A[nother] confession for my sisters and brothers:
I hate Contemporary Worship Services. Well, maybe “hate” is not the appropriate word, as it maintains a strong negative polarity and I do not consider myself to be a “hateful” person. How about “I dislike greatly Contemporary Worship Services…” that sounds a little more polite and less confrontational. [my momma, ever a proper southern lady, would be proud of me!]
Perhaps this confession may come as a surprise; by now, I would imagine that my readers have inferred that I am “Neo-Progressive” in my doctrinal leanings. But whereas my personal beliefs are sometimes liberal to the point of heresy, I am very traditional when it comes to worship. Organs? The bigger the better! [no sexual innuendo applied here]. Music? If it’s composed after 1850, I am highly suspicious of its merit. I prefer a good, old-fashioned German chorale tune any day over more upbeat and contemporary melodies. Yes my friends, I am a liturgical traditionalist. Hundreds of years of tradition should not be set aside simply for a worship format that is more pertinent to contemporary society; rather, society should conform to worship. Here endeth the sermon.
Which is why you might be shocked to know that last night, at approximately 6:05 P.M. C.S.T., I was, for the first time in years, present at a Contemporary Service being held at our Seminary. No, I was not gagged, drugged, and beaten into submission. Nor was I duped into attending the service, nor was I in the chapel to escape unfavorable weather conditions. I attended the service freely, of my own accord and own free will.
My good friend had earlier asked me to attend. “Mere,” she said. “I’d like you to come to our contemporary service. I know you hate that kind of stuff, and you will probably hate the music...but please come anyway.” So out of love and support for the effort of my friends, I laid aside my misgivings and went to worship.
For the next 45 minutes, I sat in the back of the church, feeling like a “stranger in a strange land.” Whereas everyone else new the tunes to the Praise Songs, I sat more-or-less silent, trying to discern the harmonic movement. I have not felt that uncomfortable in worship since I visited the African-American Seventh Day Adventist Church last semester. Indeed, I was the proverbial, “fish out of water.”
Of course, it was then that I realized how important it is for all of us to periodically leave our comfort zones, how essential it is to our growth as human beings to participate in the unfamiliar, even participate in activities that, under normal circumstance, we would never do. I am reminded of a fabulous television program called “30 Days” which was on the FX channel this past summer and I hoped was renewed for another season. The show, which is the brain-child of director Morgan Spurlock (of Super-Size Me fame) places people in unfamiliar situations for 30 days and documents the struggle of their “old reality” versus their “new reality.” For instance, one episode centered around an Evangelical Christian living with a Muslim family; another followed the life of conservative heterosexual male living with a gay man in San Francisco. In both episodes, the person who was once intolerant became tolerant; each month began in discomfort and ended in comfort. The theme of the show was not for people to change who they fundamentally are but rather to learn to acknowledge and appreciate another person’s ideology by literally “walking in another person’s shoes.”
Yes, I dislike contemporary worship, but I appreciate it and realize that it is a legitimate way for the people of God to lift their hearts in praise to the Creator. Just as no one can possess all-encompassing theological truth, no can possess the only way to worship God. Many voices, many songs, many ways to offer our glory to God-- for this, I am eternally grateful.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Thursday Morning, 12:15 A.M.
Hopped up on caffeine, I sit here alone in the dining hall, anxiously awaiting divine intervention/inspiration for my Tillich paper, the rough draft of which is due tomorrow.
The Lady is in need of her Muse!
The Lady is in need of her Muse!
Sunday, March 26, 2006
All Hail to the Coffee Gods
If there is something I love more than [or at least as much as] beer, it's coffee. Fo' shizzle...
| You Are an Espresso |
 At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping (amen...those who know me know this to be true) Your caffeine addiction level: high |
Look, it's Barney!
I'm not as upset about this as you might think. Perhaps, my life is an homage to beer...
| You Are Barney |
 You could have been an intellectual leader... Instead, your whole life is an homage to beer You will be remembered for: your beautiful singing voice and your burps Your life philosophy: "There's nothing like beer to give you that inflated sense of self-esteem." |
Friday, March 24, 2006
Oh, the Overwhelming Irony!
Meredith Kemp Now with cognitive thought processes |
| 'What" will your business card say?' at QuizGalaxy.com |
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Forgive...As We Forgive
The hardest facet of my seminary education has not been deciphering the ramblings of German theologians, my feeble attempts at memorizing countless ancient church councils, or even performing basic exegetical work (which, at least for me, is always an exercise in futility). Though trying to succeed academically while perpetually discerning God’s call all while juggling various ordination requirements certainly is daunting, I would not say that these challenges are what constitute the hardest part of my seminary education.
The hardest part, my friends, is living in community with fellow seminarians.
Sometimes I wonder if, because most of us are incipient pastors, we expect ourselves to be constantly pious and holy, much like saints in religious iconography. Because we are called by God to preach the Word, we feel that we must always be perfect, that this Seminary community should always be a shiny, happy place, where "troubles melt like lemon-drops," and all can hold hands and sing Kum Ba Yah. In this fabled Seminary-land, the denizens should not swear, nor should they be crabby, or rude to their sisters and brothers in Christ, or have doubts, or be stressed, or gossip, or hurt other people’s feelings.
Of course, we are sometimes crabby, even hateful. We gossip. We have doubts and are stressed and sometimes feel unloved and excluded, perhaps even out of God’s grace and the grace of this community.
Therefore, I am hereby swearing to be more mindful of always participating in the “Circle of Grace.” I am [surprisingly] not always perfect; therefore, I must rely on the grace of my sisters and brothers to forgive me when I am not exactly living into the reality of the Kingdom of God. However—I must also extend this grace to others. As God has forgiven us, so shall we forgive others.
So—to all whom I may have hurt, let down, or wronged in any fashion, I humbly ask your forgiveness. I apologize for being petty, catty, and two-faced. During this season of Lent, I am in a phase of serious self-reflection and am attempting to discern the areas of my life that are spiritually lacking. I pray that we all may become more patient with ourselves and each other; this spiritual journey is not easy, and we need to support ourselves with the love and Grace we have been given by God.
Peace.
The hardest part, my friends, is living in community with fellow seminarians.
Sometimes I wonder if, because most of us are incipient pastors, we expect ourselves to be constantly pious and holy, much like saints in religious iconography. Because we are called by God to preach the Word, we feel that we must always be perfect, that this Seminary community should always be a shiny, happy place, where "troubles melt like lemon-drops," and all can hold hands and sing Kum Ba Yah. In this fabled Seminary-land, the denizens should not swear, nor should they be crabby, or rude to their sisters and brothers in Christ, or have doubts, or be stressed, or gossip, or hurt other people’s feelings.
Of course, we are sometimes crabby, even hateful. We gossip. We have doubts and are stressed and sometimes feel unloved and excluded, perhaps even out of God’s grace and the grace of this community.
Therefore, I am hereby swearing to be more mindful of always participating in the “Circle of Grace.” I am [surprisingly] not always perfect; therefore, I must rely on the grace of my sisters and brothers to forgive me when I am not exactly living into the reality of the Kingdom of God. However—I must also extend this grace to others. As God has forgiven us, so shall we forgive others.
So—to all whom I may have hurt, let down, or wronged in any fashion, I humbly ask your forgiveness. I apologize for being petty, catty, and two-faced. During this season of Lent, I am in a phase of serious self-reflection and am attempting to discern the areas of my life that are spiritually lacking. I pray that we all may become more patient with ourselves and each other; this spiritual journey is not easy, and we need to support ourselves with the love and Grace we have been given by God.
Peace.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Morning has broken
This morning, I woke up not only feeling rejuvenated from a restful nights sleep, but I feel resurrected, reformed, as if with the dawning of a new day, a new person has dawned as well.
Perhaps everything old has died away. Perhaps, from the bondage of the chrysalis, a butterfly is emerging. Or perhaps this feeling will be, at best, fleeting.
No matter. All one can do is revel in that which is present.
Blessings to all this Lord's Day.
Perhaps everything old has died away. Perhaps, from the bondage of the chrysalis, a butterfly is emerging. Or perhaps this feeling will be, at best, fleeting.
No matter. All one can do is revel in that which is present.
Blessings to all this Lord's Day.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
O Mother, Where Art Thou?
And there we were, three generations of Wucher women, sitting in a booth inside at the Crown & Anchor, my mother sandwiched between my grandmother and me. The “surreality” of the situation did not escape me—the Crown is my inner-sanctum, my cradle of life, my safety net. To have my mother, not to mention my grandmother, entreat on this sacred space was simultaneously fulfilling and uncomfortable, sorta like Vicky Vale visiting the Bat Cave.
We ordered the standard Crown fare—cheeseburgers all around—and I listened (well, half-listened) to my grandmother’s updates on various relatives, most of which I have never met. I feigned interest, grateful when Paps brought out our food, which, in addition to supplying my recommended daily allowance of grease and cheese, also provided a welcome distraction from the gut-wrenching awkwardness.
Such was my glorious Spring Break in the year of our Lord 2006. While many of my more affluent collegiate and post-collegiate brethren and sisteren (word?) of Austin traveled to various exotic locales, I found myself not at South Padre or the Rocky Mountains, but rather here in my seminary-subsidized housing, entertaining my mother and grandmother.
My mother, in a rare display of spontaneity, had called a week earlier to inform me that she would (most likely) brave the long trek from the flat, damn-near barren Texas Panhandle to the bustling, cosmopolitan hill-country oasis of Austin. To say I was dreading this visit would be untrue, as I have been somewhat homesick lately. The more shallow facets of my personality also knew that a visit from my mother, much like a visit from the Magi, would bring many gifts of untold value, mostly my mother’s possession of numerous credit cards.
So we enjoyed multiple days of shopping, of eating lunch with my grandmother, of catching up on news from school and news from back home. For once, I didn’t have to share attention with my younger brother; rather, this trip was (most of the time) “all about me.” I suppose that one of the perks of flying away from the nest is that when Mama and/or Papa Bird come to visit, you, the child, will most likely be showered with affection and gifts, be it the monetary or food variety. And trust me, I played the “poor grad student” card as frequently as possible, although this did not require much effort—my fridge contains coffee, a beer, and a few slices of American cheese.
There were times, especially because my mother was staying in my tiny seminary subsidized apartment, that the line between parent and child became somewhat blurred. My mother, naturally, wished to exert her maternal instincts whereas I, her oldest child, was desperate to prove that I could fend for myself in the oh-so-scary and overwhelming wide world yonder. And thus, she commented on my dirty carpet and subsequently vacuumed it. She made my bed every morning. She constantly loaded and unloaded my dishwasher. Though I accepted these actions with grace and gratitude, a fraction of my psyche felt as if my mother was commenting on my domestic abilities (which are, admittedly, lacking).
My mother loaded up her car and left yesterday morning. I miss her terribly. But I feel that I proved to both her and myself that I am a grown-up, one who is exploring the world of possiblities which lay outside her doorstep. I realized that somehow, between reading theology, writing papers, and learning the in's and out's of highways 183 and Mo-Pac, I have managed to create a life of my own, a life that is uniquely Meredith. I will always have a place for my family in this life, but it is MY life, founded upon my relationship with God, my relationships with my family and friends, and my continual exploration of the call to discipleship.
And there we were at the Crown...it was important for me to show my mother my new Life here in Austin and where else to take her but the Crown, the place where I have wiled away numerous hours discussing theology, love, sharing both joys and sorrows. Now she, too, is part of that chorus of voices echoing from the Crown, voices that form the chorus of my own life. I will spend my entire life composing a Song of Myself, integrating the voices of the past and present. I know that if I listen to voices, I will hear the reedy timbre of my mother's soprano, and know that she will always have a place in in life and a part in my song.
We ordered the standard Crown fare—cheeseburgers all around—and I listened (well, half-listened) to my grandmother’s updates on various relatives, most of which I have never met. I feigned interest, grateful when Paps brought out our food, which, in addition to supplying my recommended daily allowance of grease and cheese, also provided a welcome distraction from the gut-wrenching awkwardness.
Such was my glorious Spring Break in the year of our Lord 2006. While many of my more affluent collegiate and post-collegiate brethren and sisteren (word?) of Austin traveled to various exotic locales, I found myself not at South Padre or the Rocky Mountains, but rather here in my seminary-subsidized housing, entertaining my mother and grandmother.
My mother, in a rare display of spontaneity, had called a week earlier to inform me that she would (most likely) brave the long trek from the flat, damn-near barren Texas Panhandle to the bustling, cosmopolitan hill-country oasis of Austin. To say I was dreading this visit would be untrue, as I have been somewhat homesick lately. The more shallow facets of my personality also knew that a visit from my mother, much like a visit from the Magi, would bring many gifts of untold value, mostly my mother’s possession of numerous credit cards.
So we enjoyed multiple days of shopping, of eating lunch with my grandmother, of catching up on news from school and news from back home. For once, I didn’t have to share attention with my younger brother; rather, this trip was (most of the time) “all about me.” I suppose that one of the perks of flying away from the nest is that when Mama and/or Papa Bird come to visit, you, the child, will most likely be showered with affection and gifts, be it the monetary or food variety. And trust me, I played the “poor grad student” card as frequently as possible, although this did not require much effort—my fridge contains coffee, a beer, and a few slices of American cheese.
There were times, especially because my mother was staying in my tiny seminary subsidized apartment, that the line between parent and child became somewhat blurred. My mother, naturally, wished to exert her maternal instincts whereas I, her oldest child, was desperate to prove that I could fend for myself in the oh-so-scary and overwhelming wide world yonder. And thus, she commented on my dirty carpet and subsequently vacuumed it. She made my bed every morning. She constantly loaded and unloaded my dishwasher. Though I accepted these actions with grace and gratitude, a fraction of my psyche felt as if my mother was commenting on my domestic abilities (which are, admittedly, lacking).
My mother loaded up her car and left yesterday morning. I miss her terribly. But I feel that I proved to both her and myself that I am a grown-up, one who is exploring the world of possiblities which lay outside her doorstep. I realized that somehow, between reading theology, writing papers, and learning the in's and out's of highways 183 and Mo-Pac, I have managed to create a life of my own, a life that is uniquely Meredith. I will always have a place for my family in this life, but it is MY life, founded upon my relationship with God, my relationships with my family and friends, and my continual exploration of the call to discipleship.
And there we were at the Crown...it was important for me to show my mother my new Life here in Austin and where else to take her but the Crown, the place where I have wiled away numerous hours discussing theology, love, sharing both joys and sorrows. Now she, too, is part of that chorus of voices echoing from the Crown, voices that form the chorus of my own life. I will spend my entire life composing a Song of Myself, integrating the voices of the past and present. I know that if I listen to voices, I will hear the reedy timbre of my mother's soprano, and know that she will always have a place in in life and a part in my song.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Three Cheers for the Trinity!
Wednesday afternoon, I had an opportunity to attend a lecture concerning one of my favorite theological doctrines, the doctrine of the Trinity. Yes, my sisters and brothers, I am a Trinity "nerd," in part because I am a Cindy Rigby disciple and also because I feel that renewed understanding of the Trinity can and will revolutionize the church. [For all non-APTS readers: Cindy is one our kick-ass theology professors. I want to be Cindy when I grow up! I worship at the feet of Cindy! Oh, that I could touch the hem of her garment...ok, that's going a little to far. ]
Without going into a lengthy Trinitarian discourse, which you won't want to read and I am too lazy to write, I would like to give a brief "Shout Out" to my dear friend, the Trinity:
Have you noticed how all things Cool come in Three's?
* Three Amigos
* Three Dog Night
* Three's Company
* Three Stooges
* Three Caballeros
* Three Blind Mice
* [Goldilocks and the] Three Bears
* Three Billy Goats Gruff
* Three Musketeers, which has an added bonus of being my favorite manifestation of the candy bar
... and an infinite array of other examples...
Therefore, let be known throughout the land that the Trinity is not simply a character from the popular Matrix movie franchise (of where there are three movies...coincidence?) nor should meditation on the Trinity be consigned to one Sunday per year. Let us embrace and explore this doctrine..this "God in three Persons," "one ousia in three hypostases:" Blessed Trinity!
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Dreaming Innocence
More pictures!Here's a perfect example of what it means to remain in "dreaming innocence," for all you Tillich fans out there. This is a picture of me with my beloved cat, Patch, when I was six years old.
Sigh-- to be that young (and cute) again, to not carry the weight of the world. Sometimes, ignorance, is, in fact, bliss!
Chaotic Good Elf Bard Ranger
Ok, I don't know anything about D&D, but this quiz was scarily accurate...
***
I Am A: Chaotic Good Elf Bard Ranger
Alignment:
Chaotic Good characters are independent types with a strong belief in the value of goodness. They have little use for governments and other forces of order, and will generally do their own things, without heed to such groups.
Race:
Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.
Primary Class:
Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.
Secondary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.
Deity:
Hanali Cenanil is the Chaotic Good elven goddess of love, beauty, and art. She is also known as the Heart of Gold and Lady Goldheart. Her followers delight in creation and youth, and work to spread happiness, love, and beauty. Their preferred weapon is the dagger.
Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy of
NeppyMan (e-mail)
***
I Am A: Chaotic Good Elf Bard Ranger
Alignment:
Chaotic Good characters are independent types with a strong belief in the value of goodness. They have little use for governments and other forces of order, and will generally do their own things, without heed to such groups.
Race:
Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.
Primary Class:
Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.
Secondary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.
Deity:
Hanali Cenanil is the Chaotic Good elven goddess of love, beauty, and art. She is also known as the Heart of Gold and Lady Goldheart. Her followers delight in creation and youth, and work to spread happiness, love, and beauty. Their preferred weapon is the dagger.
Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy of
Saturday, March 04, 2006
My Little Corner of the World
The Paul Simon Lyric du jour:
"All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest."
-- from "The Boxer"
***
A beautiful evening here in the bustling metropolis of Austin, Texas. I have just returned to my humble abode after an evening of imbibing a few beers at our "home away from home," the Crown & Anchor Pub, and, while I was walking home, reveling in the glow of good conversation and equally good beers, I silently gave thanks that I have been lucky enough to live in the best part of Austin.
My last living situation was radically different. When I lived in West Texas, I shared a house with my best friend. Small town Texas is about as far removed from living in Austin as one can get. For example, I could go to the post office, pay my water bill, and stop by at the bank in the timespan of listening to "Stairway to Heaven." Trust me--I've done it and I know it to be true. At most of the businesses I frequented, the employees, and sometimes the owner, knew me by name. At Hil's burgers, this even granted me special privileges, such as extra onion rings or a discounted burger. When I was employed at the coffee shop, I knew all of my "regulars" and their stories became woven into my own life.
In Austin, none of the above could happen. Running errands takes abundantly more time, mostly due to traffic and crowds. A trek to the HEB can take as long as 45 minutes if you go during peak shopping hours. But although living in "big city" can have its frustrations, the excitement is unparalleled. Tonight at the bar, I people watched and enjoyed seeing the extreme diversity--everyone from hippies to frat boys and sorority girls to nerds to lesbians to seminarians.
As the saying goes in the real estate biz: "Location is everything." My location here in Austin, is, in fact, everything, as the Crown is literally across the street from my apartment. In Canyon, Texas where I was previously located, city ordinances prohibited the sale of alcohol within city limits. So, if one was to drink, one had to drive 20 minutes to Amarillo to purchase alcohol, which meant, ultimately, that spontaneous drinking was out of the question. I am not much of a planner [IMFP on the Myers-Briggs], you can understand how living in a dry town was maddening.
My little of the corner of the world is also conveniently located to a coffee shop, a hip Brazilian restaurant, other various and sundry eateries, the UT campus, and, obviously, the Seminary. I am finally beginning to take root and I know that here, I shall flourish. So without further discourse, I shall now go to bed with a thankful and content heart...Cheers!
"All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest."
-- from "The Boxer"
***
A beautiful evening here in the bustling metropolis of Austin, Texas. I have just returned to my humble abode after an evening of imbibing a few beers at our "home away from home," the Crown & Anchor Pub, and, while I was walking home, reveling in the glow of good conversation and equally good beers, I silently gave thanks that I have been lucky enough to live in the best part of Austin.
My last living situation was radically different. When I lived in West Texas, I shared a house with my best friend. Small town Texas is about as far removed from living in Austin as one can get. For example, I could go to the post office, pay my water bill, and stop by at the bank in the timespan of listening to "Stairway to Heaven." Trust me--I've done it and I know it to be true. At most of the businesses I frequented, the employees, and sometimes the owner, knew me by name. At Hil's burgers, this even granted me special privileges, such as extra onion rings or a discounted burger. When I was employed at the coffee shop, I knew all of my "regulars" and their stories became woven into my own life.
In Austin, none of the above could happen. Running errands takes abundantly more time, mostly due to traffic and crowds. A trek to the HEB can take as long as 45 minutes if you go during peak shopping hours. But although living in "big city" can have its frustrations, the excitement is unparalleled. Tonight at the bar, I people watched and enjoyed seeing the extreme diversity--everyone from hippies to frat boys and sorority girls to nerds to lesbians to seminarians.
As the saying goes in the real estate biz: "Location is everything." My location here in Austin, is, in fact, everything, as the Crown is literally across the street from my apartment. In Canyon, Texas where I was previously located, city ordinances prohibited the sale of alcohol within city limits. So, if one was to drink, one had to drive 20 minutes to Amarillo to purchase alcohol, which meant, ultimately, that spontaneous drinking was out of the question. I am not much of a planner [IMFP on the Myers-Briggs], you can understand how living in a dry town was maddening.
My little of the corner of the world is also conveniently located to a coffee shop, a hip Brazilian restaurant, other various and sundry eateries, the UT campus, and, obviously, the Seminary. I am finally beginning to take root and I know that here, I shall flourish. So without further discourse, I shall now go to bed with a thankful and content heart...Cheers!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Addendum
The Paul Simon lyric du jour:
"I was 21 years when I wrote this song,
I'm 22 now but I won't be for long,
Time hurries on
and the leaves that are green turn to brown."
-- from "Leaves that are Green"
I honor of this Lenten season, I decided to give up something sacred and precious to my being, something that has been the reason for my rising in the morning and solace on dark and lonesome nights.
O! Coffee! How I miss thee! You have to understand that coffee is one of my many vices, but unlike beer, I need coffee to wake up in the morning. I need coffee to kick start my neural network, to form the synapses critical to healthy mental functioning. If I could walk around all day with coffee in an IV, I probably would. Coffee is the sweet nectar of the gods, the heavenly ambrosia which I crave.
And this is part of the reason why my last post was so gloomy. Sorry... I'm really jonesing for a cuppa joe and its beginning to permeate my psyche. O Lord, grant me strength!
"I was 21 years when I wrote this song,
I'm 22 now but I won't be for long,
Time hurries on
and the leaves that are green turn to brown."
-- from "Leaves that are Green"
I honor of this Lenten season, I decided to give up something sacred and precious to my being, something that has been the reason for my rising in the morning and solace on dark and lonesome nights.
O! Coffee! How I miss thee! You have to understand that coffee is one of my many vices, but unlike beer, I need coffee to wake up in the morning. I need coffee to kick start my neural network, to form the synapses critical to healthy mental functioning. If I could walk around all day with coffee in an IV, I probably would. Coffee is the sweet nectar of the gods, the heavenly ambrosia which I crave.
And this is part of the reason why my last post was so gloomy. Sorry... I'm really jonesing for a cuppa joe and its beginning to permeate my psyche. O Lord, grant me strength!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
The Winter of my Discontent
A Lenten reflection from Henri Nouwen:
“The deep truth is that our human suffering need not be an obstacle to the joy and peace we so desire, but can become, instead, the means to it. The great secret of the spiritual life, the life of the Beloved Sons and Daughters of God, is that everything we live, be it gladness or sadness, joy or pain, health or illness, can all be part of the journey toward the full realization of our humanity. It is not hard to say to one another: ‘All that is good and beautiful leads us to the glory of the children of God.’ But it is very hard to say ‘But didn’t you know that we all have to suffer and thus enter into our glory?’ Nonetheless, real care means the willingness to help each other in making our brokenness into the gateway to joy.
***
Leonard Cohen once described love as a “cold and broken hallelujah.” For the past couple weeks, I, too, have felt cold and broken, uninspired, restless: such is the “winter of my discontent.” But I am strangely at peace with this phase of my life, for I know that life is cyclic and that joy and sorrow will ebb and flow until the Eschaton.
When I was reading today’s Lenten meditation from my Henri Nouwen Lenten devotional booklet, I found it providential [how Presbyterian!] that he is referring to the very brokenness that I am currently experiencing in my own life. Brokenness is not teleological. Our brokenness is a fundamental facet of our humanity. Therefore, we must embrace the good with the bad, the joy and the sorrow, the yin and the yang. We must also embrace each other and be mindful of each other’s struggles, always remembering that brokenness is often the beginning of joy, rather than the death of it.
“The deep truth is that our human suffering need not be an obstacle to the joy and peace we so desire, but can become, instead, the means to it. The great secret of the spiritual life, the life of the Beloved Sons and Daughters of God, is that everything we live, be it gladness or sadness, joy or pain, health or illness, can all be part of the journey toward the full realization of our humanity. It is not hard to say to one another: ‘All that is good and beautiful leads us to the glory of the children of God.’ But it is very hard to say ‘But didn’t you know that we all have to suffer and thus enter into our glory?’ Nonetheless, real care means the willingness to help each other in making our brokenness into the gateway to joy.
***
Leonard Cohen once described love as a “cold and broken hallelujah.” For the past couple weeks, I, too, have felt cold and broken, uninspired, restless: such is the “winter of my discontent.” But I am strangely at peace with this phase of my life, for I know that life is cyclic and that joy and sorrow will ebb and flow until the Eschaton.
When I was reading today’s Lenten meditation from my Henri Nouwen Lenten devotional booklet, I found it providential [how Presbyterian!] that he is referring to the very brokenness that I am currently experiencing in my own life. Brokenness is not teleological. Our brokenness is a fundamental facet of our humanity. Therefore, we must embrace the good with the bad, the joy and the sorrow, the yin and the yang. We must also embrace each other and be mindful of each other’s struggles, always remembering that brokenness is often the beginning of joy, rather than the death of it.
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