In which I take shots at my own kind

There's a rather ubiquitous piece of advice from Luther that amounts to this: if you want to be a good Christian cobbler, don't make mediocre shoes with crosses on them; make good shoes. This might be the best way to explain my dislike for the growing number of movements trying to get women into theology. I know this sounds like I've lost my mind, but hear me out.

In theory, the idea is great. There's still a disheartening lack of interest in knowing God in the female demographics of the church. Nobody would ever admit it when phrased this way; instead, it's the dismissive comments about how men split hairs over doctrine or the need to make bible/book studies "fun." We're still plagued by the myth that there is no real benefit to such abstract study. So yes, there's still a long way to go.

What I find to be deeply problematic is the difficult time these movements have in getting around to discussing actual theology.

There's one popular site that brands itself as a hard-hitting community of doctrinally-minded women responding to issues in the culture at large. Lots of aggressive socio-political commentary, but I have yet to find a post dedicated to any theological topic. I find this particularly destructive, not only because of the way it promotes a belligerent brand of Christianity, but also in the way it turns the purported study of divinity into something very human-focused. It's culture wars masquerading as theology.

Another, related, mistake I often see is the conflation of theology proper and Christian living. Aspiring to be a virtuous student/employee/wife/mother is commendable, but that discussion is not theology. We apply our theology to such situations, yes, but the actions that follow are the result of what we believe about God; they are not the beliefs themselves.

Finally, these movements have a tendency to create a very gendered version of theology. Very often, books marketed for women suffer from poor doctrine and a domestic model of femininity. But, beyond these issues - why do we need to write theology books for women? Why can't we read Owen and Turretin along with the men? Why can't a woman's book be marketed as simply another theological book, and not something distinctively feminine? I refer to the Luther analogy at the beginning of the post. If you strive for excellence as a woman theologian, don't write some sloppy theology and slap a floral cover on it; produce something that lives up to the standards of both our confessional heritage and academia.

On loss and thanksgiving

Som natural tears they drop'd, but wip'd them soon;

The World was all before them, where to choose

Thir place of rest, and Providence thir guide:

They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow,

Through Eden took thir solitarie way.

(Paradise Lost XII.645-649)

My freshman year, in my 17th C poetry class, my professor taught us that one of the most important things we could learn as fallen humans is how to lose. Not "lose" in the sense of a competition, but rather a bereavement. If we could learn to cope with loss successfully, we would be able to grow from the traumas we (inevitably) experience in life, rather than destroy ourselves and others in them. That kind of thing is difficult for an invincible 19-year-old to absorb, although in my case, the recent death of my father was an imminent validation of my professor's point. I don't think anybody wants to dwell on the possibility of losing the things they love most dearly.

This past year, with its collection of anniversaries, revisits, and - quite frankly - disasters, has foregrounded the problem of loss in an inescapable way. Parts of 2017 remind me of 2012, especially in the uncomfortable proximity between extremes that I keep encountering. This has been the most difficult part of "learning to lose" for me to grasp: how do you make sense of gaining and losing when both are happening simultaneously? Loving what cannot be kept, trusting in the wake of betrayal, discovering joy amid sorrow; the past five years have taught me that these are choices, and that they are both exhausting and cyclical.

My professor highlighted this tension in Paradise Lost, as Milton resolves it as a felix culpa, or fortunate fall; we would not experience the joy and hope of redemption if it were not for the despair of the Fall. I'm uncomfortable with the theological assumptions behind this; I get nervous any time we start speaking about the Fall in terms that could suggest necessity or inevitability. Grace, however, is a staggering intervention in it.

I suspect that I will always struggle with the close relationship between gain and loss, but one thing I am learning from my experience in it is gratitude. Despite how bewildering it can be, each instance of blessing amid trial is a mercy from God. We cannot survive the sorrows of this world without divine grace, and sometimes joy amid sorrow is one of the ways God softens the darkness of His providence. We do well to hope in the Gospel present in the curse of Genesis 3.

I read Philippians 4.4-9 recently, and it made me realize how powerful an attitude of thanksgiving is. Gratitude is the core of our sanctification, and I can't think of a more effective response to loss than meditation upon the mercies and goodness God has shown us in our lives.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice! Let your gentle spirit be known to all men. The Lord is near. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. The things you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

Shall thy work decay?

Lately, I've learned how easy it is to read this sonnet from a corporate point of view. The pain and tangible sense of struggle is visceral.

Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,
I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
Despair behind, and death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh;
Only thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can look, I rise again;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one hour my self I can sustain;
Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.

(John Donne, Holy Sonnet #1)

Thankful for God's answer of a resounding "NO" in Romans 8. The trials we undergo do not hamper His kingdom but ultimately strengthen it. Nothing will stop Him from working out our salvation, or, by extension, the good of the Church. We survive by holding onto His promises.

"For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it." (Romans 8.24-25)

Devotional confessionalism

In the midst of some research the other day, I went through chapter two of the 1689, and I was struck by how much of an impact it makes when you consider how these attributes of God are being continually manifested in Himself and worked daily in our lives. It's convicting to realize how much I would benefit in my spiritual life if I were to seriously meditate upon this reality more often. God is not just an academic theory I study; He is the living Unmoved Mover of the universe who loves me and sent His Son to die for me, personally. Just that thought alone ought to make me more patient under trial and more gratefully obedient.

1. The Lord our God is but one only living and true God; whose subsistence is in and of himself, infinite in being and perfection; whose essence cannot be comprehended by any but himself; a most pure spirit, invisible, without body, parts, or passions, who only hath immortality, dwelling in the light which no man can approach unto; who is immutable, immense, eternal, incomprehensible, almighty, every way infinite, most holy, most wise, most free, most absolute; working all things according to the counsel of his own immutable and most righteous will for his own glory; most loving, gracious, merciful, long-suffering, abundant in goodness and truth, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin; the rewarder of them that diligently seek him, and withal most just and terrible in his judgments, hating all sin, and who will by no means clear the guilty.
(1 Corinthians 8:4, 6; Deuteronomy 6:4; Jeremiah 10:10; Isaiah 48:12; Exodus 3:14; John 4:24; 1 Timothy 1:17; Deuteronomy 4:15, 16; Malachi 3:6; 1 Kings 8:27; Jeremiah 23:23; Psalms 90:2; Genesis 17:1; Isaiah 6:3; Psalms 115:3; Isaiah 46:10; Proverbs 16:4; Romans 11:36; Exodus 34:6, 7; Hebrews 11:6; Nehemiah 9:32, 33; Psalms 5:5, 6; Exodus 34:7; Nahum 1:2, 3)

2. God, having all life, glory, goodness, blessedness, in and of himself, is alone in and unto himself all-sufficient, not standing in need of any creature which he hath made, nor deriving any glory from them, but only manifesting his own glory in, by, unto, and upon them; he is the alone fountain of all being, of whom, through whom, and to whom are all things, and he hath most sovereign dominion over all creatures, to do by them, for them, or upon them, whatsoever himself pleaseth; in his sight all things are open and manifest, his knowledge is infinite, infallible, and independent upon the creature, so as nothing is to him contingent or uncertain; he is most holy in all his counsels, in all his works, and in all his commands; to him is due from angels and men, whatsoever worship, service, or obedience, as creatures they owe unto the Creator, and whatever he is further pleased to require of them.
(John 5:26; Psalms 148:13; Psalms 119:68; Job 22:2, 3; Romans 11:34-36; Daniel 4:25, 34, 35; Hebrews 4:13; Ezekiel 11:5; Acts 15:18; Psalms 145:17; Revelation 5:12-14)

3. In this divine and infinite Being there are three subsistences, the Father, the Word or Son, and Holy Spirit, of one substance, power, and eternity, each having the whole divine essence, yet the essence undivided: the Father is of none, neither begotten nor proceeding; the Son is eternally begotten of the Father; the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Father and the Son; all infinite, without beginning, therefore but one God, who is not to be divided in nature and being, but distinguished by several peculiar relative properties and personal relations; which doctrine of the Trinity is the foundation of all our communion with God, and comfortable dependence on him.
(1 John 5:7; Matthew 28:19; 2 Corinthians 13:14; Exodus 3:14; John 14:11; 1 Corinthians 8:6; John 1:14,18; John 15:26; Galatians 4:6)

Five years

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind

I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom

But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,

That spot which no vicissitude can find?

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—

But how could I forget thee?—Through what power,

Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return

Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;

That neither present time, nor years unborn

Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

(William Wordsworth, on the loss of his daughter)

I was told many things as I waited for my father to die, but I was never prepared for how this newfound sense of loss would only deepen with time. The anesthetic joy of college has given way to a steadily-accumulating list of milestones passing unwitnessed and quandaries lacking his insight. You learn to move on, but even this is an unstable term: it's more like becoming old friends with the memories that haunt you. Never less painful, simply more familiar.

I wrote the post below over a period of several weeks following the news that my dad was going to die much more suddenly than I had expected. At the time, I was about to graduate highschool. I never had the heart to finish it. I've made it through five of the sixty-some years I anticipated at the end of the post, and each one of these has brought new people I wish he could meet and experiences I wish he could share. I find him in recurring dreams when I sleep and in notes tucked inside the books that I read. He's there in the decisions I make, spanning prank-ridden college lore to places I've traveled to choices I've made in career and education. The example of his piety and love for the local church has given me the fortitude to hold fast to my confession - sometimes the most difficult decision of all. The older I've grown, the more I've realized that there are very few men capable of living up to such a precedent.

It's a comfort to see how even our Savior was moved by the ugliness of suffering and death in John 11. I'm thankful for the hope He has given me - not only for my own salvation but also for the chance to see my father again - and I rest in the compassion He has shown me in the trials of my present life. It is only because of Him that I am able to finally end the post below, not with the sonnet above, but with the one a man like my father truly deserves.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou’art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy’or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

(John Donne, Holy Sonnet #10)

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June, 2012. "A Tale of Two Readers."

These are just a few of my dad's books. Ever since we first became acquainted with Reformed theology back in 2003/4, he's spent a lot of time putting together a library for our family so that we would have the best resources at our fingertips for learning about our good God. Before that, I was known as the big reader of the family and the majority of the household literature probably consisted of Little House on the Prairie and assorted American Girl series. Now, though, my dad began conscripting every available shelf to house the collection he was building. The bookcase above, for example, is a walled-up doorway that he fitted shelves into. It's in a little back room which he used as an office and where he spent a lot of his free time sharing what he learned with the blogosphere. I was always coming in to visit and he would tell me about all the latest among the blogs - the people he met, the fads evangelicalism was caught up in, and most importantly, what he was learning about God. I always thought of us as Lizzy and Mr. Bennett in Pride & Prejudice. 

My dad's zeal for theology rubbed off on me, and I started collecting these books myself. Dad was organizing our church's bookstore, and whenever a book order came in, there was almost always a book or two he had gotten for me. He signed up for an Amazon.com credit card for the sole purpose of using he rewards points on free books. Yeah, we're hardcore bibliophiles here. 

Then, when I just finished 8th grade, he got sick and had to shut his blog down. As the years of waiting for a liver transplant went by, the side effects of his disease made it difficult for him to stay awake for long and he was unable to read much from the books he had surrounded himself with. What he had learned about God in those books, however, has never left him. On good days, we still talk about the same things we did five years ago, although I'm now the one telling him what the latest is on the blogs. 

This weekend, we found out that my dad's sickness has rapidly gotten worse. In fact, he's too sick now to get a transplant. The doctors are giving him 3 weeks at the most to live. It is a sore blow, as the Puritans would say it, but we know that God's will is infinitely better than ours.

My dad is going to die, but he isn't going to be gone forever. The thought occurred to me to view this as I would a story. Some of the characters are going to be separated for an extended period of time, but in the end, all that matters is that they're going to meet up again. When Odysseus and his family were finally together again, do you think they spent their time mourning their time apart? I'm going to see my dad again, but without any of the pain, sin, and sadness that comes with living in this world. I'm going to see my dad, but only after I've seen Christ first. And sixty-some years apart is nothing compared with eternity together.

Hope

I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.

I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man. I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that people fear before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already has been; and God seeks what has been driven away.

Ecclesiastes 3.10-15

I read this passage in my devotions this morning and was stuck by the juxtaposition of man's satisfaction in his God-ordained work and God's own ongoing works of creation and providence. Things got a little spooky when I looked it up in Matthew Henry. He approached it from a different angle than I did, but his commentary deeply resonated with me: God is faithful even in the prolonged, exasperating trials which have no end in sight. The wisdom of his plan is more beautiful than any scenario we could have devised for ourselves.

The passage is too long for me to post the entirety of it here, but I highly recommend checking it out. A lot of it reminds me of Boethius's counsel in his Consolation of Philosophy.

We have seen what changes there are in the world, and must not expect to find the world more sure to us than it has been to others. Now here Solomon shows the hand of God in all those changes; it is he that has made every creature to be that to us which it is, and therefore we must have our eye always upon him.

I. We must make the best of that which is, and must believe it best for the present, and accommodate ourselves to it: He has made every thing beautiful in his time (v. 11), and therefore, while its time lasts, we must be reconciled to it: nay, we must please ourselves with the beauty of it. Note, 1. Every thing is as God has made it; it is really as he appointed it to be, not as it appears to us. 2. That which to us seems most unpleasant is yet, in its proper time, altogether becoming. Cold is as becoming in winter as heat in summer; and the night, in its turn, is a black beauty, as the day, in its turn, is a bright one. 3. There is a wonderful harmony in the divine Providence and all its disposals, so that the events of it, when they come to be considered in their relations and tendencies, together with the seasons of them, will appear very beautiful, to the glory of God and the comfort of those that trust in him. Though we see not the complete beauty of Providence, yet we shall see it, and a glorious sight it will be, when the mystery of God shall be finished. Then every thing shall appear to have been done in the most proper time and it will be the wonder of eternity, Deut. xxxii. 4; Ezek. i. 18.

II. We must wait with patience for the full discovery of that which to us seems intricate and perplexed, acknowledging that we cannot find out the work that God makes from the beginning to the end, and therefore must judge nothing before the time. We are to believe that God has made all beautiful. Every thing is done well, as in creation, so in providence, and we shall see it when the end comes, but till then we are incompetent judges of it. While the picture is in drawing, and the house in building, we see not the beauty of either; but when the artist has put his last hand to them, and given them their finishing strokes, then all appears very good. We see but the middle of God's works, not from the beginning of them (then we should see how admirably the plan was laid in the divine counsels), nor to the end of them, which crowns the action (then we should see the product to be glorious), but we must wait till the veil be rent, and not arraign God's proceedings nor pretend to pass judgment on them...

Glory and holiness

This left me with much to think over after reading it. Particularly the last sentence.

Beginning with glory as an inner attribute of God's nature - fully knowable only to God himself - Leigh then describes God's external manifestation of his glory in all of his works: God not only makes his glory to shine in the heavens but also enables us to magnify him in our obedience and worship in this life. The story culminates in God bringing his people, perfected in body and soul, to enjoy the glory of the new creation with him. For Leigh and his Reformed Orthodox colleagues, all glory belongs to God alone, but this is no abstract statement about a self-centered deity or a slogan motivating a moral program. Soli Deo gloria draws us into a biblical story of creation, providence, redemption, and consummation. God's desire to glorify himself sweeps us up to him in a plot whose unending finale lands us in the New Jerusalem where God is supremely glorified in our sanctification.

(David VanDrunen, God's Glory Alone, p. 31)

Law in the Garden

Really loved the chain of reasoning here.

As to the righteousness of this state, consider, that as uncreated righteousness, the righteousness of God is the supreme rule; so all created righteousness, whether of men or angels, has respect to a law as its rule, and is a conformity thereto. A creature can no more be morally independent of God in its actions and powers, than it can be naturally independent of Him. A creature, as a creature, must acknowledge the Creator's will as its supreme law; for as it cannot exist without Him, so it must be but for Him, and according to His will; yet no law obliges, until it is revealed. And hence it follows, that there was a law which man, as a rational creature, was subjected to in his creation; and that this law was revealed to him.  

(Thomas Boston, Human Nature in its Fourfold State, pp. 39-40)

Fangirling

"It is no part of my nature, most learned Wolfgang, to be excessively fond of life; whether it is that I have, to my own mind, lived nearly long enough, having entered my fifty-first year, or that I see nothing in this life so splendid or delightful that it should be desired by one who is convinced by the Christian faith that a happier life awaits those who in this world earnestly attach themselves to piety. But at the present moment I could almost wish to be young again, for no other reason but this, that I anticipate the approach of a golden age..." (Letter to Capito, 1517)

While I don't share Erasmus's utopian optimism, this passage has been on my mind during the past few days, and in reality, these last few years, as I've watched plans unfold for the creation of a Reformed Baptist seminary. Hearing it has finally been approved has been the highlight of my week. Listening to the generation ahead of me speak of their zeal for the project, it's easy to pick up on a sense of wistfulness in their voices: they know that they will only see its beginnings - it is very much a work of faith. My peers and I have been given a tremendous privilege in being able both to participate (in various ways) in its beginning and perhaps live to see these efforts pay off in an established institution with a ministerial/academic legacy. I can't help but feel that we are witnessing the beginning of an exiting time in RB history, with church planting expanding and education becoming more and more available. What a time to be alive.

Calvin on godliness

The Institutes are worth their weight in gold.

For, first of all, the pious mind does not devise for itself any kind of God, but looks alone to the one true God; nor does it feign for him any character it pleases, but is contented to have him in the character in which he manifests himself always guarding, with the utmost diligences against transgressing his will, and wandering, with daring presumptions from the right path. He by whom God is thus known perceiving how he governs all things, confides in him as his guardian and protector, and casts himself entirely upon his faithfulness,—perceiving him to be the source of every blessing, if he is in any strait or feels any want, he instantly recurs to his protection and trusts to his aid,—persuaded that he is good and merciful, he reclines upon him with sure confidence, and doubts not that, in the divine clemency, a remedy will be provided for his every time of need,—acknowledging him as his Father and his Lord he considers himself bound to have respect to his authority in all things, to reverence his majesty, aim at the advancement of his glory, and obey his commands,—regarding him as a just judge, armed with severity to punish crimes, he keeps the Judgment-seat always in his view. Standing in awe of it, he curbs himself, and fears to provoke his anger. Nevertheless, he is not so terrified by an apprehension of Judgment as to wish he could withdraw himself, even if the means of escape lay before him; nay, he embraces him not less as the avenger of wickedness than as the rewarder of the righteous; because he perceives that it equally appertains to his glory to store up punishment for the one, and eternal life for the other. Besides, it is not the mere fear of punishment that restrains him from sin. Loving and revering God as his father, honouring and obeying him as his master, although there were no hell, he would revolt at the very idea of offending him. (I.ii.2) 

Psalm 103

I read this during my devotions this morning, and it was a surreal experience - each verse brought with it a greater sense of joy. The psalm readily functions as a model of the kinds of things we can thank God for in our prayers. What struck me most was a paradox: God refrains from giving us anything that we deserve (the wages of our sin), yet gives us infinitely more as well (grace, even earthly blessings). It could easily translate into something metaphysical by the likes of Herbert or Donne. But since I'm no poet, it will have to remain as it is.

Thankful for days when the Holy Spirit is recognizably at work, ministering to our souls.

Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And all that is within me, bless His holy name.
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And forget none of His benefits;
Who pardons all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases;
Who redeems your life from the pit,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;
Who satisfies your years with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.

The Lord performs righteous deeds
And judgments for all who are oppressed.
He made known His ways to Moses,
His acts to the sons of Israel.
The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
Slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness.
He will not always strive with us,
Nor will He keep His anger forever.
He has not dealt with us according to our sins,
Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
So great is His lovingkindness toward those who fear Him.
As far as the east is from the west,
So far has He removed our transgressions from us.
Just as a father has compassion on his children,
So the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him.
For He Himself knows our frame;
He is mindful that we are but dust.

As for man, his days are like grass;
As a flower of the field, so he flourishes.
When the wind has passed over it, it is no more,
And its place acknowledges it no longer.
But the lovingkindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him,
And His righteousness to children’s children,
To those who keep His covenant
And remember His precepts to do them.

The Lord has established His throne in the heavens,
And His sovereignty rules over all.
Bless the Lord, you His angels,
Mighty in strength, who perform His word,
Obeying the voice of His word!
Bless the Lord, all you His hosts,
You who serve Him, doing His will.
Bless the Lord, all you works of His,
In all places of His dominion;
Bless the Lord, O my soul!

My lovelinesse

I've made no secret of my love for the allegory of Beatrice and similar female literary figures. Today, I came across this piece from Herbert's Temple, and it complicates (in a good way) the human/divine mirror of love I find in these allegories. Earthly relationships can be exquisite pictures of that between God and Man, but there remains an ineffability to God's love for us that transcends anything we will ever experience on earth. To follow the train of thought in Hebrews, the best of this life still pales in comparison with the heavenly reality it anticipates. As Herbert's contemporary, Lewis Bayly wrote, "Whatsoever excellency thou hast seen in any creature, it is nothing but a sparkle of that which is in infinite perfection in God."

On another note, what led me to this poem has been an ongoing fight with complacency of late. This has been perhaps the most taxing semester I've yet had, and I'm living in the numbness of survival mode. I don't want the imminence of my deadlines, papers, and meetings to overshadow the reality of the grace I daily receive in the Gospel.

Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull,
                        As if I were all earth?
O give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth
                                          Praise thee brim-full!

The wanton lover in a curious strain
                        Can praise his fairest fair;
And with quaint metaphors her curled hair
                                          Curl o’re again.

Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light,
                        Beautie alone to me:
Thy bloudy death and undeserv’d, makes thee
                                          Pure red and white.

When all perfections as but one appeare,
                        That those thy form doth show,
The very dust, where thou dost tread and go,
                                          Makes beauties here;

Where are my lines then? my approaches? views?
                        Where are my window-songs?
Lovers are still pretending, & ev’n wrongs
                                          Sharpen their Muse:

But I am lost in flesh, whose sugred lyes
                        Still mock me, and grow bold:
Sure thou didst put a minde there, if I could
                                          Finde there it lies.

Lord, cleare thy gift, that with a constant wit
                        I may but look towards thee:
Look onely; for to love thee, who can be,
                                         What angel fit?

George Herbert, "Dulnesse"

The old and new men

Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fantastic ague; save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with fear.

John Donne, Holy Sonnet #19

-----

I find then the principle that evil is present in me, the one who wants to do good. For I joyfully concur with the law of God in the inner man, but I see a different law in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin which is in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, on the one hand I myself with my mind am serving the law of God, but on the other, with my flesh the law of sin.

Romans 7.21-25

April

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye,
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages:
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmers for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke. 

Canterbury Tales, prologue

Why Keach is better than Milton

[Enjoying how scandalized I am by my own title]

I've had a roller-coaster relationship with Paradise Lost, going from intimidation to love to uneasiness (if you want to talk about the "living" quality of the Great Books, there you go). With Spenser done, my Renaissance class is going through Milton, and this fourth encounter with the poem has confirmed the wariness of my last experience by highlighting all the theological shenanigans taking place. I have two factors to thank for this: the astute insight of my professor and the inevitable comparisons that arise in my ongoing work with Keach's counterpart, The Glorious Lover.

What has struck me most forcefully in recent days is the parallelism between the two poems' depiction of the Divine Council (PL III and GL I.1) between the Father and the Son concerning the salvation of humanity. Both poets choose to depict the members of the Godhead as actual characters, which I find to be a daring move. This is perhaps less so with Milton, who is known for being...adventurous...in his theology, maintaining several pet heterodoxies (Arianism and Arminianism, to name a few); Keach, however, was a card-carrying Calvinist, and one of the tenets of Reformed theology in the seventeenth century was its rejection of (usually visual) representations of God, on the grounds of the second commandment. For context, when Keach's contemporary, Bunyan, desires a divine presence in his work, he restricts himself to personifying functions of God, i.e. the Interpreter, who represents the illuminating work of the Holy Spirit in the soul of man. So for Keach to follow Milton by including God Himself in the pages of his fictional - albeit allegorically didactic - poem is without any precedent that I am aware of in such theologically-conservative circles.

However, this is where the similarities between the two poems come to an end. I'll admit, the first time I read Paradise Lost, I fell in love with the passage where the Son volunteers to redeem mankind; Milton is clearly showcasing his skill for conjuring pathos from his readers. Despite the moment's artistic heights, a close reading of the scene presents several issues. [This would probably be better if I included the two texts side-by-side, but as I have neither the technical skills nor the space for such a thing, any curious reader will have to find them for him/herself.]

• Pervasive within Milton's text is a rejection of the doctrine of Predestination, which, while it comes as no surprise, raises a great number of questions concerning the logic of Milton's depiction of God (as demonstrated by the general angst of my classmates this morning): How does His simple foreknowledge of the events to come "absolve" Him from claims that He violates the will of mankind or the inevitability of the Fall? Milton falls into the trap of equating untouched human will with legitimate freedom.
• His explanation for God's motive for showing mercy to mankind is bizarre. The fallen angels will remain in their doomed state because they knowingly brought this on themselves. Man, however, because he was deceived by Satan, remains eligible for grace from God. Milton undermines both mankind's responsibility for the Fall and also the orthodox understanding of mercy as something utterly undeserved.
• Perhaps the most glaring departure from the biblical framework, Milton's council includes the entire angelic population of Heaven; they too are given the opportunity to redeem mankind, but none of them are willing to take the challenge (thus the famous "all the heavenly choir stood mute,/And silence was in heaven" ll. 217-218). Angels were never qualified to be mediators between God and man; redemption could only be accomplished by a representative of both parties. Furthermore, this open-ended offer turns the plan of redemption into a reactionary decision on God's part: Satan has caused a problem that God now has to fix.

So much for Milton. This is getting long, and other homework awaits, so Keach will have to wait another day.

Devotion and theology

Iain Murray on Martyn Lloyd-Jones' ministry during the Blitz:

"In these, and other sermons, his call to Christians was to think aright about God. That must come first. Not even prayer is to be put before it: 'We talk far too much about our faith, and about our prayers. If we only concentrated upon the power of God.' His concern was that his hearers should not simply derive comfort from passages of Scripture but that they should think theologically. This point is constantly to the fore. In his sermons on 'Paul's Order of the Day' he demonstrates that Christian resolution is a very different thing from what the world calls 'courage,' it arises rather from knowing 'the faith'. Speaking from the words, 'Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong' (1 Cor. 16:13), he said:

We must stand in this faith by reminding ourselves of it constantly, by reading and bunking about it, by meditating concerning it. This is something for which I would plead at the present time. We must return to a consideration of the terms of the faith. This is specifically necessary, perhaps, for those who are Evangelicals. I plead, in other words, for a revival of the study of theology...It is not enough to cultivate the devotional life.  

It is essential to 'stand fast in the faith' when we are assailed by doubt. And it is essential as against feelings. If we trust to our feelings, and to our moods, the time will come when we shall be feeling miserable. We shall wake up in the morning feeling tired and lethargic, and the question will come to us, Why go on with it? I do not feel like going on with it. There is only one answer when you feel like that. It is the faith, the truth - it is our only means of happiness. It is essential also as against the facts of life. There come 'the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune', illness comes, disappointment comes, difficult circumstances arise, a world war takes place, our profession is lost, our business is gone, sorrow knocks at the door of your home, and someone dearer than life is taken away, death comes, either in battle, or on the sea, or in the air, or quietly in a room. How can I face the facts of life? There is but one way. 'Stand fast in the faith.' It has envisioned all these things. It has provided for them all; it covers them all. It is faith for life. It is faith for death. It is the faith for all eternity. 'Stand fast in the faith'."

 (D.M. Lloyd-Jones: The Fight of Faith, 30)

Interrupting all the early modernism

I don't know if I ever thought I'd get to the place in life where Jane Austen is modern literature to me, but here I am. My JA class is currently reading Mansfield Park, which I have always hated. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned my impatience for the inane love triangle here at some point in the mists of ancient blog history. Anyway, whilst reading it today, I came across this lovely moment, and I almost liked Fanny and Edmund. There's a double pastoralism undergirding the scene: Edmund and Fanny have just defended the ministerial life to Mary Crawford, and the setting is a starry summer evening in the country. I don't think I'll ever be able to overlook Fanny's high-maintenance (on display yet again here), but the circumstances made me able to simply laugh at it.

Fanny agreed to it, and had the pleasure of seeing him continue at the window with her, in spite of the expected glee; and of having his eyes soon turned, like hers, towards the scene without, where all that was solemn, and soothing, and lovely, appeared in the brilliancy of an unclouded night, and the contrast of the deep shade of the woods. Fanny spoke her feelings. “Here’s harmony!” said she; “here’s repose! Here’s what may leave all painting and all music behind, and what poetry only can attempt to describe! Here’s what may tranquillise every care, and lift the heart to rapture! When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of Nature were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene.”

“I like to hear your enthusiasm, Fanny. It is a lovely night, and they are much to be pitied who have not been taught to feel, in some degree, as you do; who have not, at least, been given a taste for Nature in early life. They lose a great deal.”

“You taught me to think and feel on the subject, cousin.”

“I had a very apt scholar. There’s Arcturus looking very bright.”

“Yes, and the Bear. I wish I could see Cassiopeia.”

“We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be afraid?”

“Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had any star-gazing.”

 (ch. 11) 

The Great Exchange

From an artistic standpoint, this passage has a tough crowd following all the Spenser quotes I've been leaving here recently. But the sentiment struck me, and it's been a while since Keach had airtime, so there you go. His Glorious Lover is a fascinating poem, and very much a product of his century (romance/epic hybrid allegorizing theological - and occasionally political - concerns). It follows the Reformed tradition of reading the Song of Solomon/Psalm 45 as types of Christ and the Church. So although it's a little clunky, I've enjoyed reading it.

But here, ‘tis like, some may desire to know

The Cause why he abas’d himself so low?

The Answer to which Query’s very plain;

His Errand so requir’d, if he'd obtain

The Soul, for whom his Country he did leave,

He of his Glory must himself bereave.

‘Twas Love that brought him into this disguise,

To come incognito to haughty Eyes,

To lay aside awhile, his Robes of State,

And thus in Pilgrims Weeds upon her wait:

Without this Form assum’d, these Rags put on,

The mighty Work could never have been done.

She grov’ling lay below, unable quite

Once to aspire unto his Glorious Sight.

Therefore must he a Garb suitable take

To raise her up, and his dear Consort make;

He must descend, that she might mount above,

And joyn in a fit Entercourse of Love.

(The Glorious Lover I.ii.136-153)