For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest and the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them. For they could not endure the order that was given,"If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned." Indeed, so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, "I tremble with fear." But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.

hebrews 12:18-24

It was engraved all over

and showed how war first came into the world

and the flood destroyed the tribe of giants.

They suffered a terrible severance from the Lord;

the Almighty made the waters rise,

drowned them in the deluge for retribution.

beowulf, 1688-1693

it's pretty amazing that grendel's mother is slain by the sword of a giant-killer, but also that they had this idea of giants being the cause of the flood. just interesting.

They had seen me boltered in the blood of enemies

when I battle and bound five beasts,

raided a troll-nest and in the night-sea

slaughtered sea-brutes...

therefore, to heighten Hygelac's fame

and gladden his heart, I hereby renounce

sword and the shelter of the broad shield,

the heavy war-board: hand-to-hand

is how it will be, a life-and-death

fight with the fiend. Whichever one death fells

must deem it a just judgment by God.

beowulf, 419-441

beowulf is a new david: a king who comes with three triumphs (remember david had already killed the bear and the lion before goliath, so having killed goliath and triumphed a third time he was ready to become king) and now, like david, renounces armor, saying that the battle is the Lord's.

After the assassination of Salman Taseer, Governor of Punjab Province in Pakistan, there has been a surge in Islamic orthodoxy, threatening the civilian Government in Islamabad. In the Soviet era, communist states would view dissent as deviation from ideology. In the 21st century, dissidence is being equated increasingly with blasphemy in Islamic countries. For instance, in Pakistan, at least 30 people are reported to be on the death row for alleged violations of the tough anti-blasphemy laws of that country.

via the pioneer, a daily in new delhi, india

in other words, 30 christians are about to die because the one man who stood up to the fundamentalist muslims is dead. they're just waiting until we stop looking. i give them two weeks.

Over at First Things, George Weigel reports on the latest findings of the International Bulletin of Missionary Research.

Some of the statistics are provocative, particularly those related to the number of martyrs:


"The provocation in the 2011 report involves martyrdom. For purposes of research, the report defines “martyrs” as “believers in Christ who have lost their lives, prematurely, in situations of witness, as a result of human hostility.” The report estimates that there were, on average, 270 new Christian martyrs every 24 hours over the past decade, such that “the number of martyrs [in the period 2000-2010] was approximately 1 million.” Compare this to an estimated 34,000 Christian martyrs in 1900."

This is stunning and seems unbelievable, and one wonders how well we (western Christians) really are mourning with those who mourn. Are we really bearing the burdens of our brothers and sisters suffering for the sake of the gospel? How can we stand with them?

Meanwhile, we continue to splinter: Weigel writes, "As for the quest for Christian unity: There were 1,600 Christian denominations in 1900; there were 18,800 in 1970; and there are 42,000 today."

But as God frequently does, for all the dividing there is growth. The report suggests an overall, worldwide growth in Christianity, but the growth of Christianity in Africa is the most astonishing:

"Africa has been the most stunning area of Christian growth over the past century. There were 8.7 million African Christians in 1900 (primarily in Egypt, Ethiopia and South Africa); there are 475 million African Christians today and their numbers are projected to reach 670 million by 2025."

from Pastor Sumpter's blog

crushing and beautiful. truth and mercy are meeting more every day, righteousness and peace are forming a more perfect union as we watch.

Now when Jesus returned, the crowd welcomed him, for they were all waiting for him. And there came a man named Jairus, who was a ruler of the synagogue. And falling at Jesus’ feet, he implored him to come to his house, for he had an only daughter, about twelve years of age, and she was dying.

As Jesus went, the people pressed around him. And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and though she had spent all her living on physicians, she could not be healed by anyone. She came up behind him and touched the fringe of his garment, and immediately her discharge of blood ceased. And Jesus said, "Who was it that touched me?" When all denied it, Peter said, "Master, the crowds surround you and are pressing in on you!" But Jesus said,"Someone touched me, for I perceive that power has gone out from me." And when the woman saw that she was not hidden, she came trembling, and falling down before him declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed. And he said to her,"Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace."

While he was still speaking, someone from the ruler’s house came and said, "Your daughter is dead; do not trouble the Teacher any more." But Jesus on hearing this answered him, "Do not fear; only believe, and she will be well." And when he came to the house, he allowed no one to enter with him, except Peter and John and James, and the father and mother of the child. And all were weeping and mourning for her, but he said, "Do not weep, for she is not dead but sleeping."And they laughed at him, knowing that she was dead. But taking her by the hand he called, saying,"Child, arise." And her spirit returned, and she got up at once. And he directed that something should be given her to eat. And her parents were amazed, but he charged them to tell no one what had happened.

Gospel of Luke 8:40-55

jairus represents the rabbis, perhaps even the pharisees, who know Yahweh's promise but lack faith. his daughter is Israel, dead in her sin while he, faithless, is unable to help her. the woman with a discharge is the Gentiles, unclean and cut off, left helpless despite all the wealth she has wasted searching for life in her gods. yet she has faith, this woman covered in red (her blood) like rahab and the proverbs woman, and this faith makes her well. she too is a daughter, just as jairus' child is.

"Then [Aaron] killed the ox and the ram, the sacrifice of peace offerings for the people. And Aaron’s sons handed him the blood, and he threw it against the sides of the altar."

leviticus 9:18

When Jehu came to Jezreel, Jezebel heard of it. And she painted her eyes and adorned her head and looked out of the window. And as Jehu entered the gate, she said, "Is it peace, you Zimri, murderer of your master?" And he lifted up his face to the window and said, "Who is on my side? Who?" Two or three eunuchs looked out at him. He said, "Throw her down." So they threw her down. And some of her blood spattered on the wall and on the horses, and they trampled on her.... "This is the word of the LORD, which he spoke by his servant Elijah the Tishbite, 'In the territory of Jezreel the dogs shall eat the flesh of Jezebel, and the corpse of Jezebel shall be as dung on the face of the field in the territory of Jezreel, so that no one can say, This is Jezebel.'"

2 kings 9:30-37

my grandfather's skin is tired of trying

to clutch his bones together.

they are heavy with memories,

memories packed thick and weighty,

weightier, even, than the cancer.

his blood is threadbare and worn

out. it wants to get back to the earth

where it can quietly curl up

in ever-drying circles and rest,

and now his veins can't keep it back.

his portion of dust has spent

the length of its lease, and

wastes with homesickness

for the earth from which it came.

now, the blinder-scales have fallen off.

now, thrice-born, re-clothed, re-made, re-newed,

now re-knit from flesh without the smell of death,

he walks above, across a river we cannot pass.

to disappear from our still-blindered sight.

my grandfather eats with us no more, for now,

for he must supper with the Lamb.

may, 2010.

this makes me think of just about all of my male friends. mostly rtn, rMcG, wss, tk, ta, ch. a lot of ch.

via xkcd

an invention patented in 1979 which catches birds and dispenses them into a cage which allows cats to eat them at their leisure.

via forbes

Here come old flattop, he come grooving up slowly

He got joo-joo eyeball, he one holy roller

He got hair down to his knee

Got to be a joker he just do what he please

He wear no shoeshine, he got toe-jam football

He got monkey finger, he shoot coca-cola

He say "I know you, you know me"

One thing I can tell you is you got to be free

Come together right now over me

He bag production, he got walrus gumboot

He got Ono sideboard, he one spinal cracker

He got feet down below his knee

Hold you in his armchair you can feel his disease

Come together right now over me

[Right!

Come, oh, come, come, come.]

He roller-coaster, he got early warning

He got muddy water, he one mojo filter

He say "One and one and one is three"

Got to be good-looking cos he's so hard to see

Come together right now over me

Oh

Come together

Yeah come together

Yeah come together

Yeah come together

Yeah come together

Yeah come together

Yeah come together

Yeah oh

Come together

Yeah come together

come together

lennon/mccartney

until you've heard joe cocker sing this at twelve fifteen on a friday morning when you've not slept enough in a week and not worked enough quite yet; until you've watched two men dance like boys in a kitchen full of chocolate and cream and blessing; until you've lived a week with tk, tank, bobstar, and raab, you haven't lived at'all.

10 Reasons Why I Should Spend Time with the Elderly:

1. I don’t have better things to do.

2. I have lots of energy and time.

3. It’s one way for me to get wisdom.

4. It teaches me to fear the Lord.

5. It’s obedience to the fifth commandment.

6. It teaches me how to be part of the Church.

7. It fulfills the promises of God and enacts the Kingdom of God.

8. It reminds me of where I’m going (Eccl. 12:1ff).

9. It teaches me to hate sin.

10. It teaches me to long for the resurrection and consummation of all things.

lifted from Toby Sumpter’s blog

via pushlings

we had an assignment to write the first and last paragraphs of a novel for two declamations. i don't have a name or even a real plot for this, but i knew the feel i wanted. something as dark as poe, as angsty as fitzgerald, as heart-wrenching as graham greene, as metaphor-rich as bradbury, as concise as o'connor. obviously i failed. the question is by how much. the feel of the second part is different because the only end i saw for the story at the beginning was a kiss or a bullet. when the time came, i wanted neither. anyhow. there it is.

first paragraph

The sky was the color of her coffee in the Seattle midnight. Streetlight trapped by clouds, pressed tight against the city’s dirty heaving bosom. I had my collar flipped up to keep the rain out; not that it mattered anyhow. I’d been walking for so many hours that my shirt was soaked beneath my pea coat. My socks sopped as I stepped through the puddles and raindrop curtains surrounding the awnings of lawyers and bail bondsmen. The cigarette I started five or six blocks ago was already burning my lips. I stopped to light another on the doorstep of an apartment complex, alluringly dubbed Bayview Manors in extravagant swoops of neon light. I wondered if any of them could even see the city, what with the newspaper and burglar bars. I stepped away from the flyer in the window that promised me the lifestyle I’d always wanted. I looked up into the downpour. The rain was thick, falling like sorrows on the heads of the just.

last paragraph

Does it ever stop raining in this city? One last cigarette and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. Smoke is good thing; it gives you something to think about besides pain and at that point the cut on my head was still bleeding down my cheek. I tensed up when a couple sirens squealed and fishtailed around the corner, but they flew by. Should have known nobody would call the cops. Not in this neighborhood. A taxi pulled up next to me. The driver’s window slid down and her face caught the moonlight and spun it back at me in a tired smile. I smiled back – still not used to the idea of a woman taxi driver, much less her. I climbed in the passenger seat, and we wove through the dripping steel of the city. Stores and then lights faded behind as we drove. Now even the rusty clouds have disappeared in the west as we drive faster and faster, trying to make the daylight come sooner, trying to get out of the night.

Dr. W.: Each red blood cell can hold a billion O2 molecules – 250 million oxygen on each of the four hemoglobin "seats."

trotter – it’s like a Mexican bus!

tank – it’s a white truck.

found this today while going through science notes. i'm [in general] not [particularly] racist, but this is at least a little funny.

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause, who at best knows achievement and who at the worst if he fails at least fails while daring greatly so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

Teddy Roosevelt

props to Ash.H.

1 Corinthians 10:16-17: Is not this cup of blessing which we bless a sharing in the blood of Christ? Is not the bread which we break a sharing in the body of Christ?

Many Christians over the centuries have thought of the Lord’s Supper as a kind of continuing or second incarnation. First the Son gets embodied in flesh, but now that He’s gone away He gets embodied in another material. Nowadays, He dwells among us not in a human body but in bread.

This kind of analogy between the incarnation and the presence of Christ in the Supper has produced all sorts of bad habits. If this is Jesus here on the table, we should bow down and worship Him. We should keep the bread after we’re done, and maybe even preserve a bit in a golden chest so we can go back and venerate it later.

One way to say this is that we should not think of the Eucharist not so much as Christmas – as if the Son were born again in bread – but instead think about it instead in terms of Advent. This table marks a triple Advent: It celebrates the past coming of the Lord; it is the coming of the Lord; and it looks ahead to the coming of the Lord. We commemorate the life, death and resurrection of Jesus; we feed on Him by the Spirit; we proclaim the Lord’s death until He come.

When we view it as an Advent meal, we see that this Supper is about Jesus’ absence as well as His presence; it’s about the future as well as the present. It is a present feast, a feast we celebrate because the Lord has come. But it is not yet a full banquet, because the Lord is still to come.

Dr. Leithart gave this as a Eucharist meditation this morning. convicting, inspiring, and beautiful.

via leithart.com

something i wrote on the road between Wenatchee and Moscow. while watching one of the more stunning sunsets i've seen. on a Sunday.

to write, one must have been loved. to write well, one must be a lover.

writing about life, now, in the 21st century, is to write about things that have been written about, at best, a dozen times. the better bits of life: the sunsets, the sunrises, the lovers' kisses over morning coffee, they have all been written about too many times to even think about, much less count. but boredom is only done by the bored. it's the trivializing, the quick-to-look-away, the all-too-easily-pleased-by-flashing-things, in short, the cool teenage boys among us, who are the only ones to think that a sunset is a sunset is a sunset.

it's easy to know in your head that each sunset is different. every night a different ray of light hits different water particles at different angles. seems like a ridiculous waste of creative energy and time.

many girls have good legs. it took the wisdom of Solomon to see that the Shulamite's were unlike others girls' because they were carved out of ivory. it took him several chapters to describe them. and you get the feeling that he never really was satisfied with his attempts. he kept going back to the legs with different approaches. and then he gave it up all together. vanity of vanities, indeed.

if you love, you will see. if you want to love, you must see. it's one of those vicious cycles life seems to be full of. if you want to appreciate sunsets, you must watch them. again and again. and to truly watch them, you must appreciate them. you can watch them one way, the way you usually do, or you can watch and choose to appreciate. and, after a few weeks or perhaps, if your soul is still delicate, a few days, you will realize that the sky wasn't quite that shade of pink yesterday, that the clouds weren't fiery like that last week, and that the sun looks more like a drop of God's blood tonight than it did on Monday. when you choose to love something, you get acquainted with it, you understand it, and in the end you know it. even, no, especially in the King James sense of the word.

my father knows my mother well. he knows her like a connoisseur knows his favorite wine, like a student knows his favorite painting, like Adam knew Eve in that time full of blinding wonder and incredulity before he ate the fruit. there is between them all the familiarity of more than half a lifetime spent together and all the nervous joy of newlyweds. my mother once told me that a detective looking for counterfeit currency said, "i look at the real bills all day long so that when i see the false stuff, i know it's different right away." my father knows his wife like that. he's watched her so much, stared so often, lost himself so many times, that when anything changes, he knows.

my Father knows His bride like that, only more. my Father knows His spoken world like that, only more. my Father knows me like that, only more.

if you love it, it will become lovely. but you have to love every good thing about it. every little detail that changes day by day, every little bit that stays constant. and if you do, the whole thing becomes beautiful. that's why our Father is going to win.

if you've ever taken a standardized test, you've wondered this. don't try to deny it.

via xkcd

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark nor even eagle flew—

And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

-John Gillespie Magee, Jr

from the fall, directed by tarsem