Listen, for I too will tell my tale for the best of visions.
It is a tale told by one, two, and three nails in telling it.
It came to us thrice as strong in the middle of the night.
Please beware and prepare yourself.
The blacksmith used only the finest metals,
who then, with vehement flame and shadow, created
the finest of nails. Today, the nails were made extra special.
The messenger had brought word earlier of a Messiah, a
Prophet King they called him.
The nails needed to be strong.
Strong enough to hold, in place, and for a span of time,
the Son of God and of Man. They called Him Yeshua, or Jesus. His birth, ordained,
proved simple enough-nothing more about the carpenter from Galilee.
It is not written in the book of books.
How ironic that one who worked with wood, saw, and nails
would be attached to such devices; itself, an almost engineered trinity.
Hammered they were, and water-cooled in liquid steam.
Upon the anvil were the three beaten, beaten, beaten.
At first, their shape no more than thin,
nine-inch cubes of solid metal. The smith, in persistence and possession,
hammered on and on and on until the end began to take a spikèd look.
The three, gleaming in the heat from both the flame and the hammers blow,
would prove their creator just.
Now finished, the smith began to place each nail
in a leathered pouch, reserved for only his best metal. What caution in placing them inside the pouch. What fear and reverence for this work.
He had done his part, in humility and, in obedient submission.
His life would change.
The on-lookers now took on the shape of spirits plenty, holy
and unholy throughout. Demons snarled in misguided approbation.
The angels stood still, a quiet calm resting upon their golden brows.
Their wings, lined with gold, were white and puffed to reflect
the beauty of the Holy One, that Ancient of Days, that Creator of good and woe.
Nevertheless, the nails perceiving their calling,
though with much intended sadness, would yield, in the end,
with hope-a result of cataclysmic proportion! What joy
ensues after the pain of loss, is an act that will be considered Christian
for the ages to come.
Many have been the afflictions of humanity
at the turn of misunderstandings. The nails, in hope and awe,
understood. They too relied on grace to be forgiven,
and to have the crimson stain of humanity’s blight,
be upon their metallic frame. What washing could take and restore the hue of their metal? What true spike was ever deemed worthy to be restored?
Many, upon that hillside have been the cruelties of destiny.
Many have blamed a faulty providence. Yet, on that day I beheld the Son of the God-Man, laid out and stretched. The clouds stood still
as if to wait upon command from their Creator.
The winds blew, forgetting their boundaries, upon that hill top.
The soldiers gathered round, with crowds, marveling at the spectacle. What had He done? Why is He here? Questions appeared and dissipated, like the very whispers of shadow and dark. Yet, no one dared to respond!
At last each arm and leg was laid upon the rood.
The rood too has a story I am told, but it will not be mentioned here.
For now, it is a vision of three nails all told and agreed by them.
The smith was called forth, his face and hands darkened,
yet himself quickly noticeable in such a lighted crowd. The soldier
took the first nail from the leathered pouch.
His hands, though scarred and responsible
for many a blow upon the enemy, now shook.
Still trembling he looked upon his target,
sweat beading upon his forehead, betrayed his resolve.
He stood up, wiping away a stray trickle of sweat from his left brow.
He blew out a sigh and then knelt to give the blow to God’s Crisis.
The nail, a metal spike glowing in the sun, bowed to the Son and struck
flesh and ligament and blood and through bone into wood. I have heard the cry of the God--Man, and no it is not pleasant nor soothing!
Creation groans and is still groaning? There is no comparison.
The blows came slowly at first upon the first nail,
Picking up speed upon the second spike until, from pity or fear,
the third spear was given the quickest blow to pierce through ankle bone
and ligamented flesh. A tattered mess, a ragged look, and all sensed—
It was finished.
Many will come to place value upon us three, for indeed we were there who held
the Son in place. We ask that those who would know about this vision be told
about its end. We became part of the rood, we three held it all.
We kept the second Adam in place of the first.
We ensured hope for mankind, our initial blight removed.
‘Tis pity if the story would end here, but the Lord, that Godson, rose
Again to life, His angels bearing witness to the event.
He appeared to the disciples in mourning, giving hope to blinded Thomas.
For was it not him who said, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails,
and put my finger into the print of the nails,…I will not believe.
To which our Lord did appear, removing doubt, and state-“Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands,…and be not faithless, but believing.
Such is the rebuke for the ages to come and
Behold the nails of love, faith and hope,
We three, we three spears are the greatest of these.
Monday, May 18, 2009
a new home, a new space
My relocation to St Petersburg, Florida has been nothing shy of perfect. I am finishing up my Ph.D. in Medieval Studies Literature, getting ready to purchase a home, will be teaching as an Adjunct Professor, working on my second book, planning a wedding with my beloved fiance and enjoying the good Lord's sun and rain.
I am also closer to my home, St. Croix and to my familia. By way of a welcoming committee, my fiance and I went to a reggae-playing bar and beach area yesterday. The water was simply beautiful and the people quite friendly. In fact, I came across two islanders that just happened to be from St. Croix, from my city...Christiansted. Unbelievable!
I have enjoyed a nice Chilean wine (2006) and have yet to uncork my Florence-purchased Castello Di Monterinaldi(Chianti Classico, 2004). Don't worry, I have two bottles and will have dual reasons to drink them in the near future.
The blog will continue to be somewhat academic, but will now describe the life of an academic in a southern state surrounded by the Gulf, sun and the occasional hurricane warning, or two. If you are ever in the St Petersburg area, let me be a guide, a light.
I am also closer to my home, St. Croix and to my familia. By way of a welcoming committee, my fiance and I went to a reggae-playing bar and beach area yesterday. The water was simply beautiful and the people quite friendly. In fact, I came across two islanders that just happened to be from St. Croix, from my city...Christiansted. Unbelievable!
I have enjoyed a nice Chilean wine (2006) and have yet to uncork my Florence-purchased Castello Di Monterinaldi(Chianti Classico, 2004). Don't worry, I have two bottles and will have dual reasons to drink them in the near future.
The blog will continue to be somewhat academic, but will now describe the life of an academic in a southern state surrounded by the Gulf, sun and the occasional hurricane warning, or two. If you are ever in the St Petersburg area, let me be a guide, a light.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
an (a)Typical Sermon
And so I begin my meditations--in my room, on my knees in West La-La (a phrase made popular by one RS). Today, as it doth please the Lord, is the first of February 2009. I seek relevance this morning in the "solitude" of my room, surrounded by friends long since dead and those still ticking, alive. I give myself to their teaching(s), their wisdom--in hopes that I might enter that atmosphere of both the sacred, the secular intelligentsia.
In looking for a verse, a passage on meditative rest in God, I was led to the unlikely Psalmist Moses; his plea:
Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
and prosper for us the work of our hands--
O prosper the work of our hands! (90.17)
I have read this passage many, many times and have prayerfully re-articulated it loudly, boldly. It holds such powerful, vehement beseechment from Moses, the man of God who would not enter the land of promise.
He was an intelligent, but angry man--whose ire struck more than the mere bed-rock of false motive, of true disobedience. His was a testy, and tested leadership; i.e. amidst disappointment, murder, signs, wonders, pillars of smoke, and of fire, tablets, then tablets redux, commandments, a shekinah face, a can-I-see-your-face O God--Moses, led a most stubborn-hearted people, albeit God's people, God's community.
The position of community has altered considerably since such Old Testament (OT) re-tellings, re-countings, and as the New Testament (NT) Book of Acts Chapter 4 presents it, community, God's community on earth is an example--in part of socialism and egalitarian consciousness. The text offers the reader such an interpretation from verses 32 thru 35:
Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.
With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.
There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold.
They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.
Imagine how such a mindset, a new Tour de Force, a new Tower of Babel perhaps--could manifest itself in our present, political arena. President Obama, accused of wealth distribution, or a brand of socialism, in a democratic system of government, took some heat on this issue en route to his historical election as the 44th example of the nation's executive branch.
Still, Americans are divided, complex and though "patriotic," if not loyal (to a fault, or is it stubborn-hearted), to agree on matters of finance, of wealth (re)distribution, we remain touchy, testy. I am reminded of a wise saying from a Michigan State University Professor of American History whose specialty was the administration of president Woodrow Wilson. He had this to say: "If it is not fit for earth, then it is not fit for heaven." Heaven--really?
Is that not a space, a lofty space filled with idealism and the gentle flutter of equal parts angel-wings and a D-sharp harp chord pluck, or two. Alister E. McGrath weighs in on the subject of heaven in his A Brief History of Heaven (Blackwell, 2003), and like his quote invoking C.S. Lewis who argued, "While reason is the natural organ of truth, imagination is the organ of meaning" (5). None have been to heaven and back, and been able to capture that "occular proof" even Othello demanded from the Mephistolean Iago.
McGrath's thematic, rather than historical accounting of the imaginings of heaven is worth the read, but on the subject of heavenly community I turn to the imagination(s) of Goethe first, then St. Augustine.
We open the "Prologue In Heaven" with the three archangels converging, and a brooding Mephistopheles in his snake-tongue speech, spouting: "My pathos soon thy laughter would awake, / Hast thou the laughing mood not long forsworn," and continues to quip on mankind's "pains". Such an imagination offered by Goethe plays on the reader's all-too-temporal station; i.e. his estate is far from lofty.
Still, the warning that comes from Goethe's Lord is all-too Augustinian as he posits to Mephistopheles, who in turn has been commenting on "mankind's self-torturing pains," that in the end--"Hast though naught else to say? Is blame / In coming here, as ever, thy sole aim?" Actually, in terms of good and bad--yes.
In Book I, Chapter 9 Augustine offers in his discourse on "temporal calamaties" a warning, but also a beseechment wherein he argues:
Good and bad are chastised together, [...]
because both alike, though not in the same degree,
love this temporal life. (16)
I am not sure if such love, or affect[a]tion is competing for recognition in Acts 4:32-35, in McGrath's thematic heaven, in the imaginings of Goeth, or the temporal and calamitous assignation in Augustinian discourse, but I leave it at your feet that you may distribute it as you wish.
In looking for a verse, a passage on meditative rest in God, I was led to the unlikely Psalmist Moses; his plea:
Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us,
and prosper for us the work of our hands--
O prosper the work of our hands! (90.17)
I have read this passage many, many times and have prayerfully re-articulated it loudly, boldly. It holds such powerful, vehement beseechment from Moses, the man of God who would not enter the land of promise.
He was an intelligent, but angry man--whose ire struck more than the mere bed-rock of false motive, of true disobedience. His was a testy, and tested leadership; i.e. amidst disappointment, murder, signs, wonders, pillars of smoke, and of fire, tablets, then tablets redux, commandments, a shekinah face, a can-I-see-your-face O God--Moses, led a most stubborn-hearted people, albeit God's people, God's community.
The position of community has altered considerably since such Old Testament (OT) re-tellings, re-countings, and as the New Testament (NT) Book of Acts Chapter 4 presents it, community, God's community on earth is an example--in part of socialism and egalitarian consciousness. The text offers the reader such an interpretation from verses 32 thru 35:
Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.
With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all.
There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold.
They laid it at the apostles' feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.
Imagine how such a mindset, a new Tour de Force, a new Tower of Babel perhaps--could manifest itself in our present, political arena. President Obama, accused of wealth distribution, or a brand of socialism, in a democratic system of government, took some heat on this issue en route to his historical election as the 44th example of the nation's executive branch.
Still, Americans are divided, complex and though "patriotic," if not loyal (to a fault, or is it stubborn-hearted), to agree on matters of finance, of wealth (re)distribution, we remain touchy, testy. I am reminded of a wise saying from a Michigan State University Professor of American History whose specialty was the administration of president Woodrow Wilson. He had this to say: "If it is not fit for earth, then it is not fit for heaven." Heaven--really?
Is that not a space, a lofty space filled with idealism and the gentle flutter of equal parts angel-wings and a D-sharp harp chord pluck, or two. Alister E. McGrath weighs in on the subject of heaven in his A Brief History of Heaven (Blackwell, 2003), and like his quote invoking C.S. Lewis who argued, "While reason is the natural organ of truth, imagination is the organ of meaning" (5). None have been to heaven and back, and been able to capture that "occular proof" even Othello demanded from the Mephistolean Iago.
McGrath's thematic, rather than historical accounting of the imaginings of heaven is worth the read, but on the subject of heavenly community I turn to the imagination(s) of Goethe first, then St. Augustine.
We open the "Prologue In Heaven" with the three archangels converging, and a brooding Mephistopheles in his snake-tongue speech, spouting: "My pathos soon thy laughter would awake, / Hast thou the laughing mood not long forsworn," and continues to quip on mankind's "pains". Such an imagination offered by Goethe plays on the reader's all-too-temporal station; i.e. his estate is far from lofty.
Still, the warning that comes from Goethe's Lord is all-too Augustinian as he posits to Mephistopheles, who in turn has been commenting on "mankind's self-torturing pains," that in the end--"Hast though naught else to say? Is blame / In coming here, as ever, thy sole aim?" Actually, in terms of good and bad--yes.
In Book I, Chapter 9 Augustine offers in his discourse on "temporal calamaties" a warning, but also a beseechment wherein he argues:
Good and bad are chastised together, [...]
because both alike, though not in the same degree,
love this temporal life. (16)
I am not sure if such love, or affect[a]tion is competing for recognition in Acts 4:32-35, in McGrath's thematic heaven, in the imaginings of Goeth, or the temporal and calamitous assignation in Augustinian discourse, but I leave it at your feet that you may distribute it as you wish.
Rafa, un ejemplo de oro y mas
¿Quién podría haber percibido que Rafael Nadal acabaría por ganar el 2009 Australian Open, recomendó "el golpe de jugador," después de que ganar en 2008: el French Open, Wimbledon, Davis Cup, y una Medalla de oro en las Olimpiadas de Pekín? ¡Uhm...este tipo!
Rafa, como él es llamado, es no sólo el número uno del mundo, pero un ejemplo en la clase y la deportividad. El todavía admite eso, en 22, él todavía aprende, crece. ¡Espantoso! ¿Podría ser esto el año que un Español, el primer jamás ganar hacia abajo, gana el Gran Slam?
Puede usted imaginar si él pasa a ganar el Francés, Wimbledon y quizá su primer US. Open. Puedo realmente, porque aquí está un tipo que comprende sus limitaciones (que, discutiblemente, hay ninguno) y las miradas para aprender, escuchar.
Esto es el principio de sabiduría, sapiente. Un hombre que escucha, aumentará a aprendera. Los tenistas, sí -- tenistas, pueden ser ejemplos para el resto de nosotros en la vida que compiten, compiten, compiten. ¿Toma en casa mensaje: todo es posible? No. No todo, pero con entrada y deliberación buena, uno puede cambiar sus debilidades en fuerzas.
La comunidad beneficia del crecimiento individual, no.
Rafa, como él es llamado, es no sólo el número uno del mundo, pero un ejemplo en la clase y la deportividad. El todavía admite eso, en 22, él todavía aprende, crece. ¡Espantoso! ¿Podría ser esto el año que un Español, el primer jamás ganar hacia abajo, gana el Gran Slam?
Puede usted imaginar si él pasa a ganar el Francés, Wimbledon y quizá su primer US. Open. Puedo realmente, porque aquí está un tipo que comprende sus limitaciones (que, discutiblemente, hay ninguno) y las miradas para aprender, escuchar.
Esto es el principio de sabiduría, sapiente. Un hombre que escucha, aumentará a aprendera. Los tenistas, sí -- tenistas, pueden ser ejemplos para el resto de nosotros en la vida que compiten, compiten, compiten. ¿Toma en casa mensaje: todo es posible? No. No todo, pero con entrada y deliberación buena, uno puede cambiar sus debilidades en fuerzas.
La comunidad beneficia del crecimiento individual, no.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Rolle, a not so common exemplum
In a New York Times article, Pete Thamel comments on the rising stock of a Florida State University safety--not for his athletic prowess, but for his academic and sagacious decision.
You see, Myron Rolle's decision to suspend his potential career in the NFL, for a better, a stronger candidacy--to attend Oxford University as a Rhodes Scholar, is the "stuff," the "middling" of greatness!
I applaud Rolle not only for his decision to attend a fine university, but for his long-term projection skills. He knows that the NFL will always be there, but a chance to go to Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar...not so much.
I write this blog also for another reason. The trend of student athletes to go into the professional arena, privy to their sport, is a common one. Yet, when a student decides to choose education over a fleeting season of millions--this draws attention.
Rolle should receive all of the attention he is getting, and I hope student athletes pay razor-close attention to his example. Mark Sanchez recently announced his decision to enter the 2009 NFL draft, but he completed his degree. Tim Duncan completed his degree at Wake Forest, and 4 championship rings later, we know the story.
This is a trend I hope to see continue, and one that I hope the new president can acknowledge. Rolle should be invited to the White House. He should be made an example--period! I do not know Rolle personally, but I do know that his personal decision spoke personally to many--even myself.
You see, Myron Rolle's decision to suspend his potential career in the NFL, for a better, a stronger candidacy--to attend Oxford University as a Rhodes Scholar, is the "stuff," the "middling" of greatness!
I applaud Rolle not only for his decision to attend a fine university, but for his long-term projection skills. He knows that the NFL will always be there, but a chance to go to Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar...not so much.
I write this blog also for another reason. The trend of student athletes to go into the professional arena, privy to their sport, is a common one. Yet, when a student decides to choose education over a fleeting season of millions--this draws attention.
Rolle should receive all of the attention he is getting, and I hope student athletes pay razor-close attention to his example. Mark Sanchez recently announced his decision to enter the 2009 NFL draft, but he completed his degree. Tim Duncan completed his degree at Wake Forest, and 4 championship rings later, we know the story.
This is a trend I hope to see continue, and one that I hope the new president can acknowledge. Rolle should be invited to the White House. He should be made an example--period! I do not know Rolle personally, but I do know that his personal decision spoke personally to many--even myself.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
So Croix From Home
I have forgotten how awewsome home can be. I was born and raised on the island of St. Croix and it is simply beautiful. I am enjoying it immensely!
I surprised my newly-minted fiancee on the eve of Christmas at her parent's house with an engagement ring and a trip to St. Croix for an engagement honeymoon. Let's just say she has become the darling of my family, and I am the chopped liver.
That's okay though--she's gorgeous, holds a Ph.D., is a Professor of Rhetoric, has the most beautiful heart and actually loves me. What you gonna do man? The blessings of God continue to flow over me like the waterfalls of Annaly Bay, or the beauty of the sunset by the Frederiksted pier.
I brought her home to meet my family, but to also know where I grew up. She has adapted quite well--hiking, swimming and even trail-blazing through the rain forest! On Monday we head out to the famous Buck Island National Park where we will be snorkeling along the underwater trail/reef, sailing on a large catamaran, drinking strong, yet sweet island drinks, and enjoying all things Cruzan.
We're working on the jet skiing and the island hopping to St. John and the British Virgins. Not a bad life huh? Jealous? Me too!
I surprised my newly-minted fiancee on the eve of Christmas at her parent's house with an engagement ring and a trip to St. Croix for an engagement honeymoon. Let's just say she has become the darling of my family, and I am the chopped liver.
That's okay though--she's gorgeous, holds a Ph.D., is a Professor of Rhetoric, has the most beautiful heart and actually loves me. What you gonna do man? The blessings of God continue to flow over me like the waterfalls of Annaly Bay, or the beauty of the sunset by the Frederiksted pier.
I brought her home to meet my family, but to also know where I grew up. She has adapted quite well--hiking, swimming and even trail-blazing through the rain forest! On Monday we head out to the famous Buck Island National Park where we will be snorkeling along the underwater trail/reef, sailing on a large catamaran, drinking strong, yet sweet island drinks, and enjoying all things Cruzan.
We're working on the jet skiing and the island hopping to St. John and the British Virgins. Not a bad life huh? Jealous? Me too!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
The JOY d'esprit de la memoria
And a little child will lead them, but will the direction be leader-like? As the HOLYdays amalgamate into good food, great familia and much blessing--this one thing I ask and plead for humanity.
That with love and faith, and hope we would all plead for memories. Yes, the recapturing and re-telling of articulated story. The extension of history, the archiving of a generative space.
In time and times of hardship and loss, memory of plenty will hold us; in time and times of suffering and pain, memory of hope and joy will sustain us; and, even in time and times of misunderstanding, memory of better days, of better nights will keep us.
Memory is sacred, is romantic and culpable to an indefinite existence. It is perfectly, imperfect; it is hopelessly hopeful; and even consistently inconsistent. May this falling year awaken in the one to come--a new collection, a new memory for the memoir that is...to live, to be.
That with love and faith, and hope we would all plead for memories. Yes, the recapturing and re-telling of articulated story. The extension of history, the archiving of a generative space.
In time and times of hardship and loss, memory of plenty will hold us; in time and times of suffering and pain, memory of hope and joy will sustain us; and, even in time and times of misunderstanding, memory of better days, of better nights will keep us.
Memory is sacred, is romantic and culpable to an indefinite existence. It is perfectly, imperfect; it is hopelessly hopeful; and even consistently inconsistent. May this falling year awaken in the one to come--a new collection, a new memory for the memoir that is...to live, to be.
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