Narnia and Nuit Blanche: Planets and Breaking Glass

I can’t wait to see this…

but in the meantime, I can watch this:

Not necessarily related, but equally cool…

Christianity and Time: Or “Yeah, I’m Late for the Presentation”

The Feast of the Presentation, or The Presentation of Christ at the Temple, also known as Candlemas, comes 40 days after Christmas, and celebrates the presentation of the baby Jesus at the Temple in Jerusalem by Mary and Joseph according to the Law of Moses, as described in Luke 2: 22-38.

At the temple, the child Jesus is honored by Simeon and Anna, the former “righteous and devout, looking for the consolation of Israel,” the latter a prophetess, “of great age.”  Each is able to see the Messiah before they die.  Simeon was “inspired by the Spirit” to go to the Temple to meet up with Mary and Joseph; Anna was apparently already there, as it is written “she did not depart from the temple, worshipping with fasting and prayer night and day.”

Good timing.

I mean, to be there just at the moment Mary and Joseph enter the Temple, after, presumably, an 8 mile walk from Bethlehem- that’s a wonderful piece of directed serendipity.  Especially for Simeon, “directed by the Spirit.”  What must it have been like to feel pulled toward the Temple on that particular day?

Ever since I renewed my faith in Christ, and explored it in terms of the liturgy and monasticism, the issue of time has occupied much of my thoughts.

What exactly should be the Christian concept of time?

There are many facets to this question, including the warning of Christ that “it is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority,” the idea that God is “beyond time,”- that He is past, present, and future, and Christ’s admonishment “Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself.”

In my studies of Christian monasticism, time is a prime feature, with the day divided into the Divine Hours: Vigils, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline.  This is meant to be a vigorous schedule with the primary goal of bringing the observant closer to God.  It is a rhythm, or pace of life contrary to our fast-paced American culture, with its emphasis on instant gratification and the self-centered now.

I know there is a contrast in emphasis in the Christian calendar vs. the secular.

But how to live in both?

How do I live with the notion of an Infinite (never ending) Love, and when it is time to take the trash out?

I want desperately to integrate myself into a more Christ-like outlook on life, and this includes how I deal with time, of which I never seem to have enough.  If I inserted myself into the feast of the Presentation, it would be a day later, after Mary and Joseph have left Jerusalem, and I would be wandering around the city with a half empty cup of cold coffee, looking at my watch, and wondering by how many hours I probably missed the Holy Child.  Dejected at having missed them, I would proceed to get drunk at some Irish bar (do they have Irish bars in Jerusalem?).

An old Carthusian monk, in an interview featured in Into Great Silence, said “The past, present, future are only human terms.  In God, there is solely the present.”

I long to live in that present.

Coffee vs. Lectio Divina

“What is the first thing you think about in the morning?”

I spend the majority of my waking professional day asking questions.  As a teacher with a curriculum geared toward literary analysis, this seems to be my natural state of communication.  Questions such as “What does the narrator mean when he says x?”  Or, “Why does the poem emphasize this particular image?” come trippingly off my tongue during a school day.  I love asking difficult questions which challenge my students’ perceptions, and to see them squirm in their chairs and furrow their brows (their “brains wrinkling” as I have described it before).

But what happens when the tables are turned?

This usually occurs during the weekend, when, after grading (or often before), I allow my mind to wander freely over anything that catches my interest.

Lately, I have dived, once again, into an exploration of Christian monasticism, particularly the practices of the Cistercians and the Carthusians (sample reading:  The Infinity of Little Hours by Nancy Maguire, The Cistercian World: Monastic Writings of the 12^th Century, and The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture.).  Reasons for this wading into monastic waters include my own desire for simplicity and solitude, and the attempt to find common ground, and balance, with the contemporary dialogue of the Church, and the gathering of wisdom from its past.

Lectio Divina is one of the practices of the Benedictines, often described as a slow, careful, meditative reading of Scripture.  Readers immerse themselves in the Word, not for “answers,” but for the experience of the Word in their lives, at that particular moment in time.  The reader reads until a verse or word catches her attention, and then the reader repeats the verse or word almost as a mantra, to let the passage sink in and allow the Word to reveal itself in her heart.

A spiritual practice which butts heads with my answer to the question posed at the beginning of this blog entry.

Coffee.  That’s the first thing I think about.

Not God.  Not my faith.  Not thankfulness to God for Him or my faith.

Coffee.

Coffee elicits the direct opposite state of mind that lectio encourages.

You want to do stuff.

And more stuff.

Any print material I come across, I analyze to pieces.

Because that energy needs to GO somewhere.

It can’t just BE.

Which is what lectio demands: that you be on God’s time, not your own, and certainly not on the accelerated bouncing off the walls conception of time that our venti double-espresso culture values so highly.

So I love reading- intensely reading- about monasticism, yet when it comes to the practices of monasticism, such as lectio divina, I come up woefully short in my caffeinated state.

And short as in I’m not taking the time to let the fullness of Scripture tell its tale.  The words become jumbled together and meaningless.  Not always, but enough to make it an issue.

I have a feeling I know what I need to give up for Lent.

This is not exactly going to be fun.

But necessary nonetheless.

For I Was Ill and You Cared For Me – Busted Halo

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via For I Was Ill and You Cared For Me – Busted Halo.

This is, by looking at the date of publication,  an “old” article, but I think it still resonates strongly, especially with regard to the appropriate Christian response to the possibility of universal health care.  The responses are equally as compelling as the article.  Here we have an opportunity to allow for an informed compassionate legislation in line with Christian belief and doctrine, and Christians are…against it?  Phil Rose explores the dichotomy.

I’m On a Shirt

So one of my students made a shirt on cafepress or one of those other make-your-own-t’s sites with a quote attributed to me. It was rather surreal. The quote was an odd one too, one of my random, silly verbal gestures when I was trailing off discussing Desdemona’s thoughts as Othello spoke of her imminent death in Act V of Othello.  I argued that right up until the last minute, Desdemona was subservient to Othello, wanting to please him or placate him in any way.  “I mean, what was she thinking?  Something like ‘Can I make you some pancakes, dear?’”

“Can I make you some pancakes?” is now proudly worn on the back of one of my AP students.

Life is wonderfully weird sometimes.

The Paradox of Christianity, or Wandering Tree Remains

Of the myriad thoughts which have bounced around in my head lately, an urge to change the name of this blog has surfaced and warrants consideration.  On my “About” page, I describe myself as “the tree who has troubling standing still,” but since I have decided to settle, spiritually, in Christianity, and now, I think, as a member of the Episcopal Church- well, the desire to have a name more “rooted,” so to speak, has entered my thoughts.

A moment of recap might be necessary.  Over the past few months, I have been trying to find a new church to call “home.”  I became disenchanted with my church, for a number of reasons, mostly through my own prejudices and rationalizations, as I soon realized, but distance was also a primary factor and I longed to find a church closer to my house.  This led to a reassessment of the denomination I had called home for three years- I am not a cradle Episcopalian, so the exploration seemed reasonable.  I checked out a number of churches with a wide number of approaches.  However, I love the liturgy of the church, and find time at the Table a necessary part of my celebration of Christ.  In addition, my decision to leave Emmanuel Episcopal had nothing to do with the welcome and love I received from the congregation.  This, in fact, was what made it so hard to leave.  And so, after wandering into the Church of the Ascension- an Episcopal Church much closer to me, and receiving the same type of welcome- well, that was it.  I think the Episcopal Church will have to put up with me for while.

Anyway, back to the name change.  Could I really say I was still “wandering”?  The implication of that word connotes a lack of direction, an aimless meandering.  Someone who has “wanderlust” has a strong impulse to travel, and what good is that word if you want to feel that you have arrived?

The addition of the word “tree” might be an appeal to balance this sense of wandering- a rooted fixture in the earth, which is moved only by great disturbance.  But in reality, it seems only to add to the confusion, and maintain a sense of paradox.  Trees don’t wander.  No one expects them to.

Ah, but then comes the reminder.  The reminder of an insight I had a few years ago.  The Christ-centered life is itself a paradox, and therein lays the beauty and mystery of the faith.  Inherent in Christianity is the unexpected.

To wit:  A Virgin gives birth.  God becomes Man.  Death on the cross leads to life.  Water changes into wine.  Fishermen become the disciples of the Rabbi.  Blind men see.  The crippled walk.  Five loaves of bread and two fish feed five thousand people.  The last become first.  Love wins.

Nobody expected any of that.  We expect catastrophe and hurt.  The catastrophe in Haiti is devastating, but we expect that in this hurting world.  What we marvel at even more, however, is the outpouring of help and aid and support, and the images of neighbor helping neighbor.  A selfish world wakes up and becomes giving.  That’s what is unexpected.  We are not used to seeing it on a scale that rivals destruction.  Tolkien called it the “eucatastrophe”- the sudden, unexpected turn to good, the serendipitous event.

And Tolkien, as well as a couple of other well known authors, incorporated trees into the unexpected as well.  Saruman never expected the Ents to revolt against Isengard, or that Fangorn would awake to consume the forces of evil.  He thought Shakespeare did not go far enough in Macbeth when “Great Birnham Wood” was prophesized to rise up against Macbeth (turning out to be the illusion of Siward’s forces camouflaging themselves).  Lewis has the trees dance around Aslan in Prince Caspian and the movie has a wonderful sequence of the trees defending the Narnians against the Telemarines.

There are other wonderful paradoxes inherent in trees as well.  They stand silent, but for many centuries we have used their fiber on which to etch thousands of stories with ink.  We have used them to communicate, to create, to express, to reveal.

The last paradox is the most important of all.  When one finds Christ, it is only the beginning of a journey.  There the true search begins, for once we are found, it is our commitment to “come and see.”  We are not meant to sit but follow.  We are not meant to wait but “go out into the world.”

So the name stays.  Wandering Tree remains.  At times a cedar in Lebanon, at times a withered fig tree, at times a fruitful tree in the center of a garden.  But at all times, hopefully, conscious of the wind, the Spirit, which rustles its branches.  And I have not arrived, not yet.  There is still much “wandering” to be done.  But the Land is not barren, and every step I take has meaning.

A lingering question- do you have a blog?  If so, why did you choose the name you gave it?  Have you ever wanted to change the name of your blog?  Why?  Post your response in comments!

Help Haiti

One of the direct commands of Jesus we as Christians should always adhere to is to help those who are poor and in need.  Haiti has been devastated by a 7+ magnitude earthquake.  Here are three outlets which you can use to help.  Donate today.  Donate now.  $35.  $50.  $100.  $1000.  Whatever you can do.  Just do it:

Oxfam America: Haiti Earthquake Response Fund

IRC:  International Rescue Committee: Haiti Crisis

World Vision: Haiti Earthquake Relief

Wandering Tree Examines the Roots: 2009 Year in Review

A scattered mind like mine should relish the chance to take stock of the past, to reflect on where he has been in an attempt to be ever mindful of the Spirit who wishes to drive him forward.  I can say with all honesty that 2009 has been a year of hills and valleys, at times blinded by the sun, and others times trying to see beyond the mist.  It would be fair to say that I’ve traveled further than I ever have, given my trip to England, and interacted with an extraordinarily diverse group of people: pseudo-hippies, fundamentalist Christians, gay-friendly Christians, English pub owners, Baker St. employees, famous actors, less-than-famous ventriloquists, hobbits, gandalfs, and other LOTR fans, Harry Potter fans, AP instructors, New York cabbies, high school teenagers, monks, and authors of ghost stories.  I created a nonprofit, Hobbit Meals,  to aid the relief work of Second Harvest Food Bank, was entrusted with my first AP class, and drank a pint at a pub where Charles Dickens used to hang out.  I went to a Muppet-themed wedding. I saw Phish again for the first time in nearly 10 years, and Bruce Springsteen for my first time ever.  I met Billy Boyd, who sang extremely sad songs.  I finally procured my Professional Teaching Certificate for the state of Florida.  I met Rob Bell and told him about Hobbit Meals, which ended up in one of his sermons (or at least in a travelogue to keep his congregation up to date).  I turned 35.

Travel seemed to be the highlight of the year, with a week-long sojourn at Bonnaroo, where I was given the nickname “Gandalf,” due to my long pipe (filled only with tobacco, folks) and the enormous copy of Lord of the Rings I brought along with me, which I read each morning.  I was also in a “hobbit” frame of mind, allowing the summer break to relax me.  The trip certainly brought some amount of calm to this anxiety-prone spirit.  It was not long after this when my wife and I traveled to England, exploring, in that frantic American tourist kind of way, London, Bath, Oxford, and Edinburgh.  We met up with the Davis family, who were gracious enough to play host to two Yanks in their native country, including a tour of the Harry Potter set at Leavesden Studios.

School started once again, with more than a little anxiety.  The reason and goals for my profession seemed a bit lost to me this semester, therefore constant search for the foundation of my vocation and a renewed sense of a love for literature dominated my thinking from August to December.  Fragmented thoughts on the implication of tweets and the avoidance of Things in Capital Letters echo in my thinking as of late, to be written down in some reasonable semblance of cohesion soon.

Numerous books devoured over the year, including a romp through my C.S. Lewis collection, N.T. Wright’s Simply Christian, Peter Rollins’ Orthodox Heretic, Mcfague’s Speaking in Parables, G.K. Chesterton’s The Everlasting Man, and other theological writings.  Frank McCourt’s Teacher Man, Sarah Vowell’s The Wordy Shipmates, Harold Bloom’s Stories and Poems, Marilynne Robinson’s Death of Adam, and R.W. Emerson’s Essays and Poems are notables.

What of 2010?  Will I journey to England again, thanks to a scholarship for which I am applying?  A family?  Success or failure for my AP students?  A renewed willingness to seek Truth (yes, capitalized), no matter how quaint that might be?  To see the glorious divine comedy and tragedy of life?  Shall it be to the gym, to rid all signs of a contented life?  Perhaps even a short story or two?

Whatever it might be, may I make my ship seaworthy, checking the riggings and knots, hoisting the sails, with no fear for the line on the horizon.

Happy New Year to you all!

Advent Reflection: Caravaggio’s Madonna of Loreto

Two pilgrims, an old man and an old woman, kneel on stone steps hands nearly clasped but more rightly said to be cupped, walking sticks resting on their shoulders.  They kneel in front of Mary and the baby Jesus, Mary appearing as though the two had just caught her attention and she has turned suddenly to look at the them, perhaps brought out of some personal rumination.  The Christ child looks down on the pilgrims, chubby, naked, index finger pointing.

What kind of fights did Mary and Joseph have with each other?  Did Joseph ever feel insecure about the Virgin Birth?  Did he, in moments of weariness and weakness (perhaps Jesus never slept completely through the night) lash out at Mary?  “He’s not mine, anyway!”  yelled out in a fit of impatience and frustration, knowing full well he just lost it, the immediate apology forthcoming, but:  Did Mary ever leave?  Run off to clear her head of an argument, perhaps taking the Christ child with her, the one entity she felt completely bound to, and was it during this walk that she came upon the two pilgrims?  And perhaps, after hearing the clatter of sticks falling and the cries of praise for her and for Christ, after turning and seeing glistening eyes and weathered faces, after seeing her newborn point to the old couple and smile, did she think of her argument with Joseph?  Of how petty it all was in the face of what Was to Come, and all of her anger slipped away, pity and compassion returned to her face, and the faintest glimmer of a halo returned encircling her and her Babe’s head?  Was Joseph just out of frame, witnessing this?

Does our anger of the present blind us to what or who we hold in our hands for eternity?

“Excellent!”

Part of the Advent reading from Phillipians this week (Phil 1-11) is verse 10, of which a portion says “so that you approve what is excellent.”  And of course, child of 80s and 90s as I am, I immediately thought of that wonderful benediction from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure: “Be excellent to each other!”

What does excellent mean in this context?  How do we see it, much less approve of it?  Paul wishes that our love would “abound more and more” which gives us a clue that the giving and receiving of love, a love which grows and grows and nearly leaps to connect with people helps us see excellence better.  Excellence, then, is not merely a solitary concept, but something that happens in relationship to something else.  A single thing is not excellent until it is communicated or interacted with in love.

So, yes, a flat tire can be excellent- when you help someone fix it.  A broken relationship is excellent- when time is given between people to heal and grow again.  A book is excellent- when the reader really connects with the story, and joins the author on his/her adventure.  Food is excellent- when it is used to feed the hungry.  And waiting is excellent, when we share our anticipation of the coming of Emmanuel.   And all of this done with love.  When we are excellent to each other.