Cobblestones (poem)

As I left your apartment
I began walking
on the cobblestoned night sky.

Driving on the 805,
you had closed your eyes and grinned
"Rollin'--"
shaken your head
"Rollin'--"
and nodded your feet.
"Rollin' on a river"

At the beach, a cigarette dangled
from the cave between a young woman's lips, and blood
smoke spilled out my window.

The sky had erupted, spewing lava
out onto the street.  "Are we lost?" you said.
Leaving the parking lot, a woman
fingered me with her face, which resembled a rare steak.
"No, it'll just take us longer to find it."

The light on the sea was gum stains
on your North Park sidewalks
behind the fishing pier.

"What's that over there?" you said.
I said that leads to the bridge
and further, an overlook.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .     Go
far enough, beyond the moon's glow
cloaked in stone clouds
and you will find in the darkness a road
paved with starry Light.

The Unanswerable Question

"How are you?"

It is a question we ask more frequently than other questions in the course of our day (if we are among other people), and despite how easy it might be to dismiss The Question, it is perhaps among the most important questions we ask.

Let us consider, briefly, alternatives to The Question.  This will, I hope, illustrate the meaningfulness of The Question.  Classical journalists may tell you that there exists among the realm of interrogatives a canon called the Five Ws and the H:  Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How.  Our Question employs H, but we could replace H with any of the Ws.  In so doing , what is gained, and what is lost?
 

• "Who are you?"  A deep question, one that most people ask, or at least should be asking.  Even Rango, a chameleon, asked himself this question.  Be warned, though, that this weighty query requires a thoughtful, prepared response, and may not even be answerable, at least for a while.
   
• "What are you?"  Aside from the obvious response, "a human," an answerer could respond with ethnicity, occupation, vocation, religious affiliation, gender, or personality type, to name a few possibilities.  While "What are you?" is, in an appropriate context, an important question, asking it as often as we ask The Question would distance people, as though the questioner were peering at the answerer through a magnifying glass.
   
• "When are you?"  Of the W and H questions, this one appears the easiest to answer.  If you were to ask me this question now, I would be tempted to say, "I am currently at 6:52 pm, Pacific Standard Time, on Monday, June 18, 2012 AD/CE, on the western calendar."  But such an answer does not do justice to the question.  Although you and I likely do not perceive to have the time to explore the nature of time now, I will say that according to writer Madeleine L'Engle, time expresses itself in two dimensions:  chronos, "our wristwatch and alarm-clock time" (recall how I was tempted to answer "When are you?", for example), and kairos, "God's time, real time."  Chronos flows in one direction, like a river, whereas kairos branches in many directions, like a tree.  (For more on this subject, read L'Engle's Walking on Water and A Wind in the Door.)  So, while chronologically I am now at 7:04 pm, same day, same year, and same calendar, I may also be, kairologically,  five weeks or ten years ago or maybe even two months into the future.  So, answering this question is not as easy as it might seem.
   
• "Where are you?"  People do not often ask this question in person because the location of the answerer is usually apparent.  However, if one is eating lunch at a table and someone has noticed that one's lack of speech among the surrounding people, the perceptive and curious person may ask this variation of the question: "What planet have you been on?"  In such a case the quiet one might respond with the following in jest:  "Remind me, what's the name of this planet we are on right now?"
   
• "Why are you?"  Answering this question would require knowledge of the chain of causes which led to one's conception.  How could the questioner expect one to have such knowledge?  That would be similar to asking, "Why are babies made?"  If taken back far enough, that would be like asking "Why did God make the universe?",  unless you are really merely asking,  "Why are you the way you are?"  But asking "Why?" risks being interpreted as disapproval.  To avoid this possible negativity, the questioner might best ask "Who are you?", or better yet, The Question.

Usually when someone asks us The Question, we do not answer directly, but rather we respond to an alteration of The Question: "What are you feeling?" or, in different words, "What mood are you in?"  That is why we answer with "Fine," "Pretty good," "Can't complain," "Sick," or something else.

The Question, though, is potentially grander than "What are you feeling?"  We ask "How?" to discover a process.  For example, "How do magnets work?"  "How do you make a lemon pie?"  "How do you spell 'midwestern?'"  If asked literally, The Question seeks knowledge about the process of someone's becoming who they are now.  What is the story of how and why you are you?  What decisions did you make or not make to become who and what you are?  What roads did you travel to get here?  What significant events occurred, what significant people have you met along the way?  What have you been thinking and feeling to put you in the state you are in at this moment?  One might translate The Question into "How do you come to be who/what/when/where/why you are now?"  or even simply "Tell me your story."

Beyond process, we ask "How?" when we are caught up in wonder.  Let's say someone has built an amazing castle out of Legos. The impressed observer will ask, "How did you do that?"  The architect might answer, "I put the pieces together based on this booklet and what I thought would look cool."  If the observer is seeking to learn how to design a stunning castle, the architect's lack of specifics would likely not fulfill the observer's desire.  To be fair, though, how can the architect adequately explain the process of making something beautiful?  Wonder often escapes words.   If wonder could be put into words, I suppose that all the web pages in the world could not contain those words. To answer slightly more satisfactorily, the architect might need to speak in poetry.

Yet it is possible that the observer asks "How did you do that?" not to learn a process, but to express awe.  Giving an answer may only diminish the observer's admiration.  When interpreted as an expression of wonder, "How did you do that?" echoes rare moments when I have been so filled with unearned, unexpected joy that I have asked myself, "How can this be happening to me?"  In these moments I do not expect, or maybe even want, an answer to such a question.

Thus, asking The Question points to a glory which connects, involves, and transcends the questioner and answerer.  

How are you?

Held in the Light

Yesterday at Southeast, Charlene and Danny sang/played a song about how Christ is praying for us.  I think the lyrics officially said that Jesus is interceding for us.  The word "intercede" comes from inter-, which means "between," and cede, which means "to go" or "to yield."  So when the song says that Jesus is interceding for us, it's suggesting that Jesus is moving back and forth between us and God.

At ESR, I have learned another way to think about prayer.  Many Quakers describe interceding for someone as "holding that person in the light."  You might hear someone say, "I am holding you in the light."  So when we say that Jesus is interceding for us, we are also saying that Jesus is holding us in the light.

If Jesus is holding us in the light, then when we communicate with God, we are not so much starting a new conversation or offering an idea God hasn't thought of yet as we are joining Jesus as he communes and converses with God.  The communion and the conversation have gone on since long before we awoke.  The scriptures even tell us that we do not know what to pray for, but the Spirit intercedes for us in a motion deeper than words.

I believe that Jesus Christ is the light of the world.  When we say that Jesus is holding us in the light, then, are we saying that Jesus is holding us in himself?

The Light and the Life are holding us, and the world, in the Light.

Who are you looking for?

Tonight, the ESR class of 2012 celebrated their time at ESR in a baccalaureate service.  Susan Yanos, professor of writing and ministry, gave a message based on the ending of the Gospel of John, when the resurrected Jesus reveals himself to Mary.  In honor of tonight, and of this pilgrimage we find ourselves on, whether in or out of school, I'd like to share the following assignment I recently wrote for my New Testament class.

The Gospel of John portrays a deep and wide range of human experiences and emotions.  In the prologue, we read that the Word takes on flesh and dwells among us (1:14), validating our existence as humans.

We can see the gospel’s embrace of human experience in characters’ speech.  For instance, Nathanael expresses mistrust when he asks, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (1:46).  I imagine the steward in Cana guffawing after saying, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk.  But you have kept the good wine until now” (2:10).  Nicodemus reveals his ignorance—and expands the primal human metaphor—when he asks Jesus for clarification:  “How can anyone be born after having grown old?  Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” (3:4).  The man healed of blindness expresses frustration and defiance when he tells the Pharisees, “I have told you already, and you would not listen.  Why do you want to hear it again?  Do you also want to become his disciples?” (9:26-27).  We catch a glimpse of the Pharisees’ wounded pride in their response:  “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” (9:34).

One of my favorite revelations of character is when Jesus goes to Judea to see his beloved friend Lazarus, and Thomas tells the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (11:16).  Although Thomas may have literally willed to die with Jesus, I like to imagine Thomas speaking sarcastically, knowing that they are heading into danger, yet, maybe because he is a disciple, or because he knows it is right, he has no other choice but to follow.

Before Jesus’ crucifixion, Pilate expresses wonder and existential despair in response to Jesus:  “What is truth?” (18:38).  After Jesus’ resurrection, the disciple whom Jesus loved exclaims upon seeing Jesus, “It is the Lord!” (21:7).  The narrator tells us that Peter is pained at Jesus’ asking three times, “Do you love me?” (21:17).  We see Peter’s curiosity, perhaps out of competition or fear of what’s to come, when he asks, “Lord, what about him?” (21:21).

Characters in other canonical gospels reveal character, too.  For instance, Peter has a reputation of sometimes speaking thoughtlessly (Matt 26:33, Mk 14:29, Lk 22:33).  But not only are the words I quoted unique to John, I also think their humanity is emboldened because Jesus’ speech is often symbolic in John.  From Jesus’ “I am” statements (4:26, 6:35, 8:12, 8:58, 10:11, for example) to his final speech and prayer (13-17), ironically, Jesus often doesn’t speak in a manner we would expect people “of the flesh” to speak.  Jesus’ symbolic speech foils for the earthly speech of other characters, and especially for Jesus’ own fleshly speech. 

Perhaps the most poignant expression of Jesus’ emotion is when we might expect Jesus to speak, but instead he is silent.  Near the middle of the gospel, Jesus and his disciples learn that Lazarus has died.  Jesus sees Mary and the Jews with her weeping, and asks a practical question:  “Where have you laid him?” (11:34).  They respond with Jesus’ own symbolic words (1:39), reversing the roles between master and servants:  “Lord, come and see” (11:34).  Then, “Jesus began to weep” (11:35).

On the morning of Jesus’ resurrection, Mary is weeping at the empty tomb, speaking with two angels in white.  Then she turns around and sees Jesus, although she doesn’t recognize him.  Could Jesus be teasing her?  He asks, “Woman, why are you weeping?  Who are you looking for?” (20:15), echoing his symbolic speech in 1:38.  Mary, thinking he is a gardener, asks him to take her to Jesus’ body.  Then Jesus says, “Mary!”  (20:16).  In one word, we see that Mary is reunited with her Lord, and her Lord is excited to see his friend again.


Verses taken from the NRSV.

Playful Theology

Today I took my final exam for History of Christianity I, in which I was instructed to compare Anselm's ontological argument for the existence of God with one of Thomas Aquinas' proofs for God's existence.  If you have no clue what I just wrote, especially after the word "compare," then wait until you read Anselm's argument.  I would recapitulate it for you, but that's not my main reason for writing this entry, so I'll let you discover it on your own.  (To quote my professor, "Please don't feel bad" if you have to re-read Anselm's argument several times.  It didn't click for me until about half an hour after I turned in my exam, and I still feel fuzzy when I think on it.)

Anywho, my main reason for writing is to explore the fact that in their argument/proofs, neither Anselm nor Aquinas were really trying to prove the existence of God, as if they couldn't believe in God until they perfected their formulas.  That is, if they had not completed their their proofs, they still would have believed in God by faith.  As church historian Justo González writes, "What [Anselm] sought in doing this was not to prove something that he did not believe without such proof, but rather to understand more deeply what he already believed."  And for Aquinas, González says, "rational inquiry helps us to understand better that which we accept by faith."

Before, I thought that theologians like Anselm and Aquinas were trying to teach an unbelieving world that God actually exists.  Believe, because it's rational!  Now that we've proven God through logic, you have no excuse!  Certainly, theologians tried this later, including some today.  But Anselm and Aquinas were doing something different than trying to save souls in their writing.  They were exploring the unseen territories of what they already believed, like someone who has bought a house and begins wandering through the rooms to really get to know the place.  Like musicians of thought, they were playing.

"Playing and praying are like the musicians' art that combines discipline with delight," writes Eugene Peterson.  "Music quickens something deep within us. . . . Karl Barth once declared that the music of Mozart led him to 'the threshold of a world which in sunlight and storm, by day and by night, is a good and ordered world.'"  Playing and praying, Peterson writes, enhance life, renew us, make us fully human.