Friday, August 17, 2007

Wait, what happened to my wallet?

Apparently, we did not think that our sugar baby was getting enough money, so yesterday we decided to up Israel's allowance to a a cool thirty billion dollars over the next ten years. That's a twenty-five percent increase over our last figures. Last I checked, we give Israel more money than every other country combined, so I wonder where this latest number puts us.

But don't worry, we're going to balance it out by giving about twenty billion dollar in arms to some Arab allies (Egypt and Saudi are on our Top Friends list).

By the way, remember how this administration was determined to ONLY deal with democracies and was not going to use weapons sales to court foreign powers? Wasn't that their policy for years now? I wonder what happened to change their mind . . .

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

George MacDonald

A reading from George MacDonald's Diary of an Old Soul:

I am a fool when I would stop and think,
And lest I lose my thoughts, from duty shrink.
It is but avarice in another shape.
‘Tis as the vine-branch were to hoard the grape,
Nor trust the living root beneath the sod.
What trouble is that child to thee, my God,
Who sips thy gracious cup, and will not drink!

George MacDonald (184-1905) was a Scottish novelist, poet and theologian. I adore his fairy tales, particularly: The Wise Woman, The Golden Key, The Princess and the Goblin, The Princess and Curdie, and most especially, Phantastes, a grown-up fantasy that C.S. Lewis declared “baptized his imagination” before he became a Christian. Most writers are excellent in their depiction of vice—of our human follies, deceits and illogicality. MacDonald is the only writer I have read who captures goodness and beauty and innocence without making it seem naïve and childish.

I picked up a copy of Diary of an Old Soul, which has a little devotional poem for each day of the year. I don’t always understand them and I don’t read them regularly, but every once in a while, I run across a little gem like this.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Arms Outspread

All right, so autumn is starting to creep up my back (don’t you just hate August) and this is making me a little pensive. Back to the passage from Hebrews for a little while.

All of these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.

I just read through a biography of Anne Bradstreet, the first American poet (a surprisingly favorite read—quick, fascinating, story-like) and was able to step into the shoes of a Puritan woman in a way that I have never been able to do before. She and her family had a dream, a dream of holiness, a dream that a society could be designed in such a way that every person within its community would bow to the authority of God. They were deeply passionate about this dream, and they believed that this was a God ordained dream. To disregard would be to disobey. For the first time, I realize the immensity of the sacrifice. These people had nothing to gain and everything to lose. They sold everything—property, goods, businesses, lace collars—to buy supplies to live through journey. There would be no money for a return trip.

And of course, they compared themselves to Abraham, and they compared the New World to the Promised Land. This was the dream that was promised to Abraham, though, as this passage indicates, he died without seeing.

Within one generation, the Puritan dream withered. In fact, the dream was tainted from conception because they had to bring outsiders with them because they needed particular tradesmen (doctors, carpenters, etc.) and there weren’t enough Puritan tradesmen to go around. So Idealism bowed to Practicality before they even set sail. Not only that, but their community unity was attacked again and again, not by outsiders as much as by insiders who strayed from the straight and narrow. Each time the community was shaken up by religious or political controversy, another small group would break off and move further away from the frontier, to start fresh and restart the limping dream.

I look at these two stories, of Abraham’s life of faith with unfulfilled promises and the American template of faith: wanting, demanding for the promises to be fulfilled now. I think, what is this faith that we are called to—to be always haunted by the beauty of the dream but to know that it is stamped with the designation not yet? What is this faith that we are called to—to be given the vision, to know the outline of the Garden of Eden, to have glimpses of glory, and yet to be still so far away? Our attempts to hammer in the garden seem to turn in to nightmares.

My question for myself is: will I be patient? Do I have what it takes to stand with the faithful? Am I content enough
To see (and taste and drink and smell)
And welcome (arm outspread)
From a distance.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

Walking on Water


Thank you so much, Laura!

I am so new at this that I didn’t realize that one could get awards on here and had to take a peak at other people’s blogs to understand the proper protocol. My dear friend Laura, (My Quotidian Mysteries), is a brave soul who has just moved to Qatar. Here is what she said:

Jessica is another friend who also recently started a blog (On the Outside of the World), and I'm so glad she did. She's a friend of mine from college, and she's an American Palestinian Christian. Yep. You read that correctly. One thing I love about Jessica is that she slays all stereotypes. She's a teacher at a classical Christian school, and is passionate about Jesus Christ and about her heritage as a Palestinian. She's thoughtful and courageous in discussing politics in the Middle East (or anything else for that matter) and her courageous soul blesses me.

As for being courageous, I will say this: I have been described by those who know me best (namely my mother) as being risk-adverse. I am a saver, an organizer, and a planner. But all of the best things of my life have come from the wild calls of God, and my almost stupefied “yes.”

I think of traveling across the ocean to go to college by myself in the United States. I think of a crazy decision to move to D.C. after college, where I knew almost no one and when I had no money. Then to Johnstown, PA, again, with no job and where I was a complete misfit (was I even sane at this point?) Then there was the decision to teach, (with NO prior experience), to put on two plays (with NO prior experience), even to take some students with me to work in the deepest part of the West Bank (seriously, were those parents sane?) I think, also, of engaging in friendships and discussions with the many people who are either subtly or overtly opposed to my very identity, racially, politically and theologically.

All of these things required me to step out, to commit, to say, “yes” before I knew if I could really do it—no, actually knowing that I couldn’t do it, but that God wanted me to do it anyway. All of these things required me to step out on the water, to actually walk on the water. It seems that as long as I am staring at the face of God and walking toward Him, I am giddy but fine. My stress comes from these moments of panic when I look down and realize that I am walking on water and say to myself, ‘What in the world am I doing? I can’t do this!” and I start to sink.

This is what my life seems to be about: getting out of the boat when Jesus calls, walking on the water, doubting, and then feeling Jesus pull me up and holding me until I can walk again.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

"On Using Eager Aspirations"


This passage jolted me awake this morning. The Royal Way of the Cross is one of my favorite devotional books, and is a collection of letters written by a French 17th century priest, François Fénelon. I love his writings because they are wise, but they are frank. They do not let me get away with anything.

It is not to be wondered at that you should have a sort of jealous eagerness and ambition to advance in the spiritual life, and to be in the confidence of noteworthy servants of God.

Self-love naturally seeks successes of this kind, which are flattering to it. The real thing that matters, however, is not to satisfy your ambition by some brilliant advance in virtue, or by being taken into the confidence of distinguished persons, but to mortify the flattering tendencies of self-love, to humble yourself, to love obscurity and contempt, and to seek God only.
People cannot become perfect by hearing or reading about perfection. The chief thing is not to listen to yourself, but silently to give ear to God; to renounce all vanity, and apply yourself to real virtue.