The Christian Option

Posted By Nathaniel on September 2, 2009

I am embarking on a new life, with so many new places in my heart to cultivate, but, having already begun to locate those places, it is also like having a new heart.

Here’s a poem by Rumi (the 13th century Persian Sufi poet) about new beginnings and reaching for the stars.

Thanks, Catherine, for hosting!

A Star Without a Name
by Rumi

When a baby is taken from the wet nurse,
it easily forgets her
and starts eating solid food.

Seeds feed awhile on ground,
then lift up into the sun.

So you should taste the filtered light
and work your way toward wisdom
with no personal covering.

That’s how you came here, like a star
without a name. Move across the night sky
with those anonymous lights.

Category: Apatheia, desire, dying/rising, faith, poetry, surrender | No Comments »
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Posted By Nathaniel on August 20, 2009

Catherine and I have mentioned the tough road we’ve been travelling the past few months, uncovering various struggles in ourselves.  I’ve been rather quiet here lately, posting a few poems here and there, but otherwise spending my time working on myself, my flood-damaged house, and juggling the pieces of my life.  I want to start writing again because it helps me to solidify what I’m learning, and I’m going to start with another poem - this time one that I wrote.

Journaling is something I have not done for many years, but I bought a composition book at the grocery store yesterday, and wrote my first entry today while the mechanic checked out my car (a leak in the coolant system, but otherwise the little son-of-a-gun is chugging along nicely at 120,000 miles).  Part of my journal entry sounded poetic to me, so I chopped it up into lines and called it a poem (it seems to me that an aspiring poet would be crippled by his knowledge of poetry unless he knows a great deal or next to nothing - I fall in the latter category).  Thanks, Catherine, for hosting!

Conjuring Stars

By Nathaniel Saylor

Last night I had a dream

Nearly forgotten until my morning run, when

I spotted bright Venus above the dark trees

And recalled the vision of a sky

Full of brighter stars.

They hung above my Houston home

The biggest display of star power I’ve ever seen;

I was thinking of the Dubai desert

Or the mountains in India and Nepal.

Somehow I conjured them and bade them shine

Over the glare of the city lights

And the haze of carbon emissions.

I could perform that magic only because

I am not afraid of myself.

Acknowledging the darkness in my heart,

And accepting it

Confers a peculiar power:

Accepting my own sweetness

And the goodness the Universe always offers.

We cut our lives in two;

On the one hand our waking lives:

the morning run, the job, the highway driving, a family dinner, a TV program;

On the other hand the places our spirits go while we sleep:

Calling forth the stars from exile.

Category: desire, dying/rising, faith, fear, poetry | 6 Comments »
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Posted By Catherine on August 8, 2009

I wrote about The Shack a couple months ago and was reminded of it again when a friend asked about it tonight.  Earlier I shared an excerpt from a dialogue between the main character Mack and the Holy Spirit.  Here’s a conversation he has with Jesus, who has just asked Mack to step out onto a lake with him.

He looked back at Jesus, who was still chuckling.

“Peter had the same problem: how to get out of the boat.  It’s just like stepping off a one-foot-high stair.  Nothing to it.”

“Will my feet get wet?” queried Mack.

“Of course, water is still wet.”

Again Mack looked down at the water and back at Jesus.

“Then why is this so hard for me?”

“Tell me what you are afraid of, Mack.”

“Well, let me see.  What am I afraid of?” began Mack.  ”Well, I am afraid of looking like an idiot.  I am afraid that you are making fun of me and that I will sink like a rock.  I imagine that–”

“Exactly,” Jesus interrupted. “You imagine.  Such a powerful ability, the imagination!  That power alone makes you so like us.  But without wisdom, imagination is a cruel taskmaster.  If I may prove my case, do you think humans were designed to live in the present or the past or the future?”

“Well,” said Mack, hesitating, “I think the most obvious answer is that we were designed to live in the present.  Is that wrong?”

Jesus chuckled.  ”Relax, Mack.  This is not a test, it’s a conversation.  You are exactly correct, by the way.  But now tell me, where do you spend most of your time in your mind, in your imagination: in the present, in the past, or in the future?”

Mack thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose I would have to say that I spend very little time in the present.  I spend a big piece in the past, but most of the rest of the time, I am trying to figure out the future.”

“Not unlike most people.  When I dwell with you, I do so in the present–I live in the present.  Not the past, although much can be remembered and learned by looking back, but only for a visit, not an extended stay.  And for sure, I do not dwell in the future you visualize or imagine.  Mack, do you realize that your imagination of the future, which is almost always dictated by fear of some kind, rarely, if ever, pictures me there with you?”

Again Mack stopped and thought.  It was true. He spend a lot of time fretting and worrying about the future, and in his imagination it was usually pretty gloomy and depressing, if not outright horrible.  And Jesus was also correct in saying that in Mack’s thoughts of the future, God was always absent.

“Why do I do that?” asked Mack.

“It is your desperate attempt to get some control over something you can’t.  It is impossible for you to take power over the future because it isn’t even real, nor will it ever be real.  You try to play God, imagining the evil that you fear becoming reality, and then you try to make plans and contingencies to avoid what you fear.”

…”So why do I have so much fear in my life?”

“Because you don’t believe.  You don’t know that we love you.  The person who lives by his fears will not find freedom in my love.  I am not talking about rational fears regarding legitimate dangers, but imagined fears, and especially the projection of those into the future.  To the degree that those fears have a place in your life, you neither believe I am good nor know deep in your heart that I love you.  You sing about it, you talk about it, but you don’t know it.”

Mack looked down once more at the water and breathed a huge sigh of the soul.  ”I have so far to go.”

“Only about a foot, it looks to me,” Jesus laughed, placing his hand on Mack’s shoulder.  It was all he needed and Mack stepped off the dock.

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Posted By Catherine on August 2, 2009

It’s been awhile!  Life has been about survival lately, and less about contemplation.  But I do want to be able to communicate all that we have been living and learning.  I’m just not sure how to do it yet.  I loved this quote from Jean Vanier that Jim shared today:

“So here is the paradox:  as humans we are caught between competing drives - the drive to belong, to fit in and be a part of something bigger than ourselves, and the drive to let our deepest, realest selves rise up, to walk alone, to refuse the accepted and the comfortable and the conventional, and this can mean, at least for a time of transition, the acceptance of (if not the invitation to) the anguish of the birth of new life.  It is in the group that we discover what we have in common.  It is as individuals that we discover a deeper personal relationship with God.  We must search and find a way to balance and integrate our two opposing impulses. …

As the desire grows naturally in us to be whole and to struggle with this wholeness in ourselves, in others, in our community, and in the world, and as we desire to be free and then to free others, a new energy is born within us, an energy that flows directly from God.  It is as though we are crossing the Red Sea from slavery to freedom.  We can start to live with the pain of loss of other things we once thought we required and accept anguish because a new love and a new and deeper consciousness of self are being given to us. …

If each one of us today begins this journey and has the courage to forgive and be forgiven, we will no longer be dominated and governed by past hurts.  Wherever we may be - in our families, our work places, with friends and loved ones, or in places of worship or of leisure - we can rise up and become agents of a new land.  And we don’t have to set our sights too high.  We do not have to be the saviors of the whole world!  We can simply and thankfully be human beings, enfolded in suffering and weakness and in hope and possibility, called together to change the world one intimate heart connection at a time.”

– Jean Vanier, in Becoming Human

We are still crossing the sea, breaking out of jail, our house unfinished, our various losses of the past year still hurting, not quite able to see the shore yet.  But I do believe there is a beautiful beach on the other side.

Category: dying/rising, grief, happiness, suffering | 3 Comments »
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Posted By Nathaniel on July 22, 2009

A friend recommended Veronica Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho, and then, eager for more by this author, I picked up The Fifth Mountain at Half Price Books last week.  It is a novel about the prophet Elijah’s experiences in Zarephath, a city of Sidon, where he was sent to stay with a widow during a 3 year famine.  It begins with a note from the author, from which I want to quote a part:

“There are things that are brought into our lives to lead us back to the true path of our Personal Legend.  Other things arise so we can apply all that we have learned.  And, finally, some things come along to teach us.

“In my book The Pilgrimage, I tried to show that these teachings need not be linked to pain and suffering; discipline and attentiveness alone are enough.  Although this understanding has become an important blessing in my life, it still did not equip me to transit certain difficult moments that I experienced, even with total discipline and attentiveness.

“One example is the case I have cited [a story about being fired at the height of his early career]; I was a professional, made every effort to give the best there was in me, and had ideas that even today I consider worthwhile.  But the unavoidable happened, at the very moment when I felt most secure and confident.   I believe I am not alone in this experience; the unavoidable has touched the life of every human being on the face of the earth.  Some have rebounded, others have given up - but all of us have felt the wings of tragedy brushing against us.”

I believe in discipline and attentiveness as tools for facing our fears, discovering ourselves and living authentically.  I also believe in what Coelho talks about here: the unavoidable, the wings of tragedy.  To try to accept the unavoidable (meaning to not retreat into denial or despair) and also to strive with God (meaning to choose our fate, to confront tragedy with hope), these are the lessons Coelho teaches in this enchanting book.  I am eager to learn them!

Here’s my contribution to Catherine’s Poetry Wednesday.  It comes from an album called Drunkard’s Prayer by Over the Rhine, a band I listened to a lot in college.  My favorite tracks on most of my CDs are the more melancholy ones.  Over the Rhine is one of my favorite bands, probably because most of their songs have that melancholy flavor I love.  You can listen to the song here.

Born

I was born to laugh

I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I’m gonna learn to love without fear

Pour me a glass of wine
Talk deep into the night
Who knows what we’ll find

Intuition, deja vu
The Holy Ghost haunting you
Whatever you got
I don’t mind

Put your elbows on the table
I’ll listen long as I am able
There’s nowhere I’d rather be

Secret fears, the supernatural
Thank God for this new laughter
Thank God the joke’s on me

We’ve seen the landfill rainbow
We’ve seen the junkyard of love
Baby it’s no place for you and me

I was born to laugh
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I’m gonna learn to love without fear

Music by Over the Rhine

Lyrics by Linford Detweiler

(C) 2005 Back Porch

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Posted By Nathaniel on July 8, 2009

Catherine is doing Poetry Wednesdays and this week she’s posted the lyrics to a song written by a friend of ours.  So in the same spirit, here’s U2 (not that Bono’s one of my buddies).  You can read all the poems/lyrics I post here as coming straight from my heart.

I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight

She’s a rainbow and she loves the peaceful life
Knows I’ll go crazy if I don’t go crazy tonight
There’s a part of me in the chaos that’s quiet
And there’s a part of you that wants me to riot

Everybody needs to cry or needs to spit
Every sweet-tooth needs just a little hit
Every beauty needs to go out with an idiot
How can you stand next to the truth and not see it?

A change of heart comes slow..

It’s not a hill it’s a mountain
As you start out the climb
Do you believe me or are you doubting?
We’re gonna make it all the way to the light
But I know I’ll go crazy if I don’t go crazy tonight

Every generation gets a chance to change the world
Pity the nation that will listen to your boys and girls
‘Cos the sweetest melody is the one we haven’t heard
Is it true the perfect love drives out all fear?
The right to appear ridiculous is something I hold dear
Oh, but a change of heart comes slow…

It’s not a hill it’s a mountain
As you start out the climb
Listen for me, I’ll be shouting
But we’re gonna make it all the way to the light
But I know I’ll go crazy if I don’t go crazy tonight

Baby, baby, baby, I know I’m not alone
Baby, baby, baby, I know I’m not alone

It’s not a hill it’s a mountain
Listen for me, I’ll be shouting
Shouting to the darkness, squeeze out sparks of light
You know we’ll go crazy
You know we’ll go crazy
You know we’ll go crazy, if we don’t go crazy tonight

Music by U2

Lyrics by Bono

© 2009 Universal-Island Records

Category: dying/rising, fear, marriage, poetry, surrender | No Comments »
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Posted By Nathaniel on July 1, 2009

I’m glad Catherine started Poetry Wednesdays; I’m not writing much these days, but at least if you’re checking the blog from time to time you’ll have a new poem to read.  This one’s worth chewing on:

The Half-way House

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Love I was shewn upon the mountain-side
And bid to catch Him ere the dropp of day.
See, Love, I creep and Thou on wings dost ride:
Love it is evening now and Thou away;
Love, it grows darker here and Thou art above;
Love, come down to me if Thy name be Love.

My national old Egyptian reed gave way;
I took of vine a cross-barred rod or rood.
Then next I hungered: Love when here, they say,
Or once or never took love’s proper food;
But I must yield the chase, or rest and eat. -
Peace and food cheered me where four rough ways meet.

Hear yet my paradox: Love, when all is given,
To see Thee I must see Thee, to love, love;
I must o’ertake Thee at once and under heaven
If I shall overtake Thee at last above.
You have your wish; enter these walls, one said:
He is with you in the breaking of the bread.

Category: Catholicism, desire, dying/rising, heaven, poetry | No Comments »
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Posted By Nathaniel on June 24, 2009

Here’s another marriage poem by Richard Wilbur for Catherine’s Poetry Wednesday. I love the third stanza with these lines: “Which is to say that what love sees is true;/ That the world’s fullness is not made but found.”  I’m becoming more and more aware that everything in life is grace - a gift.  We can’t earn the things that are worthwhile - they are there to be simply found or received.

A Wedding Toast

by Richard Wilbur

from New and Collected Poems

St. John tells how, at Cana’s wedding feast,
The water-pots poured wine in such amount
That by his sober count
There were a hundred gallons at the least.

It made no earthly sense, unless to show
How whatsoever love elects to bless
Brims to a sweet excess
That can without depletion overflow.

Which is to say that what love sees is true;
That this world’s fullness is not made but found.
Life hungers to abound
And pour its plenty out for such as you.

Now, if your loves will lend an ear to mine,
I toast you both, good son and dear new daughter.
May you not lack for water,
And may that water smack of Cana’s wine.

Category: benevolence, marriage, poetry | No Comments »
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Posted By Catherine on June 22, 2009

I’ve just finished reading The Shack, by William Young.  The novel has inspired a lot of thoughts, but I’ll start with this excerpt.  Mack is a middle-aged husband and father whose 6-year-old daughter is abducted and murdered by a serial killer.  Burdened by intense grief and anger, Mack receives an unusual invitation from God to return to the site of his daughter’s murder and there encounters the Blessed Trinity for an unforgettable weekend.

This is from a dialogue Mack has with Sarayu, who represents the Holy Spirit and who begins by asking Mack a question: “When something happens to you, how do you determine whether it is good or evil?”

Mack thought for a moment before answering.  ”Well…I guess I would say that something is good when I like it–when it makes me feel good or gives me a sense of security.  Conversely, I’d call evil something that causes me pain or costs me something I want.”

“So it is pretty subjective then?”

“I guess it is.”

“And how confident are you in your ability to discern what indeed is good for you, or what is evil?”

“To be honest,” said Mack, “I tend to sound justifiably angry when somebody is threatening my ‘good,’ you know, what I think I deserve.  But I’m not really sure I have any logical ground for deciding what is actually good or evil, except how something or someone affects me.”…

Sarayu interrupted.  ”Then it is you who determines good and evil.  You become the judge.  And to make things more confusing, that which you determine to be good will change over time and circumstance.  And then, beyond that and even worse, there are billions of you, each determining what is good and what is evil.  So when your good and evil clash with your neighbor’s, fights and arguments ensue and even wars break out…

And if there is no reality of good that is absolute, then you have lost any basis for judging.  It is just language, and one might as well exchange the word good for the word evil.” …

“I can see now,” confessed Mack, “that I have spent most of my time and energy trying to acquire what I have determined to be good, whether it’s financial security or health or retirement or whatever.  And I spend a huge amount of energy and worry fearing what I’ve determined to be evil.”  Mack sighed deeply.

“Such truth in that,” said Sarayu gently.  ”Remember this.  It allows  you to play God in your independence.  That’s why a part of you prefers not to see me.  And you don’t need me at all to create your list of good and evil.  But do you do need me if you have any desire to stop such an insane lust for independence.”

“So is there a way to fix it?” asked Mack.

“You must give up your right to decide what is good and evil on your own terms.  That is a hard pill to swallow–choosing to live only in me.  To do that, you must know me enough to trust me and learn to rest in my inherent goodness.” …

Sarayu turned toward Mack; at least that was his impression.  ”Mackenzie, evil is a word we use to describe the absence of good, just as we use the word darkness to describe the absence of light or death to describe the absence of life.  Both evil and darkness can be understood only in relation to light and good; they do not have any actual existence.  I am light and I am good.  I am love and there is no darkness in me.  Light and Good actually exist.  So, removing yourself from me will plunge you into darkness.  Declaring independence will result in evil because apart from me, you can draw only upon yourself.  That is death because you have separated yourself from me: Life.”

“Wow!” Mack exclaimed, sitting back for a moment. “That really helps. But I can also see that giving up my independent right is not going to be an easy process.  It could mean that–”

Sarayu interrupted his sentence again.  ”That in one instance, the good may be the presence of cancer or the loss of income–or even a life.”

“Yeah, but tell that to the person with cancer or the father whose daughter is dead,” Mack said, a little more sarcastically than he had intended.

“Oh, Mackenzie,” reassured Sarayu.  ”Don’t you think we have them in mind as well?  Each of them was the center of another story that is untold.”

This is the second post of mine about a story of a serial child killer! I guess it is because that scenario seems like the worst possible tragedy to me, and I am on a journey these days for answers about why pain and sadness exist in this world (who isn’t?).  I found myself really grieving the loss of my father again on Father’s Day.  What does it mean that the pain that each of us feels or has felt is the center of an as yet untold story with a beautiful and perfect purpose?  I am not sure, except that I want to believe it is true.

Category: benevolence, dialogue, evil, judgment, suffering | 5 Comments »
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Posted By Nathaniel on June 20, 2009

Here are some thoughts from Jim this morning:

God was thinking out loud with me over the last few days, and He offered me some of His thoughts, as if they were mine, and I love when He does that, so I texted them to myself, and here they are:

“The pathway to bliss goes through the most intense suffering, right before delivering you to pure joy - suffering of such intolerable immensity that it obliterates all resistance to it, which is, quite ironically, the primary source of it.”

Category: dying/rising, grief, happiness, judgment, suffering | 4 Comments »
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