TR
A numbness sets in, a certain numbness. Or maybe it's the hour, although at this time of day I'm generally an hour or more alert into my morning. But not. So, why?, my, our, story and status are no worse than most around here, in fact, likely better than most. "Here" being the NW Florida Gulf Coast, Bay County, Panama City, St Andrews and St Andrews Bay. "Here" in my mind and my heart and soul even if I'm yet in Pensacola for some unknown duration, a hundred miles from the eipcenter. A predawn muse. 5:12 AM and dark, black as pitch out the hotel room window. Sunday morning and this is how I felt in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. A numbness with the realization that nothing can ever be the same again for me, us, in life.
My professor at the University of Michigan in 1962 remembered his feelings the day of Pearl Harbor: "How different it will all be tomorrow." It's a death, isn't it, a certain, specific death, like walking away from the graveside after the funeral of someone you'd never imagined life without.
Maybe this is how it feels to be a third-world person.
Am I sad? The sadness is bottomless. Am I discouraged? Everyone else, especially in my vocation, will be putting on a smiley face and talking about the bright side and recovery; but me? I don't know, I'm not there, I'm not that far along yet. Early last Monday morning, for other reasons entirely, we left home and drove to Pensacola, leaving our lifetime of things in 7H and thinking we'd be back home Wednesday afternoon. But Wednesday, instead of lunch before leaving to drive back home, I watched, on my computer screen, Hurricane Michael churn ashore. Leaving what? Home? IDK, I'm still in Pensacola, I'm not there, I'm not that far along yet. But what I see in pictures is desolation, as though the Eschaton came Wednesday while I was away from home. Left Behind.
From my story, a Metaphor for Theological Reflection: a Navy fighter pilot takes off from his aircraft carrier, flies his sortie, and when he gets back, sees his carrier afire and sinking. Nowhere to land, and his plane is low on fuel.
The theological cycle is Creation, Sin, Judgment, Repentance, Redemption: beginning the TR with Creation: in our metaphor, what is this world like? One word responses, adjectives.
T
My professor at the University of Michigan in 1962 remembered his feelings the day of Pearl Harbor: "How different it will all be tomorrow." It's a death, isn't it, a certain, specific death, like walking away from the graveside after the funeral of someone you'd never imagined life without.
Maybe this is how it feels to be a third-world person.
Am I sad? The sadness is bottomless. Am I discouraged? Everyone else, especially in my vocation, will be putting on a smiley face and talking about the bright side and recovery; but me? I don't know, I'm not there, I'm not that far along yet. Early last Monday morning, for other reasons entirely, we left home and drove to Pensacola, leaving our lifetime of things in 7H and thinking we'd be back home Wednesday afternoon. But Wednesday, instead of lunch before leaving to drive back home, I watched, on my computer screen, Hurricane Michael churn ashore. Leaving what? Home? IDK, I'm still in Pensacola, I'm not there, I'm not that far along yet. But what I see in pictures is desolation, as though the Eschaton came Wednesday while I was away from home. Left Behind.
From my story, a Metaphor for Theological Reflection: a Navy fighter pilot takes off from his aircraft carrier, flies his sortie, and when he gets back, sees his carrier afire and sinking. Nowhere to land, and his plane is low on fuel.
The theological cycle is Creation, Sin, Judgment, Repentance, Redemption: beginning the TR with Creation: in our metaphor, what is this world like? One word responses, adjectives.
T