January 17th, 2006

HTOC

An Update. With Qoutes!

“One wanted…to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that’s a chair, that’s a table, and yet at the same time, It’s a miracle, it’s an ecstasy.” -Wolf
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Sunday was a bright morning, and with it came liturgy and friends and even guests.
On Sunday evening there was a journey out to Brainerd. Abby became rather sick, as was evidenced by immense amounts of vomit. She is alive though, and recovering.
It was a quiet weekend and holiday. It was mostly overcast. There was all the time in the world to do nothing. We drove back last night.
My mother sent me a package full of letters and treats. Jake sent me a message on an answering machine full of bad news and prayer.
It looks like we’re all still alive.
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I finished Virginia Wolf’s “To the Lighthouse”. Her words are beautiful. My good friend Jake has superb tastes. I finished Pelikan’s “Jesus through the Centuries” and have made it halfway through his “Mary through the Centuries”. Mary is another biblical paradox: Virgin and Mother; Human Mother of One who is God.
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On Boredom

The pendulum swings from despair to joy, midway through the course lays boredom. We are blessedly close to the divine in the midst of our joy, and dangerously (if unknowingly) close to the divine in our despair. It is in boredom that God seems impossible.
In joy the faces filling a room are a testament of hope, diversity and creativity – they are interesting. They dance and flash and hold mystery.
In despair these faces are terrible. They testify to pain and selfishness and all the lies that support our way of life, that hide our terror.
But in boredom faces are merely material, merely present. There is no mystery and there is nothing special in anything. There is more life in a quick shriek of death and anguish than in an entire day of apathy.
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“His immense self-pity, his demand for sympathy poured out and spread itself in pools at her feet, and all she did, miserable sinner that she was, was to draw her skirts a little closer round her ankles, lest she should get wet” – Virginia Wolf.