‘ve just put up a sermon I preached yesterday on Isaiah 61, about God’s everlasting covenant. It was very encouraging for me to spend time studying and meditating on Isaiah 61, which proclaims God’s favour and his comfort of those who mourn. Even if you don’t listen to the sermon, listen to the passage, and imagine Jesus applying it to himself when he preached it.
n theology, as in any academic discipline, there are games that ‘skilled’ practitioners sometimes play. One such is theological ping-pong, amusingly and ably described by Basil Mitchell in his essay “How to Play Theological Ping-Pong.”
his is not a new sentiment, but one worth repeating. Perhaps, also, it is the beginnings of a principled difference between the way the Bible speaks to the politician (as an individual) and the politician (as a legislator).
Christians who happen to be political liberals are fond of citing scriptural verses exhorting believers to perform charitable deeds. Indeed, there are many such verses, and they mean what they say. But what the liberals invariably fail to see is that the Bible never indicates that it is the Christian’s duty to compel others to do charitable works; rather, Christians themselves are expected to do those works. There is no charity by proxy in the Bible. True charity comes from an inner, spiritual impulsion, not from outward political compulsion. That is the essential difference between Caesar and Christ.
– Hendrickson, The Liberal Temptation
HT: Culture 11
he Benedictus is the name commonly given to the song which Zechariah prophesies in Luke 1:68-79. Zechariah speaks of God’s great plan and how it is about to be fulfilled in Israel. It’s a biblical theological song, meaning it tells us about where we are in God’s story of salvation.
Below the fold is a setting of the Benedictus in Common Metre. It was written to be sung to Lyngham, a beautiful tune often used with “O, for a thousand tongues to sing.”
here is an edge, cliff crevasse, vast abyss
in a hairline, spider-tracery on fresco of reality
stretch out your hand in trembling and wither not
–mystery of highest heaven–
touch the knife-edged crack, life in your hands,
see paint fleck off, peel away,
scenery sliced, fall flickering to the floor
And is it a cubicle with blank walls bland and bald?
No, beautiful bold bright horizon,
eggshell fallen to the ground,
the sun rising, life throbbing.
caffolding is not really that interesting by itself. It only exists to enable building work to be done to make more beautiful that which is to be seen. But nonetheless, here is some of the scaffolding for a poem I wrote some time ago.
he poet’s arrogance!
He prates poet-patter, pretentious prat,
–as though the world empearls
around that speck of dust!–
Styed distant eyes ad astra in destined disaster,
For blind men only follow Homer,
Scaréd and white,
Who stared into the bright void.
very insightful warning from Richard Baxter, in the aftermath of the English Civil War:
Abhor the popular spirit of envy, which maketh the poor, for the most part, think odiously of the rich and their superiors; because they have that which they had rather have themselves… They think that they are the maintainers of the commonwealth, and the rich are the caterpillars of it, that live upon their labours, like drones in the hive, or mice and vermin that eat the honey, which the poor labouring bees have long gathered. For they are unacquainted with the labours and cares of their governors, and sensible only of their own. This envious spirit exceedingly disposeth the poor to discontents, and tumults, and rebellions; but it is not of God…
– Richard Baxter, A Christian Directory
HT: Kairos Journal
ark to the sound of the world turning,
the massive power of order.
Colours hold, atoms cohere.
Is there static? in this
Precise, pellucid, perfect clear perception?
What would it be like?
to see colours fade, snap back
go grey with flurry, bleed away,
drain.
To see outlines vanish, forms dissolve,
worlds shudder,
empty oscillation and chaos.
To explode with an atom,
fiery in the night,
come to be,
vanish away
sucked to the marrow, curlicues on the fabric of reality.
To hear sound, then nothing, but
ringing silence as
feet slide under the insubstantial earth.
But no, hear the clarion,
see the brightness of glory,
feel the ancient might,
the depth of strength that shoulders the world.
must calm my heart,
it sudden leaps,
surges, filling my chest,
pressing on the bands
let me act! or do! or love!
there is enough within
foam from the top of a bottle,
brimming,
overflowing, pouring out,
through my fingers,
hands pressed to my side,
with each heartbeat
I am lighter,
and am I empty?
best work from last spasm
peerless drink the last drop
dragon’s blood
my very soul emerges,
looks around,
leaps,
in love, waterfall down
the mountain, giving and gone
a mist in the air,
and a last rainbow.
