These Everlasting Ruins
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Porthos' LiveJournal:
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| Monday, June 18th, 2007 | | 8:14 pm |
| | Sunday, June 10th, 2007 | | 9:22 am |
At World's End
"Gentlemen, I wash my hands of this weirdness." :) So cool... Current Mood:  satisfied | | Tuesday, June 5th, 2007 | | 10:20 pm |
*Right, just point me in the direction of the U.S. consulate then, and… What’s that? There isn’t one in Bangalore? Well, that’s stupid!!!* Alright, so here I am at seminary. It’s very…comfortable. But don’t worry about my resolve. For all that this place comes close – and it comes closer than most other institutions of its kind here, to be sure – to being like, and delivering things (both in terms of curriculum, and just facilities) of a standard as, at “home”, it is still very far from home; and I know I still have miles to go from here… My resolve is strong as ever. And I apologize to anyone who’s getting sorely tired of all my trek talk of late; but I have to say this: I’ve rather come to fancy thinking of myself as being something like Maquis here. I mean as portrayed in Voyager, where the Maquis are thoroughly romanticized and quite unrecognizable from the impression one gets from the brief references in TNG and even from DS9. Before Chakotay and B’Elanna, Ro Laren fans hadn’t seen nothin’ yet. And sometimes, when I’m feeling rather stronger in my own faith and in the conviction of the righteousness of my cause, I like to think of myself as a Starfleet commander (btw, if anyone has ever received an email from me, they will know that my rank was, until now, Lt. Cmdr. – but in this final phase of operations I felt a promotion was in order and I am now a full commander) on a special ops mission involving a treaty with Cyax (the actual acronym for the seminary sounds exactly similar to that – I won’t spell it out here, for security reasons), so I’m stationed here at the Cyaxian colony. It’s a two-year treaty, but the Federation plans to sort of, um, violate it after the first year. But going back to the Maquis analogy – the case of Tom Paris makes a particularly apt analogy, because his father is a Starfleet admiral; and his recruitment to the Maquis (that disgrace) seems to have effectively ruptured his ties with the latter. I’ll be reading entries on my friends page more regularly from now on. I’ll leave you now with this song I heard on Roswell, I think it’s supposed to be like from Michael to Maria or something. It gives me a warm feeling to listen to it now, when I’m settling into a new place right now, and…dreaming as I always do... I wish I was married. (Seriously, because the married students get much nicer quarters, they have these nice apartments; I just get a tiny dorm room. But this is nice. I feel like I’m at college for the first time… And really I sort of am.) You're lovely to me yes you are
We've traveled together
We've traveled so far
Your tongue it is wise
And there's love in your eyes deep and blue
You're lovely to me yes you are
And venus ascending is surely your star
I've seen how you shine
But I can't make you mine it is true
You're a midsummer mountain in bloom
Heather and linden are the fruit of your womb
There's honey and sap in the couch of your lap
Lady day
There's nothing that you would not provide
When all is despair you are there at my side
It is you that is near it is you that gives ear
when I pray
You're lovely to me yes you are
You've been out on the road with a craving for tar
You know what you need yes you're canny in deed
And in name
You're lovely to me yes you are
Oh I'll see you tonight in a local bar
We'll wed before dawn and by morning
We're one and the same
The old ones they knew you my love
They set you to reason and they sullied a dove
But how could they try you or demystify you with words
You're a city that's pulling me still
And you keep me from sleeping and strengthen my will
The gates they are strong but they open for song I
have heard
You're lovely to me yes you are
You're the beautiful one that time cannot mar
You’re lost in the eyes of my love as she cries all for
joy
You're lovely to me yes you are
You're the elusive chord on my old guitar
You're hidden 'neath veils that our love making fails
to destroy
There's all I desire in your voice
I fear I am bold but you leave me no choice
You know that to ask me to turn from my task would be
vain
You're a rose that for no man will yield
You have many names and all of them sealed
Your empire is vast from the first to the last you
remain
You're lovely to me yes you are
It's war all the time but you bare no scar
You glitter like sand as it runs through my hands to
the sea
You're lovely to me yes you are
You're my drunken companion it's right that you are
Your love takes me higher your love is the fire in me | | Monday, May 21st, 2007 | | 9:46 pm |
*Shakes fist in air like Homer Simpson* Lousy networks...!! Current Mood:  annoyed | | 9:37 pm |
| | Saturday, May 19th, 2007 | | 1:59 pm |
Random return to this theme
Re. a conversation with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) silmarille shortly before Christmas 2005, re. "the problem of Susan": The book I was referring to was actually The Centaur's Cavern, written in 1980 by a Carmelite nun in New Jersey. I googled the author you mentioned, Neil Gaiman, and I somehow gather The Problem of Susan was not written in quite the same vein (sexuality enters as a pretty major factor into his theme, I gather?); and I find it strange that in all the talk surrounding Gaiman's piece, no one ever seems to mention The Centaur's Cavern, which, to hear Kathryn Lindskoog tell it, was perhaps more faithful to the original spirit of Lewis's Narnia. However, I will reserve judgment until I've actually read Gaiman, and I'm trying to get hold of Problem right now. Cavern might be even harder to acquire, but I'll try to find that as well. I didn't realize this was such a talked-about issue. When I first raised the question to Dart almost ten years ago upon a re-reading of Narnia, my first concern had been over what happened to Susan in this world, with her whole family suddenly killed in one day and in what really must be seen as two separate accidents, I think. I didn't think it was "cruel" of Lewis, as some modern readers have peevishly accused: I rather think it was something of an oversight. The really important thing is Susan's "apostasy" as someone has called it, which occurs in the realm of Narnia, and which of course was intentional - and poignant, and theologically valid, and really that shouldn't be an issue at all, but I'll be happy to come back to that discussion*. But as to what happens to Susan on Earth, orphaned and alone, I think this was simply a loose end that Lewis, caught up in the fantasy and its lessons, forgot entirely about. Dart had never considered that "problem" before, because he'd assumed the story ended with the end of all worlds, not merely Narnia, until I pointed out to him that it was only an accident in which all the major characters were suddenly killed. Which seems too convenient (rather than callous, I think), and it's not even entirely convincing: how does a train derail just as it's entering the station? That's pretty unheard of, isn't it? Dart suggested that perhaps there was an air raid and the station was bombed, but there was nothing to support that in the book. We decided in the end that Lewis was probably just tired of the whole thing and said, "Alright, look, that's enough: after the battle, there was an accident, and then...everyone just died, the end. Sub marugaiyah, if you like." During the accident and following, Susan - and her "apostasy" - are simply never mentioned. Was Lewis giving her the cold shoulder - was he being that "cruel"? I think it is much more likely he simply forgot about her. *I think it's a little vulgar, and further proof of the tiresome, incorrigible obsession of this generation with the topic of sex, that so many people, including, e.g., such luminaries as Mme J. K. Rowling, have complained that Susan was excluded from Narnia because of her sexual awakening, a claim these astute readers base on Jill's lament about Susan, that "she's interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on growing up" - quite forgetting the words that immediately follow, " 'Grown-up, indeed,' said the Lady Polly. 'I wish she would grow up...' " Not to mention it seems to signify a pretty profound ignorance regarding the culture and economy of post-WWII Europe - and a basic vulgarity of thought - to read into "nylons and lipstick" anything other than worldly luxury, primarily, and then, more specific to the given text, the marks of vain sophistication. But someone else addressed that in an excellent essay here on LJ, back in 2005: http://synaesthete7.livejournal.com/176635.html , where I love esp. the opening, with the quote by Rowling, and a saracastic "Do you, Jo?" And I really liked one comment someone left in which they remarked that "[Susan] was the most reluctant to follow the White Stag out of Narnia – an important point which is too easily forgotten. Susan wasn’t just the one who “forgot” Narnia; she was also the one that most nearly stayed behind there, and that tried to persuade the others not to go." And the argument the essayist also makes for the consistency in Susan's character development - which I never even thought to question, and I think it's incredible that anyone would. I never found the matter of Susan shocking, only a little sad; but I remember being keenly impressed by the logic of that portrayal the first time I read it. | | Friday, May 18th, 2007 | | 11:10 pm |
Veronica Mars
What did I tell you? (On 1/14/07) There's like a rule: good shows can't run longer than 3 seasons anymore. | | Wednesday, May 16th, 2007 | | 6:48 pm |
Today I had to replace the primary plasma relay battery in my EPS UPS conduit. | | Tuesday, May 15th, 2007 | | 11:57 pm |
...in the name of love.
“If you think this is going to go to our head, it's too late.” Kinda hard to argue with someone who'd say that when receiving an award. It’s nice that celebrities want to give to charity and everything. But they should never presume to rebuke others for not giving or doing more. No matter who they think they're addressing (even governments), it's almost certainly inappropriate coming from them, because whatever anyone else gives – of their time or money or love – will almost always be more sacrificial than what someone gives who – let’s face it – doesn’t really have to work for a living, at least not anymore. | | Saturday, May 12th, 2007 | | 10:09 pm |
It's no laughing matter, I'm sure...
...But it's pretty funny.
Have you ever played Balderdash? (You have a bunch of words that no one's probably heard of, and in each turn you take one word and everyone writes a fake defintion for it on a slip of paper and puts it in a bowl along with the actual definition, and you mix it all up so no one knows what the real definition is, and then everyone tries to guess (and mislead) and if your definition is taken in the end for the real one you win that turn. It's hilarious, if you play with the right people.) I had a sudden confusion regarding the spelling of "amuck", so I looked it up, and Webster's had this, which looks like it was randomly pulled out of someone's Balderdash bowl: in Indonesia and the Philippines, a condition of great emotional disturbance under which a person loses control and goes about killing indiscriminately
...And I may have stumbled upon a humorously deceptive non-obscenity (there must be a word for that)/euphamism here: to pull something out of one's balderdash bowl. (Happy Feet had a great one: "Go f...orth and multiply!") | | 10:00 am |
Consider My servant Jim.
I was watching Anderson Cooper 360 on CNN this morning; the edition was titled "What is a Christian?". It was a little...disturbing, as it almost always is these days for me to hear the public talking about Christianity. Especially in America. But I thought I should know what people are saying, so I steeled myself and sat down to watch it. It focused mainly on prosperity preachers like Creflo Dollar (the reporter remarked, "Yes, Dollar is his real name"; that was funny) - and I was sort of relieved, because their position is so obviously wrong, and real Christianity is so obviously true (if even only partially) to any discerning mind, that I don't really perceive the former as posing any actual, substantial threat to the credibility of the latter. They are an embarrassment, though, of course. And the panel AC interviewed at the close of the show consisted entirely of "true" Christians, and allowed them to voice their disavowal of the false religion of the prosperity preachers, which I thought was very decent of him. (Maybe he's a Christian...? I don't know.) One of them was Jim Wallis, author of God's Politics: Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It. I think I heard about this book when it came out, but I haven't read it. I will if I get a chance to. This fellow Wallis seems alright to me. I'm going to start keeping a list of Christians (contemporary, and known publicly) who "seem alright to me". I shall appeal to their witness, where my own has faltered. So far the list is very small, but that has a lot to do with my being stuck here for the past several years and not really being on top of things - and, under these circumstances, a little to do also with my memory, which might fail to register some important name, just when I'm making or updating the list. 1. Billy Graham 2. Philip Yancey 3. Henri Nouwen 3. Tony Campolo 4. J. I. Packer 5. Jim Wallis 6. Francis Frangipane 7. Peter Wagner 8. Charles Kraft 8a. Fuller Theological Seminary, CA (I realize this is not a person... But it has been a very faithful "witness" - and as far as I have seen quite influential, in its way. But its importance to me is primarily personal: my parents were taught by both Wagner and Kraft at Fuller.) 8b. (And this doesn't qualify at all because it is neither a person nor publicly known, but also an excellent witness and maintains close ties to Fuller. It makes the list, however, only because it is very important to me personally, because I went here growing up and I believe it helped shape a great deal of my spiritual sensibilities in later years) Lake Avenue Congregational Church in Pasadena, CA (I won't include the last two in any future reference to "the list".) | | Monday, May 7th, 2007 | | 8:17 pm |
Father, protect little Madeleine McCann in Portugal. | | Friday, May 4th, 2007 | | 10:20 pm |
I think I finally understood something today, and I believe I've found the perfect word to describe something. It occurs to me that the reason I so despise what is often thought of as "Indian culture" - or more correctly, the reason I despise the inordinate praise accorded to it, especially by "westerners", is that I find it, in a word, /patronizing/. (I don't mean you, Bruce, or I should have found the words to articulate this sooner... However, I will admit that I've always been a little disturbed in my mind by how closely you allow yourself sometimes to be identified with the kind of people I'm talking about, and their mannerisms and..."values".) I don't like it when foreigners - tourists and hippies, I mean - come here and look around with this big stupid grin on their face at all the filth and squalor and pretend they find it beautiful and act like they've found Eldorado. When they wear these stupid ugly white or saffron cotton clothes that - seriously - no Indians I know ever wore, and walk around like the benevolent Emperor who knows he's naked but doesn't wish to offend his poor imbecile tailors: he knows they're...special. He doesn't mind looking like an ass, if it will make the poor imbecile tailors feel good about themselves. Cause he's so noble. When they look at our failed culture and tell us how wonderful it is, blithely ignoring things like sati and dowry and wife beating and child abuse and female infanticide...all of which (with perhaps the exception of sati, but I'm not quite sure about that) still continue in India, and occur WIDELY. When they look at our failed, primitive religions and tell us how wonderfully clever we are, with our clever little mantras and what not: I remember this really funny scene in Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David's doing yoga, and he's using this mantra he "borrowed" (after a difficult negotiation) from Richard Lewis, and he's like, "Sjaaayah...Sjaaayah", which he later discovers means - I forget, some obscenity, or a female body part of something. It actually doesn't: I think he was trying to say Jaya, which means victory. By the way, if you /are/ going to pretend like you know Hindi, please remember that Hindi is not like French, and you don't have to do that funky thing with the J's. Just prounounce it like J. Jaya. Not Sjaya, please - unless you actually are trying to swear or something. Now breathe deeply. You are one with the universe. You /are/ the universe. According to Eddings's understanding of warp theory, you're travelling at warp 10. Jaya. And then there is of course the Indian response, which is: "Yes, Effendi." (That's from a joke from Tintin, about some Ethiopians, I belive. In the Indian context it should probably be "Yes, Sahib.") And they grin like idiots and walk around behind the fat naked Emperor, carrying his invisible train, and point to their broken, decaying, smelly temples and castles and the sewage spilling out onto their streets and say, "Sahib, if you like, vee like. Vee are proud to be Indian. If you think vee should bee." Now, look, I know that there are /some/ things about this culture and this region and this race that are admirable and interesting - as there must be about anything human. And I know there is a kind of beauty that requires some maturity to appreciate. I know sometimes there is a fine line between beauty and squalor. I know there is a kind of wild, ferocious beauty; I know there is a beauty that occurs spontaneously, and with total disregard for our artificial standards of beauty - and most importantly, I know the "low places where grace runs". Don't think I don't. I've seen so much more of those things - yes, in India, and in other places - than the likes of Karl Mehta* or Hajime Chaddah ever could have, and I've cherished those memories in the deepest, most private places of my heart, and they've shaped who I am, and shaped my dreams and my destiny, and all my visions of God and truth and love. And I could take you to see those things and meet those people - and Bruce, perhaps one day I shall; to really see them, without all that obscene posturing and display... *His brother Zubin was a cool kid, though. And I suppose you must have had a better guide than Karl or Chaddah in, for example, someone like Kris Jacob, of course, or Anjali Kaul. But there are places I'm sure even they couldn't have taken you. Those people** know only the "highest" points of Indian culture - the highest ideals or aspirations, really - which, when all's said and done, are, I maintain, pretty pathetic. ...And there's nothing wrong with admitting that! Material poverty is always closely connected with spiritual poverty (which is not to say that you can't be materially rich and spiritually poor - you can, and people, are but that's really beside the point), and it is the most blatant and shameful self-deceit (and a complete misunderstanding of the true radicalness of a statement such as "Blessed are the poor...") to ever try to deny that. **Of course, I realize you had much more than that to "guide" you, as well: E. M. Forster, for example - and the Catholic missionaries here, both of whom I heartily approve. (I like Fielding. I have nothing against someone like Fielding...) | | Sunday, April 29th, 2007 | | 11:00 pm |
Voyager began really well, but sort of floundered a bit during the first season, but by the second season (after a really weird season premiere about finding Amelia Earhart in stasis in the delta quadrant; the only episode I stopped watching in the middle) it seems to have definitely found its footing; and I'm really enjoying it. Today I saw an episode called Threshold, in which Paris, B'Elanna and Kim find a way to reach warp 10, or the transwarp threshold, which occurs at infinite velocity, and so far has been only theorized about.
I used to really like David Eddings (and I loved the first three or four books of the Belgariad) - until I read this really obnoxious piece of writing by him once, which he seems to have written while at the zenith of his popularity - and, I would submit, his senility. Besides dissing Tolkien and actually discouraging young would-be writers from pursuing the craft (referring to "those other letters, the ones which rather bashfully confide an intention to 'try writing fantasy myself.' I don't worry too much about those correspondents. They'll get over that notion rather quickly once they discover what's involved. I'm sure that most of them will eventually decide to take up something simpler - brain surgery or rocket science, perhaps. I'd more or less decided to just file those letters and keep my mouth shut. A prolonged silence might be the best way to encourage a passing fancy to do just that - pass...") he also presumes during the course of this bizarre and (have I said obnoxious?) monologue to dictate to the fans of the science fiction and fantasy genres what ought to be, in this man's humble opinion, the relationship between the two:
"It's probably that 'off-world' business in Tolkien that causes us to be lumped together with science fiction, and we have no business on the same rack with SF. SF writers are technology freaks who blithely ignore that footnote in Einstein's theory of relativity which clearly states that when an object approaches the speed of light, its mass becomes infinite. (So much for warpdrive.) If old Buck Rogers hits the gas-pedal a little too hard, he'll suddenly become the universe. Fantasists are magic and shining armor freaks who posit equally absurd notions with incantations, 'the Will and the Word', or other mumbo-jumbo. They want to build a better screwdriver, and we want to come up with a better incantation. They want to go into the future, and we want to go into the past. We write better stories than they do, though. They get all bogged down in telling you how the watch works; we just tell you what time it is and go on with the story. SF and fantasy shouldn't even speak to each other, but try explaining that to a book-store manager. Try explaining it to a publisher."
The conclusion is forced: as far as I can see, all he's managed to do here is prove that the two genres are in fact quite compatible, and should in fact be "racked together".
And Voyager has demonstrated first of all that Eddings has no understanding of warp theory; secondly, that the Star Trek writers are themselves very well versed in scientific theories, thank you very much; and thirdly, that infinite velocity (not infinite "mass", as Eddings chooses narrowly, and unimaginatively, to interpret that clause, exactly) can actually be a desirable thing (in Voyager it would have helped them get back home to the alpha quadrant) and is not itself the dire consequence of the "folly" of warp drive, although it might lead to such consequences, as, in the case of Tom Paris, it led to accelerated - and ultimately retrogressive - evolution. (That accelerated evolution should result in Paris mutating into apparently a more primitive life form (a weird sluggish thing) didn't fully make sense, and the episode didn't explore that; but it does kind of make sense if you consider that evolution has to occur in response to the struggle to survive, and apart from that struggle, I suppose it stands to reason that any development would be gross and untimely and therefore ultimately degenerative. Also, I guess it's supposed to reflect that he was affected by having occupied the past as well as the future - all time and space at once - when he reached infinite velocity.) | | Monday, April 16th, 2007 | | 11:11 pm |
What, the curtains?
Rahul Gandhi's probably not nearly as dangerous as George W. Bush, of course, but he's sort of a clown, too, it seems (I always thought he was); he's walking about putting his foot in his mouth here and getting put in his place by patronizing old Indian politicians with an agenda and embarrassing his dear old mother, who is an admirable lady. I found out today that I was an ectopic pregnancy, and should have been aborted. There was some sort of miracle or something, I guess, and I somehow moved into the uterus when people prayed for my mother, just as they were getting ready to operate on her at the hospital; and afterwards the doctor couldn't explain what happened. (Maybe I was just having a bumpy ride - maybe I'm not very good at navigating fallopian tubes...) To Management's credit they never made a big deal about this, though, and only told it to me today sort of in passing. I was wondering: How come they don't have armed security personnel onboard commercial airliners, as a regular feature, in case of hijackings and stuff? I mean, they already have a crew; so this would just be an extension of that. It seems like a prudent policy. I think it's very weird that they (the illustrious They, again) don't seem to have thought of that. Current Mood: random | | Monday, April 9th, 2007 | | 4:07 pm |
Offstage these people should be seen and not heard. In fact they should be shot...
...And not with a camera! The dvd extras contain interviews with some of the actors. William Sadler (who plays the sheriff) and some of the others seem pretty cool. But when I saw the interview with Shiri Appleby and Majandra Delfino, I was...what's the technical term: nauseated. I did't want to "get over" Roswell like this! Current Mood:  exhausted(sthg Michael says..) | | Sunday, April 8th, 2007 | | 9:45 am |
( Always the old nostalgia? Yes...) Roswell is haunting me. The story itself (until they pulled that stunt that I mentioned) was really cool: very epic and a very mature science fiction (which is why my indignation at that complete reversal after Viva Las Vegas knows no bounds) - like Taken. But also the desert landscape of New Mexico has quite captivated my imagination - it is somehow kindred to some of my experience of Southern California - though it seems a lonelier and wilder and more ancient kind of beauty; and the characters in the show reflected that beautifully and apposed it wonderfully with their warmth and wit... I think I should have enjoyed visiting you there, Bruce. Perhaps I'll plan to go there when I'm back in the US and settled (I hope) in California. (I was there once a long time ago with my family, visiting a friend of my parents'; and if my brother and I had known the significance of Roswell then I'm sure we would have tried to arrange to go there, like good sci-fi pilgrims. But this was before we were old enough to watch the X Files; and Trek lore, with which I imagine we were basically familar then, generally disregards the ufo myth.) Anyway: Happy Easter! Christ is risen. Current Mood: oh, i'm pious..just distracted | | Friday, April 6th, 2007 | | 7:50 pm |
(Management's away for 10 days... I've been watching Roswell, all 3 seasons, on dvd. I saw it before, several years ago, on tv; but I didn't see every episode then. IMEO, the episode titled "Viva Las Vegas" near the end of season 2 was the last really good one. After that they started screwing around with the plot and the whole thing went spinning straight to hell when they suddenly decided to do a 180 and name Tess a traitor for no good reason, even going back and sticking in an episode out of sequence in the last minute to make some weak point about mind-warping and finger tapping, and threw her roughly into the granilith and sent her off to Antar*, muttering threats, for the spectacular season finale. Very lame.) What I actually came here to post, though: I think - maybe - I want to be a pastor, for real. I've been feeling so lonely lately - so far from home. And "home", and everything...I know that it all traces back to the Father; in the twilight - under starlight - I can see every pathway; I know the ways back home. It's (almost) just a state of mind, for me, something temporary: it's one night out in the cold. But I can see how dark the nights have been for His children who've never seen Him. I want to find them, and hold them, and whisper their name to them, and bring them safely into my Father's hall.
*Couple years ago, in some lame creative writing course for college I flippantly made mention of a fantastical "antarean grease monkey". I thought it was funny, and "Antarean" sounded kinda cool, and I kept wondering where I'd heard it, and couldn't figure it out until now. Current Mood: loved | | Monday, April 2nd, 2007 | | 12:53 am |
Oh - my - GOD!! Doesn't this red cylon chick ever do anything besides try to have sex with Gaius? I'm getting really tired of her. I love the battle scenes though, in Battlestar Galactica. | | Sunday, April 1st, 2007 | | 10:26 pm |
Today I had communion alone in my bedroom with apple juice and a cookie.
I don't like the way they pass the cup around and everyone takes sips from it, here: "partaking of one cup", I think they call it; although (I could be wrong, but) isn't the actual Scripture reference "we partake of one loaf"?
Management actually agreed with me about this, that it was stupid and unhygienic; and after hearing the same complaint voiced by a Christian doctor once even resolved to stop taking communion at these churches here. But I guess they changed their mind, because today they both went up to the altar. They're not requiring me to, though, so I don't really care; and I'm not judging them (probably they did it for fear of public criticism, which amounts to hypocrisy; but that's such a little crime to hold over their head, compared with what are the real "sins of the father", and I shan't strain myself to do it here). It did get me thinking, though, that we should just have communion at home... But then I realized that the "communion" is not only with God, but with His Church also: Christ's Bride, which is an integral part of His "body which was broken"... So on that account I think Management should continue to participate in the communion here. But as for me, I don't belong to this "Church", and therefore that clause bears no relevance to me.
When I exclude myself from their communion, it's not that I question their salvation experience or whatever: I'm not saying that they are not sincere in their faith or in their worship. But I think their worship becomes quite void, outside of their imagination, by reason of the strange malady that normally affects these people. I hope it helps you to understand when I phrase it like this: Hinduism, for example, is one of the "symptoms" of that malady, and that's why I so despise it. I think it is well that they believe they believe in Christ - but if for one moment the curse could be lifted from this land (but I can't see how that might ever be done) I think they will see that they have been inside a whitewashed tomb, and drunk to a god whose name is Delusion, and partaken of the flesh of a talcum powdered corpse.
Anyway, it'll be different in Bangalore.
I was reading William's Lucky Day, from William - the Good, yesterday. This part made me lol. Heh. See that, I used lol as a verb... Lol's such a dumb word. There's a Wallflowers song that goes, "Laughing out loud when I did never know just what it was all about. Laughing out loud..." That was before lol. Or it would have been "Lol, when I did never know just what it was all about. Lol..." Hardly as catchy.
But back to William: I love this formula: descriptive, emotive, then expositive - and the last is completely accurate and completely misses the point. Richmal Crompton was (is?) a freakin' genius:
"Come on," he said tersely and followed by his faithful band made his way across the field through the hedge and down the lane that led to the headmaster's house.
He performed an imperious and very lengthy tattoo on the knocker - a tattoo meant to be indicative of the strength and durability of his repentance.
A pretty housemaid appeared.
She saw one small and very dirty boy on the doorstep and three other small and very dirty boys hanging over the gate. She eyed them with disfavor. She disliked small and dirty boys.
"We're not deaf," she said haughtily.
"Aren't you?" said William with polite interest. "I'm not either. But I've gotter naunt what's so deaf that -"
"What do you want?" she snapped.
William, pulled up from this pleasant chat with the pretty housemaid, remembered what he wanted and said gloomily: "I want to speak to the man what's staying with the headmaster."
"What's your name?"
"William Brown."
"Well, stay there, and I'll ask him."
"All right," said William, preparing to enter.
She pushed him back.
"I'm not having them boots in my hall," she said with passionate indignation, and went in, closing the door upon him.
William looked down at his boots with a puzzled frown and then called anxiously to his friends over the gate:
"There's nothing wrong with my boots, is there?"
They looked at William's boots, large, familiar, mud-encrusted.
"No," they said, "they're quite all right."
"What's she talkin' about, then?" said William.
"P'raps she means they're muddy," suggested Douglas tentatively.
"Well, that's what boots are for, i'n't it?" said William sternly. |
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