2x good news

1) My boss lent me a guitar, a beat-up classical, but something to play nonetheless.
2) My order from amazon.de arrived. Three books by Karl Barth, Einführung in die evangelische Theologie, Dogmatik im Grundriß, and Der Römerbrief, a book by Franz Rosenzweig, Der Stern der Erlösung and one more by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the classic Gemeinsames Leben. When or how I will get through all these books are both questions without clear answers: someday, somehow. My justification for splurging: free shipping. Herr sei gnädig.

Poem on Andres Serrano's Piss Christ

Piss Christ

If we did not know it was cow’s blood and urine,
if we did not know that Serrano had for weeks
hoarded his urine in a plastic vat,
if we did not know the cross was gimcrack plastic,
we would assume it was too beautiful.
We would assume it was the resurrection,
glory, Christ transformed to light by light
because the blood and urine burn like a halo,
and light, as always, light makes it beautiful.

We are born between the urine and the feces,
Augustine says, and so was Christ, if there was a Christ,
skidding into this world as we do
on a tide of blood and urine. Blood, feces, urine—
what the fallen world is made of, and what we make.
He peed, ejaculated, shat, wept, bled—
bled under Pontius Pilate, and I assume
the mutilated god, the criminal,
humiliated god, voided himself
on the cross and the blood and urine smeared his legs
and he ascended bodily unto heaven,
and on the third day he rose into glory, which
is what we see here, the Piss Christ in glowing blood:
the whole irreducible point of the faith,
God thrown in human waste, submerged and shining.

We have grown used to beauty without horror.

We have grown used to useless beauty.

- Andrew Hudgins

I want to be your business proposal!

Today, I received an email with the above title. Who would have guessed that spam emails could have such poetic titles? Because the line was so perfect, I immediately turned it into the short ditty below.

Spam

I want to be your business proposal:

ask your friends

and family to sign;

tell them we look good,

on paper.

Movie Review

Recently wrote a movie review for the korean film I'm a Cyborg, But that's Ok (Saibogujiman Kwenchana). If you're interested, you can find it here on Wunderkammer, a new online magazine dedicated to "thoughtful examination of culture and society".

Excerpt from Ray Bradbury's No Particular Night or Morning

I read this short story sometime in middle school, a classic found in Bradbury's The Illustrated Man.  If you're looking for excellent science-fiction, look no further.  As I was glancing at pictures today on Facebook,  this dialog came to mind.  I thought I'd share it.  Their words resonate with conversations that occurred during an overly-long Princeton graduation  (the dialog, by the way, takes place on a spaceship).

“I can see it. I have a good memory." 

“It’s not the same, you fool,” said Hitchcock suddenly. There was a touch of  anger in his voice. “I mean see it. I’ve always been that way. When I’m in  Boston, New York is dead. When I’m in New York, Boston is dead. When I don’t see  a man for a day, he’s dead. When he comes walking down the street, my God, it’s a resurrection. I do a dance, almost, I’m so glad to see him. I used to, anyway.  I don’t dance any more. I just look. And when the man walks off, he’s dead  again.” 

Clemens laughed. “It’s simply that your mind works on a primitive level. You  can’t hold to things. You’ve got no imagination, Hitchcock old man. You’ve got  to learn to hold on.” 

“Why should I hold onto things I can’t use?” said Hitchcock, his eyes wide,  still staring into space. “I’m practical. If Earth isn’t here for me to walk on,  you want me to walk on a memory? That hurts. Memories, as my father once said,  are porcupines. To hell with them! Stay away from them. They make you unhappy.  They ruin your work. They make you cry.” 

“I’m walking on Earth right now,” said Clemens, squinting to himself, blowing  smoke. 

“You’re kicking porcupines. Later in the day you won’t be able to eat lunch, and  you’ll wonder why,” said Hitchcock in a dead voice. “And it’ll be because you’ve  got a footful of quills aching in you. To hell with it! If I can’t drink it,  pinch it, punch it, or lie on it, then I say drop it in the sun. I’m dead to  Earth. It’s dead to me. There’s no one in New York weeping for me tonight. Shove  New York. There isn’t any season here; winter and summer are gone. So is spring,  and autumn. It isn’t any particular night or morning; it’s space and space. The  only thing right now is you and me and this rocket ship. And the only thing I’m  positive of is me. That’s all of it.” 

Will Faust save me from grad school?

Hab nun, ach! Philosophie, 

Juristerei und Medizin

Und leider auch Theologie!

Durchaus studiert, mit heißem Bemühn.

Da steh ich nun, ich armer Tor!

Und bin so klug als wie zuvor;

Heiße Magister, heiße Doktor gar,

Und ziehe schon an die Zehen Jahr,

Herauf, herab und quer and krumm,

Meine Schüler and der Nase Herum -

Und sehe, dass wir nichts wissen können!

Great quote, I wonder though...

Ich muss immer darin denken, was Lenin von der apassionata  gesagt hat: "Ich kann sie nicht hören, sonst bringe ich nicht die Revolution zu Ende". Kann jemand, der diese Musik gehört hat -ich meine, wirklich gehört hat - noch ein schlechter Mensch sein.”

A cat is, above all, a furry animal.

"Isn't ping-pong about giving and receiving? I don't think so! Must one always receive after giving? Can't there be a ping-pong where we only give?"

From I'm a Cyborg and that's Ok

Forgot how funny this movie is...worth a look, if you're bored, or it's raining. 

Handel's Messiah

Saturday, I attended a performance of the Messiah by a semi-professional, German choir. It was overall a great experience. Although, the tempo was occasionally rushed, the pronunciation a bit shaky, the chorus did an excellent job. As for the soloists, although the soprano and alto weren't particularly good, the bass and tenor more then made up for them - particularly the tenor with his youthful energy and memorable gestures.

The piece is not unfamiliar to me. When I was a sophomore in high school, my mom bought me the Sir Colin Davis two-disc recording. Why, I don't quite remember (I think she might have been singing it in her church choir and wanted me to hear it). I remember listening to it and being struck by the last section, the Amen chorus. Sometimes, on the way to school, I would put that particular track on and listen to it with the volume turned up. It gave me a huge buzz; I think it even made me cry a few times, potent stuff.

During my senior year, we performed parts of the Messiah for our giant, middle of the year concert; we hired soloists, orchestra, conductor - everything. It was not a particularly enjoyable experience and our performance was terrible, a risk always taken when performing difficult pieces. (On a side note, our most successful 'difficult' piece, and, in my opinion, the most enjoyable, was Faure's Requiem; a stirring funeral piece, I get chills just thinking about it). Yet, I believe, somehow, through the experience, Handel’s Messiah ingrained itself permanently in my brain.

So, as I said, the piece is not new to me. In fact, when I heard it on Saturday night, I was surprised by how much I not only recognized, but actually knew. Yet, in spite of all my knowing, something unexpected occurred during the concert: the piece I knew so well became transfigured. The notes hung suspended in the air, glimmering, their echoes of the cold, grey stone filled the room with light. During the course of the more than two hour concert, I reflected, literaly; the music shone down upon me and filled me with thoughts.

Here's one distinct 'reflection' I remember. It occurred to me during the section, "He trusted in God". The short section is a little over two minutes, depending on how it’s sung. There aren't to many words: "He trusted in God that He would deliver Him, let Him deliver Him, if he delight in Him". Throughout this short piece, these words are repeated over and over again. The four voice parts cascade over each other in typical Handle style, repeating and slightly modifying earlier motifs (a fugue, I believe), only to have all four voices come together at various, climatic moments.

While listening, an image came to mind - Jesus on his cross with onlookers saying those words: "He trusted in God that He would deliver him, let Him deliver him, if he delight in him". Not to anyone particular, they said it as a question to themselves, those around them too, and then, finally, to Jesus. And as the words repeated, I saw Jesus on his cross listening to them (in fact, I really did see Jesus – a giant stone Jesus hanging in the back of the church). And then, as the choir continued singing, I imagined him dying.

From this thought, I arrived at a memory. Two years ago, a friend passed away from Leukemia. During the time of her illness, people were in constant prayer for her. There were even fasts and 24-7 prayer chains. For a while, it looked like she was going to get better; there were even rumors that a prophetic women had 'seen' her recovery. Yet, despite these ‘signs’, things took a sudden turn for the worse and she passed away. As this memory came and passed, the choir continued singing.

As the song ended, I realized two things. First, everyone claiming to believe in the Christian God will hear this song as they go through inexplicable suffering: "she trusted in God the He would deliver her, let Him deliver her, if He delight in her" (or, perhaps, in substitute for the last clause, “if He exists”). Of course, these aren't necessarily malicious thoughts; they're perfectly natural. The implicit questions - some would call them accusations - are directed at both her, Christians in general, and God. Had she done wrong? Did she not trust in God? Had the Christians praying for her done wrong? Did they not trust in God? Did God do something wrong? Did God care? Was and is God there? There are others, more difficult and complex, but those seem to be the primary questions.

Are there answers? Yes, but only indirect and paradoxical, which lead me to my second realization. The only comfort during times of inexplicable suffering for a Chrsitian is to know that Jesus, the despised and rejected one, dwells within the sufferer and comforts them. If the sufferer dies, he enters fully into Christ’s death. Then, the question is asked once more, has God delivered them. If Jesus’ resurrection did happen, the question is paradoxically answered: yes and no. The life of Jesus was to suffer and die by the hand of man and God; the death of Jesus was the path to eternal life, peace and joy. The life of a Christian is to suffer and die with Chirst; but his death is the place of rebirth/ressurection through Jesus into eternal life, peace and joy, as a heir to the Kingdom of God.

A poem from 04/05/06

Inununme

The navel undulates
Like a ship on throbbing water
The rage of my own tempest in her belly
Tensed as to birth a screaming world
Shaking the 57 sq foot cosmos in a white room

My love
She floats
On black linoleum sea tiles
Kicking like a horse
Her body sweating clouds
I watch her shrink as she spills
into the ocean all around her

The ceiling stars
Look down
Stationary and hard

I am a cloud
The sea beneath
the mist between

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