Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wakening
You Holy art, when all my hope is shaken
And through life's raging tempest I am drawn
You make my heart with warmest love to waken
As if into a better world reborn.
- from 'An Die Muskik'
And through life's raging tempest I am drawn
You make my heart with warmest love to waken
As if into a better world reborn.
- from 'An Die Muskik'
Nor is 'In the Middle' Safe . . .
The oldest relative - ancestor, that I can link to is 'James Barber, ' born in 1434 in Fressingfield, Suffolk, England. My son's name is 'James (Arthur Gordon) Barber. My middle name is James.
I have James on all sides, both sides of the family tree. I love the name: James. I seem to be the sandwiched in the name 'James.'
Diego (St. James - San Diego) or Yago or Jacques (and many other alternatives from various languages) remind me that this name (from the Hebrew: Jacob) is about one who's name means 'supplanter' or, if you will, 'cheater.'
Jameses want to be safe, in the middle, to hedge their bets, to see how things will work out before committing, to seize the opportunity or what doesn't belong to them by birth or by right when someone else is not paying attention, or is being stupid, or doesn't care (as with brother Esau of birth-right fame or infamity - is that a word?) . . .
I'm trying not to lag behind till it's safe, nor run ahead, impetuous and breathless. 'Make me not like the mule' that stubbornly digs in, nor 'the horse' that rushes on, bridle-less, to unseen distruction.
Middle child with a middle name ' James.' Living in a Canada that is neither this nor that - not sure what it's for, where it's from, where it's going. (Why did the Canadian chicken cross the road? - To get to the middle!) But it's not safe in the middle, there's a lot of road-kill there.
Perhaps it's better, I'm sure it is, not to be too safe nor too rash . . . but it's probably just as unsafe to always want to be safe - secure, in the middle.
God help us Jamesus to stop waiting to see which way the wind's blowing, which side has less traffic, which others are doing foolishness on the left or the right. God help us to do something, maybe anything initially that will move us off dead-centre, so as at last (or sooner) to escape the curse of being 'lukewarm' - neither hot nor cold - from having spent too much time - in the middle, we Jameses . . .
I have James on all sides, both sides of the family tree. I love the name: James. I seem to be the sandwiched in the name 'James.'
Diego (St. James - San Diego) or Yago or Jacques (and many other alternatives from various languages) remind me that this name (from the Hebrew: Jacob) is about one who's name means 'supplanter' or, if you will, 'cheater.'
Jameses want to be safe, in the middle, to hedge their bets, to see how things will work out before committing, to seize the opportunity or what doesn't belong to them by birth or by right when someone else is not paying attention, or is being stupid, or doesn't care (as with brother Esau of birth-right fame or infamity - is that a word?) . . .
I'm trying not to lag behind till it's safe, nor run ahead, impetuous and breathless. 'Make me not like the mule' that stubbornly digs in, nor 'the horse' that rushes on, bridle-less, to unseen distruction.
Middle child with a middle name ' James.' Living in a Canada that is neither this nor that - not sure what it's for, where it's from, where it's going. (Why did the Canadian chicken cross the road? - To get to the middle!) But it's not safe in the middle, there's a lot of road-kill there.
Perhaps it's better, I'm sure it is, not to be too safe nor too rash . . . but it's probably just as unsafe to always want to be safe - secure, in the middle.
God help us Jamesus to stop waiting to see which way the wind's blowing, which side has less traffic, which others are doing foolishness on the left or the right. God help us to do something, maybe anything initially that will move us off dead-centre, so as at last (or sooner) to escape the curse of being 'lukewarm' - neither hot nor cold - from having spent too much time - in the middle, we Jameses . . .
Maranatha
“Come, true light.
Come, eternal life. Come, hidden mystery...
Come, ineffable reality. Come, endless bliss.
Come, non-setting sun.
Come, awakening of those who are asleep.
O Powerful One, who always creates and recreates
and transforms by Your will alone...
Come, You who have become Yourself desire in me,
who have made me desire You.
Come, my joy, my glory, my endless delight.”
Come, eternal life. Come, hidden mystery...
Come, ineffable reality. Come, endless bliss.
Come, non-setting sun.
Come, awakening of those who are asleep.
O Powerful One, who always creates and recreates
and transforms by Your will alone...
Come, You who have become Yourself desire in me,
who have made me desire You.
Come, my joy, my glory, my endless delight.”
- St. Symeon the New Theologian
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Light on the Path
I've always been intrigued by pathways, by the Journey, by the wonder of what may be just around the corner. Even a pop singer such as Christina Aquilera can sing:
When they are standing in our way
You and me, we're a miracle
Angels stand watching over us
And heaven shines upon us everyday.
Or in one the favorite hymns of Mahatma Ghandi: Set Thou my feet upon this path, And keep me steadfast in it . . .
The hymnwriter William Cowper, friend and co-labourer with John Newton in the parish of Olney put it in a way that, in my best moments, I echo -
O for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame,
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!
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