Calm and uproar

Wisconsin

“I’m not leaving for anywhere, am I?” says the Word of God. Imbed your home in him, place in safekeeping with him whatever you have from him, my soul—if only because you’re worn out by lies. Place in safekeeping with the truth whatever you possess from the truth, and you won’t lose anything. The things that have rotted in you will flower again, and all the afflictions that make you sluggish will be healed, and the things that are slack will be remade and renewed and hold together with you. They won’t drop you in the depths (where they themselves go), but will stand steady at your side and hold their ground in the presence of God, who also stands steady and holds his ground.

(St. Augustine, Confessions 4.16; Sarah Ruden, trans.)

Lately, I've been reading Sarah Ruden's translation of Augustine's Confessions, and it's made the book come alive in a way it never had for me before. The prose is beautiful, making Augustine's thoughts vivid, memorable, and - inevitably for 2020 - deeply cathartic. It's been an absolute pleasure to slowly take in, like reading a high-quality, meditative, contemporary novel (meant in the best possible sense). 

In my current mental space, it's impossible to separate the excerpt above from two previous literary moments in my life (Milton in college and T.S. Eliot in grad school). All three of these speak to one of the dialogues in the western tradition that I find most poignant: specifically, the interplay between identifying/pursuing the good life and coping with devastating loss. Especially during the past few years, I've been growing to appreciate how, for an overwhelming number of the authors in our tradition, the two are more closely linked than you'd initially believe them to be.

There is so little permanence in our lives, and it's something I think the world has been collectively experiencing in a profound way for the majority of this past year. Transience and wandering are recurring themes in the Confessions, and I love how Augustine touches on a paradox initially hinted at by Christ ("For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it," Matt. 16.25). By handing the promises God gives us back to Him for "safekeeping," we can be certain they will always be ours. We'll never lose the most important things in life.

Significantly, Augustine assumes that we develop this ethos by engaging with the written word. He identifies God's promises as truth, and truth can be found in Scripture. Immersion in objective truth is the best antidote to despair. (Sidebar: this doesn't necessarily involve going on some painfully-subjective pietist safari of color-coded bible study. I was recently shocked to discover that high-functioning low achievers like me can read the whole thing in a year if you do about 3 chapters a day. That's like 5-10 minutes of reading.)

I've had my share of disturbingly dark moments in recent years, but I'm starting to recognize the hand of God even in the "rock bottom" experiences, because they showed me how much I need Him. As Augustine says just a few sentences earlier, "the Word itself shouts for you to return, and there lies a place of calm that will never know any uproar, where love is not abandoned unless it abandons."

Law and memory

Every priest stands daily ministering and offering time after time the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins; but He, having offered one sacrifice for sins for all time, sat down at the right hand of God, waiting from that time onward until His enemies be made a footstool for His feet. For by one offering He has perfected for all time those who are sanctified. And the Holy Spirit also testifies to us; for after saying,

“This is the covenant that I will make with them
After those days, says the Lord:
I will put My laws upon their heart,
And on their mind I will write them,”

He then says,

“And their sins and their lawless deeds
I will remember no more.”

(Hebrews 10.11-17)

Characteristically for Hebrews, this passage comes in the midst of a discussion of Christ's role as mediator of a new, better covenant for us. I like how the author describes what takes place during this process, particularly in the parallelism he draws out concerning memory and double imputation. In "renewing our minds," God permanently fixes righteousness in our memory and heart. Meanwhile, He promises to forget our sin. We now remember righteousness, and He discards the memory of our sinfulness.

Keach and poetics (pt. 3)

Hohenschwangau, Bavaria

2. Christ is the Spring, or the Original
Of earthly beauty, and Celestial.
That beauty which in glorious Angels shine,
Or is in Creatures natural, or Divine,
It flows from him: O it is he doth grace
The mind with glorious beauty, as the face.

(The Glorious Lover, II.iii.49-54)

Following his discussion of the desirability of Christ's beauty, Keach turns his attention to its originality. 

Although there isn't any explicit reference to it, I think it's possible that Keach is interacting with Platonic thought in this passage. This comes through in several ways. In one sense, we see Plato's theory of forms in the tension Keach highlights between contingent, finite beauty we experience as humans and its relationship to its perfect, infinite “counterpart” in the character of God. Earthly beauty exists as a shadow of divine beauty, because the created by its very nature can only serve as a sort of typology for the creator. Earthly types and heavenly fulfillment is a common theme in puritan writing, as seen in Lewis Bayly's flagship text on spirituality, The Practice of Piety:

“...if thou believest that God is beauty and perfection itself, why dost not thou make him alone the chief end of all thine affections and desires? for if thou lovest beauty, he is most fair; if thou desirest riches, he is most wealthy; if thou seekest wisdom, he is most wise. Whatsoever excellency thou hast seen in any creature, it is nothing but a sparkle of that which is in infinite perfection in God...”

Keach also emphasizes way God's beauty is the origin or source of beauty as we experience it. Its function as a fountainhead for created beauty establishes its authority over the latter, as well as showcasing its role as the source which creates and empowers it. Because of this relationship, earthly beauty, at its best, is characterized by its humility. It is not something that is meant to draw attention to itself, but rather to draw the beholder's attention back to its divine origins. Yet, at the same time, this relationship also elevates earthly experiences of beauty because of their ability to connect humanity with the numinous.

I think it's also important to note that while the philosophical undertones are an interesting possibility here, it's likely that Keach is primarily focused on emphasizing orthodox trinitarian concepts like God's aseity and simplicity, and the way we bear his image in His communicable attributes. Not only is He the font from which we receive our experience of beauty or even beauty in its perfection, He is beauty. There's a sense that this portion of The Glorious Lover synthesizes New Testament discussions of God's ontology with the bride's joy in the beauty of her beloved in the Song of Solomon:

“For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be the glory forever.” (Romans 11.36)

“The God who made the world and all things in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands; nor is He served by human hands, as though He needed anything, since He Himself gives to all people life and breath and all things; and He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined their appointed times and the boundaries of their habitation, that they would seek God, if perhaps they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; for in Him we live and move and exist, as even some of your own poets have said, ‘For we also are His children.’ Being then the children of God, we ought not to think that the Divine Nature is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and thought of man.” (Acts 17.24-28a)

“My beloved is dazzling and ruddy,
Outstanding among ten thousand.
...And he is wholly desirable.
This is my beloved and this is my friend,
O daughters of Jerusalem.” (Song of Solomon 5.10, 16)

-----

Keach concludes the passage with an interesting distinction between beauty of the “mind” and beauty of the “face.” On one level, this can be understood as a comparison between inner and outer beauty. In Sonnet XV of his Amoretti cycle, Spenser devotes the first twelve lines of his poem cataloguing his beloved's appealing physical traits, but, in the turn, he declares that her most important/precious feature is her character:

“But that which fairest is, but few behold,
  her mind adornd with vertues manifold.”

However, it's crucial to recognize that this is not simply a distinction between internal and external qualities (I'm staring at you, Every Contemporary Beauty Movement), but more precisely, a focus on the relationship between beauty and intellect. In the Renaissance context, beauty was not valued only for carnal/physical considerations, but, more importantly, for its intellectual qualities. To view it as a merely material phenomenon was to debase it to an animalistic drive and turn it into lust. This is where we get all the epithets about “brutish” appetites. Beauty was pure and true when it engaged all aspects of being human; in this context, it elevated the individual. Thus we see in Shakespeare's (most?) famous sonnet language that glorifies the enduring nature of an intellectual love connection over the vanishing appeal of the senses:

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
...Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come...” (CXVI)

All in all, it's an emphasis on conceptual beauty, or, in other words, virtue gained through understanding. For Keach, this ties back to the reformed dogma that faith and knowledge necessarily go hand in hand. Hearing the Word brings about faith (i.e. the ability to see Christ's beauty), and once we have this faith, we can finally begin to know Him.

Finally, I find it interesting that Keach doesn't mitigate material/earthly beauty here, but rather, affirms it. The key is that it must always be tied to virtue. And so we circle back to the ubiquitous Renaissance understanding of aesthetics, of art as something intended to “delight and instruct” (Sidney). I think that we can see this as yet another instance of Keach's project of reinventing the romance genre into something fundamentally wholesome - a marriage of aesthetics and devotion.

[Part One]

[Part Two]

Keach and poetics (pt. 2)

Hofgarten, Munich

1. His Beauty is so much desirable,
No souls that see it any ways are able
For to withstand the influ’nce of the same;
They’re so enamour’d with it, they proclaim
There’s none like him in Earth, nor Heav’n above;
It draws their hearts, and makes them fall in love
Immediately, so that they cannot stay
From following him one minute of a day.
The flock is left, the Herd, and fishing Net,
As soon as e’er the Soul its Eye doth set
Upon his face, or of it takes a view,
They’ll cleave to him, whatever doth insue.

(The Glorious Lover, II.iii.37-48)

In the sections following his "prologue" to beauty, Keach outlines eight ways his revision of the epic/romance genre baptizes literary art. The beauty of Christ does not simply transcend earthly beauty; it transforms it into something like itself.

The first in the list is the desirability of Christ's beauty. Keach seems to be especially interested in connecting this trait with a broader theology of effectual calling that recurs throughout the poem. Divine calling of a sinner to salvation, in this light, is so attractive that the subject finds it irresistible. Keach goes out of his way to subtly underline the sinner's ability to even apprehend or conceive of such beauty; the credit does not lie in our capacity to recognize divine desirability, but rather in its "influence" that - though we try to "withstand" it - must necessarily overpower us. It's very reminiscent of the final talking point of Luther's Heidelberg Disputation: 

"The love of God does not find, but creates, that which is pleasing to it. The love of man comes into being through that which is pleasing to it."

-----

Additionally, from a literary standpoint, it's interesting to see how Keach features sight as a motif in this section. One way he develops this theme is by exploring a sense of double blindness. The pre-conversion sinner is totally blind to the spiritual reality surrounding him: she cannot recognize or even see the beauty of Christ, much less appreciate it or take hold of it for herself. She is utterly disabled. However, the post-conversion Christian also experiences a type of blindness, but this time, it is toward the things of the world. This, combined with lines 40-41, suggest an allusion to Psalm 73:

Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (vv. 25-26)

Just a glimpse of Christ is enough for the Christian to leave behind all secular concerns and gaze on Him - a gaze so strong that Keach considers it a kind of "cleaving." This focus on Christ effectively blinds the Christian to the doubts and material threats that accompany a relationship with God, because the Christian's eyes are "enamoured" with the greater spiritual reality now visible to her.

Keach's use of the word "enamour" here is interesting, given the Renaissance literary background The Glorious Lover emerges from in England. Spenser, Sidney, and Shakespeare often connect the experience of being in love with sickness and sorcery (the connection between the latter two would be familiar to readers because of the Greek term, "pharmakeia"). When Titania recovers from her love potion in A Midsummer Night's Dream, she exclaims:

My Oberon, what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamored of an ass. (IV.i.77-78)

To be "enamoured" was an inherently visual experience, as Shakespeare's Titania conceives of her love as a type of vision. Similarly, in his old Arcadia, Sidney utilizes the term in conjunction with the devious acts of Cupid (who is known for his arrows that, when striking someone, cause the victim to fall in love with the first person they see):

But whom to send for their search she knew not, when Cupid (I think for some greater mischief) offered this Plangus unto her, who from the day of her first imprisonment was so extremely enamoured of her that he had sought all means how to deliver her. (54)

Thus, to be enamoured is to be enchanted. Though he dispenses with the sinister undertones of the term present in mainstream literature, Keach remains very interested in its magical connotations. The Calvinism undergirding Keach's theology underscores the supernatural nature of conversion, and the notes of magic in his language reinforce both the spirituality as well as powerful intervention in natural affairs that is taking place.

Keach is not the first devotional poet to be drawn to the spiritual sight/blindness motif. There's a parallel moment in The Temple, in which Herbert frames conversion in language of sight and restoration:

 Our eies shall see thee, which before saw dust;
       Dust blown by wit, till that they both were blinde:
       Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kinde,
Who wert disseized by usurping lust:

       All knees shall bow to thee; all wits shall rise,
       And praise him who did make and mend our eies. ("Love II")

It isn't surprising that Keach is drawn to the sight motif in order to carry his point, given his extensive work on Scriptural metaphors and the prevalence of the trope in biblical literature. In Tropologia, Keach's introduction to the segment of metaphors pertaining to the word of God includes a lengthy discussion of light and sight. He writes:

As light is Glorious because it is the most Excellent Rayes, Resplendency and Shinings forth of the Sun; so is the Gospel, because 'tis the glorious shining forth and resplendency of Jesus Christ the Sun of Righteousness.

The light of the Gospel - contained in the words of Scripture - awakens faith in the sinner, enabling her eyes to see the glory and beauty of Christ.

-----

The overall tone of this passage is one of the spiritual transcending, intervening in, or overriding the carnal. The supernatural nature of the Gospel miraculously restores spiritual sight to blind eyes while simultaneously blinding them to the distractions of the world. Conceptions of beauty and ugliness become fluid in the accompanying reversal of values. This primacy of the spiritual echoes Keach's apology for his work, in which he condemns worldly versions of the romance genre and reinvents these forms for his spiritual task:

How many do their precious time abuse
On cursed products of a wanton Muse;
On trifling Fables, and Romances vain,
The poisoned froth of some infected Brain? (43-46)

Here’s no such danger, but all pure and chast;
A Love most fit by Saints to be embrac’d:
A Love ‘bove that of Women... (51-53)

Spiritually-enlightened poetry, which demonstrates the desirability of Christ by highlighting His beauty, redeems the romance genre from its corrupt uses in the secular realm. Enlightenment is a key theme in Keach's poetry, something he reinforces by baptizing the very genre itself.

[Part One]

Comedy and the Psalms

"The Kiss of Peace and Justice," Laurent de La Hyre

Praise the Lord!
Praise, O servants of the Lord,
Praise the name of the Lord.
Blessed be the name of the Lord
From this time forth and forever.
From the rising of the sun to its setting
The name of the Lord is to be praised.
The Lord is high above all nations;
His glory is above the heavens.

Who is like the Lord our God,
Who is enthroned on high,
Who humbles Himself to behold
The things that are in heaven and in the earth?
He raises the poor from the dust
And lifts the needy from the ash heap,
To make them sit with princes,
With the princes of His people.
He makes the barren woman abide in the house
As a joyful mother of children.
Praise the Lord!

(Psalm 113)

We frequently sing this psalm in church, and - confession here - it wasn't until recently, when the tune was stuck in my head for a week, that I thought about its lyrics on any "deep" level. (Not sure if I should be proud of that sentence?) Anyways, what really stood out to me is how God's intervention in human affairs often has a topsy-turvy effect on whatever it touches. The poor sit with princes, the childless become parents, the disgraced become joyful. It is a complete disruption in the expected, conventional social order.

This phenomenon reminded me a lot of one of the major tropes you find in comedies, particularly those of the Renaissance. Upset of the existing order is present in almost any comic plot. The formula of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream is a perfect example. It moves from order (the city of Athens, rule of law, parental/governmental/patriarchal authority, objectivity) to disorder (the forest, rule of magic, a power struggle between Titania and Oberon, and a dreamlike escape into a world that blurs the participants' grasp of reality), and then quickly restores the old order, but with modifications (restoration, harmony, marriage, benevolent interplay between the two societies). The conclusion features justice and mercy coming together in peace.

Although I used a Renaissance play to illustrate my point, ancient culture is full of the same trope. The Athenian comedies feature women unexpectedly ruling their husbands, while the Roman holiday of Saturnalia included a day in which masters served their slaves. In this light, I think it can be a helpful way to read the psalm as reminiscent of the phenomenon of deep comedy. God's work in our lives often functions as an upset in what we expect, but that is not a bad thing.

Interestingly, the psalmist reinforces this effect of God in human affairs by also meditating on its theological context first. The works of creation, providence, and salvation are all intrinsically acts of condescension on God's part. God's "glory is above the heavens" but He "humbles himself to behold the things that are in heaven and in the earth." In Christ's work of redemption, we witness Him leave the throne room of heaven to become "lower than the angels" (Hebrews 2.9) by living a difficult human life and experiencing a horrific death. But this is followed by His resurrection, ascension, and - everybody leaves this one out - session at the right hand of the Father. The order is restored, but there is now peace between God and man. Righteousness and mercy kiss (Psalm 85.10).

Ironically, in this context, the chaos becomes a comfort. It is a reminder that the children of God receive in their salvation something that fallen creatures would never deserve - twisted criminals are now heirs. It is a meditation on the merciful and humble nature of God, who was willing to exchange glory for shame. It is the reassurance that God is not absent, but rather at work - the presence of chaos (the middle portion of the cycle), necessarily implies the return of order and harmony (the restoration in the conclusion).

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.

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...

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!

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

I have no other evidence to back this up

Never occurred to me that Paul might have gotten his inspiration from the Psalms.

Psalm 18.30-36:
As for God, His way is blameless;
The word of the Lord is tried;
He is a shield to all who take refuge in Him.
For who is God, but the Lord?
And who is a rock, except our God,
The God who girds me with strength
And makes my way blameless?
He makes my feet like hinds’ feet,
And sets me upon my high places.
He trains my hands for battle,
So that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.
You have also given me the shield of Your salvation,
And Your right hand upholds me;
And Your gentleness makes me great.
You enlarge my steps under me,
And my feet have not slipped.

Ephesians 6.10-17:
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand firm therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; in addition to all, taking up the shield of faith with which you will be able to extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

On the promises

"By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises was offering up his only begotten son; it was he to whom it was said, “In Isaac your descendants shall be called.” He considered that God is able to raise people even from the dead, from which he also received him back as a type." Hebrews 11.17-19

This passage really stood out to me today. In the past week, several circumstances have led me to think about the nature of faith and how God sometimes asks us to trust Him in ways that seem impossible, or even counter to what He has previously done in our lives. Abraham spent his whole life waiting for a son, nearly giving up on the likelihood that this would ever happen. And then, as we all know, God eventually gave him Isaac, going so far as to guarantee to him that, this is it! Here is your long-awaited heir! This is the point of the story where all of the kumbaya cotton candy Christian books leave off; it's the chicken soup for the immature soul, feel-good message of inspiration and positivity. Because this is what the Christian life is all about: if we just have enough faith in God, He will eventually give us what we ask of Him.

But here's the thing. Right after God promises Abraham that Isaac is the answer to his prayers, what happens next? He asks him to sacrifice him. There have been times in my life, both recent and also in the past, where it seemed like God was doing the opposite of the will He had appeared to providentially reveal to me. Take senior year of college, for example. Everything was pointing to grad school. Relationships were a consistent no-go but my academic situation was pretty stellar; it seemed to be a clear indication that all thoughts of domesticity must be put on hold for a career. It was like you could actually see the doors opening and closing. But then, all the sudden, I got waitlisted. It was a complete shock. Why would God push me in this direction only to pull the rug out from me? It made no sense. Among the (many) lessons God taught me during that bizarre month, I had to learn that I will never fully comprehend His plan, but that it is always wiser than my own. And sometimes it will seem to make absolutely no sense. Those are the moments, though, that define what faith really is; it would be kind of meaningless if it were easy.

Abraham's confidence in God is incredible. The whole idea of being willing to lose what you thought you had miraculously won, of undergoing a double trial of faith, is such a deeper exploration of what it means to trust God. The Christian life is not a Hallmark movie. I want this kind of faith - to be fully confident in God's ability to work out the seemingly impossible; to be willing to sacrifice those things that I hold most closely to my heart; to be certain that God is good and faithful no matter what happens in this life.

Psalm 27

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
Whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the defense of my life;
Whom shall I dread?
When evildoers came upon me to devour my flesh,
My adversaries and my enemies, they stumbled and fell.
Though a host encamp against me,
My heart will not fear;
Though war arise against me,
In spite of this I shall be confident.
 

One thing I have asked from the Lord, that I shall seek:
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord
And to meditate in His temple.
For in the day of trouble He will conceal me in His tabernacle;
In the secret place of His tent He will hide me;
He will lift me up on a rock.
And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies around me,
And I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord.

Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice,
And be gracious to me and answer me.
When You said, “Seek My face,” my heart said to You,
“Your face, O Lord, I shall seek.”
Do not hide Your face from me,
Do not turn Your servant away in anger;
You have been my help;
Do not abandon me nor forsake me,
O God of my salvation!
For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
But the Lord will take me up.

Teach me Your way, O Lord,
And lead me in a level path
Because of my foes.
Do not deliver me over to the desire of my adversaries,
For false witnesses have risen against me,
And such as breathe out violence.
I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord
In the land of the living.
Wait for the Lord;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the Lord.

Several notes to self

A few items loosely tied together by a similar theme that passed through my mind today:

We had a guest speaker at church, and one of the Scripture readings from the evening service struck me as jarringly beautiful.

For you have not come to a mountain that can be touched and to a blazing fire, and to darkness and gloom and whirlwind, and to the blast of a trumpet and the sound of words which sound was such that those who heard begged that no further word be spoken to them. For they could not bear the command, “If even a beast touches the mountain, it will be stoned.” And so terrible was the sight, that Moses said, “I am full of fear and trembling.” But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to myriads of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the Judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood, which speaks better than the blood of Abel.

Hebrews 12.18-24

Hebrews is my favorite book of the Bible, partly because of how artistically-rich it is (the typology, metaphors and illustrations, and heavy use of Old Testament texts make it very familiar to the stuff I study every day in English), but most importantly because it does such a sophisticated job of showing us how all of history acts as a pointer to the glory of God. It's so layered: The theology we confess and the good works we practice are all signposts to the work God has done in the past and promises to do in the future. I love the above passage because it provides a glimpse of God's awe-inspiring, yet also terrifying, holiness in harmony with His unprecedented mercy, made possible in Christ. The Old Testament narratives both pale in comparison to the story of redemption, yet gain incredible significance from it.

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I'm reading a Puritan booklet appropriately titled Stop Loving the World. Purposefully picked it up because I have been very aware of temptation surrounding me lately. It's easy to want to blend into the people around you, or put undo hope in the flattering feedback you receive on work. I've never been so aware of how easily subtle shifts in thought can undermine an entire worldview. (I've also been surprised by how effective consistent prayer is for restoring the Christian state of mind: despite being one of the most mentally-challenging semesters I've experienced, it's probably been my most peaceful one yet....there's definitely a direct relationship.) Anyway, William Greenhill lists four reasons it is foolish to invest yourself in worldly concerns, and I think I need this reminder right now:

1. "It will direct you to things that are merely probable, and make you leave things that are certain." (16)
2. "Supposing we do get the world with our endeavors, we cannot keep it without fear of losing it." (17)
3. "Supposing we do get the things of the world and are able to keep them, they will not satisfy our souls." (17)
4. "Loving the world directs us toward the worst things. All the things of the world are perishing, but the things of God are durable." (19)

It's a bit of a throwback to Boethius and his similar caution against setting your hope in things that will inevitably let you down (i.e. everything not God). Just like Hebrews, we are confronted with what is here now, and what is better, later.