As I sat at my desk last night, filling out my son's milk form for school, I remembered the milk cartons when I was a kid (now they come in bags with a straw attached). But my memories of school lunches and milk cartons are only seen from the perspective of an outsider. Because everyone else but me got milk. That's because we had our own lovely cow at home -- Brownie, who was either a Jersey or a Guernsey, I can never remember which.
And Brownie faithfully gave thick yellowy milk with lovely big globules of fat every day of her life. And my dad would sit hunched over the ten-quart sterilizing machine as he poured the milk in and stuck a pitcher under for the cleansed liquid. Not that it was much different from the unclean milk. It still had globs of yellowy fat floating in it. And most of the time it was still lukewarm. I'm not sure if that was because it was so fresh it still had the warmth of the cow on it. Or if our refrigerator was not operating at top speed. Likely the latter.
I never could stand milk, until I was much older and it was much colder.
I do vaguely remember the cow as well. She was large. And brown. I also remember how frustrated my dad would get with her when she would break off her rope (probably in search of greener pastures north of the house, and into Moorelands). She'd go trotting off, and my father would bring her back, usually attached by a rope to the back of the car.
One time, as he told me many years later, he was so mad he chased her until she broke into a run, and jumped over several fences. Apparently she couldn't have calves after that.
One of my first memories was being squirted in the eye by milk from an upturned teat squeezed in my dad's big hand (I used to follow him around the farm all day).
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Friday, January 13, 2006
The Circle of Life at Church
Last night I was musing about all the new babies at church, thinking about their scrunchy little faces opening up over their first few months, like blossoms forming from buds, changing from newborn to chubby pink or olive or brown cherubs. And from there started to think about their parents, sleep-deprived for sure, but drawn into the circle of the church in a way that they hadn't been previously, when they were teens, young 20s, newly married.
There's something about babies, and the having of them, that draws a couple deeper into the fold of the church, especially by the female participants -- those moms with older kids, or the middle-aged women with their teen children, or the old women with middle aged children. It's definitely a rite of passage.
I'm thinking particularly of Heather, who is shy, pretty in an understated way, and her 2-month old baby. Before his birth, she was a member on the periphery, partly because of her -- and her husband's -- shyness. But now this baby, which gets taken from her at coffee hour and passed around, has become the focus. It's drawn her out and into the bosom of the women of the church. She will go through the whole process as we all did -- being a part of the Sunday School, getting to know the other mothers, maybe teaching Sunday School as well, fretting about our teenagers lives in the current cultural whirlpool, watching as they get married, have their own babies, then sliding into old age.
The fact that children create a thread of continuity in parish life is a good thing, but it also brings painfully to mind that ignored part of our church, those who have no children. What to do about those who remain at the edge of the community, how to draw them in? It is true a community needs focus in order to be such, and there are subsets at every church that have their focus -- missions, Sunday School, parish dinner organizers, etc.
I have no answers for this one.
There's something about babies, and the having of them, that draws a couple deeper into the fold of the church, especially by the female participants -- those moms with older kids, or the middle-aged women with their teen children, or the old women with middle aged children. It's definitely a rite of passage.
I'm thinking particularly of Heather, who is shy, pretty in an understated way, and her 2-month old baby. Before his birth, she was a member on the periphery, partly because of her -- and her husband's -- shyness. But now this baby, which gets taken from her at coffee hour and passed around, has become the focus. It's drawn her out and into the bosom of the women of the church. She will go through the whole process as we all did -- being a part of the Sunday School, getting to know the other mothers, maybe teaching Sunday School as well, fretting about our teenagers lives in the current cultural whirlpool, watching as they get married, have their own babies, then sliding into old age.
The fact that children create a thread of continuity in parish life is a good thing, but it also brings painfully to mind that ignored part of our church, those who have no children. What to do about those who remain at the edge of the community, how to draw them in? It is true a community needs focus in order to be such, and there are subsets at every church that have their focus -- missions, Sunday School, parish dinner organizers, etc.
I have no answers for this one.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Who Among us Lives in Dogville
Finally saw Dogville last night. Didn’t sleep. Tossing and turning, gripped by its incredible power, and yet wondering exactly, what’s it all about.
Has anyone been in those kids’ playgrounds where all the imitation leather bags hang down, and you have to run around bumping into them, and finding the other kids in the maze of it all? The movie felt a bit like that – I kept brushing against pleather strips redolent of gospel stories, especially parable, feeling their sensation on my arms, prickling the skin, and yet the meaning eluding me because it is not obvious, and like parables it does not hit you over the head with the moral. We either have eyes to see and ears to hear, or we do not.
But it is also universally human – how do we act, sinful human that we are, when grace comes among us? Do we choose to embrace it and be changed by it, or do we say no to it? Everyone in Dogville is at once drawn to Grace’s purity, mercy, forgiving nature, and yet they come to despise her for it. Her beauty, both physical (which often signals inner beauty) and spiritual, shows their (and our) ugliness all the more.
Grace’s intrusion also shatters the cocoon of Dogville because it exposes them (and us) to something much bigger. Dogville, for all intents and purposes, is a “city” on a hill, and its residents are gripped in a grim puritanical existence, left to scratch like chickens in the earth. There is no joy, not much celebration, except when Grace first arrives. It believes itself impervious to the outside world, and yet it can be invaded, both by gangsters and thugs, and by Grace.
Her innocence, forgiveness, light and softness is there for all to partake of, and the townspeople of Dogville do just that. For the first few days they become changed, enlightened and cheered, on the verge of becoming an authentically caring community. And then something happens; mistrust sets in, they feel threatened by her, because they are afraid of the letter of the law. Instead of being transformed by Grace, they sink lower into their slum of the soul, end up attacking grace because they cannot view her as the spirit of the law.
(Some critics have accused Triers of hating women, but I don’t agree. Rape illumines the depths of degradation to which we can sink, that is to distort love by the use of force and power is the worst distortion of love possible.)
For most of the movie, I expected Grace was another “holy fool” like Bess in Breaking the Waves, and I struggled a lot with the ending where she diverges from that. The big difference between the movies, though, is Bess was driven by love, for her husband, and for his healing. Grace, on the other hand, may have such a driving force at first but not toward the end because what she thought was love, was only self-interest (Tom Edison wants to think and feel in order to write about it, but not to live it).
This morning, my bible reading was Luke, chapter 6. It was unbelievably apropos. How the crowd sought to touch Jesus for power that came out of him, and how those who were sick and filled with unclean spirits were healed; How the Pharisees were “filled with fury” when Jesus did something good on the Sabbath; this is also the chapter that deals with loving those who hate you, giving to those who beg from you, and blessing those who curse you, all of which Grace does. It’s also the chapter that talks about no good tree bearing bad fruit, nor a bad tree bearing good fruit.
There is an overriding sense of the gospels in this movie, though it’s impossible to pin down, and say this symbol stands for this, and so on. But Grace must make a choice at the end, as God did when Abraham begged him to save Sodom and Gomorrah; God agrees, providing there are ten good men, then three, then one in the city. When none can be found, the city is destroyed.
While Grace does make a beautiful and impassioned plea at the end about mercy and forgiveness, she must decide if this town is worth mercy. (By the way, Nicole Kidman is remarkable in this role.) Thomas Edison, Grace’s amour in the movie, who might possibly have been that one good man, turns out to be just as selfish and sinful as the rest of them, as distorted by life in Dogville. I’m not sure if Triers is also saying that culture will rub off on you (probably he is – after all Lot and Abraham made very different choices when they took up their land outside of Sodom and Gomorrah, with Lot choosing to be close to the city of sin, and Abraham preferring to reside a little outside its reach.)
But I do think he is saying a lot about the choices we make, particularly about whether we choose to accept grace or not.
Has anyone been in those kids’ playgrounds where all the imitation leather bags hang down, and you have to run around bumping into them, and finding the other kids in the maze of it all? The movie felt a bit like that – I kept brushing against pleather strips redolent of gospel stories, especially parable, feeling their sensation on my arms, prickling the skin, and yet the meaning eluding me because it is not obvious, and like parables it does not hit you over the head with the moral. We either have eyes to see and ears to hear, or we do not.
But it is also universally human – how do we act, sinful human that we are, when grace comes among us? Do we choose to embrace it and be changed by it, or do we say no to it? Everyone in Dogville is at once drawn to Grace’s purity, mercy, forgiving nature, and yet they come to despise her for it. Her beauty, both physical (which often signals inner beauty) and spiritual, shows their (and our) ugliness all the more.
Grace’s intrusion also shatters the cocoon of Dogville because it exposes them (and us) to something much bigger. Dogville, for all intents and purposes, is a “city” on a hill, and its residents are gripped in a grim puritanical existence, left to scratch like chickens in the earth. There is no joy, not much celebration, except when Grace first arrives. It believes itself impervious to the outside world, and yet it can be invaded, both by gangsters and thugs, and by Grace.
Her innocence, forgiveness, light and softness is there for all to partake of, and the townspeople of Dogville do just that. For the first few days they become changed, enlightened and cheered, on the verge of becoming an authentically caring community. And then something happens; mistrust sets in, they feel threatened by her, because they are afraid of the letter of the law. Instead of being transformed by Grace, they sink lower into their slum of the soul, end up attacking grace because they cannot view her as the spirit of the law.
(Some critics have accused Triers of hating women, but I don’t agree. Rape illumines the depths of degradation to which we can sink, that is to distort love by the use of force and power is the worst distortion of love possible.)
For most of the movie, I expected Grace was another “holy fool” like Bess in Breaking the Waves, and I struggled a lot with the ending where she diverges from that. The big difference between the movies, though, is Bess was driven by love, for her husband, and for his healing. Grace, on the other hand, may have such a driving force at first but not toward the end because what she thought was love, was only self-interest (Tom Edison wants to think and feel in order to write about it, but not to live it).
This morning, my bible reading was Luke, chapter 6. It was unbelievably apropos. How the crowd sought to touch Jesus for power that came out of him, and how those who were sick and filled with unclean spirits were healed; How the Pharisees were “filled with fury” when Jesus did something good on the Sabbath; this is also the chapter that deals with loving those who hate you, giving to those who beg from you, and blessing those who curse you, all of which Grace does. It’s also the chapter that talks about no good tree bearing bad fruit, nor a bad tree bearing good fruit.
There is an overriding sense of the gospels in this movie, though it’s impossible to pin down, and say this symbol stands for this, and so on. But Grace must make a choice at the end, as God did when Abraham begged him to save Sodom and Gomorrah; God agrees, providing there are ten good men, then three, then one in the city. When none can be found, the city is destroyed.
While Grace does make a beautiful and impassioned plea at the end about mercy and forgiveness, she must decide if this town is worth mercy. (By the way, Nicole Kidman is remarkable in this role.) Thomas Edison, Grace’s amour in the movie, who might possibly have been that one good man, turns out to be just as selfish and sinful as the rest of them, as distorted by life in Dogville. I’m not sure if Triers is also saying that culture will rub off on you (probably he is – after all Lot and Abraham made very different choices when they took up their land outside of Sodom and Gomorrah, with Lot choosing to be close to the city of sin, and Abraham preferring to reside a little outside its reach.)
But I do think he is saying a lot about the choices we make, particularly about whether we choose to accept grace or not.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
More Narnia
Just when it looked as though I'd finally stop going on about this Narnia movie, the review I did for the Anglican Planet has come out.
Here's the link:
http://www.anglicanplanet.net/TAPBook0601.html
And if anyone out there is reading this blog, I'd love to hear your comments on it.
Here's the link:
http://www.anglicanplanet.net/TAPBook0601.html
And if anyone out there is reading this blog, I'd love to hear your comments on it.
When is God Present?
Over the past few days I've been suffering from a vague dis-ease about the whole Christmas thing. While I tried to retain as much of the religious content as possible, it feels flat in my memory. Someone somewhere said he was going to embrace the commercialism even more in coming years because he liked going shopping and buying things for people he loves. Maybe that is a more appropriate way to celebrate. At least there's some joy to it which may be what's missing in my own approach.
It almost feels in retrospect as if God was not even present.
But I also know that God's sovereignty means just that -- He is present regardless of what we do. That's why ritual and sacrament are so important. In behavioural terms, feelings follow actions, not the other way around. If we continue to pray and have our devotions, and go to communion, God is present, and eventually our feelings will catch up.
I am reading in the Magnificat devotions that my friend Janine gave me a few months ago, and Father Richard Veras writes that the Mass is centred around the Presence of Christ. If I find myself distracted during Mass, does that stop Christ from coming? No!
Although I'm Anglican, I do believe in Jesus's presence at Communion. What form He takes is beyond my comprehension. I cannot say that He isn't in the bread, although I prefer to think of Him as beside, around, above me. Perhaps ingesting Jesus isn't such a bad idea after all. I think it was Janine who once said that taking Communion was a little like being pregnant -- it's inside you and changes you but it has a life of its own.
How you approach the Eucharist, though, doesn't limit whether God is present or not. If I do not have a complete understanding (given my metaphysical-philosophical shortcomings) of His presence, I am assured that He is there, nonetheless.
That is why I cannot countenance the Catholic claim that only during Catholic mass is Jesus present, really and truly. If that is so, then presence would depend on our abilities, and not His grace. If that's so, then you have to throw out infant baptism -- and baptising the mentally challenged -- because those baptised aren't cognizant of God's presence.
I just now checked today's quotations (www.lists.gospelcom.net) and see it's about this topic of the body and blood. It's amazing how often I will be struggling with something and have the cquod pop up with an insight or two along the same lines.
The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread. 1 Corinthians 10:16-17 (ESV)
And a comment by Evelyn Underhill:
Two movements merge in the real act of communion. First, the creature's profound sense of need, of incompleteness: its steadfast desire... Next, a humble and loving acceptance of God’s answer to that prayer of desire, however startling, disappointing, and unappetizing it may be.
It almost feels in retrospect as if God was not even present.
But I also know that God's sovereignty means just that -- He is present regardless of what we do. That's why ritual and sacrament are so important. In behavioural terms, feelings follow actions, not the other way around. If we continue to pray and have our devotions, and go to communion, God is present, and eventually our feelings will catch up.
I am reading in the Magnificat devotions that my friend Janine gave me a few months ago, and Father Richard Veras writes that the Mass is centred around the Presence of Christ. If I find myself distracted during Mass, does that stop Christ from coming? No!
Although I'm Anglican, I do believe in Jesus's presence at Communion. What form He takes is beyond my comprehension. I cannot say that He isn't in the bread, although I prefer to think of Him as beside, around, above me. Perhaps ingesting Jesus isn't such a bad idea after all. I think it was Janine who once said that taking Communion was a little like being pregnant -- it's inside you and changes you but it has a life of its own.
How you approach the Eucharist, though, doesn't limit whether God is present or not. If I do not have a complete understanding (given my metaphysical-philosophical shortcomings) of His presence, I am assured that He is there, nonetheless.
That is why I cannot countenance the Catholic claim that only during Catholic mass is Jesus present, really and truly. If that is so, then presence would depend on our abilities, and not His grace. If that's so, then you have to throw out infant baptism -- and baptising the mentally challenged -- because those baptised aren't cognizant of God's presence.
I just now checked today's quotations (www.lists.gospelcom.net) and see it's about this topic of the body and blood. It's amazing how often I will be struggling with something and have the cquod pop up with an insight or two along the same lines.
The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread. 1 Corinthians 10:16-17 (ESV)
And a comment by Evelyn Underhill:
Two movements merge in the real act of communion. First, the creature's profound sense of need, of incompleteness: its steadfast desire... Next, a humble and loving acceptance of God’s answer to that prayer of desire, however startling, disappointing, and unappetizing it may be.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Accurately Away In A Manger
We sang Away in a Manger on Christmas Day. No surprise that, but I noticed that one line had been changed -- while I was belting out the traditional verse and everyone else was singing the new one.
Instead of reading: The little Lord Jesus no crying he makes, it had been rewritten that The little Lord Jesus a sweet sound He makes.
Well, in the tradition of St John the evangelist who saw the Incarnation in all its 100% humanity, and 100% divinity, I say that stinks as a replacement.
If Jesus was a real little baby, then he made sounds -- lots of them, and noisy ones. So don't go replacing a silent baby with one that coos, because I've had a couple of babies and they rarely coo, especially when they're lying in straw, and especially if it's filthy.
So please, whoever rewrites the carols, could you please go the whole way and say like it is?
Instead of reading: The little Lord Jesus no crying he makes, it had been rewritten that The little Lord Jesus a sweet sound He makes.
Well, in the tradition of St John the evangelist who saw the Incarnation in all its 100% humanity, and 100% divinity, I say that stinks as a replacement.
If Jesus was a real little baby, then he made sounds -- lots of them, and noisy ones. So don't go replacing a silent baby with one that coos, because I've had a couple of babies and they rarely coo, especially when they're lying in straw, and especially if it's filthy.
So please, whoever rewrites the carols, could you please go the whole way and say like it is?
A Bad Hair Day and the Art of Perfection
In the continuing saga of my quest for a good and blessed Christmas, I must confess to vanity.
It was Christmas Eve day. Putting the finishing touches on wrapping. Fielding last minute letters to Santa. Checking to see if we had enough carrots on hand for all the reindeer. Preparing for a sister's birthday celebration, as well as my in-law's big Christmas Eve dinner.
And wouldn't you know it -- unsightly hairs had sprouted on my upper lip. (Mine is an age when the balance of hormones, dipping a little too far on the side of testosterone, does this to a girl.) Time to try out the new hair removal kit purchased expressly for the moment.
According to the instructions, it's dead simple -- apply the premixed wax strip to the skin above your upper lip, press down, then yank in the opposite direction of hair growth.
At first I only accomplished squishy blue stuff stuck to my skin. But I live by the adage try, try again. So I did. Several times. My lips hurt and so did the skin all the way to my nose. Fortunately, soothing gel's included.
Not until I was in the car heading out of town did I notice faint red marks above my lips. Cover cream fixed that and I continued on my way.
Later that night, when I slipped into the powder room, I shrieked at the sight of the third degree burn victim staring back at me in the mirror -- my upper lip was a series of concentric circles like fields of wheat that have been visited by UFOs.
And what is with these husbands who sit right next to you and say nothing!?! I took him aside. This is the deal, dear: When I ask you if I look fat in something, I expect you to lie. But when I look like this, I expect you to whisper in my ear that I need to fix my face.
He had on his scared owlish look, so left it at that, and slathered on the cover cream.
By Christmas Day there were scabs -- and a lesson learned about the fruitless pursuit of perfection.
So when one of my church friends started talking about the numerous faux pas the minister had committed in both the Midnight Carol Service the night before and on Christmas Day, I was unsympathetic explaining my bad hair day and subsequent capitulation to vanity.
Since the Church Universal is filled with all manner of people who sing off-key, behave in strange ways, make offensive comments and who don't agree with us theologically, we can never hope to fix all the stray dark hairs -- imagined and otherwise -- that sprout up willy-nilly. And we can waste a whole lot of time obsessing on the superficial imperfections and overlook our main reason for being there: worship and the fine art of building up the Body in each other as flawed and sinful as all of us are.
It was Christmas Eve day. Putting the finishing touches on wrapping. Fielding last minute letters to Santa. Checking to see if we had enough carrots on hand for all the reindeer. Preparing for a sister's birthday celebration, as well as my in-law's big Christmas Eve dinner.
And wouldn't you know it -- unsightly hairs had sprouted on my upper lip. (Mine is an age when the balance of hormones, dipping a little too far on the side of testosterone, does this to a girl.) Time to try out the new hair removal kit purchased expressly for the moment.
According to the instructions, it's dead simple -- apply the premixed wax strip to the skin above your upper lip, press down, then yank in the opposite direction of hair growth.
At first I only accomplished squishy blue stuff stuck to my skin. But I live by the adage try, try again. So I did. Several times. My lips hurt and so did the skin all the way to my nose. Fortunately, soothing gel's included.
Not until I was in the car heading out of town did I notice faint red marks above my lips. Cover cream fixed that and I continued on my way.
Later that night, when I slipped into the powder room, I shrieked at the sight of the third degree burn victim staring back at me in the mirror -- my upper lip was a series of concentric circles like fields of wheat that have been visited by UFOs.
And what is with these husbands who sit right next to you and say nothing!?! I took him aside. This is the deal, dear: When I ask you if I look fat in something, I expect you to lie. But when I look like this, I expect you to whisper in my ear that I need to fix my face.
He had on his scared owlish look, so left it at that, and slathered on the cover cream.
By Christmas Day there were scabs -- and a lesson learned about the fruitless pursuit of perfection.
So when one of my church friends started talking about the numerous faux pas the minister had committed in both the Midnight Carol Service the night before and on Christmas Day, I was unsympathetic explaining my bad hair day and subsequent capitulation to vanity.
Since the Church Universal is filled with all manner of people who sing off-key, behave in strange ways, make offensive comments and who don't agree with us theologically, we can never hope to fix all the stray dark hairs -- imagined and otherwise -- that sprout up willy-nilly. And we can waste a whole lot of time obsessing on the superficial imperfections and overlook our main reason for being there: worship and the fine art of building up the Body in each other as flawed and sinful as all of us are.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)