Where are the others?
Well, I write to begin with with irritation that only two posts are here. Not good. Not good at all.
I'm wondering with both the posts that are here: what's the risk? Is there any risk? Both seem oddly closed to me. No worries. All figured out. No burning question to ask. No deep love. No fear. Of course, that's a lot to ask two people to post right away, or anyone, ever. I just notice it. And it's so different than my own feelings when I come to read this text, as a person of faith. Wild joy. Sometimes. Irritation. Worry. Concern. And it keeps changing. I'm never sure. It's always opening up. Or closing. Just today I was thinking about the story of the garden and the prohibition against eating of the fruit. It seemed to me like it was somehow related to my continued experience of my own limitations, my own walls and barriers, my own personality and history. Sometimes I experience those things are gifts but other times as prisons. Today: prisons. And I found it depressing.
I also remember a time last year on the coast when I felt off and on as if I were in Eden. In the sense of being in balance. I was close to two nesting Wilson Warblers. Over the days they came to recognize me, I'm sure. I watched them sing. I watched the weather come in. Watched the sun go down. The sadness and the challenge is why that balance is always so temporary.
But. Ayla and Michael. Thanks for posting. No need to be where I am, now or ever. What you wrote is clear and fine. I get it. No problem.
I'm wondering with both the posts that are here: what's the risk? Is there any risk? Both seem oddly closed to me. No worries. All figured out. No burning question to ask. No deep love. No fear. Of course, that's a lot to ask two people to post right away, or anyone, ever. I just notice it. And it's so different than my own feelings when I come to read this text, as a person of faith. Wild joy. Sometimes. Irritation. Worry. Concern. And it keeps changing. I'm never sure. It's always opening up. Or closing. Just today I was thinking about the story of the garden and the prohibition against eating of the fruit. It seemed to me like it was somehow related to my continued experience of my own limitations, my own walls and barriers, my own personality and history. Sometimes I experience those things are gifts but other times as prisons. Today: prisons. And I found it depressing.
I also remember a time last year on the coast when I felt off and on as if I were in Eden. In the sense of being in balance. I was close to two nesting Wilson Warblers. Over the days they came to recognize me, I'm sure. I watched them sing. I watched the weather come in. Watched the sun go down. The sadness and the challenge is why that balance is always so temporary.
But. Ayla and Michael. Thanks for posting. No need to be where I am, now or ever. What you wrote is clear and fine. I get it. No problem.
posted by Deacon Chris @ 8:52 AM
1 Comments:
At 9:37 AM,
Michael Faris said…
Chris,
I think that some of the posts you are looking for are instead posted as comments on my post. You might look for them there...
I appreciate the passion you bring to the bible, and I definitely see a difference in our approaches, as you note. I suppose part of this is, as I noted how I read the text, it wasn't as literature, but rather as a cultural artifact. Part of this comes from, I think, a view of the Bible as dead. I think this comes from leaving the Church years ago and being fairly cold-hearted toward a text that has been used so often to oppress me and others.
I like to view literature as a way toward understand human behavior and how we can view the world - but I still struggle with this with the Bible because of its context and its use as a tool of control and discipline. I read other books, and they become my books, a way for me to understand myself, others, and the world. I read the bible, and I still see it as someone else's book.
I guess part of this course for me will be searching for some ownership of my own reading of the bible.
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