Wednesday, March 7, 2007
Thought For the Day
It's been a long Lent. It started at the end of September, lasted right through Advent, through the Christmas season until now. Am I ever waiting for Resurrection Day!
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
QUEEN FOR A DAY
April 27th will mark the one year anniversary of the death of my beloved sister. Since January of 2005, my two (and only) sisters have died and my son and his wife will have have divorced. I'm indulging myself again with a "Queen for A Day" story. Take that any way you like. Maybe I'll win the appliances and furniture this time. If you're young, you may not even know what I'm talking about. Google "Queen For A Day".
Truly, I feel like a battered woman - not physically battered, but emotionally battered. It's been too much in too short a time. I don't have time to heal from one blow before the next one is upon me. Somehow I think my slow recovery is related to my early home life with my alcoholic father, where my sisters and I were emotionally and verbally abused as a regular part of our days. There's a hurt inside that has never totally healed, and it resurfaces in times like this.
Don't think that I see myself as unique, or suffering worse than anyone else. Others have suffered and are still suffering far worse than I. I am quite sure of that. I don't think that I'm the female version of Job, whom God has singled out for suffering. All of us have periods in our childhood that were less than perfect, and all of us suffer losses throughout our lives.
Somehow, despite the long-running verbal abuse from my father, I grew up with a strong sense of self. I did not internalize the abuse, for I knew that there was something very wrong with my father, and that the abuse was not because of anything I did, or because of anything inherently wrong with me. I remember when I was around 11 years old, thinking to myself, that my father could control my actions, and he could pile on the verbal and emotional abuse, but he could not control my thoughts. I have often wondered at this declaration of my independence - at least in my thoughts - and I have searched for influences that helped me to take this step.
My mother was emotionally absent, probably because she was overwhelmed by her disastrous marriage to an alcoholic and by the burden of a husband who worked only sporadically and changed jobs frequently, with the result that her low-paying clerical job was the steadiest source of income for my family. Of course, her low wage was not enough, and we were kept afloat with support from my mother's extended family, my grandparents, and my aunt. My mother loved us and worked hard to supply our physical needs, but we weren't close. Emotionally, she wasn't present for us, because her life was too hard. My middle sister and I wondered often why she didn't separate from our father and take us out of our miserable situation.
My grandmother, Mémère, was certainly a strong influence in my life. She was a strong woman, the hen who ruled the henhouse and the rooster. My grandfather, Didi, was sweet and loving and let her have her way. Occasionally, the sainted man would have an outburst of anger, filled with drama, that we didn't soon forget. One day, my younger sister and my cousin were fighting over a doll carriage. He really hated children fighting, and he said, "Give me that G*d damned carriage!" He took hold of the carriage and flung it high into the air far away in the distance from both of them. That ended the fight. I can't even remember if the carriage survived.
Mémère exercised her strength within the extended family, and her advice and interference - for that's what it often was - was not always welcomed by her children and sons- and daughters-in-law, and on more than one occasion, was not exercised wisely.
She was quite devout and would have liked all seven of her children to become nuns and priests. Alas, not one followed her plan. Four of the seven divorced their original spouses, and all of them made bad choices in their marriages. She had one son and three sons-in-law who were alcoholics. The family would have done Tennessee Williams proud as characters in one of his plays. I've wondered why my grandmother didn't choose the nunnery for herself, instead of getting married.
However, she loved me unconditionally. I was one of her favorites, and she was rather open about her favorites among her grandchildren, which did not help the little egos of those who were not favored. She was good to all of us, but you knew whom she liked best.
Another influence for the good was my Roman Catholic schooling. Although a bit of nonsense was doled out to us, on the whole we were well-taught, and the faith was planted early in my young soul. The school brought a sense of order into my life which was missing from my chaotic life at home.
My sisters did not make the same transition to independent thinking that I did. My middle sister married at 18 to a good man - or boy, I should say - for he was 19. She was a subservient wife for many years to her mostly benign patriarch of a husband. On occasion, I could glimpse his manipulative ways, but I held my tongue. I can say that he would not have fooled me for one minute.
Rather late in their marriage, she wanted a divorce, and they separated for two years but decided to get back together. My sister returned to the marriage a new person, her own woman, and I don't think that my brother-in-law ever got over the shock. In his favor, he loved her dearly, and took excellent care of her in her final illness, and sorely misses her since she's gone.
My younger sister took the path of replaying our early lives by marrying a much older man who was - guess what? - an alcoholic. She put herself and her children through a life similar in trauma to ours, but perhaps worse, because she lived away from us and did not have the benefit of extended family. I could not understand how she could live that awful life over again, but I gather that it's not uncommon for children of alcoholics to marry alcoholics. One time around was surely enough for me.
She died estranged from us. She was in and out of our lives periodically, and we did not know she was sick until two days before she died. We never saw her alive again, because she died before we could get to her. She died of untreated breast cancer - untreated by her own choice.
Along with present family difficulties, I face each day the catastrophic results of the appalling actions of the Bush administration throughout the world, these actions done in my name. In addition, my church looks to be self-destructing before my eyes.
However, through the trials then and now, I seem to be able to hang on to at least a slender thread of hope that things will get better. It's my faith that brought me thus far, and faith that will carry me the rest of the way. That is the truth of it.
I pray that this time of testing will lead me to be more compassionate to others who are suffering. I find it truly impossible to understand how with all the unpleasantness that comes our way in the normal course of human life that we choose to inflict unnecessary suffering on each other. I live in hope that we will see better days within my family, within my family in Christ, and within the family of my fellow citizens in my country.
Can you believe that I sometimes have the temerity to post a comment on Tobias Haller's erudite web site, In A Godward Direction? There sit my simple-minded comments among the comments of the learned theologians and Scripture scholars. Tobias, gentleman that he is, is unfailingly kind and welcoming.
For all his learning, or perhaps because of his learning, Tobias's sermons, which you can find here, are quite wonderful and accessible.
Here is an excerpt from his sermon on hope from last Sunday:
We too live between the two Jerusalems, the spoiled and unpromising Jerusalem of much of our daily life, and the hopeful joy of the Jerusalem in which the Lord’s table is set, and in which our true citizenship lies, a citizenship shared with the multitudes who gather for the banquet. May we, as our Lenten pilgrimage continues, learn to see the promise and the sharing and the hope, even when things seem unpromising, when people prove selfish, and hope seems impractical.
UPDATE: My nephew and his wife have a beautiful new baby girl. New life breaks through to bring us joy. Thanks be to God. May the Lord pour out abundant blessings upon them.
Truly, I feel like a battered woman - not physically battered, but emotionally battered. It's been too much in too short a time. I don't have time to heal from one blow before the next one is upon me. Somehow I think my slow recovery is related to my early home life with my alcoholic father, where my sisters and I were emotionally and verbally abused as a regular part of our days. There's a hurt inside that has never totally healed, and it resurfaces in times like this.
Don't think that I see myself as unique, or suffering worse than anyone else. Others have suffered and are still suffering far worse than I. I am quite sure of that. I don't think that I'm the female version of Job, whom God has singled out for suffering. All of us have periods in our childhood that were less than perfect, and all of us suffer losses throughout our lives.
Somehow, despite the long-running verbal abuse from my father, I grew up with a strong sense of self. I did not internalize the abuse, for I knew that there was something very wrong with my father, and that the abuse was not because of anything I did, or because of anything inherently wrong with me. I remember when I was around 11 years old, thinking to myself, that my father could control my actions, and he could pile on the verbal and emotional abuse, but he could not control my thoughts. I have often wondered at this declaration of my independence - at least in my thoughts - and I have searched for influences that helped me to take this step.
My mother was emotionally absent, probably because she was overwhelmed by her disastrous marriage to an alcoholic and by the burden of a husband who worked only sporadically and changed jobs frequently, with the result that her low-paying clerical job was the steadiest source of income for my family. Of course, her low wage was not enough, and we were kept afloat with support from my mother's extended family, my grandparents, and my aunt. My mother loved us and worked hard to supply our physical needs, but we weren't close. Emotionally, she wasn't present for us, because her life was too hard. My middle sister and I wondered often why she didn't separate from our father and take us out of our miserable situation.
My grandmother, Mémère, was certainly a strong influence in my life. She was a strong woman, the hen who ruled the henhouse and the rooster. My grandfather, Didi, was sweet and loving and let her have her way. Occasionally, the sainted man would have an outburst of anger, filled with drama, that we didn't soon forget. One day, my younger sister and my cousin were fighting over a doll carriage. He really hated children fighting, and he said, "Give me that G*d damned carriage!" He took hold of the carriage and flung it high into the air far away in the distance from both of them. That ended the fight. I can't even remember if the carriage survived.
Mémère exercised her strength within the extended family, and her advice and interference - for that's what it often was - was not always welcomed by her children and sons- and daughters-in-law, and on more than one occasion, was not exercised wisely.
She was quite devout and would have liked all seven of her children to become nuns and priests. Alas, not one followed her plan. Four of the seven divorced their original spouses, and all of them made bad choices in their marriages. She had one son and three sons-in-law who were alcoholics. The family would have done Tennessee Williams proud as characters in one of his plays. I've wondered why my grandmother didn't choose the nunnery for herself, instead of getting married.
However, she loved me unconditionally. I was one of her favorites, and she was rather open about her favorites among her grandchildren, which did not help the little egos of those who were not favored. She was good to all of us, but you knew whom she liked best.
Another influence for the good was my Roman Catholic schooling. Although a bit of nonsense was doled out to us, on the whole we were well-taught, and the faith was planted early in my young soul. The school brought a sense of order into my life which was missing from my chaotic life at home.
My sisters did not make the same transition to independent thinking that I did. My middle sister married at 18 to a good man - or boy, I should say - for he was 19. She was a subservient wife for many years to her mostly benign patriarch of a husband. On occasion, I could glimpse his manipulative ways, but I held my tongue. I can say that he would not have fooled me for one minute.
Rather late in their marriage, she wanted a divorce, and they separated for two years but decided to get back together. My sister returned to the marriage a new person, her own woman, and I don't think that my brother-in-law ever got over the shock. In his favor, he loved her dearly, and took excellent care of her in her final illness, and sorely misses her since she's gone.
My younger sister took the path of replaying our early lives by marrying a much older man who was - guess what? - an alcoholic. She put herself and her children through a life similar in trauma to ours, but perhaps worse, because she lived away from us and did not have the benefit of extended family. I could not understand how she could live that awful life over again, but I gather that it's not uncommon for children of alcoholics to marry alcoholics. One time around was surely enough for me.
She died estranged from us. She was in and out of our lives periodically, and we did not know she was sick until two days before she died. We never saw her alive again, because she died before we could get to her. She died of untreated breast cancer - untreated by her own choice.
Along with present family difficulties, I face each day the catastrophic results of the appalling actions of the Bush administration throughout the world, these actions done in my name. In addition, my church looks to be self-destructing before my eyes.
However, through the trials then and now, I seem to be able to hang on to at least a slender thread of hope that things will get better. It's my faith that brought me thus far, and faith that will carry me the rest of the way. That is the truth of it.
I pray that this time of testing will lead me to be more compassionate to others who are suffering. I find it truly impossible to understand how with all the unpleasantness that comes our way in the normal course of human life that we choose to inflict unnecessary suffering on each other. I live in hope that we will see better days within my family, within my family in Christ, and within the family of my fellow citizens in my country.
Can you believe that I sometimes have the temerity to post a comment on Tobias Haller's erudite web site, In A Godward Direction? There sit my simple-minded comments among the comments of the learned theologians and Scripture scholars. Tobias, gentleman that he is, is unfailingly kind and welcoming.
For all his learning, or perhaps because of his learning, Tobias's sermons, which you can find here, are quite wonderful and accessible.
Here is an excerpt from his sermon on hope from last Sunday:
We too live between the two Jerusalems, the spoiled and unpromising Jerusalem of much of our daily life, and the hopeful joy of the Jerusalem in which the Lord’s table is set, and in which our true citizenship lies, a citizenship shared with the multitudes who gather for the banquet. May we, as our Lenten pilgrimage continues, learn to see the promise and the sharing and the hope, even when things seem unpromising, when people prove selfish, and hope seems impractical.
UPDATE: My nephew and his wife have a beautiful new baby girl. New life breaks through to bring us joy. Thanks be to God. May the Lord pour out abundant blessings upon them.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Back To The Diocese Of Wenchoster
My readers, it's time for another visit to the Diocese of Wenchoster to increase our store of knowledge. It appears that new features have been added. Or could it be that I did not plumb the depths last time I visited?
Today we'll explore the Let Grindle Search feature. Ezekial Grindle is the verger of The Cathedral Church of St. Ennodius & St. Veronica. His wife, Mrs Jezebel Grindle, contributes to her husband's FAQs and is a virtual mine of information that I could have used in my time of inept service on the Altar Guild. A click of the mouse will take you to Mrs Grindle's Stain Removal Tips, where you can find advice on removing stains from fabrics, such as her recommendation for the removal of oil-based paint:
Ezekiel's father used to say that these sort of stains should be treated immediately with diluted horse urine though that isn't as common as it used to be so I use bleach not that it's very kind to the hands so I wear thick rubber gloves and use a sponge.
Have you ever wondered about the use of the little spoon that you might have caught a glimpse of on the credence table? Wonder no more. In the section on Grindle's description of the liturgical vessels and their use, I found this:
SPOON: made of gold or silver and kept on the credence shelf for use by the Celebrant, if necessary, in removing impurities from the Chalice. Few cathedral clergy use this implement, many preferring the less ostentatious deft flick with the finger to remove flies, bat or mouse droppings, or wafer fragments that return from a communicant's lips to the wine. A ladle from the Refectory should not be used under any circumstances.
Moving along in the search, I found Grindle's explanations of the use and significance of liturgical colors throughout the church year, such as this one for the color pink:
Rose Pink is used as an alternative for the 4th Sunday in Lent which in the Church of England is Mothering Sunday otherwise known as Laetare Sunday) and for the 3rd Sunday in Advent which to give it its proper title is Gaudete Sunday and Mrs. Grindle always says how nice the clergy look in pink and how she wants to give them all a great big hug.
The site is an endless source of interesting and useful information, which I will likely return to and one that you might want to have at look at yourselves. I can't think how long it would take to go through the whole of it to find the hidden treasures.
Today we'll explore the Let Grindle Search feature. Ezekial Grindle is the verger of The Cathedral Church of St. Ennodius & St. Veronica. His wife, Mrs Jezebel Grindle, contributes to her husband's FAQs and is a virtual mine of information that I could have used in my time of inept service on the Altar Guild. A click of the mouse will take you to Mrs Grindle's Stain Removal Tips, where you can find advice on removing stains from fabrics, such as her recommendation for the removal of oil-based paint:
Ezekiel's father used to say that these sort of stains should be treated immediately with diluted horse urine though that isn't as common as it used to be so I use bleach not that it's very kind to the hands so I wear thick rubber gloves and use a sponge.
Have you ever wondered about the use of the little spoon that you might have caught a glimpse of on the credence table? Wonder no more. In the section on Grindle's description of the liturgical vessels and their use, I found this:
SPOON: made of gold or silver and kept on the credence shelf for use by the Celebrant, if necessary, in removing impurities from the Chalice. Few cathedral clergy use this implement, many preferring the less ostentatious deft flick with the finger to remove flies, bat or mouse droppings, or wafer fragments that return from a communicant's lips to the wine. A ladle from the Refectory should not be used under any circumstances.
Moving along in the search, I found Grindle's explanations of the use and significance of liturgical colors throughout the church year, such as this one for the color pink:
Rose Pink is used as an alternative for the 4th Sunday in Lent which in the Church of England is Mothering Sunday otherwise known as Laetare Sunday) and for the 3rd Sunday in Advent which to give it its proper title is Gaudete Sunday and Mrs. Grindle always says how nice the clergy look in pink and how she wants to give them all a great big hug.
The site is an endless source of interesting and useful information, which I will likely return to and one that you might want to have at look at yourselves. I can't think how long it would take to go through the whole of it to find the hidden treasures.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
The Cycle Of Violence
The cycle of violence continues in Iraq. Here's a follow-up story to the Baghdad Blogger, Riverbend 's last post on the rape of Sabrine, a young Iraqi woman, and the response by Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki in the aftermath.
The Associated Press reports in the Houston Chronicle :
BAGHDAD, Iraq — The bodies of 14 policemen were found Friday northeast of Baghdad after an al-Qaida-affilated Sunni group said it abducted members of a government security force in retaliation for the rape of a Sunni woman by members of the Shiite-dominated police.
....
Earlier Friday, the Islamic State of Iraq said in a Web statement that it seized 18 Interior Ministry employees in Diyala in retaliation for "the crimes carried out ... against the Sunnis," including the alleged rape last month of a Sunni woman by policemen in Baghdad.
In a second statement, the group announced that its "court" had ordered the "execution" of the men and that a video depicting their deaths would be posted later, according to the SITE Institute, which monitors extremist Web sites.
The cycle of violence goes round and round. When will it end?
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
The Associated Press reports in the Houston Chronicle :
BAGHDAD, Iraq — The bodies of 14 policemen were found Friday northeast of Baghdad after an al-Qaida-affilated Sunni group said it abducted members of a government security force in retaliation for the rape of a Sunni woman by members of the Shiite-dominated police.
....
Earlier Friday, the Islamic State of Iraq said in a Web statement that it seized 18 Interior Ministry employees in Diyala in retaliation for "the crimes carried out ... against the Sunnis," including the alleged rape last month of a Sunni woman by policemen in Baghdad.
In a second statement, the group announced that its "court" had ordered the "execution" of the men and that a video depicting their deaths would be posted later, according to the SITE Institute, which monitors extremist Web sites.
The cycle of violence goes round and round. When will it end?
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
On Cleaning Other People's Houses
Yesterday, I picked up my grandchildren at school and stayed with them until their father came home. Their house is always a mess, at least according to my standards. My son calls me Mrs. Clean.
He was messy when he lived at home, except when he was smaller than I was, and I could frighten him into obedience about cleaning his room. My daughter's room was a pig sty also, worse than his, really, but she has turned out to be a good housekeeper. Despite having three boys, her house is generally in pretty good shape.
Since his wife left, my son talks a lot about cleaning house, but he never seems to quite get to it. He's had someone come in to clean several times, but it's not a regular thing. I suspect it's partially because he has to pick up before they come. I know of no one who would go in to clean his house, without having things picked up first.
I'll hasten to add that when his wife was there, the house was just as bad. At least he does better with the clothes. While she was there, I'd sometimes find such a large pile of clean clothes on the floor in the living room, that it could have amounted to five washer loads. What a daunting task having to face folding that many loads of clothes at one time. Sometimes I'd fold them while waiting for someone to come home. I couldn't put them away, because I didn't know where they went.
When I arrived at his house yesterday, there was the vacuum cleaner sitting in the middle of the living room. I looked around, and the floor didn't look too clean to me, so I assumed the vacuuming had not yet been done, and I proceeded to do it. Although for my advanced age, I'm still in pretty good shape, vacuuming is something that's hard for me to do. I have a back problem that vacuuming seems to aggravate.
When that chore was done, I looked around the kitchen floor, which is made of brick. That floor didn't look too clean, either. The vacuum doesn't work well on the brick floor, so I decided to sweep. After finishing that, I looked around and felt better about things in those two rooms, expecially after wiping off the tables in the kitchen and living room.
There was a pile of dishes in the sink, but I could not tell if the dishes in the dishwasher had been washed or not, so I let them be.
My son's room was not too bad. He had even made his bed! The children's rooms were a mess, as were the bathrooms. I picked up some towels and washcloths and put them in the washer, and then I decided to quit.
The children wanted popcorn, so I made popcorn. They're allowed to eat all over the house, which my children were not allowed to do, and soon I could see popcorn crumbs around - even in the living room which I had just vacuumed.
I'm sure that you are all spellbound by my house cleaning tale, but what I'm doing here is indulging in a bit of "murmuring". You know, that "murmuring" which caused the Lord God to become angry with the Israelites as they wandered in the desert. Please do not tell the Lord God about my "murmuring", just in case he might not have heard me.
When I clean other people's house, I feel somewhat like a wanderer in the desert.
I forced myself to take part of my regular walk when I got home, and by the time I reached my house after the walk, I was staggering.
Thus endeth the murmuring.
He was messy when he lived at home, except when he was smaller than I was, and I could frighten him into obedience about cleaning his room. My daughter's room was a pig sty also, worse than his, really, but she has turned out to be a good housekeeper. Despite having three boys, her house is generally in pretty good shape.
Since his wife left, my son talks a lot about cleaning house, but he never seems to quite get to it. He's had someone come in to clean several times, but it's not a regular thing. I suspect it's partially because he has to pick up before they come. I know of no one who would go in to clean his house, without having things picked up first.
I'll hasten to add that when his wife was there, the house was just as bad. At least he does better with the clothes. While she was there, I'd sometimes find such a large pile of clean clothes on the floor in the living room, that it could have amounted to five washer loads. What a daunting task having to face folding that many loads of clothes at one time. Sometimes I'd fold them while waiting for someone to come home. I couldn't put them away, because I didn't know where they went.
When I arrived at his house yesterday, there was the vacuum cleaner sitting in the middle of the living room. I looked around, and the floor didn't look too clean to me, so I assumed the vacuuming had not yet been done, and I proceeded to do it. Although for my advanced age, I'm still in pretty good shape, vacuuming is something that's hard for me to do. I have a back problem that vacuuming seems to aggravate.
When that chore was done, I looked around the kitchen floor, which is made of brick. That floor didn't look too clean, either. The vacuum doesn't work well on the brick floor, so I decided to sweep. After finishing that, I looked around and felt better about things in those two rooms, expecially after wiping off the tables in the kitchen and living room.
There was a pile of dishes in the sink, but I could not tell if the dishes in the dishwasher had been washed or not, so I let them be.
My son's room was not too bad. He had even made his bed! The children's rooms were a mess, as were the bathrooms. I picked up some towels and washcloths and put them in the washer, and then I decided to quit.
The children wanted popcorn, so I made popcorn. They're allowed to eat all over the house, which my children were not allowed to do, and soon I could see popcorn crumbs around - even in the living room which I had just vacuumed.
I'm sure that you are all spellbound by my house cleaning tale, but what I'm doing here is indulging in a bit of "murmuring". You know, that "murmuring" which caused the Lord God to become angry with the Israelites as they wandered in the desert. Please do not tell the Lord God about my "murmuring", just in case he might not have heard me.
When I clean other people's house, I feel somewhat like a wanderer in the desert.
I forced myself to take part of my regular walk when I got home, and by the time I reached my house after the walk, I was staggering.
Thus endeth the murmuring.
John and Charles Wesley Feast Day
Today is the feast day of the Wesley brothers, John and Charles. John was best known for his preaching and Charles for his hymns, many of which we still sing today. Both served in the Church of England, and neither intended to found a new denomination. The separation to Methodism occurred after their deaths.
The brothers attended Oxford University and received an education in the classics. John was later named a fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford. I have visited John Wesley's study, which is preserved at Lincoln.
I love this story that James Kiefer tells at The Lectionary web site about an incident in John Wesley's life:
But, although Wesley found it natural to approach the Gospel with habits of thought formed by a classical education, he was quick to recognize the value of other approaches. The early Methodist meetings were often led by lay preachers with very limited education. On one occasion, such a preacher took as his text Luke 19:21, "Lord, I feared thee, because thou art an austere man." Not knowing the word "austere," he thought that the text spoke of "an oyster man." He spoke about the work of those who retrieve oysters from the sea-bed. The diver plunges down from the surface, cut off from his natural environment, into bone-chilling water. He gropes in the dark, cutting his hands on the sharp edges of the shells. Now he has the oyster, and kicks back up to the surface, up to the warmth and light and air, clutching in his torn and bleeding hands the object of his search. So Christ descended from the glory of heaven into the squalor of earth, into sinful human society, in order to retrieve humans and bring them back up with Him to the glory of heaven, His torn and bleeding hands a sign of the value He has placed on the object of His quest. Twelve men were converted that evening. Afterwards, someone complained to Wesley about the inappropriateness of allowing preachers who were too ignorant to know the meaning of the texts they were preaching on. Wesley, simply said, "Never mind, the Lord got a dozen oysters tonight."
Charles was the better hymn-writer of the two. He wrote over 6000 hymns, including about 600 for the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.
Here's a verse from one of his most popular hymns:
Oh for a thousand tongues to sing
my great Redeemer's praise,
the glories of my God and King,
the triumphs of his grace!
The preface for the feast day:
Lord God, who inspired your servants John and Charles Wesley with burning zeal for the sanctification of souls, and endowed them with eloquence in speech and song: Kindle in your Church, we entreat you, such fervor, that those whose faith has cooled may be warmed, and those who have not known Christ may turn to him and be saved; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
The brothers attended Oxford University and received an education in the classics. John was later named a fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford. I have visited John Wesley's study, which is preserved at Lincoln.
I love this story that James Kiefer tells at The Lectionary web site about an incident in John Wesley's life:
But, although Wesley found it natural to approach the Gospel with habits of thought formed by a classical education, he was quick to recognize the value of other approaches. The early Methodist meetings were often led by lay preachers with very limited education. On one occasion, such a preacher took as his text Luke 19:21, "Lord, I feared thee, because thou art an austere man." Not knowing the word "austere," he thought that the text spoke of "an oyster man." He spoke about the work of those who retrieve oysters from the sea-bed. The diver plunges down from the surface, cut off from his natural environment, into bone-chilling water. He gropes in the dark, cutting his hands on the sharp edges of the shells. Now he has the oyster, and kicks back up to the surface, up to the warmth and light and air, clutching in his torn and bleeding hands the object of his search. So Christ descended from the glory of heaven into the squalor of earth, into sinful human society, in order to retrieve humans and bring them back up with Him to the glory of heaven, His torn and bleeding hands a sign of the value He has placed on the object of His quest. Twelve men were converted that evening. Afterwards, someone complained to Wesley about the inappropriateness of allowing preachers who were too ignorant to know the meaning of the texts they were preaching on. Wesley, simply said, "Never mind, the Lord got a dozen oysters tonight."
Charles was the better hymn-writer of the two. He wrote over 6000 hymns, including about 600 for the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper.
Here's a verse from one of his most popular hymns:
Oh for a thousand tongues to sing
my great Redeemer's praise,
the glories of my God and King,
the triumphs of his grace!
The preface for the feast day:
Lord God, who inspired your servants John and Charles Wesley with burning zeal for the sanctification of souls, and endowed them with eloquence in speech and song: Kindle in your Church, we entreat you, such fervor, that those whose faith has cooled may be warmed, and those who have not known Christ may turn to him and be saved; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Alpha Series
After Evensong last night, we had our first Alpha meeting. We're using the "Alpha Express", which, I presume, is the shorter version The course is pretty basic but not scary. Nicky Gumbel talked about how he used to be before he was a Christian, that he wanted to prove that God didn't exist. He talked about the emptiness inside that only God can fill. I don't know that everyone experiences the emptiness. I have had non-believing folks tell me that they don't have that emptiness. However, if you're attending the course, then you must be seeking something in your life. Unless you're like me, and going to see what it's all about.
He talked about the head - heart thing, that faith is not purely working it out intellectually, that It must be experiential also, and I do agree with that. There was no talk of hellfire or punishment, and I can see how it might work for some who have very little knowledge of the faith.
At the end was the, "Jesus, come into my heart," prayer, without the altar call. Gumbel's manner was much gentler and less pressuring than the pushy style of the Billy Graham and TV evangelist types. It was more, "If you'd like to do this...."
In the discussion afterward, we talked about how some evangelists teach that once you've said the prayer, it's all done, except for the, "Come to my church and give me money," part, when it's really a journey.
I have tried to go with an open mind and heart, but so far, the series seems so very much for beginners in the faith. Not that I'm a scholar, or that I know it all, but I've been doing this faith thing for a while, and I was hoping for something a bit more challenging.
He talked about the head - heart thing, that faith is not purely working it out intellectually, that It must be experiential also, and I do agree with that. There was no talk of hellfire or punishment, and I can see how it might work for some who have very little knowledge of the faith.
At the end was the, "Jesus, come into my heart," prayer, without the altar call. Gumbel's manner was much gentler and less pressuring than the pushy style of the Billy Graham and TV evangelist types. It was more, "If you'd like to do this...."
In the discussion afterward, we talked about how some evangelists teach that once you've said the prayer, it's all done, except for the, "Come to my church and give me money," part, when it's really a journey.
I have tried to go with an open mind and heart, but so far, the series seems so very much for beginners in the faith. Not that I'm a scholar, or that I know it all, but I've been doing this faith thing for a while, and I was hoping for something a bit more challenging.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
The Grace of God
Last night my husband took me to a dinner meeting of a group which was organized to draw attention to the need to restore the Louisiana coastline and offer ideas to the powers-to-be. It's a fine organization with excellent goals, but I'm near to the end of my tolerance for dinner-speech affairs.
The main speaker was to have been a popular radio personality, but he became ill and was unable to attend. His appearance was the only appeal for me about the whole affair, and he wasn't there. The other speakers were members of the group, a politician, and the man who replaced the main speaker. My prayer as each one got up to the microphone was, "Lord, let this be a short."
Near the end, an old guy who was one of the founders of the group, was given an award. He gave a short speech after he received his award, and mentioned that if hurricane Katrina had made landfall a little to the west, our area would have borne the brunt of the storm. He said, "It was the grace of God," and many were nodding in approval. I'm thinking, "What! The grace of God protected us rather than New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast?" I looked over at my husband, and he was nodding in agreement too. I said to him, "So the grace of God protects us, but not New Orleans. God smiles on us and frowns on New Orleans and Mississippi. That is stupid." My husband looked at me as though I was the crazy one. It was amazing to see how easily crowd mentality can sweep over a group of people. I admit that by then I'd listened to a few too many speeches and was in critical mode, waiting to pounce.
At the end of his speech, he said loudly, "Stay the course! Stay the course! Stay the course!"
What do you want to bet that the guy is a Bush diehard supporter even today?
The main speaker was to have been a popular radio personality, but he became ill and was unable to attend. His appearance was the only appeal for me about the whole affair, and he wasn't there. The other speakers were members of the group, a politician, and the man who replaced the main speaker. My prayer as each one got up to the microphone was, "Lord, let this be a short."
Near the end, an old guy who was one of the founders of the group, was given an award. He gave a short speech after he received his award, and mentioned that if hurricane Katrina had made landfall a little to the west, our area would have borne the brunt of the storm. He said, "It was the grace of God," and many were nodding in approval. I'm thinking, "What! The grace of God protected us rather than New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast?" I looked over at my husband, and he was nodding in agreement too. I said to him, "So the grace of God protects us, but not New Orleans. God smiles on us and frowns on New Orleans and Mississippi. That is stupid." My husband looked at me as though I was the crazy one. It was amazing to see how easily crowd mentality can sweep over a group of people. I admit that by then I'd listened to a few too many speeches and was in critical mode, waiting to pounce.
At the end of his speech, he said loudly, "Stay the course! Stay the course! Stay the course!"
What do you want to bet that the guy is a Bush diehard supporter even today?
People's Rebuke for Bush's Photo-op in NOLA
Copied verbatim from Scout Prime at First Draft:
People's Rebuke for Bush's Photo Op in NOLA today
Bush will be in New Orleans today. A Rebuke of Bush is planned at 2pm. Via Humid City is the statement of rebuke from Katrina Survivors....
JOIN THE KATRINA SURVIVORS’ REBUKE OF PRESIDENT BUSH
2:00 PM THURSDAY MARCH 1
SAMUEL GREEN SCHOOL
2319 VALENCE ST.
(Near Freret and Napoleon)
NEW ORLEANS
New Orleans Needs Federal Aid, Not Presidential Photo-Ops.
Mr. President: Katrina Survivors Do Not Welcome You, We Rebuke You!
We live in a devastated city and you are a big part of the reason why it sill sits in ruins. Your administration has abandoned our children by savaging their public schools. Your administration has tortured our working class people by refusing to reopen the city’s public housing developments. And your administration is fully complicit in placing our uninsured in harms way by ruthlessly pursuing the privatization of local public healthcare in the aftermath of Katrina. And, finally your administration is guilty of sending our sons and daughters of to war for oil and empire just when we need them most to help us rebuild our community.
Mr. President, we, Katrina Survivors all, do not welcome you to our city, we rebuke you!
Sponsored by Survivors Village, United Front For Affordable Housing.
If you have a blog please consider posting this today.
UPDATE: From the New Orleans Times-Picayune:
After lunch, the president arrived at Samuel J. Green Charter School in Uptown, a block away from a group of fewer than 100 protesters waiving anti-Bush signs. At the school, he visited a fifth-grade math class and a third-grade science class. Bush complimented students on their "sharp-looking uniforms," navy polo shirts and trousers, and posed for pictures with students.
That's disappointing.
On the other hand, New Orleanians are turning out en masse to sue the US Corps of Engineers.
Submitting a claim for a staggering $77 billion, the city of New Orleans joined tens of thousands of would-be plaintiffs who rushed to beat a Thursday deadline to alert the Army Corps of Engineers that they may sue for losses resulting from the levee breaches after Hurricane Katrina.
....
By the time of the morning commute, cars already had clogged the two-lane River Road and miles of connecting arteries. The miles-long traffic jam got so thick that the federal agency established satellite pick-up points on Carrollton Avenue and Magazine Street.
It was the faulty levees, you see, THE LEVEES, that caused the flood in the aftermath of the hurricane.
People's Rebuke for Bush's Photo Op in NOLA today
Bush will be in New Orleans today. A Rebuke of Bush is planned at 2pm. Via Humid City is the statement of rebuke from Katrina Survivors....
JOIN THE KATRINA SURVIVORS’ REBUKE OF PRESIDENT BUSH
2:00 PM THURSDAY MARCH 1
SAMUEL GREEN SCHOOL
2319 VALENCE ST.
(Near Freret and Napoleon)
NEW ORLEANS
New Orleans Needs Federal Aid, Not Presidential Photo-Ops.
Mr. President: Katrina Survivors Do Not Welcome You, We Rebuke You!
We live in a devastated city and you are a big part of the reason why it sill sits in ruins. Your administration has abandoned our children by savaging their public schools. Your administration has tortured our working class people by refusing to reopen the city’s public housing developments. And your administration is fully complicit in placing our uninsured in harms way by ruthlessly pursuing the privatization of local public healthcare in the aftermath of Katrina. And, finally your administration is guilty of sending our sons and daughters of to war for oil and empire just when we need them most to help us rebuild our community.
Mr. President, we, Katrina Survivors all, do not welcome you to our city, we rebuke you!
Sponsored by Survivors Village, United Front For Affordable Housing.
If you have a blog please consider posting this today.
UPDATE: From the New Orleans Times-Picayune:
After lunch, the president arrived at Samuel J. Green Charter School in Uptown, a block away from a group of fewer than 100 protesters waiving anti-Bush signs. At the school, he visited a fifth-grade math class and a third-grade science class. Bush complimented students on their "sharp-looking uniforms," navy polo shirts and trousers, and posed for pictures with students.
That's disappointing.
On the other hand, New Orleanians are turning out en masse to sue the US Corps of Engineers.
Submitting a claim for a staggering $77 billion, the city of New Orleans joined tens of thousands of would-be plaintiffs who rushed to beat a Thursday deadline to alert the Army Corps of Engineers that they may sue for losses resulting from the levee breaches after Hurricane Katrina.
....
By the time of the morning commute, cars already had clogged the two-lane River Road and miles of connecting arteries. The miles-long traffic jam got so thick that the federal agency established satellite pick-up points on Carrollton Avenue and Magazine Street.
It was the faulty levees, you see, THE LEVEES, that caused the flood in the aftermath of the hurricane.
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