Tuesday, February 25, 2020

I mean, this should sell!

 I mean, this should sell! 

from Rantrage Press, the 2020 Psalm-a-Day Calendar (evangelical edition). Print run 500; now sold 9:
Ah, well.

 02.24.19
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 * A list of selections from Rantrage Press [“A Tradition of Heresy from the Left and Now the Right”], biblical commentaries in the Incoherent Series, Lurid Paperback potboilers among others, with links may be found here.

Tuesday, February 18, 2020

Sweet

 Sweet 

This morning, I read this in Cry, the Beloved Country. The characters are talking about quiet; there are no quiet places. Everywhere is noise. Yes, Kumalo says:
Everywhere it is so. The peace of God escapes us.
Later, I went for a walk and saw this sign:
I am walking to get out of the house. I have a prescription from Dr. Feight: “Get out of the house every day. Take a walk.”

What does it mean? - I wonder as I am walking on. It is a lovely late morning, mild. The sun is shining. There are yellow crocuses. There’s the slight smell of yellow in the air.
     What does it mean that even as I lose faith in God, even as I have lost my Faith, I believe there is such a thing? - such a thing as the peace of God: that it may be possible to come to a peace that that is more than what we normally mean by the word, walking away from a fight or the absence of conflict. It may be impossible to come to such a peace, but it, the peace of God, is imaginable. And it cannot be unimagined even if we cease to believe in God.
     Also that there is a love beyond what we normally mean by love, the putting aside of hate and becoming friends or lovers. I cannot unimagine that either.
     These things, romantic - impossibly romantic - as they are, you can’t leave behind as if you hadn’t picked them up. Once picked up, you can’t leave them behind at all. You can’t.
     But culture?
to be continued
02.18.20

Saturday, February 15, 2020

Nick

 Nick* 

On August 11, 1937 - or so goes the story - the day Edith Wharton died in Paris, my father, age four, found between the grass and the sidewalk in front of his house on Mundy Street in Watertown, New York, a buffalo nickel. It was raining - again, according to the story - and . . .

02.15.20
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 * or, connecting the dots off the page.

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

San Anselmo on Wooster

 San Anselmo on Wooster ¨ 

“yellow anselm” by m ball
His pen was scratching something into his clipboard before I began talking. I had closed my eyes, stopped trying to find something in the ceiling - I never do. Before I began talking, his voice from over my left shoulder. “You continue to be interested in theology?” Dr. Feight said.*
     “Yes?” I said. “If you could call it that.”
     “Though you’ve lost your faith.”
     “They’re not the same,” I said, meaning theology and faith. He knew that. Of course, he did.
     “But surely related,” he said. “Faith seeking understanding?”
     I didn’t say anything.
     “Isn’t that the definition?” he said.
     “One.”
02.12.20
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 ¨ the street
 * Links to other sessions with Dr. Feight are here.

Monday, February 10, 2020

New from Rantrage!

 New from Rantrage! 

 

So, after this, God tested Abraham. He said to him, “Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” And he said, “Take now your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt-offering upon one of the mountains, which I will show you. And Abraham rose early in the morning, and saddled his ass, and took two of his young men with him, also Isaac his son. He cut the wood for the burnt-offering, and he got up, and he went to the place God had told him about. 
     On the third day Abraham looked up, and he saw the place a way off. And Abraham said to his young men, “Wait here with the ass. The lad and I are going up there. There we will worship; then we’ll come back to you. 6 And Abraham took the wood of the burnt-offering, and loaded it on Isaac’s shoulders; and he took in his hand the fire and the knife; and they went up together. And Isaac spoke to Abraham his father, and said, “Father.” And he said, “Here I am, my son.” And he said, “Look. Here is the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a burnt-offering?” And Abraham said, “God will provide himself the lamb for a burnt-offering, my so.” So, they went on together.
     And they came to the place which God had told him about; and Abraham built the altar there, and he laid the wood in order, and he bound Isaac his son, and he laid him on the wood. 10 And Abraham reached out, and took the knife to slay his son. 11 And the angel of the Lord called to him out of heaven, and said, “Abraham, Abraham.” And he said, “Here I am.” 12 And he said, “Don’t lay a hand on the lad; don’t do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me.” 13 And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and, there, behind him was a ram caught in the thicket by his horns. And Abraham took the ram, and he offered it up for a burnt-offering in place of his son. 14 And Abraham called the name of that place Jehovah-jireh: as it is said to this day, “On the mount of the LORD it shall be provided.” 
     15 And the angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time out of heaven, 16 and said, “‘By myself have I sworn,’ says the Lord, ‘because you have done this thing, and have not withheld your son, your only son, 17 I will truly bless you. I will multiply your descendants as the stars of the heavens, and as the sand on the sea-shore; and they shall possess the gate of their enemies; 18 and in your descendants shall all the nations of the earth be blessed because you have obeyed my voice.’” 
     19 So Abraham returned to his young men, and they left and went together to Beer-sheba; and Abraham dwelt at Beer-sheba.


God decides to test Abraham even if, if he really is God, he must know how it’s all going to turn out.
            “Abraham!”
            “Yes?”
            “Isaac, Isaac whom you love – take him to Moriah. There’s a hilltop there – I’ll show you when you get closer. There you’re going to offer him as a sacrifice to me.”
            Abraham is struck dumb, the same Abraham that negotiated for the deliverance of strangers in Sodom and Gomorrah, when it comes to the life of his son – struck dumb.
     Without a word then, he goes to bed, he gets up, he cuts wood for the fire, and he loads his donkey. He gets Isaac out of bed, and he calls two servants to go with them. They set out. It’s three days journey – in complete silence. The third day Abraham sees where he’s going. Voice rusty, he squeaks to the servants he’s brought apparently only for this one task: “Watch the donkey,” he says. “Watch the donkey, while Isaac and I go over there. Up there.
            “We’ll be back,” Abraham says, which can’t be true if he’s going to go through with this thing God has commanded. He’ll be back, but Isaac will not.
            He loads the wood for the sacrifice on Isaac’s back. He has the knife and what he needs to start a fire. They’re climbing the hill.
            Isaac says, “Dad.”
            “Yes?”
            “We have the wood and the starter and the knife to slit its throat, but we don’t have the lamb to kill.”
            “Well,” “Dad” thinks a minute. “God will provide.”  And they keep climbing.
            Until they come to the right place, the place where Abraham will build his altar, stack his wood on it, and sacrifice his son.
Sorry. There’s no help for it: This is genuinely fornifreckulated. God wants to test Abraham, whom he must know is faithful; and the test is . . . human fornifreckulating sacrifice. “Put your son – you know, the one I promised you – on a pile of wood, slit his throat so the blood runs out, and burn what’s left. Oyez, oyez.”  What’s he thinking?  What’s God thinking?  What’s Abraham thinking?  What’s Isaac thinking, as his father ties him up and puts him on the wood?  I mean, “Jesus!” who incidentally said more than once, “I desire mercy not sacrifice.”
            Sorry. This is like a footnote. And you know the footnotes in your Bible aren’t part of the Bible itself. Some donkey like your author decided to add in his two-cents’ worth at the bottom of the page.
            But back to the story
Abraham builds the altar, rocks and mounded earth, and he arranges the wood on it so it will burn. Then he grabs the wood-bearer, Isaac, his son, and he ties him up and puts him on top of the pile of wood on top of the altar to God. And he picks up his knife to slit his son’s throat. And he does, and that’s going to prove that he’ll do whatever God says.
            No, right?  Instead, an angel calls out from heaven, “Abraham!”
            “Yes?”
            “Wait.”
            And Abraham drops the knife.
            “Wait,” the angel reads from his script. “The test is over. We know now that you love God, because you’d kill your son if he said so.”
            “Yes?” Abraham agrees.
Again, sorry. It can’t be helped. Surely he knows, the angel, and if he doesn’t, the God that knows everything must: It is one thing to pick up a knife. It is quite another thing to slit a throat with it. And if “they” or we and Abraham don’t see it through to the bloody, fiery end . . . it’s not a real test, is it?  Not like Jephthah and his daughter. Jeph proves he’ll really do what he says he’s going to do. Why, incidentally, doesn’t someone – capital S – stop that one?  Sorry. Another footnote. You can ignore it. Not like Jephthah and his daughter; not like Pilate and Jesus either. Why doesn’t Someone (capital-S) . . . ?  Sorry. Back to this story –
Abraham looks around and where he couldn’t see one before there’s a ram, caught in a bush. He untangles it, he ties it up, he gets Isaac down atop the altar, and he makes the swap. He slits the ram’s throat, he lets the ram pee his pants, he lets ram’s blood run out, and he burns it all as a pleasing smell to God.
            He and Isaac go back down the hill, as he told the servants they would: “We’ll be back.”  And they all go home.

Questions and Conclusions
Sorry.
     Whatever your Sunday School teacher told you, Abraham is not a type of God the father, nor is Isaac or the lamb/ram a type of Christ. Note that Jesus never called himself a lamb - that was John the Baptist. About sacrifice he only said that he desired mercy instead. It was the Apopsicle Paul that called him “our paschal lamb [that] has been sacrificed,” and it was whoever-the-hell wrote Hebrews that figured out he was somehow both sacrifice and priest. Sorry: with all due respect, talk about mixed metaphors.
02.10.20
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 * The cover of Church’s paperback is The Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah by the 19th-century British painter, John Martin. For other Rantrage titles with “read-inside” links, click here.

Thursday, February 6, 2020

Next?

 Next? 

Three questions of Ted Riich:
This has been going on for quite a while. How long?
You mean The Ambiguities. The first post was New Year’s Eve, 2013 with a detail from George Grosz’s Blood Is the Best Sauce.
And this is how many posts later?
This is the 709th.
And the last? Now, it’s over?
It looks like it if I still hope it may not be. Hope against hope, as The Apostle says.
     I don’t know the cause, but my concentration has become practically non-existent since we got the cat. I can’t think in a straight line for more than a centimeter or two; then it turns and I find myself, oddly, meters away from where I’d begun, in another room on another floor, even outside on the street - in my pajamas. Shivering. Still, I do hope it’s not. Hope against hope.
That’s where?
Romans 4, but don’t ask me what it means, part of that odd, prooftextual argument about the justification of Abraham who believed before there was Law. He didn’t distrust God’s promise that he would have a son even if he were a hundred years old and Sara ninety-nine. Rather - I’ll have to look this up . . . Verse 18: “In hope he believed against hope, that he should be the father of many nations.”
     Not that it matters what Romans says. What we mean when we say we hope against hope that we’ll find the twenty we lost is that unless the God we don’t entirely believe in - certainly not like Abraham did - unless God finds the twenty, we have no hope at all.
Thank you.
Yes. Thanks for stopping by.
02.06.20
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 * I might have ended it already, but fond hope says, “Keep on! Tomorrow will be better.” 
                                                                                                               - ALTS (the Another Loose Translation Society)