Friday, May 30, 2014

The Ascension self-taught



May 30, 2014
The Ascension self-taught, 
with a lot of questions left over

There’s a time to wake up and a time to sleep.
A time for energy and a time for sloth. 
There are days to sleep through, and there are days to regret it later.
There’s a time to be well and a time to be sick.
Always, there’s time enough to be anxious and stuff enough
to be anxious about, and there’s a time to walk away from it.
If you can.

There’s a time for Homer and a time for Dashiell Hammett.
There’s a time for thought and a time to be distracted. 
There’s a time to be serious and a time to be cynical.
There’s a time to be cynical and a time to be gullible.
There’s a time to read logic and there's a time to wonder . . .

          . . . about the Ascension maybe.  But you can not turn off your brain!

My brain has only a few  problems with the theological claims, provided (as always) I can define the terms.  They are these, according to the Gospel according to Ted, that the one ascending:
§  is the same one that heals the sick and casts out demons, that eats with tax-collectors and sinners and tells parables.
§  is the same one crucified for our sins, the one that loves us that much so that he would die for us.[1]

This is one that takes his seat at the right hand of God and does or will judge the world.  Who better, who more gracious, loving, and understanding?  Who could we prefer to meet at the judgment seat?
          But damn, I have a problem with that, “the judgment seat.”  Why, in Christ’s name, is it always “The Last Judgment,” not “The Last Forgiveness” (or “The Last Healing, “The Last Mercy,” or “The Last Redemption”?)   Is it John of Patmos not Jesus of Nazareth we’re going to let paint the final picture?  If so the unbending Pharisees not the forgiven sinners will have the last laugh.

With the physical claims, however (back to the Ascension), there are problems.  And don’t think people aren’t thinking about these, my preacher friends, while you’re wafting the airy Christ upward and upward until he disappears like a hawk caught in an updraft.  There are problems:
§  Jesus is crucified, nails through his wrists and his feet, internal organs collapsing so he dies because he cannot breathe or, if he’s lucky, from shock.
§  His mutilated body is buried.
§  After three days − though not really: Friday night through Saturday night − the same body is raised, brought back to life and to health.  The wounds in his hands, his feet, and his side have become scars; the organs must be restored to their former functioning positions.  The Risen One can breathe and stand, move his arms and his legs, and eat (so his teeth, his throat, his esophagus, stomach, and bowels must also all be in working order).  He can talk, converse, explain.  He hasn’t forgotten his Hebrew Bible.  The thorns haven’t pierced his mind or his memory.
§  This same body, however, can appear and disappear; it can materialize in locked rooms; it may even be able to be two places at the same time.
§  Finally, either on Easter Day or forty days later, or maybe both – anyone can be two times in the same place – this body, having appeared, disappeared and reappeared any number of times in between, it (this body) can ascend into the heavens, where God lives.
§  God lives in heaven, which is “up there” somewhere to be ascended to.  There, the Risen One takes his place and it cannot be no place, because a body must occupy space.  (Newton: “The place of a body is the space which it occupies.”)

Don’t think the people sitting in your pews aren’t thinking about these things this Sunday, because they are.  But, if you’re preaching to me, worry less about explaining the physical stuff, which you can’t anyway, and try to help me understand why on this glorious day and the day of glory, I’m facing a Last Judgment not a Last Tenderness.  
 x
(bicbw)


[1] If that’s what he does.  This is obviously another matter for another time, but it is a far more complex and fraught one than we usually acknowledge, if we ever do.  That this is what Jesus intended requires our knowing what he was thinking and that he was thinking what we hope he was and probably that it means something like what Paul hoped it did.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Maxime

He says he's not responsible for the artsy fartsy picture. 
Or script. It's not a Götterdämmerung greeting card, he says.

May 27, 2014
Another of Uncle Albert's maximes

     Edited May 28, 2014. In addition, there is no comma, so: "Blessed are those without secrets because they do not care to keep them."  And, it is not a maxime but, if anything related to La Rochefoucauld in any way (if!), a sentence.  The editor apologizes both to his uncle and the reader.  (Both of you: I'm really sorry!)

Monday, May 26, 2014

Mad dreams



Melech Tzipardeiagh       &       Rosario Dawson
May 26, 2014 - Memorial Day 
Tea for Three at Hatter & Hare's

Emerging from a late-afternoon haze, a waking dream, it must be, because my sleeping dreams are quite different, more like silent movies in kaleidoscope.
          God appears – but in the form of a frog, a cartoon frog wearing a boater and big bow-tie. He says, “There are no longer consequences.”
          Now what? Do I say, “Wait!” − because the frog seems to be dancing his way off-stage? I do: “Wait. Help me think this through. Does it mean that it doesn’t matter what I do? Or,  does it mean one thing no longer follows another in any accountable way, which would not mean that I might not be held accountable but that no one could account for anything?” I hesitate but plunge on: “If the latter, how has the world changed?”
          And the frog chirrups or burps, “I rescind my offer.”
          “Wait!  Did you make an offer? You stated a fact.”
          “Perhaps. How clever of you to notice. I rescind my fact.”
          “Shit!” And I don’t believe I’ve said that,  “Shit!” to God, even guised as a frog, but I have: “Shit! You can do that?”
          “Of course.”
          “Any chance you’ll rescind your rescission?”
          “Perhaps. Another time. In the interim you might consider if you’re going to agree to it or try again to parse the terms.”
          “Yes.”
          “ Au revoir” he waves. And I heard him declaim as he rose out of sight: “You’re much too serious. Lighten up, my dear.” I thought I heard him . . . .

Scene Two. I’m telling Rosario Dawson about this, and she says it’s “bullshit.” She seems to think that may be a little harsh and adds:  “I’m not saying you didn’t see this. But God is not ever a frog.”
          “He was a pigeon once.”
          “Doves and pigeons are related; but they’re different birds.”
          “He was a dove then.”
          “Can frogs fly?”
          “Not normally, but . . . .”
          “He is right though − about you.” And she sucked in her breath, almost gasped. “Wait no.” Takes another breath. “Not God. Maybe the devil. It’s something the devil might say, ‘No consequences.’”
          “I don’t think . . . .”
          “No, no. It wasn’t a frog. You don’t know the difference between a pigeon and a dove. It wasn’t a frog; it was a toad. Don’t the angels find Satan

Squat like a Toad, close at the ear of Eve;
Assaying by his Devilish art to reach
The Organs of her Fancy, and with them forge
Illusions as he list, Phantasms and dreams
                        . . . . discontented thoughts,
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires

and so forth.”
          Out of the mouths of babes, I’m thinking, but I don’t say it, because it might be misinterpreted.
          “But, one thing whoever does have right: you do need to lighten up, amigo.”
          She looks at me. She looks serious. It must be mock-serious; she’s an actress. I say, “Do you want to go dancing then?” Not intentionally; those are the words that come out of my mouth.
          “With you?”

You pour your light heart out to some girls, and . . . nothing. “Adios,” she exclaimed as she rose out of sight. 

v
(bicbw)

Saturday, May 24, 2014

An imaginary friend

May 24, 2014
The dependability of imagination

The Ambiguities second plodcast, on how we know when to shut up and imaginary friends. A dozen minutes, just the length of a well-thought-out sermon.


r