Bang & Being
Last evening when I started this blog, the score was 13-0 Florida, then half-time 25-0. TV on and I could see it through the sliding glass door, but not watching because dreading the storm after the calm, like waking up and finding out that Dewey isn't president after all. So instead, sitting on the porch contemplating the perfect weather.
In another lifetime, perfect weather was defined in terms of school's out. Summer vacation, Christmas vacation, Thanksgiving weekend. Saturday morning. Afternoon off for the homecoming parade. School no longer a factor, perfect weather now means it’s slightly too cool to sit out on the porch without a light blanket across lap and bare legs, as now 201510040354CDT. Or last evening --
The day we were moving in here, I met a young man on the elevator, seems to me an Air Force officer, who told me, “You’re gonna love it here, this is a beautiful place.” It’s a wonder to be so enamored of a three-room condo way up high. What is it? It’s my history, it's the darkness before dawn, it's the Bay and its Davis to Courtney expanse, it's the sunrise, the clouds,
it's the sunsets. Were this a spiritual blog, I’d mention the wonder of God’s creation and post other people's Facebook pictures
of the blood moon
and something about the universe.
But it's only a faith blog now and then. It’s Bang & Being, the mystery of λόγος that’s so faith challenging from where I am. Turns out that my God was too small, as J. B. Phillips put it. Faith was simpler, easier, as a child when, Easter mornings riding to church I’d be shocked at people going about life as usual and think reprovingly, “why aren't you on the way to church -- don’t you know Christ is risen?” The Thomas of Faith is age’s realization that I didn’t know either. I believed, I faithed, but I didn't know.
Which is why as a creedal Episcopalian I’m more interested in exploring what and why faith's Church calls me to believe than I am in the actual believing. Having lived in the faith house all my life, now I'm looking out the window and wondering what lives in that dense forest outside. It's not just the whip-poor-will and bob white, there are bears, raptors, big cats, predators. It's the far right end of our little saying, "The Episcopal Church: where you don't have to check your brain at the door." Do we mean that, or not? I don't think so, not really. Or Mark Twain smirking, "Faith is believing what you know damn well ain't so." My enemy is certainty. I didn’t, but a student wrote that people who are absolutely certain that what they believe is true are fully capable of engaging in “willful ignorance” and “beliefs can be excuses to stop thinking,” so I read and question and offer Sunday School classes and Tuesday morning Bible Seminar, to explore with others. Maybe they're wondering too.
There’s my vulgar slogan rearing its serpentine head again, just because you believe it, even believe it fervently, even believe it with every fibre of your being, that don’t make it so. So I think for myself, read and study to find out what others think and thought.
Come to Sunday School. I'll learn something from you. HNEC parish library, 9:15 to 10:15.
Don't remember if I posted this --
38-10 and 28-0 but every team's victory is someone else's rainy day. Sadness, Amy. I hope we have another Steve Spurrier at Gainesville.
Morning is breaking
Thos+
In another lifetime, perfect weather was defined in terms of school's out. Summer vacation, Christmas vacation, Thanksgiving weekend. Saturday morning. Afternoon off for the homecoming parade. School no longer a factor, perfect weather now means it’s slightly too cool to sit out on the porch without a light blanket across lap and bare legs, as now 201510040354CDT. Or last evening --
The day we were moving in here, I met a young man on the elevator, seems to me an Air Force officer, who told me, “You’re gonna love it here, this is a beautiful place.” It’s a wonder to be so enamored of a three-room condo way up high. What is it? It’s my history, it's the darkness before dawn, it's the Bay and its Davis to Courtney expanse, it's the sunrise, the clouds,
of the blood moon
and something about the universe.
But it's only a faith blog now and then. It’s Bang & Being, the mystery of λόγος that’s so faith challenging from where I am. Turns out that my God was too small, as J. B. Phillips put it. Faith was simpler, easier, as a child when, Easter mornings riding to church I’d be shocked at people going about life as usual and think reprovingly, “why aren't you on the way to church -- don’t you know Christ is risen?” The Thomas of Faith is age’s realization that I didn’t know either. I believed, I faithed, but I didn't know.
Which is why as a creedal Episcopalian I’m more interested in exploring what and why faith's Church calls me to believe than I am in the actual believing. Having lived in the faith house all my life, now I'm looking out the window and wondering what lives in that dense forest outside. It's not just the whip-poor-will and bob white, there are bears, raptors, big cats, predators. It's the far right end of our little saying, "The Episcopal Church: where you don't have to check your brain at the door." Do we mean that, or not? I don't think so, not really. Or Mark Twain smirking, "Faith is believing what you know damn well ain't so." My enemy is certainty. I didn’t, but a student wrote that people who are absolutely certain that what they believe is true are fully capable of engaging in “willful ignorance” and “beliefs can be excuses to stop thinking,” so I read and question and offer Sunday School classes and Tuesday morning Bible Seminar, to explore with others. Maybe they're wondering too.
There’s my vulgar slogan rearing its serpentine head again, just because you believe it, even believe it fervently, even believe it with every fibre of your being, that don’t make it so. So I think for myself, read and study to find out what others think and thought.
Come to Sunday School. I'll learn something from you. HNEC parish library, 9:15 to 10:15.
Don't remember if I posted this --
38-10 and 28-0 but every team's victory is someone else's rainy day. Sadness, Amy. I hope we have another Steve Spurrier at Gainesville.
Morning is breaking
Thos+