Damn, but it’s hot today. I really dislike hot weather. I do better when it is cold. I’m happy, in short sleeves, enjoying a bit of chill. In the heat I tend to melt, and to be really grumpy.
There is not a lot to note today: I am getting back on track with school, looking forward to seeing my daughter, and basically running around doing my stuff. Going back into the studio this Friday to record a few songs. My overly ambitious goal is to record at least five tracks, realistically I’ll do three. Either way is good. This brings me to nearly half-way on this project. Good is good.
I’ve been fighting with cluster-migraines for the last five days or so. There are moments when the pain is so intense that I can barely move my head, much less function. Heat and headaches: no wonder I’m a grouch today.
My apartment is really sloppy. I need to pick up. I’ve literally been running in and out, spending most of my time with my friend. That is good. I really miss my space, though. I need to find a way to spend some time here with her and time with her in her place.
That’s all the news that’s fit to print.
April 27, 2004
April 15, 2004
Blowing Steam... It's a New Day
My friend called... we're good.
A bit worried about school, though. I am SO far behind the curve on stupid assignments that I can grind out with one eye closed and one hand behind my back. Time to produce more worthless paper. Still, it moves me closer to my goal.
Practicing lots for the next couple of days. Going into the studio tomorrow. I don't feel nearly ready to do so.
More later...
A bit worried about school, though. I am SO far behind the curve on stupid assignments that I can grind out with one eye closed and one hand behind my back. Time to produce more worthless paper. Still, it moves me closer to my goal.
Practicing lots for the next couple of days. Going into the studio tomorrow. I don't feel nearly ready to do so.
More later...
April 14, 2004
So Sue Me for Being an Idiot
Later today....
OK... I thought, "Do the right thing: Send a kind email, visit, chat face to face." All of this only to be rebuffed every time I offered some indication of contrition. I have never felt unwelcomed in my friend's home until this evening. I left angry, opting not to say anything rather than say something that I would regret as soon as the words left my lips. I am not inclined to say a damn word more about this issue, however. I've made my mea culpa and will not say anything more.
Fuck, I'm accustomed to being treated like shit by people that are supposed to love me. That has been the way of my life. I am sick of it. I'm not going any place where I am not welcomed. That's for damn sure.
OK... I thought, "Do the right thing: Send a kind email, visit, chat face to face." All of this only to be rebuffed every time I offered some indication of contrition. I have never felt unwelcomed in my friend's home until this evening. I left angry, opting not to say anything rather than say something that I would regret as soon as the words left my lips. I am not inclined to say a damn word more about this issue, however. I've made my mea culpa and will not say anything more.
Fuck, I'm accustomed to being treated like shit by people that are supposed to love me. That has been the way of my life. I am sick of it. I'm not going any place where I am not welcomed. That's for damn sure.
Mea Culpa - Redux
I have an enduring talent for saying the right things but in the wrong ways...
Damn but I wish that I’d learn the power of the words that I use with such cavalier ease. It seems that I stuck my foot well into it again. The more I speak, the worst it gets, so I should just shut the fuck up.
It is never enough to mouth a mea culpa unless there is some plan to repent from the sins and faults committed. Bonhoeffer called it cheap grace to simply say words of faith without entering into the struggle to live the words that are said. I struggle to live the words, not to say them too loudly. I realize that I am the master at saying all of the right things – having reason for what is stated – without taking pains enough to assure that my reason does not trample on another’s sensibilities.
I blew it a few days ago with my friend. I feel sad about this. I wanted to find a way to express concerns that were best restricted to my private journal. Instead I put them here and they became fodder for the fire. I’m “right” in what I say, factually. I’m wrong in how I expressed these facts. I have need to speak, to say what I feel, to find a way to talk about what I hold most deeply. I just am goddamed it I know how to do it in a way that does not seem adversarial or judgmental.
This has been a lifelong struggle. I don’t know. It is as if this has become a window to my soul – a true one that others can see – which should be looked into cautiously. I need to see how I can restrict some entries and leave others open. That may help, but it seems to fly in the face of my not wanting to have secrets. Maybe I was wrong to allow anybody in to see these words. The presence of an observer changes the experiment. The knowledge that someone beloved is reading changes the text. All of these mean that the publication of a journal of one’s intimate thoughts changes the journal itself. Heisenburg, with regards to quantum mechanics, wrote: The more precisely the position is determined, the less precisely the momentum is known in this instant, and vice versa. I have always been a theological agnostic. I wish that I could find some certainty here.
I hate the idea of having to self-censor. I just have no idea how the hell to talk about things that I feel so strongly about without being offensive. That is enough for now.
Damn but I wish that I’d learn the power of the words that I use with such cavalier ease. It seems that I stuck my foot well into it again. The more I speak, the worst it gets, so I should just shut the fuck up.
It is never enough to mouth a mea culpa unless there is some plan to repent from the sins and faults committed. Bonhoeffer called it cheap grace to simply say words of faith without entering into the struggle to live the words that are said. I struggle to live the words, not to say them too loudly. I realize that I am the master at saying all of the right things – having reason for what is stated – without taking pains enough to assure that my reason does not trample on another’s sensibilities.
I blew it a few days ago with my friend. I feel sad about this. I wanted to find a way to express concerns that were best restricted to my private journal. Instead I put them here and they became fodder for the fire. I’m “right” in what I say, factually. I’m wrong in how I expressed these facts. I have need to speak, to say what I feel, to find a way to talk about what I hold most deeply. I just am goddamed it I know how to do it in a way that does not seem adversarial or judgmental.
This has been a lifelong struggle. I don’t know. It is as if this has become a window to my soul – a true one that others can see – which should be looked into cautiously. I need to see how I can restrict some entries and leave others open. That may help, but it seems to fly in the face of my not wanting to have secrets. Maybe I was wrong to allow anybody in to see these words. The presence of an observer changes the experiment. The knowledge that someone beloved is reading changes the text. All of these mean that the publication of a journal of one’s intimate thoughts changes the journal itself. Heisenburg, with regards to quantum mechanics, wrote: The more precisely the position is determined, the less precisely the momentum is known in this instant, and vice versa. I have always been a theological agnostic. I wish that I could find some certainty here.
I hate the idea of having to self-censor. I just have no idea how the hell to talk about things that I feel so strongly about without being offensive. That is enough for now.
April 13, 2004
Thoughts on God and Life
THE WHOLE ISSUE OF SPIRITUALITY Remains a compelling one for me. I have struggled with the idea of faith in the past. I was a Lutheran cleric for years and imagined that I would live out my whole life in the service of the Church and of God's people. Life has taken me in other directions and I find that I am starting to feel the stirrings of spiritual life within me again.
I would be loathe to say that this is simply a rehash of any Church Dogmatics; I am not a Barthian or neo-orthodox. I have grown in a different direction. I would never say that I have outgrown a faith tradition that has served humanity for over two millennia. That would be the nadir of arrogance. Suffice it to say that my faith journey has taken me on the road less traveled. I
Years ago I read St. Ireneus of Lyons. He has a beautiful doctrine of redemption that sees God drawing all things back unto God's self, even hell and the devil. This image of repristination is a strong one for me. I cannot conflate eschatology and ethics in a way that subordinates metaphysics to morality. That is simply bass-akwards; morality derives from metaphysics, ethics from eschatology. Ultimately, we are driven to a place of unknowing, where there is only faith and proof is not possible since the absolute Being can only reference Being-itself and, as such, will appear to be paradoxical. Thus, on the grounds of knowing or ethics I cannot know that I am among the redeemed. "I cannot by my own wisdom or knowledge come to God or know God..." as Luther had it in the Small Catechism.
Either all is redeemed or nothing is redeemed. I am involved in all flesh because I am made of flesh. My breath has been inspired by the breath of God who animated the dust and called life into being out of nothing. It is significant to me that in the Genesis myth that there is but one breath and that this breath is common to all human life. This image is seen again in Ezekiel and St. John. I live because I share a common animation, a common source and destiny. Thus, redemption, in order to be redemption, cannot be partial: grace must embrace all things and draw them unto God.
Faith is merely the realization that we stand in relation to God and therefore to each other.
I suppose that the theological issue is not as much eschatology as origin. If I originate in the arms of God than what shall be my destiny?
These are the questions that haunt my dreams... Fool that I am.
April 12, 2004
Easter Monday... Waiting for Godot?
It is Easter Monday and I am at home, preparing to go to school. I went to Easter services, following three years away from these celebrations. The person that I accompanied is someone quite dear to me; I kept my opinions to myself so as not to offend her. I do not understand why a person as intelligent as she would attend this congregation: the service was at best garish, at worst vulgar. The preacher tried to impress the congregants with his knowledge of Greek and misrepresented the text by committing an error that a first year classicist would not make (ignoring tense, mood, person). He simply missed the point and, more importantly, misrepresented scripture.
Having just blasted the service, I have to – in all fairness – say what I felt was good. The service was well organized. It had an organic structure. It was meaningful to those in attendance. It was well presented, if lacking in substance. It succeeded in appealing to those whose tastes run toward the theatric. Perhaps there was a touch of Sister Aimee in the service?
The frustrating thing for me is that I do love the Christian Church, even its protestant expressions. I have simply come to the sad conclusion that substance in faith will not appeal to the masses. When asked by her son what I thought of the service, I did not want to give any impression of disapproval: “It must have been meaningful to those in attendance,” was the best I could muster. I guess that I was really frustrated that this congregation that is paying big bucks for this service, using state of the art technology, could not even correctly transliterate the Greek.
I miss the liturgy.
I did not understand how the story of the resurrection was told during the service. This is what most concerned me. I am a theologian of the cross, a true Lutheran. I wonder what happened to the story of the women approaching the empty tomb and hearing the angelic question: “Why do you seek the living amongst the dead?”
It is almost as if I did not have Easter. How can I proclaim that He is risen, if I do not confront the empty tomb, the stench of death, and the women running from the tomb with joy?
But I am only a fool...
April 09, 2004
Good Friday
I maintain two journals… this web log that is available to friends and others (my identity is relatively secret and no names are used in any way that could lead to identification, furthermore no intimate details are given and dates are always a bit foggy) and a personal journal that I write in fountain pen and is full of my more personal meanderings. The only area that the two meet is in the arena of my spiritual life. There is a paradox in that. The spiritual life is not simply a personal journey, but a question of how the soul interacts with souls and with God. It is not the new-age bullshit that makes anything that feels good spiritual. I am of solidly Christian convictions and cannot divorce my spiritual quest from those moorings, nor would I want to. I do, however, find that I feel much like the loyal opposition in my feelings toward the postmodern church. It has cut the moorings and is adrift in a sea of mediocrity and – I believe – has forsaken its first love.
Today is Good Friday. The words of Psalm 22 still define this day for me: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me…” I don’t think that there is an adequate answer to that cry. It is a gasp of desperation and a cry of faith. There is a paradox implicit in that that speaks volumes about the nature of the Christ and the nature of humanity. To say “My God” is to proclaim a relationship, a connection that is still intact, at least from the point of view of the one speaking. The question of being forsaken follows the cry of the lover that has been betrayed by the beloved. That said from the lonely wooden tower of the cross: this image is too powerful in its stark and naked despair for words. Luther understood that in his formulation of the theology of the cross. The Christ event is for me how God transcends holiness by embracing the profane and recreating it into something new. One cannot lose sight of the sheer hatefulness of the act and the intention of crucifixion: it was not to punish a criminal, but to crush hope in others that would rise against Rome. Let us be clear: the Romans crucified Christ, the Gentiles pounded the nails into his arms and left him there to suffer and suffocate in his own blood. How dare we blame Judaism for Roman terrorism and imperialism?
There is so much that is problematic in the cross. There is so much that is beyond sane explanation. I find that most Christians don’t do well with it. Instead they take the way of the theology of glory that made Jesus into something other than a man in pain, suffering a most heinous death in front of those that he loved as well as those who hated him. I do not think that the question is how could it happen. I think the better question is why it does not happen more often. Hitler did it. Sadam Hussein did it. Stalin did it. Pol Pot did it. We do it, too. We dropped two atom bombs on non-military targets in WWII. We have overthrown legitimately established governments to support dictators of our own liking (Sadam Hussein being only one example, supported until inconvenient, then an immoral war is waged to change partners with no regard for the blood shed). We are the Romans. We are the ones pounding the spikes into the arms of the Christ.
Niebuhr spoke of the moral individual in immoral society. He observed that personal morality was not immune to corporate immorality. Such is the nature of power. Such is the nature of the state. We live in an immoral world – dare I say a world corrupted by sin? – and cannot free ourselves. We sin against God in thought, words, and deeds: by what we do and what we do not do. We do not love God, we do not love our neighbors as ourselves. The cross is only the most poignant symbol of this. And we dare to call upon God for our physical well-being, for blessings over our economy and continue to rape the environment – God’s creation over which we are called to be wise stewards – and turn a judiciously blind eye to the horrors promulgated in this world by regimes and individuals that are to our liking and who serve our purposes.
I cannot change the world. Hell, I have a hard enough time changing myself.
But what of the crucifixion on this Good Friday, two-thousand years after the Romans nailed an itinerant preacher to the tree and left him there to die. My favorite hymn for the day is running though my mind, even as I am listening to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme: T’was I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee, I crucified thee. Would that I learn how to beat my swords into ploughshares, how to heal the wounds in the broken body of Christ, how to live in love as an act of repentance, to live in joy as an affirmation of grace.
Ah, but I am only a fool…
Today is Good Friday. The words of Psalm 22 still define this day for me: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me…” I don’t think that there is an adequate answer to that cry. It is a gasp of desperation and a cry of faith. There is a paradox implicit in that that speaks volumes about the nature of the Christ and the nature of humanity. To say “My God” is to proclaim a relationship, a connection that is still intact, at least from the point of view of the one speaking. The question of being forsaken follows the cry of the lover that has been betrayed by the beloved. That said from the lonely wooden tower of the cross: this image is too powerful in its stark and naked despair for words. Luther understood that in his formulation of the theology of the cross. The Christ event is for me how God transcends holiness by embracing the profane and recreating it into something new. One cannot lose sight of the sheer hatefulness of the act and the intention of crucifixion: it was not to punish a criminal, but to crush hope in others that would rise against Rome. Let us be clear: the Romans crucified Christ, the Gentiles pounded the nails into his arms and left him there to suffer and suffocate in his own blood. How dare we blame Judaism for Roman terrorism and imperialism?
There is so much that is problematic in the cross. There is so much that is beyond sane explanation. I find that most Christians don’t do well with it. Instead they take the way of the theology of glory that made Jesus into something other than a man in pain, suffering a most heinous death in front of those that he loved as well as those who hated him. I do not think that the question is how could it happen. I think the better question is why it does not happen more often. Hitler did it. Sadam Hussein did it. Stalin did it. Pol Pot did it. We do it, too. We dropped two atom bombs on non-military targets in WWII. We have overthrown legitimately established governments to support dictators of our own liking (Sadam Hussein being only one example, supported until inconvenient, then an immoral war is waged to change partners with no regard for the blood shed). We are the Romans. We are the ones pounding the spikes into the arms of the Christ.
Niebuhr spoke of the moral individual in immoral society. He observed that personal morality was not immune to corporate immorality. Such is the nature of power. Such is the nature of the state. We live in an immoral world – dare I say a world corrupted by sin? – and cannot free ourselves. We sin against God in thought, words, and deeds: by what we do and what we do not do. We do not love God, we do not love our neighbors as ourselves. The cross is only the most poignant symbol of this. And we dare to call upon God for our physical well-being, for blessings over our economy and continue to rape the environment – God’s creation over which we are called to be wise stewards – and turn a judiciously blind eye to the horrors promulgated in this world by regimes and individuals that are to our liking and who serve our purposes.
I cannot change the world. Hell, I have a hard enough time changing myself.
But what of the crucifixion on this Good Friday, two-thousand years after the Romans nailed an itinerant preacher to the tree and left him there to die. My favorite hymn for the day is running though my mind, even as I am listening to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme: T’was I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee, I crucified thee. Would that I learn how to beat my swords into ploughshares, how to heal the wounds in the broken body of Christ, how to live in love as an act of repentance, to live in joy as an affirmation of grace.
Ah, but I am only a fool…
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