Jaded Beauty

Being an English major has its boons and its curses. I read the richest literature in my language, relish the insightful lectures from wiser heads than mine, and find much delight in dwelling with such beautiful stories.

However, there appears to be an ugly underbelly to this beast I’m trying to tame. “I liked it better when you were reading Herbert” said a friend, after I began rambling about Faulkner (taking Southern Lit and American Lit II simultaneously means that I’ve read 5 Faulkner novels and multiple short stories in the space of about 10 weeks). Another friend commented on some poems she was reading by some of the guys back home, saying “I like the one’s poems better than the other’s–his are just too hard to read and they’re not about God. [The first fellow's] poems are uplifting and always talk about God; they’re so much better.” And I’m currently in the process of researching pyscho-analytical literary theory in order to write a long paper on how Faulkner portrays children, the loss of innocence, and how that affects them later as adults (can they ever move on from that “moment”?). Which means that I’m probably not going to let anyone read it when it’s done.

Is this what I came here to do; to read about and analyze the depths of depravity and brokenness in literature with a microscope and tweezers? Not really. But the lack of beauty in this pursuit–is that something to mourn over and be jaded by? I’m not sure. Maybe my friends are right, and the happy, lovely, didactic, and overtly Christian literature is the only literature worth reading…but I’m not convinced of that yet. Herbert is a genius and does touch on brokenness and redemption and is both real and uplifting. The kid back home is sincere and really loves the Lord. But neither escape abstractions and wordiness and touch on the quotidian and redemption in the midst of the immense power of brokenness there. Neither are true to life–just true to ideals.

But should ideals be shunned? I think not, yet I’d be hard pressed to find anyone who’s really known the world who would accept them as easily as these writers would like. How can the elevated writings of Herbert and the didactic, Christ-centered writings of my friend bring any truth or light to a modern individual, jaded by hardship, desensitized by the media today, and living in a fragmented world haunted by semantics? I don’t think they can reach that sort of person; not in a Schaefferian way, at least.  There’s too much disconnect and that sort of person won’t be able to handle the beauty without choking on it.

So where does my paper fit with my Christian calling and my ruminations on the purpose of writing as  Christian in this jaded age? Can it have any purpose for good, or will dwelling in such bleakness at the end of the semester just rob me of my joy and jade me, too? And where is there a place for beauty, for fairytales and whimsy and innocence? Can I write fiction that holds worth for the reader and illuminates redemption, without pandering to either popular sentiments or intellectual snobbery?

This is the dilemma of an old-fashioned girl with ink on her third finger and a twinkle in her eye, looking curiously at the wasteland from the postmodern’s side of the mirror (they can’t see the garden or the waterfall from where they sit, and I want to help them peek at it and hunger for the One who made it).

In the Up-Side-Down Kingdom

Brokenness is wholeness.

“If my life [and heart are] broken when given to Jesus, it is because piecces will feed a multitude, while a loaf will satisfy only a little lad.” – Ruth Stull

“I will turn their mourning into joy; I will comfort them and give them gladness for sorrow. I will feast the soul of the priests with abundance, and my people shall be satisfied with my goodness, declares the LORD.” – Jer. 31:13b-14, ESV

“Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones you have broken rejoice. Hide Your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Created in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.” – Ps. 51:8-12, ESV

Wisdom from Spurgeon

Evening, November 11th

“He shall choose our inheritance for us.” – Ps. 47:4

Believer, if your inheritance be a lowly one you should be satisfied with your earthly portion; for you may rest assured that it is the fittest for you. Unerring wisdom ordained your lot, and selected for you the safest and best condition. A ship of large tonnage is to be brought up the river; now, in one part of the stream there is a sandbank; should some one ask, “Why does the captain steer through the deep part of the channel and deviate so much from a straight line?” His answer would be, “Because I should not get my vessel into harbor at all if I did not keep to the deep channel.” So, it may be, you would run aground and suffer shipwreck, if your divine Captain did not steer you into the depths of affliction where waves of trouble follow each other in quick succession. Some plants die if they have too much sunshine. It may be that you are planted where you get but little, you are put there by the loving Husbandman, because only in that situation will you bring forth fruit unto perfection. Remember this, had any other condition been better for you than the one in which you are, divine love would have put you there. You are placed by God in the most suitable circumstances, and if you had the choosing of your lot, you would soon cry, “Lord, choose my inheritance for me, for by my self-will I am pierced through with many sorrows.” Be content with such things as you have, since the Lord has ordered all things for your good. Take up your own daily cross; it is the burden best suited for your shoulder, and will prove most effective to make you perfect in every good word and work to the glory of God. Down busy self, and proud impatience, it is not for you to choose, but for the Lord of Love!

“Trials must and will befall—

But with humble faith to see

Love inscribed upon them all;

This is happiness to me.”

[Taken from Spurgeon's devotional book, Morning and Evening]

Sacramental

Ralph Waldo Emerson rhapsodized about nature (“Nature”), personifying and deifying it to the point where one can take his essay “Nature” and substitute the word “God” for “Nature,” and a reader little acquainted with Emerson’s writings might think that he was merely an extremely sentimental Christian. He was not alone in his idolatrous view of nature, for his position is centuries old. Nature has, to pagans, either held the allure and wonder of a lovely, mysterious deity, or the brutal, uncanny terror of an untamed force or irrational power.  It has been worshiped, feared, studied and scorned in orthodox and pagan circles. It seems to be that if one is willing to look unwaveringly at the mystery, beauty and might of nature, one will be frightened and block it out, worshipful–and thus either idolatrous or attribute the glory to a higher being–or ignore the mystery and examine it with a quizzical passion that would lay bare the loveliness of the created world to the rules and calculations of science.

The Puritans, eager to see God’s glory and wisdom and beauty in all of the created world, delighted in the good things–food, possessions, knowledge, art, culture, etc. They saw good things as gifts from God, and believed that their job as His elect was to appreciate them in a redeemed manner, in a sacramental way. Good things of the world were not inherently bad, but inherently neutral. A perverted sinner would be bound to appreciate them in a perverted manner, but one who was “awakened” by the Spirit of God would seek to appreciate them in a manner that gave God the glory and would reveal something rich about Him to their souls.

Taking this a step further, the Puritan theologian Jonathan Edwards took the ancient approach to nature as a deity, and turned it on its head while still valuing beauty. His search for truth–and his discovery of it in God–lead him to see nature as glorious and full of mysterious beauty, but he did not allow himself to adore the good thing that beauty of nature is. His notion of the sacramental-ness of life wouldn’t allow him. Because he saw nature as sacramental, but not the Sacrament, he was able to freely delight in beauty, in serene landscapes, in gorgeous afternoons full of sunshine and stillness. His Emersonian-like raptures about nature in his Personal Narrative have a distinctly deeper tone of appreciation for the beauty he sees, because he sees God’s nature and loveliness displayed in them. For him, nature is seen in the Platonic sense, but enhanced by a close understanding of the Lord of Creation. Plato’s Nature is a shadowy reflection of higher, richer truths that are the true reality, and Edward’s nature is a clean, beautiful line pointing straight back to the Creator.

In C.S. Lewis’s “Meditation in a Toolshed,” he describes how he was shut in a toolshed, and a sunbeam cascaded in through a crack. He looked at the sunbeam, and it was bright and cheery, but it was not half as lovely as when he stepped into the sunbeam and looked along it, and through the crack saw the brilliantly bright summer day and the garden and the blazing glory of the sun itself. For Edwards, the good things of the world, and the beauties of nature in particular, were merely a sunbeam to be looked along to be dazzled by a glimpse of Christ Himself.

I’ve been thinking about this a great deal lately. Autumn is torching the trees along the walkways here at school and the frisky wind dashes the clean white clouds across a deep blue expanse stretched overhead. And I walk under it everyday. Most of my classes are all about the appreciation of words and how gifted people have used them to make beautiful things. I read these poems and essays and novels and stories, and their words permeate my existence. The other night I sat, transfixed, at the orchestra concert with tears brimming up and almost spilling over as the musicians played Holst’s Jupiter, and it was so beautiful I felt that my heart might break out of the fullness of how lovely it was. Monday night I was the honored beneficiary of a hug from a spritely, bright-eyed ballerina on her tiptoes–she and her slightly-more dignified sister giggled to find their babysitter in another setting. And just tonight I sat in the warm night air, musing into a bonfire under the stars while friends chatted and someone played guitar. Beauty and lovely things make up a great deal of the substance of life.

And I’ve been convicted to be deliberate in enjoying these good things, not just for themselves and the joy they can bring on their own, but to purposefully catch the moment, the sight, the taste, the sound, whatever it is, and to look along the beam–what is it that this points to about God? What can I learn or discover or remember? How can I consecrate the beauty as the Puritans did, and not shallowly idolize it like Emerson? I want to be sacramental in my view of the world. To see beauty and to see God in it and fall down in worship of Him because of it–that must be something quite close to His purpose in allowing us to have good things and beauty in the world. He redeemed us, and I think that it would follow quite naturally that He has also redeemed our ability to appreciate His world.

Eyes up. It’s time to look along the beam.

“On Sarah Pierpont”

“They say there is a young lady in [New Haven] who is beloved of that almighty Being, who made and rules the world, and that there are certain seasons in which this great Being, in some way or other invisible, comes to her and fills her mind wtih exceeding sweet delight, and that she hardly cares for anything, except to meditate on him–that she expects after a while to be received up where he is, to be raised up out of the world and caught up into heaven; being assured that he loves her too well to let her remain at a distance from him always. There she is to dwell with him, and to be ravished with his love favor and delight, forever. Therefore, if you present all the world before her, with the richest of its treasures, she disregards it and cares not for it, and is unmindful of any pain or affliction. She has a strange sweetness in her mind, and sweetness of temper, uncommon purity in her affections; is most just and praiseworthy in all her actions; and you could not persuade her to do anything thought wrong or sinful, if you would give her all the world, lest she should offend this great Being. She is of a wonderful sweetness, calmness and universal benevolence of mind; especially after those times in which this great God has manifested himself to her mind. She will sometimes go about, singing sweetly, from place to [place]; and seems to be always full of joy and pleasure; and no one knows for what. She loves to be alone, and to wander in the fields and on the mountains, and seems to have someone invisible always conversing with her.” – Jonathan Edwards, age 20, on the future Sarah Edwards, then age 13. 1723. (The Norton Anthology of American Literature, 7th Ed., Vol A.)

Isn’t that dear? Her love for the Lord was so deep and her character so mature (at age 13!) that this is the reputation of Sarah that made its way to Edwards and captured his attention. The Lord is well honored by when a daughter of His loves Him so well. I would like very much to be like her–so sincerely devoted to Him and unashamed in her delight in Him, and with such a gentleness and sweetness that it permeated all she did.

His Will

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace:
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain:
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

-William Cowper

If I believe this to be true about God, then I must actively fight to set my eyes on Him.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths.

- Prov. 3:5-6, ESV

Do I really believe that God is good and sovereign and out for my best interest and His glory? Do I really believe that He who died for me loves me as much as the cross says He does? If so, I must act like it, and not just say it. I’ve got to fling myself upon His truth and promises and wait for His will with the utterly abandoned delight of a small child trusting the good purposes of a parent to bless them.

My son, keep your father’s commandment,
and forsake not your mother’s teaching.
Bind them on your heart always;
tie them around your neck.
When you walk, they will lead you;
when you lie down, they will watch over you;
and when you awake, they will talk with you.
For the commandment is a lamp and the teaching a light,
and the reproofs of discipline are the way of life…

- Prov. 6: 20-23, ESV

Submission to His will is not apathy. It’s the hardest fight a wayward heart like mine can face and it takes an active devotion to Him that stubbornly refuses to swerve. And I can’t do it. But He can strengthen me for this fight. And He will be with me for it, going before me and laying forth good paths for me to walk in. Hard they may be, I know they will be good.

How much faith do you have, dear one?

All that You give me, Father.

Searching to See God?

through the dark streets they’d go searching to see God in their own way // save the nighttime for your weeping [cemeteries of london, coldplay]

“…spent from about 4am to 7am staring intently at my ceiling.”

O God, You are my God; earnestly I seek You; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh faints for You, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. So I have looked upon You in the sanctuary, beholding Your power and glory. Because Your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise You.” [Ps. 63:1-3]

My soul yearns for You in the night; my spirit within me earnestly seeks You. [Is. 26:9a]

If it’s an ordinary Wednesday afternoon and there’s no one to see and nowhere to go and nothing to do, what is it that I rely on to get through? Do I “make do” and put up that facade of having-it-all-togetherness and save the nighttime for weeping or the quiet restlessness of a weary, empty soul? Or do I turn my eyes heavenward and look upon Him in His sanctuary, beholding His power and glory?

 

Is He my primary delight? Do I desire Him above all else and find in Him alone my joy and satisfaction?

Pressing on in Faith

I don’t like hard things. They’re uncomfortable. It’s like having someone pinch you in a tender spot over and over again. If I had my way, I’d be lazy and hide in a shell of selfishness from reality, from God’s prodding at my heart and from pain.

However, I’m starting to realize (for the Nth time) that these hard things are incredible blessings. When God reveals a sin and takes hold of it, uprooting it from my heart, He tells me that it’s dead to me and I must relinquish it. I all love my sin - not going to lie. It’s comfortable. Yet when He claims it as dead to me and pushes me away from the old places I once wallowed in, and into new lessons and seasons . . . it’s good. I can see Him more clearly when He clears aways the weeds from my heart. Pain drives me to Him, and because I know that He is sovereign and that He is good, I am able – through the tears – to thank Him for hard things. They make me know Him better, and that is simply amazing.

When He lays His hand on something in my life and looks me in the eyes and says, “Let go; this is not yours. It does not glorify me or serve you. I have something far better for you!” I know that He’s right, and though it’s difficult to surrender I know that I can trust Him. He doesn’t change, and He’s always been faithful to His own. If He cared enough to supply the fulfillment of my greatest need by slaying His only Son in my place, then how can I not trust Him to continue to be good to me?

That good might not look like I expected, but that’s all right. I would far rather have His best for me than my misconception of what His best might look like. And so I will press on, by His strength, in the faith that He gives me. For He is my Lord, and I can trust Him.

Shall I take from Your hand Your blessings
Yet not welcome any pain
Shall I thank You for days of sunshine
Yet grumble in days of rain
Shall I love You in times of plenty
Then leave You in days of drought
Shall I trust when I reap a harvest
But when winter winds blow, then doubt

Oh let Your will be done in me
In Your love I will abide
Oh I long for nothing else as long
As You are glorified

Are You good only when I prosper
And true only when I’m filled
Are You King only when I’m carefree
And God only when I’m well
You are good when I’m poor and needy
You are true when I’m parched and dry
You still reign in the deepest valley
You’re still God in the darkest night

(As Long as You Are Glorified, Mark Altrogge)

Musings from a winter’s evening

The Romantic poets felt that the soul was revived by beauty and sustained by memories of beauty. They wrote of beauty restoring the soul and giving them meaning. They felt whole when their eyes and souls were filled with the awesome beauties of nature.

Sure enough, they forgot the One who made the beauty and missed a great deal of lovely truths that make the beauty all the richer–that give it meaning and Him glory.

But . . . they were on to something. There’s a tingling of timid delight when one sees something lovely these days. I think our culture has forgotten the simple, lonely loveliness. On the ride back from NYC, we wound our way through miles of snowy, barren hills and fields. The trees were crisply outlined against the stars and moon in the darkness by the clinging remnants of snow on their branches. The expanse of nothingness was still, the air clear, the woods deep and restful. And my heart was glad to see it, to see dear Orion high above again, to see the empty spaces and the wild beauty under the moon’s fading beams. And one girl with us in the car commented:

“There’s nothing out here at all. I don’t think I like it. There’s…just nothing.”

And I was quiet. For I love what she called nothing. The rich stillness, the pale, forlorn beauty. It’s wild and fresh, a bit uncanny, and very rich. And the One who made it all is greater still.

He’s not a tame lion, but he’s good.

The other night, as I walked across campus to my room, a very damp, sticky snow had begun to fall. I was struck by the stillness of it; the contented manner in which the flakes amble on their way to rest on the walks. The twinkling feeling of snow on my eyelashes. The silence of my footfalls in the snow. The joyous weariness of working my mind until it could absorb no more left me content and numb intellectually, but in the snowfall–with the silver glintings of the stars, street lights and the flakes embroidering the inky darkness of the night . . . my soul was refreshed.

These are the small graces, the little moments when…

Look at yourself first

A recent [and frequent] topic of discussion here at school has been what one would seek in a spouse…not in regard to any one in particular, or brought up by any one for any special reason. It’s just been discussed a bit lately, and it made me think.

There are girls who will say that they “go for the tall, dark types” or that they prefer gentlemen who like to sing, or are athletic, or that they won’t marry a poor man. I can see their reasoning behind that…but it seems to me that they are paying too much attention to the trivial.

Ages ago I did have a list of things I wanted in a husband. I’ve since quietly discarded of it, and can’t remember what half of the things on there were. That’s not what I need to be focusing on–too much dwelling on “someday” leaves me forgetting who I am and what I’m called to today. if I’m looking around, I can’t be pressing further up and further in as I ought.

While I do have a short [and I mean short--3-5 things max] list of preferences for what sort of man I might marry, I’m not going to let that determine how I think of my guy friends. I refuse to box them into the categories so many have of “no way,” “just friends,” “potential,” and “wow.”  They’re all brothers.

That said, however, I would encourage you–if you do have a list of things that you are seeking in your future spouse–to compare it to Scripture and see how it lines up. No one’s going to be perfect, but there is grace for growth through the Holy Spirit.

And I don’t mean growth for them. I mean for you. Do you match up with what the Word sets up as the ideal?

Gentlemen:
Sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money, having dignity, holding to the mystery of the faith with a clean conscience, pure [1 tim. 3 & 4], pursuing righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness. holding fast to the Word of truth.[1 tim. 6] sound in faith, models of good works, speaking soundly without condemnation [titus 2], not prone to anger, knowing the Word, having faith….the list goes on.

Ladies:
Adorned with inner beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, submissive (to authority, fathers, pastors, and eventually, husbands), not fearful [ 1 peter 3], dignified, sober-minded, faithful in all things, [1 tim. 3], not slanderers, not drunkards, loving, self-controlled, pure, diligent (working at home…), kind, adorning the Gospel’s testimony, [titus 2], doing good, serving others, hospitable, having great faith in the Lord, strength of mind/soul, speaking wisely and with kindness, [prov. 31], gracious, loving her family, etc.

Let’s seek to be the best He’s called us to be before we set about putting expectations on others.