgive us our trespasses.
As we lovingly rehabilitate those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation.
But deliver us form the axis of evil.

um...

Wow!

A Faith Dissolved makes for compulsive reading! Oh, for the love of the secular, the curious agnostics, the seekers, the atheists and the understated...

Breaking News: Trinity to Split

(by David L Rattigan)

Billions of devout fans worldwide are devastated today after it was revealed that members of the Trinity are preparing to go their separate ways. The official announcement last night ended weeks of speculation about the future of the Godhead.

"Creative differences" were cited as a reason for the break-up, which only fuelled deep-running suspicions that the Holy Spirit had engineered the split in order to forge his own solo career.

"For years it's been this whole Father and Son thing," an anonymous source told us. "The Father gives glory to the Son and the Son gives glory to the Father and there's this big love-thing going on between the two of them, and here's the Spirit asking, Hey, guys, where do I fit into this? Frankly, I think he has the talent to make a go of a new religion if that's where he's heading creatively. Hell, he deserves it."

This latest development has come as no surprise to some, however. Their long career has been plagued from the beginning by accusations that all wasn't as it seemed. Early on some were claiming that they weren't the three persons in one essence they were touted to be, but merely "three manifestations of a single person," while others simply denied the Son and Spirit had anything to do with God's success anyway.

"It was obvious the real talent all belonged to the Father," Arius told Rolling Stone magazine in an interview over sixteen centuries ago. "The Son didn't come along till much later, and even then he lacked originality. By his own admission, he only ever did what he saw the Father doing.

"Others are looking at the whole situation more optimistically. "They've lasted longer than most," one hardcore trinitarian said. "As the simultaneous three-in-one, they've managed to retain that sense of mystery about their image for a long time. No matter what happens, to me they'll always be three distinct persons, yet undivided in essence. It's who they are."

John under the hand of Christ

Some pictures are like emotional cluster bombs. The one I'm thinking of is a wood sculpture of the Last Supper in a German cloister. The entire piece is unexceptional, but Christ and the apostle John are the most moving characters ever. John is asleep on what appears to be the hand of Christ. Well, his eyes are closed anyway, and you don't really know if he's asleep of just wailing. The second hand of Christ is resting on his back in the most tender gesture.

I was shopping for art postcards when I came across it and I had trouble keeping my countenance. Suddenly it hit home that Jesus knew that his crucifixion was going to break his friends' hearts and that they would never recover. There is so much love in this sculpture, it drives one nuts. The love of John, the love of Christ for John and for all his disciples. I practically never look at it these days, because it throws me off balance each time. That is to say, it throws me back into a different type of balance: Oh fuck I love you so much. And all those attempts to love Christ in his brothers, all this "getting good at it", that's what it boils down to.

So one of my friends is leaving Durham and, recently, he had expressed some concern at not being especially moved when he went to Jerusalem and visited all the places. Usually, there's always a couple of orthodox nuns just crying their eyes out at the site of the Last Supper. And he said that he thought that was appropriate, but that somehow he could not cry. He's an older, British prof who teaches at a big US divinity school. "Ah whatever", I said, "don't you know that it takes one to know one"?

I wanted him to have this postcard, but giving it to him was pretty surreal. For that is not your average greeting card. And one problem is that I really did not want him to associate it with me either. I did not want it to convey just how deep my thoughts are, and just what a sensitive person I am, I did not want to be part of the picture at all. I don't mind a bit of self-promotion and name-dropping on occasions, but an emotional bomb like this piece of art is between each Christian and their Lord, methinks. But I did want him to have it.

I asked if he had a pigeon-hole I could leave a card in before he left. He did not have one. So I said okay, I'll have to give it to you in person. "It's very moving" he said, and immediately retired to his room. As for me I'd rarely been so exposed in my life. "I thought you might like to have it" I somehow uttered in a phony voice and then retired to my own room. Fuck I hate being this exposed.

An informed guess at why the structures don’t work.

So I guess that sleeping was not so bad, as I woke up with a clearer mind, and an inner injunction not to give up on my critical ability: "Dany, you know better than this". Um, let's see...

There, I had been doing volunteering in a drop in centre as an undergrad. I have also chatted with quite a few homeless people who were not interested in ever coming close to a drop in centre. Those who would rather stay out on the street were not ready to be labeled as "homeless". They were not "bums". They hated it at the drop in: the unsavoury characters, the condescending staff, they just loathed it. Not infrequently they loathed me too. And I thanked God for their pride.

So yes, Edinburgh has got lots of structures that attend to the homeless poor, but once someone starts using those structures they can become assimilated as "charity cases" in a way that will end up destroying their self esteem. Instead of rehabilitating them, it entrenches them further as "failures". It's very similar to an argument that Poserorprohet was making about criminals being forever entrenched as criminals as soon as you hand them over to a system that supposedly works towards rehabilitating them.

On Saturday night, the kid told me just that: "I'm not this down, I hate it at the drop in, it’s just horrible". Clearly, this kid had not been homeless for long: there was so much passion in his eyes, so much readiness to engage in conversation. "I hate it there, it’s full of bums, they steal from you, I’m just trying to raise enough money so I can sleep at a normal hostel".

I’d asked if he had a phone number, or an e-mail address. He had neither. And I did not even think to ask about the hostel he usually stayed at. I just walked away to see my play.

And right now I’m just sad. Sad that I always seem to think too late and sad at the missed opportunity. Furthermore, I'm convinced that it’s missed opportunities of this type that entrench people further into despair: it’s the near misses that do most of the harm! And this was an opportunity that this kid was giving me, he offered me his trust, he engaged with me, and I just ended up walking away.

Please God, I’m sorry I was so stupid. Please be there for this kid. Please don’t let him bear the consequences of my "near miss". Please forgive me. Please teach us better.

(Sometimes I think I really should journey on the receiving side -and sooner rather than later-. I’m useless at "giving" unless I have been on the receiving end. Maybe I should make myself vulnerable on purpose. Maybe that would rid me of my skewed subject positions.)

Edinburgh

As we get out of the theater, rain is pouring down. The streets of Edinburgh are beautiful, the play was nice and I’m staying with a good friend. We don’t really mind the torrential rain: right now, my friend and I are just blown away by the surreal atmosphere of the city’s cobbled streets. I’m also quite pleased because I booked a homeless kid into a hotel just before we went to see the play. So it might be pouring cats and dogs but for now, it’s just beautiful…

We’re heading back to my friend’s. The task is to get a taxi, engage in some friendly conversation with the driver, then get some Chinese food delivered when we get home and open a bottle of wine. Right where the kid had been sitting before there’s another homeless person. In fact, on our way to get a taxi we walk past four or five homeless men getting soaked by the rain. We’re lucky to grab a cab fairly quickly. I can’t look my friend in the eyes. She notices and puts her arm on my shoulder. I start crying for utter shame.

Out of defensiveness, I step in intellectual mode: but what’s wrong? The government pours tons of money into homelessness. The other day I even looked it up on Google: a city like Edinburgh has got lots and lots of initiatives. I want to understand. I’ve been in post-secondary education for nearly a decade for Fuck’s sake. What went wrong?

We make it home. I order ha-kao dumplings (possibly my favourite food ever). The wine is perfect. We cuddle up with blankets and have a girly chat until late into the night. My friend goes to bed while I struggle with the Rubik cube for a little longer. I can’t pray. I sort of toy with the idea of not sleeping either. But I just hide my head into my pillow, still feeling the shame, and, surely enough, I sleep like a baby.

Quote of the day

"So while I am not opposed to our trying to harness the resources of state power to alleviate the needs of people, I think it is unfortunate when we think only in those terms".

Stanley Hauerwas, Will the Real Sectarians Please Stand Up?

Closed for Rewiring

There is nothing to say. I am very very confused. My universe is collapsing under a ton of new concepts. Yet I push it further, I read more, I eat less: this is mildly insane! As usual, I somehow manage to step out of it when I'm around people and there's always this unquenchable little joy, this funky playful streak. This is weird.

Book Review 5: A Corner Of The Veil by Laurence Cosse

In this odd little thriller, a Jesuit monk receives a handwritten document which irrefutably demonstrates the existence of God. Anyone who reads "the proof" dissolves in tears and has their lives totally changed by it.

When they first learn about it, the genuine seekers are desperate to read it. Some not-particularly-saintly punters end up reading it out of curiosity and "the proof" instantly messes up with their priorities in a big way. Others don't want to read it because they suspect that it will force them to change their lives, which they don't want to change. And there are those who haven't read it and who try to ensure that it doesn't get out because, if it did, they sense that the present social and economic order would just collapse.

Reviewers on Amazon seems to agree that the end chapter is a bit disappointing as Laurence Cosse comes up with her own crackpot theory about God: that section is just a load of nonsensical ramble! Still, A Corner of the Veil remains a well-written, funky novel full of beautiful descriptions of people and situations. What would it look like if regular people in Paris suddenly came to think that a loving God was an irrefutable reality?

Here's a link to the rather good New York Times Review and another to the Amazon Reviews. (P.S. If the NYT link does not work, here is the same in cache).

The atmosphere of the Kingdom of God

"The social affections," says the economist, "are accidental and disturbing elements in human nature; but avarice and the desire of progress are constant elements. Let us eliminate the inconstants, and, considering the human being merely as a covetous machine, examine by what laws of labour, purchase, and sale, the greatest accumulative result in wealth [and wellbeing] is obtainable". Out of an essay by John Ruskin, The Roots of Honour.

I read this quote and yup, I thought, these are the assumptions I work with on a daily basis. "Keeping the bastards honest" is my job. Keeping the system tolerably humane is my political ambition.

Still, while I'm not ready to let go of my cynicism about human nature, I clearly need a new set of assumptions to balance these out! C.S. Lewis refused to write a sequel to The Screwtape Letters because he did not want to inhabit the hellish atmosphere of selfish calculation that he had investigated in order to write that book. He wanted to dwell in another set of assumptions and he thought that writing a sequel to Screwtape would be counterproductive. He wanted to try to share the ambience of the Kingdom with his readers, not the ambience of hell. And he also recognised that this was a lot more difficult to do.

So let's not dismiss those among us who try to dwell in Christ's vision. We need more, not less, people who are "turning away from mammonism and letting [their] hearts be moved by the atmosphere of the kingdom of God" (J. Heinrich Arnold). For Arnold, tuning in to this atmosphere, not "feeling bad", is the the true essence of repentance.

Please God, let us tune in to the atmosphere of your Kingdom more often. Please!

The Anglican Left

A couple of days ago, I applied for membership of the Anglican Left mailing list. I'm very exited and I hope that I don't get turned down. Their website has been my favourite online resource for a while and I'm really glad that there are such folks out there. I must remember not to post any random thought on it though, as I have no idea who will be reading it. Anyway, here's the welcome quote to their site:

"You cannot claim to worship Jesus in the Tabernacle, if you do not pity Jesus in the slums. . . It is folly - it is madness - to suppose that you can worship Jesus in the Sacraments and Jesus on the throne of glory, when you are sweating him in the souls and bodies of his children." - Bishop Frank Weston at the 1923 Anglo-Catholic Congress


(Whew, I'm kinda edgy these days, sorry about this! I need a lighter tone to this blog. Fortunately, I think I still have a couple of lighter, funny things up my sleeve and -of course- there's always ice cream, friends, my clarinet and Naked Pastor to bring a huge smile to my face!)

The picture is an allusion to Late Capitalism's race to the bottom. The Fat guys basically says: "We must tighten the belt yet further, it's so good that I get to be me"

Passing Through Wealth

Last winter, I read an ethnography of the French upper class' way of life. One thing that struck me is that the people interviewed all had this same ethos of passing through their family's wealth. They were born into it, but they did not feel like it belonged to them. Ironically, they were quite humble about the whole thing. They saw it as their responsibility to transmit that heritage.

Then I reflected about how the Catholic Church, in France at least, functions a bit along the same lines. It's wealth does not belong to anyone, members of the church just pass through it and perpetuate it. The colleges at Cambridge and Oxford seem to have this ethos too. Instiututional wealth is something that you inherit and that you pass on. You don't feel like you own it.

Although of course, in material terms they do own it, and they preserve this capital through the help of exploitative structures. But they're humble about it. They're grateful for it. They feel bound by duty to preserve it.

So, in a way, the upper class can be regarded as a parody of the land of Israel. There is nothing wrong with this ethos of preserving a common heritage. Just that this heritage is the broader land in which we live, and that the heirs are all the children of God.

As a political scientist doing research on the future of our "welfare state" heritage in the West, I'm mightily challenged by this as well...

Born on a 20th of July

I was born of the anniversary of a plot that failed. I'd been reading about the life of a girl my age who was killed for distributing a pamphlet in Munich University all those years ago. It's not like that pamphlet achieved a great deal either. Others accepted to feel responsible for the welfare of their neighbours and it was a drop in the bucket. These are the heroes we uphold. They didn't prevent, or stop, the machinery of whatever the hell is going on. When I ask people around me what they think we can do about crises happening right now, they say that we can pray.

A post on civilian courage

If indifference is not an option, I wonder what is:

1. Demonstrate on the street?
2. Press for democratic reforms so the government becomes more responsive?
3. Get as much public attention as possible?
4. Go there to try to stop the madness?
5. Support well-respected organisations that will be a pacifying presence?
6. Ensure we have access to excellent and timely information?
7. Educate people so that crises do not occur again?
8. Send letters to the people in power and to people who might influence them?
9. Network and get to know people in power beforehand so we have access to them?
10. Rethink the United Nations system?
11. Spread opinions into the mainstream?
12. Do research about the roots of indifference and "compassion fatigue" in the West?
13. Keep relevant discourses (i.e. human rights) in political debates and in the public sphere.

This reminds me of my time working for a non governmental organisation in 2002. I left because I wanted to go back to academia. I wanted more knowledge, deeper analysis, and a more holistic vision. I must admit that I've really lost touch with the ground in the past few years.

Surely they would have moved heaven and earth to intervene...

"And our only miserable consolation was that we believed that Auschwitz and Treblinka were closely guarded secrets; that the leaders of the free world did not know what was going on behind those black gates and barbed wire; that they had no knowledge of the war against the Jews that H*tler's armies and their accomplices waged as part of the war against the Allies. If they knew, we thought, surely those leaders would have moved heaven and earth to intervene. They would have spoken out with great outrage and conviction. They would have bombed the railways leading to Birkenau, just the railways, just once."

Elie Wiesel, The perils of indifference.

Quote of the day

"If you're not pissed off, you haven't been paying attention"
Read on a T-shirt at Glastonbury Festival

Painting by Heinrich Hofmann, "Christ and the Rich Young Ruler". Click for larger picture.

Fresh Croissants

I’m ambivalent about this blog. I find that I withhold the best, most prayerful bits. The other day I had a huge epiphany and the first thing I wanted to do was blog about it. But I resisted this with all my weight. I won’t freeze that kind of stuff. I'm so thankful for it that I don't even know how to handle it.

Then, on the other hand, I really, really love bloggers who do not withhold these. They would blog about random things, being moderately inspired, and then suddenly there’s a rawness, a genuineness which leaves me breathless. What they’re referring to feels like my home. Or, should I say, our home.

These are real internet gems, and I’m too defensive even to link to them. Partly because they’re tiny, almost private blogs. Also because I don’t want to praise them nominally. They don’t need that. So I'll just leave a comment or two...

Late night snack

I had spent the night stranded at Victoria Station, waiting for the early morning coach and reading. Another guy was also waiting there, from time to time he whistled a melancholic French tune into the night. At some point, we decided to go for coffee at the only place that was open, and it was full of people returning from nightlclubs. A guy in dirty clothes had been standing nearby for a while.

D. Are you in the queue?

G. No, I’m not (he moves out of the way to let me through).

D. Um okay, thanks!

(A couple of minutes go by, the queue moves forward, it’s going to be my turn soon. The guy is still there, watching people leave with burgers, bacon sandwiches and whatnot...)

D. Sorry, is there anything you would you like?

G. No no, it’s alright.

D. Um okay, sorry again.

G. (he catches up with me) Wait, if you want to get me something, could I have a cream doughnut?

D. (to the cashier) Can I have a cream doughnut with this please?

G. Thanks.

D. (relieved that he asked) No problem.

I was actually quite happy about this. I thought it was unfortunate that it was probably going to take me a couple of failed attempts until I actually learned to care deeply about strangers (sort of like Christ when he worried about the welfare of the five thousands who had followed him). Still, on that night I had been so weary, tired, hungry and mellow that this guy and I had connected instantly. Judging by the grins on our faces, this wasn’t too bad a start. I wished we lived in the same city.

As a kid I used to scrupulously forgive everyone before church, because I knew we’d have to say the Lord’s Prayer loud and clear (and preferably mean it, too). But lately it’s been hitting home that I’d never been that serious about the “give US this day OUR daily bread” bit. I’ve never been hungry enough to really pray for bread; and as for the daily bread of others, I never really cared about it in any meaningful way. Where this guy is tonight, for example.

Search For Self Called Off After 38 Years

CHICAGO—The longtime search for self conducted by area man Andrew Speth was called off this week, the 38-year-old said Monday.

Speth sets out on a new life, moments after announcing the end of his search.
"I always thought that if I kept searching and exploring, I'd discover who I truly was," said Speth from his Wrigleyville efficiency. "Well, I looked deep into the innermost recesses of my soul, I plumbed the depths of my subconscious, and you know what I found? An empty, windowless room the size of an aircraft hangar. From now on, if anybody needs me, I'll be sprawled out on this couch drinking black-cherry soda and watching Law & Order like everybody else."

"Fuck it," he added.

(Read the full story at The Onion)

Calling out

“You’re right, call out. Call out with all your lungs, call out like a newborn, call out like your hungry cat, call out like the blind beggar”

This was my first thought as a wake up. It’s been a while since I felt that desperate actually. That’s no good.

"Hey", I reply, "I’m stuck in tensions and dissonance, I’m feeling too convicted to even play any music. Mmmm... I think I'll pull a David, I’ll set THAT despair to music".

This is taking me eons...

Finding the best British bloggers/ communities takes ages, the web is full of Americans and it looks like some sets of ideas have barely reached our shores! Maybe this shows just how disconnected I can be.

Common People

She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge,
she studied sculpture at Saint Martin's College,
that's where I,
caught her eye.
She told me that her Dad was loaded,
I said "In that case I'll have a rum and coca-cola."
She said "Fine."
and in thirty seconds time she said,

"I want to live like common people,
I want to do whatever common people do,
I want to sleep with common people,
I want to sleep with common people,
like you."

Well what else could I do -
I said "I'll see what I can do."
I took her to a supermarket,
I don't know why but I had to start it somewhere,
so it started there.
I said pretend you've got no money,
she just laughed and said,
"Oh you're so funny."
I said "yeah?
Well I can't see anyone else smiling in here.
Are you sure you want to live like common people,
you want to see whatever common people see,
you want to sleep with common people,
you want to sleep with common people,
like me."

But she didn't understand,
she just smiled and held my hand.
Rent a flat above a shop,
cut your hair and get a job.
Smoke some fags and play some pool,
pretend you never went to school.
But still you'll never get it right,
cos when you're laid in bed at night,
watching roaches climb the wall,
if you call your Dad he could stop it all.

You'll never live like common people,
you'll never do what common people do,
you'll never fail like common people,
you'll never watch your life slide out of view,
and dance and drink and screw,
because there's nothing else to do.

Sing along with the common people,
sing along and it might just get you through,
laugh along with the common people,
laugh along even though they're laughing at you,
and the stupid things that you do.
Because you think that poor is cool.

I want to live with common people,
I want to live with common people etc...

"Common People" by Pulp

Wishful thinking...

Today's tacky midi file.