love and demons
From 7H porch, watching storm bands of clouds from TS Gordon moving over the Gulf of Mexico in my clear zenith to horizon view. No lightning at the moment, but fiery skies in the predawn darkness a couple hours ago. No, wait, there's a rumble of thunder.
Spectacular sunset last evening, shifting second by second, moment to moment.
After checking inventory online, yesterday I went to Walmart and bought a couple of films I'd not seen, Dunkirk I'd wanted and meant to see while it was in local theaters, haven't watched it yet.
And recommended by a friend, First Reformed, which I did screen on my laptop last evening, with the earbuds for sound.
Yes, though there's a man in white clergy collar and black shirt on the cover, it's not sweet churchy pious. Rather, the fires of hell are real. It's days and nights in the worst case nightmare life scenario of the Reverend, an ex-military chaplain now "owned" pastor with his own demons, and a pregnant woman parishioner -- actually, this historic old museum church that nobody attends on Sundays but four or five curious tourists who get scripture and sermon anyway, really has no parishioners as such, only property caretakers slash tour guides -- who comes to the Reverend for help with her demon-possessed husband, over against our worst sort of egocentric, satanic, selfish, greedy industrio-ecclesiastic evils of the age. If we reduce it to New Testament terms, it's a twisted torment in which ἀγάπη and δαιμόνια are allied against Σατανᾶς, where, whilst the Adversary rules on, not ἀγάπη but ἔρως has the last word.
T
From Anu Garg, I find yesterday's Thought unsettling if not downright frightening:
Spectacular sunset last evening, shifting second by second, moment to moment.
After checking inventory online, yesterday I went to Walmart and bought a couple of films I'd not seen, Dunkirk I'd wanted and meant to see while it was in local theaters, haven't watched it yet.
And recommended by a friend, First Reformed, which I did screen on my laptop last evening, with the earbuds for sound.
Yes, though there's a man in white clergy collar and black shirt on the cover, it's not sweet churchy pious. Rather, the fires of hell are real. It's days and nights in the worst case nightmare life scenario of the Reverend, an ex-military chaplain now "owned" pastor with his own demons, and a pregnant woman parishioner -- actually, this historic old museum church that nobody attends on Sundays but four or five curious tourists who get scripture and sermon anyway, really has no parishioners as such, only property caretakers slash tour guides -- who comes to the Reverend for help with her demon-possessed husband, over against our worst sort of egocentric, satanic, selfish, greedy industrio-ecclesiastic evils of the age. If we reduce it to New Testament terms, it's a twisted torment in which ἀγάπη and δαιμόνια are allied against Σατανᾶς, where, whilst the Adversary rules on, not ἀγάπη but ἔρως has the last word.
T
From Anu Garg, I find yesterday's Thought unsettling if not downright frightening:
A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
In hatred as in love, we grow like the thing we brood upon. What we loathe, we graft into our very soul. -Mary Renault, novelist (4 Sep 1905-1983)