Interdigitation. From here there is only friction and finally separation.
Interdigitation. From here there is only friction and finally separation
Great Prayer from this week’s Lectionary Readings
God, whose love streams like fresh water
into the deserts of our hearts,
you turn us from greed and partiality
to healing and justice.
Make us companions of those who long for your deliverance,
and give us safe passage at the last into the land of your shalom. Amen.
“O God, for myself I could forgive everything, But I would rather be a hawk clawing a lamb, Or a serpent biting someone sleeping in the field, Than be a human and be forced to see What people do, and from putrid shame, Not dare to raise my eyes to the heavens on high.” —Anna Akhmatova (1914)
Possibly the best lyrics ever written.
How Deep The Father’s Love For Us
by Stuart Townend
How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocing voice,
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that helf Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I knoww that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast inJesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom
A Few Words From Ivan Fyodorovitch
“Do you know I’ve been sitting here thinking to myself: that if i didn’t believe in life, if I lost faith in the woman I love, lost faith in the order of things, were convinced in fact that everything is a disorderly, damnable, and perhaps devil-ridden chaos, if I were struck by every horror of man’s disillusionment—still I should want to live and, having once tasted of the cup, I would not turn away from it till i had drained it! At thirty though, I shall be sure to leave the cup, even if I’ve not emptied it, and turn away—where I don’t know. But till I am thirty, I know that my youth will triumph over everything—every disillusionment, every disgust with life. I’ve asked myself many times whether there is in the world any despair that would overcome this frantic and perhaps unseemly thirst for life in me, and I’ve come to the conclusion that there isn’t, that is till I am thirty, and then I shall lose it of myself I fancy. Some drivelling consumptive moralists—and poets especially—often call that thirst for life base. It’s a feature of the Karamazovs it’s true, that thirst for life regardless of everything; you have it no doubt too, but why is it base? The centripetal force on our planet is still fearfully strong, Alyosha. I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves as they open in spring. I love the blue sky, I love some people, whom one loves you know sometimes without knowing why. I love some great deeds done by men, though I’ve long ceased to perhaps to have faith in them, yet from old habit one’s heart prizes them…I want to travel in Europe, Alyosha, I shall set off from here. And yet I know that I am only going to a grave-yard, but it’s a most precious grave-yard, that’s what it is! Precious are the dead that lie there, every stone over them speaks of such burning life in the past, of such passionate faith in their work, their truth, their struggle and their science, that I know I shall fall on the ground and kiss those stones and weep over them; though I’m convinced in my heart that it’s long been nothing but a grave-yard. And I shall not weep from despair, but simply because I shall be happy in my tears, I shall steep my soul in my emotion. I love the sticky leaves in spring, the blue sky—that’s all it is. It’s not a matter of intellect or logic, it’s loving with one’s inside, with one’s stomach. One loves the first strength of one’s youth. Do you understand anything of my tirade, Alyosha?” —Fyodor Dostoevsky The Brothers Karamazov
Derek Webb’s new song “What Matters More.”
Never Went To Church
Bought “Never Went to Church” Single by The Streets. Guillemots Remix is fantastic! This is the way covers are meant to be made. Listen? Play
Bookworm
Two days ago I visited a local bookstore called Bookworm here in Sacramento. Everyone knows used bookstores are difficult to navigate, which is part of the fun, of course: it’s like you feel as if you have walked in on this city of books and you don’t really belong there because you’re not a book, but you can sort of fake it because you really like books. Then you snoop round long enough until one catches your eye and you Grab! it and tuck it under your arm, captive.
Still, I saw something that shocked me: the books were organized into genres, but sub-organized into male and female versions of those genres! For example: Male Mystery, Female Mystery, Male Romance, Female Romance, Male Sci-Fi Drama, Female Sci-Fi Drama…
Seriously? It’s 2009. Haven’t we learned enough to not categorize male and female interests? I mean, what if I want to read a female Sci-Fi Drama?
And my frustration with this categorization reminds me of my recent questioning of the popular conflation of musical genres with worldview. In other words, what in the world is Christian Rock? And how can it possibly be different from just rock? We don’t use the categories Atheist Folk or Fiscally Conservative Hip Hop or Lesbian Pop. Labeling as such confuses genre with what drives the music. I’ve even heard an industry person make a distinction between “Worship Leader” and “Worship Artist”. Really.
Let’s not ever call it Christian Rock ever again, because maybe the same people who want to buy a used Female Sci-Fi Drama also want to listen to our music.
got this for FREE. and thanks to DYLAN i haven’t got the CD yet…kidding Dylan! Come to Sac quick!
Oh, I’m bad!
