dual personalities

Category: Spirituality

You’ll never walk alone

by chuckofish

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Well, we have a few weeks to go in Lent and I’m afraid I have (per usual) been distracted by many things. Mea culpa.

“If you could do it, I suppose, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line – starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King’s Highway past the appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circling or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led – make of that what you will.”
―Wendell Berry, Jaybar Crow

Indeed, sometimes I do feel like an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. But then…

“I tramp the perpetual journey
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from the
woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public
road.

Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.

It is not far, it is within reach,
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born and did not know,
Perhaps it is everywhere on water and on land.

Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten
forth,
Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.

If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand
on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,
For after we start we never lie by again.

This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look’d at the crowded
heaven,
And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs,
and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we
be fill’d and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue
beyond.

You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out for yourself.

Sit a while dear son,
Here are biscuits to eat and here is milk to drink,
But as soon as you sleep and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss
you with a good-by kiss and open the gate for your egress
hence.

Long enough have you dream’d contemptible dreams,
Now I wash the gum from your eyes,
You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every
moment of your life.

Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore,
Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,
To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout,
and laughingly dash with your hair.”

…Walt Whitman reminds me about timidly holding a plank by the shore…

Discuss among yourselves.

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It is well with my soul

by chuckofish

Here is a very popular song playing on Christian radio these days:

I admit it always makes me tear up. Every time.

Christian songwriters these days frequently lift lines right from older hymns or, as in this song, reference other songs: “Give me the strength/To be able to sing/It is well with my soul”.

You will recall that “It Is Well With My Soul” is a well known hymn penned by Horatio Spafford and composed by Philip Bass which was first published in Gospel Songs No. 2 by Sankey and Bliss (1876). Everyone from Tennessee Ernie Ford and Mahalia Jackson to Dwight Yoakam and Jars of Clay have recorded it. The Georgia Southern University marching band Southern Pride even plays the song at the end of each win.

I think that’s interesting, but, then, that’s how my mind works.

Nicely done, Dwight. Have a good day. Here’s hoping it is well with your soul.

“Well, sister, the time has come for me to ride hard and fast.”*

by chuckofish

Another of my old work friends has passed away. Sigh.

Jane and I hit it off right away when we met fifteen years ago. She was the film guru at our flyover institute and led the Wednesday afternoon movie class for as long as I knew her without a break.

She was from an old flyover family

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and knew everybody and how things worked in our town. We shared many a wink-wink moment. And, of course, she knew a lot about movies and we could talk and talk about our old favorites and more recent ones too. We both loved Paul Newman and John Wayne. We didn’t always agree (she was a fan of Martin Scorcese) but we respected each other’s opinion.

Her movie classes usually had a theme, like Biographies of the Creative Genius or Surprise Endings or Handsome Hunks of Hollywood’s Heyday. Not surprisingly, her courses were very popular.  Last summer she finally offered a course entitled “Jane’s Faves” in which she showed her favorite films in four genres: Red River (1948) (Western), 2001: A Space Odyssey (Sci-Fi), A Star is Born (1954) (Musical), and Dr. Zhivago (1965) (Romance). Her last class was a retrospective of Ingrid Bergman’s career and we chose the movies together.

Tall and willowy and beautiful, Jane became weaker over the years, relying on an oxygen tank, and finally she rode around on a motorized scooter. She never gave up until the very end. When she couldn’t give her class anymore, much less leave her house, she cashed in her chips. A lapsed Episcopalian, she had lost her faith along the way and had decided that there was nothing waiting for her after death–just nothingness, the end. I’m glad her family is going to have a service for her, even if it is at the Ethical Society.

Tonight I will toast Jane and watch Red River in her memory. I remember telling her how smart I thought Montgomery Clift was in it, standing back and never trying to steal a scene from John Wayne, and how, ironically, you can’t keep your eyes off him in that movie. “Yes! Yes!” she said in her raspy voice, her eyes shining.

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Into paradise may the angels lead thee, Jane, and at thy coming may the martyrs receive thee, and bring thee into the holy city Jerusalem.

*Rooster Cogburn in True Grit (1969)

“Pardon me for seeing the glass half full”*

by chuckofish

I’m sure you heard that March 10 was the 20th anniversary of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

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Because people in 1997 dressed like that in high school never.

Daughter #1 was in seventh grade in 1997 so, of course, I didn’t let her watch a show about vampires. Daughter #2 was in second grade! Good grief. (I was the Mom who wouldn’t let her seven-year old daughter  go to the cool girl birthday party to see The Spice Girls movie, thus wrecking her social standing for-ever.) Mea culpa. We discovered Buffy later when it was in syndication, and I realized (once again) that I was an idiot and should have let daughter #1 watch such an empowering show for girls. But oh well, we were a little late to the party, but we got there and we are all huge Buffy nerds fans. And if you are not, what is wrong with you?

Anyway, this weekend I watched a good part of season one again. And it was pretty great.

In other news, the OM and I got trapped at home when our garage door broke and we couldn’t get our cars out. (See Buffy marathon above) The repairman didn’t come until 8:30 Saturday night! Well, the door was eventually fixed and I was able to get up (after springing forward an hour) on Sunday morning and drive to church.

The Gospel reading was from John chapter 3 where Nicodemus goes to see Jesus in the dark of night to ask him what’s what. Jesus says, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” It is one of my favorite scripture passages and it made me very happy to hear it. It also made me want to watch the scene in Jesus of Nazareth with Laurence Olivier as Nicodemus. And so I did later in the day.

After church the OM and I went to Schneithorst’s and then we went to see the wee babes in the NICU and held them for an hour. Who needs anxiety medication when you can hold a baby? By the way, Lottie is going home today!

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Here she is without a feeding tube and breathing all on her own, burping after a bottle. She is nearly 7 lbs and has no tape on her face!

The little bud has to have a little hernia operation (not unusual) and then he’ll be ready to come home too.

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He’s breathing on his own too! He weighs 6 lbs 3 oz.!

And it snowed too. Winter is back, but c’est la vie. Have a good week back at the salt mine!

*Rupert Giles, Buffy, Season one, episode three

 

“I can do all things through him who gives me strength.”*

by chuckofish

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“It is not work that kills men; it is worry. Work is healthy; you can hardly put more upon a man than he can bear. Worry is the rust upon the blade. It is not the revolution which destroys the machinery but the friction. Fear secretes acids; but love and trust are sweet juices.”

–Henry Ward Beecher

A toast tonight to Henry Ward Beecher, American Congregationalist clergyman, firebrand preacher, and social reformer, who died on this day 130 years ago.

Here’s an interesting story about the history of Beecher’s Brooklyn church.

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Also, I just learned that the writer Nancy Willard died last month. I met her about twenty years ago when she visited my high school alma mater and I had dinner with her and drove her around in my old 240 wagon. I thought she was a very nice person, who had a lot of interesting things to say about the writing life. We were simpatico I thought. Into paradise may the angels lead you, Nancy. At your coming may the martyrs receive you, and bring you into the holy city Jerusalem.

*Philippians 4:13

“Blow the trumpet in Zion!”

by chuckofish

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Tonight we dine on pancakes. That’s as crazy as it gets at my house.

Seriously though, I really cannot believe that Lent is upon us. March is a super busy month and will whiz by, I just know it. So maybe I’ll try to slow things down a bit in Lent by intentionally not hurrying and taking my own sweet time.

“Never let a hurried lifestyle disturb the relationship of abiding in Him.”

–Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

“Lay aside this ardor of mind, which exhausts your body, and leads you to commit errors. Accustom yourself gradually to carry prayer into all your daily occupations. Speak, move, work, in peace, as if you were in prayer, as indeed you ought to be. Do everything without excitement, by the spirit of grace. As soon as you perceive your natural impetuosity gliding in, retire quietly within, where is the kingdom of God. Listen to the leadings of grace, then say and do nothing but what the Holy Spirit shall put in your heart. You will find that you become more tranquil, that your words will be fewer and more effectual, and that, with less effort, you will accomplish more good.”

–Francois de la Mothe Fenelon

Enjoy your pancakes! (I know I will.)

*Joel 2:1

Well done, good and faithful servant

by chuckofish

As I have mentioned before, the liturgical calendar of the Episcopal Church remembers Eric Liddell (1902–1945) with a feast day on February 22.

God whose strength bears us up as on mighty wings: We rejoice in remembering thy athlete and missionary, Eric Liddell, to whom thou didst bestow courage and resolution in contest and in captivity; and we pray that we also may run with endurance the race that is set before us and persevere in patient witness, until we wear that crown of victory won for us by Jesus our Savior; who with thee and the Holy Spirit livest and reignest, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

On July 17, 1924, less than two weeks after his Olympic victory, at his graduation in McEwan Hall of Edinburgh University, Sir Alfred Ewing – Principal and Vice Chancellor said: “Mr Liddell, you have shown that none can pass you but the examiner. In the ancient Olympic tests the victor was crowned with wild olive by the High priest of Zeus, and a poem written in his honour was presented to him. A Vice Chancellor is no High Priest, but he speaks and acts for the University; and in the name of the University, which is proud of you, and to which you have brought fresh honour, I present you with this epigram in Greek, composed by Professor Mair, and place upon your head this chaplet of wild olive.”

The scroll reads (in English):

The University of Edinburgh congratulates

Eric Henry Liddell

Olympic Victor in the 400 Metres.

Happy the man who the wreathed games essaying

Returns the laurelled brow,

Thrice happy victor thou, such speed displaying

As none hath showed till now;

We enjoy, and Alma Mater, for the merit

Proffers to thee this crown:

Take it, Olympic Victor. While you wear it

May Heaven never frown.”

Eric stated, when compelled to make a short speech, after being carried aloft by cheering crowds and fellow students to the doors of St Giles Cathedral for the University Service: “Over the gate of Pennsylvania University are inscribed these words, ‘In the dust of defeat as well as in the laurels of victory there is a glory to be found if one has done his best.”

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(Yours truly in front of St. Giles a few years ago)

Liddell returned to Northern China to serve as a missionary, like his parents, from 1925 to 1943 – first in Tianjin and later in the town of Xiaozhang. In 1943, he was interned at the Weihsien Internment Camp (in the modern city of Weifang) with the members of the China Inland Mission and many others.

Langdon Gilkey, who survived the camp and became a prominent theologian in his native America, said of Liddell: “Often in an evening I would see him bent over a chessboard or a model boat, or directing some sort of square dance – absorbed, weary and interested, pouring all of himself into this effort to capture the imagination of these penned-up youths. He was overflowing with good humor and love for life, and with enthusiasm and charm. It is rare indeed that a person has the good fortune to meet a saint but he came as close to it as anyone I have ever known.” (The Guardian)

Early in 1945, six months before the camp’s liberation, Liddell became ill. In a letter he told his wife that he feared he was having a nervous breakdown. In fact it was a brain tumor, untreatable in those circumstances, and on February 21 he died.

He was buried in the garden behind the Japanese officers’ quarters, his grave marked by a small wooden cross. The site was forgotten until it was rediscovered in 1989 by fellow Scotsman, Charles T. Walker, in the grounds of what is now Weifeng Middle School. When he decided to erect a memorial, offers of help and money came flooding in from Scotland, England and Hong Kong. A gravestone, made of red granite from the Isle of Mull and carved by a mason in Tobermory, was placed near the site in 1991.

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Mr. Walker and a group of prominent Hong Kong business and civic leaders announced the formation of the Eric Liddell Foundation, which sponsors athletic training for youngsters from China, Hong Kong and Britain.

Cheng Hon-kwan, a director of the foundation and a member of Hong Kong’s Executive and Legislative Councils, was a student at the Tiensin school. In 1941, he was 14 years old, and Mr. Liddell, who had returned from relief work, was his science teacher. “He was very well liked by the students,” Mr. Cheng recalled. “We all knew he was an Olympic gold medal winner and that he had not run on Sunday. Everyone thought of him as a hero. He was tall and very fit, but he was bald headed by then. My impression was of a very lively, very likable man.” (NYT)

A toast to Eric Liddell, Christian gentleman.

“And one was a soldier, and one was a priest, and one was slain by a fierce wild beast”*

by chuckofish

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Today the Episcopal Church remembers Thomas Bray, Anglican priest and missionary, who died in 1730.

In 1696 Bray, an Oxford professor as well as a priest, was commissioned by the Bishop of London (Henry Compton) to report on the condition of the Church in the colony of Maryland. He spent only ten weeks in the colony, but he radically re-organized and renewed the Church there, providing for the instruction of children and the systematic examination of candidates for pastoral positions. He founded thirty-nine lending libraries and numerous schools. He fought long to get an American bishop consecrated, but failed. He founded two of our church’s most effective missionary organizations, the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (now United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel), both still in operation after two and a half centuries.

Back in England, he worked for the reform of prison conditions, and for the establishment of preaching missions to prisoners. He persuaded General Oglethorpe to found an American colony (Georgia) for the settlement of debtors as an alternative to debtors’ prison. Both in Maryland and upon his return to England, he wrote and preached in defense of the rights of enslaved Africans, and of Indians deprived of their land.

O God of compassion, you opened the eyes of your servant Thomas Bray to see the needs of the Church in the New World, and led him to found societies to meet those needs: Make the Church in this land diligent at all times to propagate the Gospel among those who have not received it, and to promote the spread of Christian knowledge; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

So hats off and a toast to the good reverend Bray. He was quite a guy.

*”I sing a song of the saints of God” by Lesbia Scott (1898–1986)

“Southstreet, give your testimony.”*

by chuckofish

I went to a funeral at our church yesterday. Joe was a real pillar of the church, a former vestryman, junior warden, senior warden, softball coach, scoutmaster–you name it, he did it. He was in church last Sunday, sitting as usual a few pews behind me, so when I heard the news on Monday, I was a little freaked out. He died on Sunday night in his recliner, watching an old movie. (John Wayne was his favorite.)

All three of his sons spoke lovingly of their dad before the service. All three are Eagle Scouts and active churchmen. Impressive. Joe was always there for them, “present” as they said; something that I’m afraid is rare these days.

For 40 years Joe and his wife had a party at their house every Christmas Eve after the children’s service at church for all the misfits at church who didn’t have family in town. We went to this party for over 10 years. Sometimes my children were slightly chagrined to be associated with some of the kids who were there–other misfits like us. But I know that now, from their more mature  perspectives, they look back fondly on those Christmas Eves and on Joe who would talk to anybody–even awkward middle schoolers.

The church, of course, was packed for the memorial service–as one of his sons said, like Christmas or Easter! Of course it was. Joe had friends from high school, his college fraternity, work, volunteer work, scouts, and church. I held out until the last hymn–“Amazing Grace” with bagpipe accompaniment–and then wept openly. The boy was with me and he  patted my shoulder. Joe, after all, had been at his Court of Honor and at his wedding. He knows they broke the mold with Joe.

But thankfully it’s Friday again! I am really looking forward to the weekend, aren’t you?

I get to see the wee babes who have been moved to another section (“the yellow side”) of the NICU and are down to 2% on their oxygen–practically room air! They are sleeping in open cribs and their parents can pick them up and hold them like regular babies now.

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Pretty exciting!

If you are trying to think of something good to watch this weekend, you might pick something written and/or directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz (1909-1993) whose birthday is tomorrow. Among his films are The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947), All About Eve (1950), Guys and Dolls (1955) and Cleopatra (1963).

guys-and-dolls-27443You can’t go wrong there.

It is also the anniversary of the death of Henry Hathaway (1898-1985) who directed The Lives of a Bengal Lancer (1935), Legend of the Lost (1957), North to Alaska (1960), How the West Was Won (1962), Circus World (1964), The Sons of Katie Elder (1965), Nevada Smith (1966), True Grit (1969) and many others.

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Can’t go wrong with Steve, but I may have to watch one of those John Wayne classics and raise a glass to Joe.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Joe. At your coming may the martyrs receive you, and bring you into the holy city Jerusalem.

*Nathan Detroit in Guys and Dolls

A quiet heart

by chuckofish

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In quietness and in confidence shall be your strength. (Isaiah 30:15)

It is always weakness to be fretting and worrying, questioning and mis-trusting. What can we do if we wear ourselves to skin and bone? Can we gain anything by fearing and fuming? Do we not unfit ourselves for action and unhinge our minds for wise decision? We are sinking by our struggles when we might float by faith.

Oh, for grace to be quiet! Why run from house to house to repeat the weary story which makes us more and more heart-sick as we tell it? Why even stay at home to cry out in agony because of wretched forebodings which may never be fulfilled? It would be well to keep a quiet tongue, but it would be far better if we had a quiet heart. Oh, to be still and know that Jehovah is God!

Oh, for grace to be confident in God! The holy One of Israel must defend and deliver His own. He cannot run back from His solemn declarations. We may make sure that every word of His will stand though the mountains should depart. He deserves to be confided in; and if we would display confidence and consequent quietness, we might be as happy as the spirits before the throne.

Come, my soul, return unto thy rest, and lean thy head upon the bosom of the Lord Jesus.

–C.H. Spurgeon, Faith’s Checkbook

One thing I have learned as I get older is that worrying gets us nowhere.

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?  Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”

(Matt 6:25-27)

Not worrying takes work. And  patience. And faith.

Trusting that God is in control is key. And also freeing. Thy will be done.

Blue and White Tea Cups by Laura Lacambra Shubert (Pinterest)