This is Christian prose, primarily intended for Christians, but also for any person or persons interested in exploring the Christian tradition; including any symbols, rituals, legends, parables, prayers, psalms, hymns, sermons, proverbs, principles, and practices belonging to it, and beloved by it. This piece puts forth the experience of Christians, from the perspective of Christians, and must not be mistaken as an attempt to persuade, provoke, coax, cajole, or convert anyone whose temperament and life experiences are not such as to render him or her an earnest, willing, and, therefore, fitting participant in this Tradition. If you are not drawn to this path, we ask that you respectfully tolerate it's existence, and give your attention to what brings out your best. If you feel you must pass judgement, we ask only what is fair; that you first aquaint yourself, more than superficially, with the subject upon which you are pressuming to pronounce sentence.
The Church, which here means, The True And Apostolic Tradition, along with every soul invested in it (whether fully or only partially invested), is not necessarily, nor always, present within, nor limited to, any single creed, denomination, nor aggregate of denominations. This Church is invisible. It has no capital city of which it may be said "Here it is!" or "There it is!" It has a hierarchy, but it's authorities, whatever be their manner of dress, all wear (in spirit) the white robes of sanctity; the whiteness of which is dependent upon each particular soul's degree of sanctity.
Membership in this Church cannot be confirmed merely by being claimed. To the extent that one has become a perfectly clear and open channel for Love, -- giving and receiving love without condition or distinction, -- one is either a deacon or a bishop, a saint or a member of the congregation. Now, since every person has some love in them, whether it is a blazing sun or a dying cinder, therefor everyone is a member of this Church; we all wear the invisible robes of sanctity, and none is entirely the color of soot. Yet, only to those of us who voluntarily take the name 'Christian', and hold the name of Christ in preeminence, may the term be freely applied, without risk of offense. This is all that distinguishes us, and it is essentially a matter of taste or, one might say, spiritual orientation. Nevertheless, while we embrace specific forms, both outward and inward, associated with Christianity, we esoterically distinguish the true Christian by the quality and sincerity of his love, without respect to titles and affiliations.
For the remainder of the piece, I will be "speaking in tongues", as far as those unfamiliar with the rich language of Christianity are concerned. Perhaps, though, if they follow closely, they will find themselves worthy translators of this ancient and modern tongue. Again, only those who are thirsty with interest are encouraged to drink from this well, but all are invited to taste from it.
The True Church, the Living and Invisible Tradition, is ensouled and inspired by The Holy Spirit, The Divine Inner Light, which emanates eternally from the Fountainhead of All Creation. Having first agreed to call ourselves and one another Christians, we appropriately call this Fountainhead of All Creation, God The Father. Likewise, we call the Divine Inner Light by the name of Jesus Christ, in honor of what we regard as the exmplary words, actions, life, and sacrificial death of Jesus of Galilee; whose clarity of vision, we believe, allows and entitles him to serve as a human focal point; located in history, yet pulling together many strands of ancient wisdom from the half-recorded and unrecorded past, so as to thread them through the Eye of the Eternal, thereby weaving a Light of Truth, which is Christ's own immortal legacy; the modern historical evidence of the imminent presence of The Holy Spirit, woolen blanket of the world, woven by God.
To the body of Christ, it is a joy to have new members grafted on; young vines winding out, through strange new forests, bearing fresh clusters of grapes; great mounds of dark, translucent gems, always growing, expanding, bending over on themselves, as treasures do; great manes of purple curls cascading; jumbling down the mountainside, rolling over hills and into valleys, settling in the craggiest nooks; there to multiply itself, becoming seed, root, tree, and, finally, an abundance of fruit!
Blessed are they, these grafted vines; able ministers of sweet, wholesome, refreshment for the soul. Their deepest longing, and their highest election, is to be united in a still more mystical way with the Divinity potent in Jesus, and to have their lives, labors, and fruits transformed into new wine: the eucharistic blood of Christ; whom we honor as the Son of God, for the inimmitable spiritual genius and eloquence of his words; for the pioneering act of making of his life and body a sacrificial gift of love for all creatures and all creation; for making martyrdom holy; for making peace holy; for making mercy, compassion, and charity holy; for making children holy; for making lilies holy; for making confession and repentance holy; and for making all these things holy in the eyes of man.
Truly, the greatest miracle wrought by Jesus Christ during his time on earth, is not to have made all these things holy; since (as it is prudent to clarify here), these things were, in fact, already holy, in an eternal sense; having been made holy from the beginning of the world, by the Father who created them.
What Christ did was to render the holy gifts of God visible to the eyes of men. He gave spiritual sight to the spiritually blind, so that those who could not see what God had made, now had eyes to see the sacredness of His most precious works. For, although men could always see the outward forms of The Lord's works, there was no great theme, no immortal story, to give meaning to the works; that their terrestrial beauty might be cast in a finer, more delicate and significant light.
Man's ignorance had made a mockery of God's works, for men had forgotten, or had never learned, the proper use of them; and, so, had begun to devalue, denigrate, and despise what ought to have been recognized as their greatest resources of consolation, contemplation, and revelation.
Christ changed everything, because the legacy he created continues to change things, and will ultimately outlast everything it came to transform.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Sunday, February 19, 2012
THE WORD OF GOD
Who Loves This Teaching Loves To Find
The Grace Of God Invested In A Name
That As A Shepherd Gathers Up
Thy Heart's Divergent Claims
And Under One Banner
Gives Voice To Many Goods
As Lightning In A Flash
Illumines Feild and Woods
Praise The One Who Is All Praise
And So Let Praise Be Praised
Love The One Who Is All Love
And So Let Love Be Loved
Pure Goodness Is God's Goodness
How Good Is Goodness's Name?
Pure Sweetness Is His Sweetness
How Sweet Is Sweetness Plain?
Wherever There Be Any Light
There Shines The Light Of God
Created Like The Sun Itself
Or From Before The World
Proclaim This The Very Gospel Decree
That A Worthy Name Might Be Given
To Honor All Things Upon The Earth
And Be Honored By All Things In Heaven
Blessed Be The Good Lord's Name
Hosanah To God In The Highest
Holy Spring Of Devotions
And Meeting Place Of Waters
Nexus of Brevity And Revelation Unbound
Master Conductor Of Infinite Gifts
Harmonizing Harp And Horn
To Amplify His Lovingness
In One Swift Breath Christ's Name Evokes
All That He Said Or Did For Love
And Invokes The Paraclete
Thy Holy Ghostly Dove
The Word Is God's Seed Sunk Deep In History
His Pebble Rippling The Collective Memory
His Star Overlooking The Quiet Mind
His Tear Storming The Evil Eye
It Is A Rose In The Hair Of The Romantics
But A Thorn In The Eye Of The Cynics
It Is Wine For Those Who Must Drink
And Water For Those Who Are Drunk
How Strange It Must Sound
To The Wealthy Merchants
Both Summons To Poverty
And Promise Of Abundance
O Christ, I So Adore Thy Name
This Shocking Cry Of Total Love
Calling Men Into The Kingdom Here
And Angels To The Throne Above
The Grace Of God Invested In A Name
That As A Shepherd Gathers Up
Thy Heart's Divergent Claims
And Under One Banner
Gives Voice To Many Goods
As Lightning In A Flash
Illumines Feild and Woods
Praise The One Who Is All Praise
And So Let Praise Be Praised
Love The One Who Is All Love
And So Let Love Be Loved
Pure Goodness Is God's Goodness
How Good Is Goodness's Name?
Pure Sweetness Is His Sweetness
How Sweet Is Sweetness Plain?
Wherever There Be Any Light
There Shines The Light Of God
Created Like The Sun Itself
Or From Before The World
Proclaim This The Very Gospel Decree
That A Worthy Name Might Be Given
To Honor All Things Upon The Earth
And Be Honored By All Things In Heaven
Blessed Be The Good Lord's Name
Hosanah To God In The Highest
Holy Spring Of Devotions
And Meeting Place Of Waters
Nexus of Brevity And Revelation Unbound
Master Conductor Of Infinite Gifts
Harmonizing Harp And Horn
To Amplify His Lovingness
In One Swift Breath Christ's Name Evokes
All That He Said Or Did For Love
And Invokes The Paraclete
Thy Holy Ghostly Dove
The Word Is God's Seed Sunk Deep In History
His Pebble Rippling The Collective Memory
His Star Overlooking The Quiet Mind
His Tear Storming The Evil Eye
It Is A Rose In The Hair Of The Romantics
But A Thorn In The Eye Of The Cynics
It Is Wine For Those Who Must Drink
And Water For Those Who Are Drunk
How Strange It Must Sound
To The Wealthy Merchants
Both Summons To Poverty
And Promise Of Abundance
O Christ, I So Adore Thy Name
This Shocking Cry Of Total Love
Calling Men Into The Kingdom Here
And Angels To The Throne Above
THE JOYFUL SPIRIT OF SONG
Today I am a Song of Joy
Inexpressible Bliss uncontained
receptive to a World Ablaze
with Beauty and with Hope
Today I am All Things and The Breath of All Things
everywhere expanding and breaking Into Song!
Now I am The Perfect Faith of A Child
The Soul buoyed up along Holy Emotions
carried up spiralling tumbling Spiritward
on a spray of Ecstatic Discovery--
I am Simplicity in The Heart of Mary
A Stone of Silence flung into The Depths!
Lo, I Am again The Joyful Spirit of Song
First Note of Prayerful Celebration
and piercing Shaft of Truth
Rung Out from The Divine!
Inexpressible Bliss uncontained
receptive to a World Ablaze
with Beauty and with Hope
Today I am All Things and The Breath of All Things
everywhere expanding and breaking Into Song!
Now I am The Perfect Faith of A Child
The Soul buoyed up along Holy Emotions
carried up spiralling tumbling Spiritward
on a spray of Ecstatic Discovery--
I am Simplicity in The Heart of Mary
A Stone of Silence flung into The Depths!
Lo, I Am again The Joyful Spirit of Song
First Note of Prayerful Celebration
and piercing Shaft of Truth
Rung Out from The Divine!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Pisces
Two children, a boy and a girl, went fishing one afternoon.
Before long, they drew up a beautiful, golden trout.
But no one had ever taught them about fish, --
specifically, that fish survive only a short time out of water.
Consequently, they planned to make this trout a pet.
They had even brought along a leash, bought for the occasion, and paid for with two whole weeks of allowance.
Of course, there was some trouble jerking her off the line, and the hook tore out half of her mouth.
The sight of blood excited the children.
"He's okay," said the boy, laying the fish down on a cold, smooth rock just beside the shoreline.
"He's okay," echoed the girl.
But the poor little fish gasped rapidly through her tattered mouth and gills,
blood running down her throat, and down the curved face of the rock.
"I think he's sick," said the girl, now slightly panicked.
"Nah," the boy corrected her, "he's just weak. Look! He's giving up."
And, just as he said it, the poor little fish clenched up its organs,
then relaxed itself for the last time, stretched out, and died.
"See. He gave up!"
The girl, somewhat puzzled, nodded absently in agreement.
"He gave up," she echoed.
They were both very upset.
This fish had disappointed them.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Lilies of the Field: The Mystic and The Atheist
The child, ecstatic, came rushing like a bolt of wind into the room.
"Father!" he shouted, "There are lilies in the field! Hundreds of them! Oh, they are so beautiful, Father. A whole field of them! I've never seen anything like it!"
He'd been wandering through the forest all day before coming upon the open field and, feeling himself the heir of her treasure, lay down among the lilies and revelled in their floral scent.
At last, overcome with joy, he ran straight home to tell whoever would listen about the incredible beauty he'd experienced.
Unfortuneately for the boy, his father was an atheist.
"Nonsense!" said the father, "I've seen no such field."
"Oh, Father, but it's true. Just come and see."
"See what? Where are your flowers? Show them to me."
"You must come, through the forest, to where they are. Oh, the scent is divine!"
"Hogwash! I smell nothing. Produce them here and now, if they're so real. Come on, let's hear your arguments."
"Arguments? Father, you must come, if you wish to see them."
"Oh, I see. How convenient. I suppose you expect me to rise from my chair and go to all the trouble of trekking through the woods, on the absurd chance that what you say might be true?"
And, with this, the father gave a roaring belly-laugh.
"But, Father..."
"And I suppose there's a flying spaghetti monster out there, too, eh?"
Now the father was really in hysterics, but the boy was close to tears.
"Spaghetti monster? I'm just taking about lilies. I can show them to you. I can lead you right into their presence, and you can experience their beauty for yourself, if you will just have a little faith and follow me."
"Look, kid, I'm sorry, but I just don't believe in anything I can't see, and the existence of which cannot be proven by rational argument. No sale."
And, with this seemingly final word, the child sank into dejection. Fortuneately, though, the boy's mother had come into the room and overheard the last part of the conversation.
"I'll go with you," she said, with a light in her eyes.
"Bah!" said the father and ruffled his newspaper.
"Father!" he shouted, "There are lilies in the field! Hundreds of them! Oh, they are so beautiful, Father. A whole field of them! I've never seen anything like it!"
He'd been wandering through the forest all day before coming upon the open field and, feeling himself the heir of her treasure, lay down among the lilies and revelled in their floral scent.
At last, overcome with joy, he ran straight home to tell whoever would listen about the incredible beauty he'd experienced.
Unfortuneately for the boy, his father was an atheist.
"Nonsense!" said the father, "I've seen no such field."
"Oh, Father, but it's true. Just come and see."
"See what? Where are your flowers? Show them to me."
"You must come, through the forest, to where they are. Oh, the scent is divine!"
"Hogwash! I smell nothing. Produce them here and now, if they're so real. Come on, let's hear your arguments."
"Arguments? Father, you must come, if you wish to see them."
"Oh, I see. How convenient. I suppose you expect me to rise from my chair and go to all the trouble of trekking through the woods, on the absurd chance that what you say might be true?"
And, with this, the father gave a roaring belly-laugh.
"But, Father..."
"And I suppose there's a flying spaghetti monster out there, too, eh?"
Now the father was really in hysterics, but the boy was close to tears.
"Spaghetti monster? I'm just taking about lilies. I can show them to you. I can lead you right into their presence, and you can experience their beauty for yourself, if you will just have a little faith and follow me."
"Look, kid, I'm sorry, but I just don't believe in anything I can't see, and the existence of which cannot be proven by rational argument. No sale."
And, with this seemingly final word, the child sank into dejection. Fortuneately, though, the boy's mother had come into the room and overheard the last part of the conversation.
"I'll go with you," she said, with a light in her eyes.
"Bah!" said the father and ruffled his newspaper.
Monday, February 13, 2012
2/12/2012 Reflections
Prayer is open hands, open heart, and open mind to receive the everflowing graces of God. What can you ask of Love which Love will not more readily give you, if it be for your good? Pray not as though the Lord had withheld His Love, but pray as though you have already received both Love and Eternity from His hands, and from all the wounds of Christ. His gifts are in your possession, and you have only to open them. They are your own hands, your own heart, your own mind. Open them, and discover what was yours from the begining. Unfold your hands, to embrace the Christ in every soul. Unfold your heart, to discover the Love of God. Unfold your mind, to approach the mind of God.
When the elderly widow put her two coins into the poorbox, Christ counted her charity greater than the larger sums donated by those who have much. But, more than this, we should know that God puts those two coins to better use than the larger sums. It is the spirit of generous sacrifice, the spirit of Love, which carries them, like grass on the wind, to where they are needed most.
Just as we may cast our bread upon the waters, and it will return to us after many days, so may we cast our burdens on the Lord, yet shall they return to us more immediately, and in the form of gifts.
How deep is His wisdom? Francis de Sales has said, "The measure of love is love without measure." So it is with all the faculties of the Lord. Measureless is His wisdom, measureless His mysteries, and measureless man's ignorance of these. Who can fathom the works of God as they manifest, uniquely and personally, in the lives of every creature? Who can hope to discover His ways? We had better train ourselves to awe, than to inquiry; for, where divine matters are concerned, the only true inquiry is awe. To be aghast, astonished, overawed, and dismayed, yet carried ever deeper into the mystery of His peace: This is to take measure of the measureless.
God is a furnace of mystery, and all of Creation is burning with questions.
Lord, extinguish my mind and enflame my heart! Cover my transgressions and bring my good deeds to light. Uphold me where I am weakest and chasten me where I am strong. Be my compass, my path, and my place of rest. Turn my eyes toward your treasures. Harness my will with righteous instruction. Make my heart a garden of herbs and flowers. Consecrate the temple of my body with the blessing of Your holy name; let my heart cry out, "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" Let the word of "Christ" resound throughout my members, echoing light. O my reverend Lord, stoke the furnace of my soul, that I may burn in many colors!
When the elderly widow put her two coins into the poorbox, Christ counted her charity greater than the larger sums donated by those who have much. But, more than this, we should know that God puts those two coins to better use than the larger sums. It is the spirit of generous sacrifice, the spirit of Love, which carries them, like grass on the wind, to where they are needed most.
Just as we may cast our bread upon the waters, and it will return to us after many days, so may we cast our burdens on the Lord, yet shall they return to us more immediately, and in the form of gifts.
How deep is His wisdom? Francis de Sales has said, "The measure of love is love without measure." So it is with all the faculties of the Lord. Measureless is His wisdom, measureless His mysteries, and measureless man's ignorance of these. Who can fathom the works of God as they manifest, uniquely and personally, in the lives of every creature? Who can hope to discover His ways? We had better train ourselves to awe, than to inquiry; for, where divine matters are concerned, the only true inquiry is awe. To be aghast, astonished, overawed, and dismayed, yet carried ever deeper into the mystery of His peace: This is to take measure of the measureless.
God is a furnace of mystery, and all of Creation is burning with questions.
Lord, extinguish my mind and enflame my heart! Cover my transgressions and bring my good deeds to light. Uphold me where I am weakest and chasten me where I am strong. Be my compass, my path, and my place of rest. Turn my eyes toward your treasures. Harness my will with righteous instruction. Make my heart a garden of herbs and flowers. Consecrate the temple of my body with the blessing of Your holy name; let my heart cry out, "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" Let the word of "Christ" resound throughout my members, echoing light. O my reverend Lord, stoke the furnace of my soul, that I may burn in many colors!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
More Praise For Idleness
"Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns... Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin...... [Your] heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." ~ Jesus of Nazareth
"That the end of life is not action but contemplation -- being as distinct from doing -- a certain disposition of the mind, is, in some shape or other, the principle of all the higher morality. In poetry, in art, if you enter into their true spirit at all, you touch this principle in a measure... beholding for the mere joy of beholding. To treat life in the spirit of art is to make life a thing in which means and ends are identified... To witness this spectacle with appropriate emotions is the aim of all culture." ~ Walter Pater
Work receives more than its fair share of praise; every child born into Western Civilization is duly bathed and marinated in the unholy spirit of the so-called Protestant Work Ethic. Idleness is not yet praised enough. The ability to "laze about", finding rabbits in the clouds, and the world in a grain of sand, is near-universally stigmatized and disparaged. As I see it, this observation strikes at the very core of spiritual imbalance in our culture.
Mysticism has come to be associated with fuzzy-thinking, escapism, and ineffectuality. Even where the mystic is praised, he is routinely left out in the cold if he cannot exhibit the characteristics of a worldly man. Moreover, he is even expected to be more adept at worldly matters than those whose only concerns are worldly! If he exhibits "only" spiritual gifts, he is fastly pronounced a fraud.
We live in a time of cynicism, when faith is judged, not by works, but by dead works.
Who is more industrious than the cynic? Or what is more cynical than industry? And how are men of action (who are indeed cynical in their dismissal of the life of the mind) ever to understand those lazy romantics, sated on simple observation and the contemplation of what is readily observed?
The eye of the romantic captures all that it seeks, finds all that it sees, and is more than appreciative of the world which God and all of Nature have set before it; is, in fact, awe-struck and reeling beneath the inexhaustible mystery of Being. The mind and imagination of such persons are fired and fed by everything they come into contact with. Purely to dream is for them a pasttime which would justify any and all labors, no matter how taxing or strenuous, if not for the simple fact that dreaming, or the leisure required for dreaming, is possible only in the absence of labors.
Working for leisure is like fighting for peace, and fucking for virginity.
What are we to add to this work, which is not simply majestic, not merely profound, but rather the source of all majesty and profudity; this work which God has wrought, and man can only attempt to humble himself before? If we must add something, ought we not to at least endeavor, first and foremost, to appreciate the graces already granted by Providence; to discover what they are, as well as to share and distribute them (or the knowledge of them) to all men everywhere? How rash is the lust for acquisition, which leads men to overlook the honest treasure of the Sun, while desirous for some elaborate chandelier? Shall we really gut the mineral entrails of the Earth, in pursuit of resources from which to fashion the widest and most intricate variety of objects, and not revel in the glory of her outward garments; the lakes and vales, rivers, coasts, and trees? Shall we put all men to work, and not marvel upon the priceless miracle of rest?
What a Paradise we all could live in, if we could all just see it!
As it is, the ones who see must wear the thickest chains. In the words of Antonio Porchia, they are "chained to the earth for the freedom of their eyes". They are torn from the spectacle of God's perfect creation; exiled, and sent out in search of the very kingdom from which they have been exiled! All too often, they are made mad by the madness of it, which only they can see.
Understand, I do not doubt that faith may be judged by works; what I doubt is merely the ability of faithless, undiscerning men, -- of cynics, -- to judge which are the works of faith and which are not.
My friends, the one who prays with faith knows his prayers have already been answered. Likewise, the sort of works which must proceed from the highest faith are those works which have already been done. They are works which no man may assume credit for, because they are the works of God.
If you wish to know which are the true works of faith, you have simply to open your spiritual eyes and look out upon the world in a spirit of faith. Every blade of grass perking up to meet the sun is another work of faith fulfilled; every bend in the riverbed is perfectly placed; every breeze blows from God. For the truly inspired, the whole of Creation unfolds as the endless answer to prayers which are only just beginning to form at the very instant of their fulfillment. Here, asking and receiving, prayer and thanksgiving, the will of man and the will of God, have all become one.
What is necessary for the accomplishment of every good? Only this: that man should cease to do evil. All that is necessary for the accomplishment of God's will is that man should abandon his personal will, and, so, come into accordance with the way things really are. Ours is not to change, forge, hew, or fashion Nature in our own image. Ours is but to reflect, by the simplicity of our gaze, all the glories and wonders which the Lord God has so benevolently lain before us. Truly, only God is good, and only that is good which proceeds from God.
The proper function of mankind is to serve as both audience and participant in the Creation, but all participation, in order to be righteous, must proceed directly from God, in the form of divine inspiration. This is why the artist is a type of the holy; because he is, firstly, a fitting observor of God's work and, secondly, because he acts only when inspired by that work. The point where he ceases to observe, and begins to take part, is always obscure; shrouded in the mystery of union with the Beloved. In the ultimate experience of God, there is not one who creates and one who is created, just as there is not one who loves and one who is loved. There is only Creation. There is only Love.
"That the end of life is not action but contemplation -- being as distinct from doing -- a certain disposition of the mind, is, in some shape or other, the principle of all the higher morality. In poetry, in art, if you enter into their true spirit at all, you touch this principle in a measure... beholding for the mere joy of beholding. To treat life in the spirit of art is to make life a thing in which means and ends are identified... To witness this spectacle with appropriate emotions is the aim of all culture." ~ Walter Pater
Work receives more than its fair share of praise; every child born into Western Civilization is duly bathed and marinated in the unholy spirit of the so-called Protestant Work Ethic. Idleness is not yet praised enough. The ability to "laze about", finding rabbits in the clouds, and the world in a grain of sand, is near-universally stigmatized and disparaged. As I see it, this observation strikes at the very core of spiritual imbalance in our culture.
Mysticism has come to be associated with fuzzy-thinking, escapism, and ineffectuality. Even where the mystic is praised, he is routinely left out in the cold if he cannot exhibit the characteristics of a worldly man. Moreover, he is even expected to be more adept at worldly matters than those whose only concerns are worldly! If he exhibits "only" spiritual gifts, he is fastly pronounced a fraud.
We live in a time of cynicism, when faith is judged, not by works, but by dead works.
Who is more industrious than the cynic? Or what is more cynical than industry? And how are men of action (who are indeed cynical in their dismissal of the life of the mind) ever to understand those lazy romantics, sated on simple observation and the contemplation of what is readily observed?
The eye of the romantic captures all that it seeks, finds all that it sees, and is more than appreciative of the world which God and all of Nature have set before it; is, in fact, awe-struck and reeling beneath the inexhaustible mystery of Being. The mind and imagination of such persons are fired and fed by everything they come into contact with. Purely to dream is for them a pasttime which would justify any and all labors, no matter how taxing or strenuous, if not for the simple fact that dreaming, or the leisure required for dreaming, is possible only in the absence of labors.
Working for leisure is like fighting for peace, and fucking for virginity.
What are we to add to this work, which is not simply majestic, not merely profound, but rather the source of all majesty and profudity; this work which God has wrought, and man can only attempt to humble himself before? If we must add something, ought we not to at least endeavor, first and foremost, to appreciate the graces already granted by Providence; to discover what they are, as well as to share and distribute them (or the knowledge of them) to all men everywhere? How rash is the lust for acquisition, which leads men to overlook the honest treasure of the Sun, while desirous for some elaborate chandelier? Shall we really gut the mineral entrails of the Earth, in pursuit of resources from which to fashion the widest and most intricate variety of objects, and not revel in the glory of her outward garments; the lakes and vales, rivers, coasts, and trees? Shall we put all men to work, and not marvel upon the priceless miracle of rest?
What a Paradise we all could live in, if we could all just see it!
As it is, the ones who see must wear the thickest chains. In the words of Antonio Porchia, they are "chained to the earth for the freedom of their eyes". They are torn from the spectacle of God's perfect creation; exiled, and sent out in search of the very kingdom from which they have been exiled! All too often, they are made mad by the madness of it, which only they can see.
Understand, I do not doubt that faith may be judged by works; what I doubt is merely the ability of faithless, undiscerning men, -- of cynics, -- to judge which are the works of faith and which are not.
My friends, the one who prays with faith knows his prayers have already been answered. Likewise, the sort of works which must proceed from the highest faith are those works which have already been done. They are works which no man may assume credit for, because they are the works of God.
If you wish to know which are the true works of faith, you have simply to open your spiritual eyes and look out upon the world in a spirit of faith. Every blade of grass perking up to meet the sun is another work of faith fulfilled; every bend in the riverbed is perfectly placed; every breeze blows from God. For the truly inspired, the whole of Creation unfolds as the endless answer to prayers which are only just beginning to form at the very instant of their fulfillment. Here, asking and receiving, prayer and thanksgiving, the will of man and the will of God, have all become one.
What is necessary for the accomplishment of every good? Only this: that man should cease to do evil. All that is necessary for the accomplishment of God's will is that man should abandon his personal will, and, so, come into accordance with the way things really are. Ours is not to change, forge, hew, or fashion Nature in our own image. Ours is but to reflect, by the simplicity of our gaze, all the glories and wonders which the Lord God has so benevolently lain before us. Truly, only God is good, and only that is good which proceeds from God.
The proper function of mankind is to serve as both audience and participant in the Creation, but all participation, in order to be righteous, must proceed directly from God, in the form of divine inspiration. This is why the artist is a type of the holy; because he is, firstly, a fitting observor of God's work and, secondly, because he acts only when inspired by that work. The point where he ceases to observe, and begins to take part, is always obscure; shrouded in the mystery of union with the Beloved. In the ultimate experience of God, there is not one who creates and one who is created, just as there is not one who loves and one who is loved. There is only Creation. There is only Love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)