The Look


The Saviour looked on Peter. Ay, no word,
No gesture of reproach; the Heavens serene
Though heavy with armed justice, did not lean
Their thunders that way: the forsaken Lord
Looked only, on the traitor. None record
What that look was, none guess; for those who have seen
Wronged lovers loving through a death-pang keen,
Or pale-cheeked martyrs smiling to a sword,
Have missed Jehovah at the judgment-call.
And Peter, from the height of blasphemy -
'I never knew this man'- did quail and fall
As knowing straight That God; and turned free
And went out speechless from the face of all
And filled the silence, weeping bitterly.

The meaning of the look

I think that look of Christ might seem to say -
'Thou Peter! art thou then a common stone
Which I at last must break my heart upon
For all God's charge to his high angels may
Guard my foot better ? Did I yesterday
Wash thy feet, my beloved, that they should run
Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun ?
And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray ?
The cock crows coldly. - Go, and manifest
A late contrition, but no bootless fear!
For when thy final need is dreariest,
Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here;
My voice to God and angels shall attest,
Because I Know this man, let him be clear.'

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Lenten Reflection 4

He became the kind of man we do not want to be: ECCE HOMO! Behold the Man! is not a statement which arises from the confirmation of our humanity and is made on the basis of like is known by like; it is a confession of faith which recognizes God's humanity in the dehumanized Christ on the the cross...

God is not greater than he is in this humiliation. God is not more glorious than he is in this self-surrender. God is not more powerful than he is in this helplessness. God is not more divine than he is in this humanity. The center of everything that Christian theology says about God is discovered in this event.

J. Moltmann, Crucified God.

Lenten Reflection 3

HOLY SONNETS.

XIV.


Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

lenten reflection 2

Till Christ shall be fully formed in you
A reading from Augustine's explanation of the letter to the Galatians, 5th century
So the Apostle says, ‘Become as I am’ who though born a Jew, have now learnt by spiritual insight to treat all carnal matters with contempt; ‘for I also have become as you’, which is to say, I also am a man like you. After saying that, he very properly and becomingly added a reminder of his love for them, fearing no doubt that they might otherwise begin to suspect him of having turned against them. So he says, ‘Brethren, I beseech you, you did me no wrong’, as if he would prevent them form thinking he wanted to do them wrong.
He even calls them ‘my little children’, so that they would imitate him as they would a parent. ‘With whom I am again in travail’, he adds, ‘until Christ be formed in you!’

Now Christ is formed in a believer through faith implanted in his inmost soul. Such a one, gentle and lowly of heart, is summoned to the freedom of grace, and he does not boast of the merit of works which are of no value. But from the grace itself there is a beginning of merit, so that Christ who said ‘As you did it to one of the least of my brethren, you did it to me’ can call him the least bit of himself. Christ, then, is formed in him who accepts his form; and he receives the form of Christ who cleaves to Christ with spiritual love

The result is that through this imitating he becomes, in the measure permitted to him, the same as Christ whom he imitates. ‘He who says be abides in him’, says John, ‘ought to walk in the same way as he walked’.

But since human beings are conceived by their mothers in order to be formed and once they are formed are brought to birth through the pangs of labor, we can ask what is meant by the words, ‘with whom I am again in travail until Christ be formed in you!’ We can take ‘travail’ to mean the anxious care with which he was in labor so that they might be born in Christ; and now again he is in travail because of the danger he sees them in of being led astray. The anxiety of such concern about them, which leads him to say that he is in some way in travail can endure ‘to the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ, so that they may no longer be carried about with every wind of doctrine’.

Hence, it is not in reference to the beginnings of faith by which they were born, but concerning the strengthening and perfecting of faith that he says, ‘with whom I am again in travail until Christ is formed in you’. Elsewhere he commends this sort of travail in other words when he says, ‘There is the daily pressure on me of anxiety for all the churches. Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to fall and I am not indignant?’

Ash Wednesday

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
How pale Thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before Thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!

Now from Thy cheeks has vanished their color once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banished the splendor that was there.
Grim death, with cruel rigor, hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, Thy strength in this sad strife.

My burden in Thy Passion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression which brought this woe on Thee.
I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore Thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

My Shepherd, now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me, O source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above.

Here I will stand beside Thee, from Thee I will not part;
O Savior, do not chide me! When breaks Thy loving heart,
When soul and body languish in death’s cold, cruel grasp,
Then, in Thy deepest anguish, Thee in mine arms I’ll clasp.

The joy can never be spoken, above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of Life, desiring Thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy cross expiring, I’d breathe my soul to Thee.

My Savior, be Thou near me when death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish, oh, leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish by virtue of Thine own!

Be Thou my consolation, my shield when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfolds Thee. Who dieth thus dies well.

Ash Wednesday by T.S. Eliot

Ash-Wednesday
by T S Eliot

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I
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

II
Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to sateity
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying

Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.

Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.

III
At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.

At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.

At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.

Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.

IV
Who walked between the violet and the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs

Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos

Here are the years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing

White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.

The silent sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word

But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken

Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew

And after this our exile

V
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice

Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose

O my people, what have I done unto thee.

Will the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.

O my people.

VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn

Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings

And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated

And let my cry come unto Thee.

TRACES

Today I poured through old email messages attempting to find an attachment of a paper I wrote. I wasn't quite expecting to find so many memories. An "acceptance" letter from Duke Religion Department with the addendum that we won't fund ya asshole, evites to parties, well-wishes upon the birth of Johanna, church business from my summer internships, old interlibrary loan reminder, and at the very beginning a note from Doug about our impending nuptial. I also found old discussions about Christian community: Doug's tortured letter to Naj and Anne, News of Mike and Heather's trip to Chicago, John's lobbying to have all the community kids named after him, and his excitment with Johanna and Jonathan, and most recently notes from Ben and Angela about when to expect the delivery truck. As a budding historian I don't know what sense I would make of my own records. The facts are there: marriage, birth of children, intimate friends. There is also a considerable academic history: the theology of disability, bio-medical ethics, law and the new testament, sin and sanity in Aquinas and 19th century America, and most recently Foucault and the tangles of what he calls biopolitics, and cultural history. But, I wonder if I could ever reconstruct a life from this material. A life that looks anything like the day-to-day of Durham or Toronto. Anyway, as I continue to think of myself as my own historian I will keep you posted.

happy birthday johanna

Johanna Nancy Hatlem turned three today. She enjoyed a green cake, green ice cream, and spagetti dinner. She got a three wheeler from Grammi Deb so watch out if you happen upon Toronto, CA sidewalks.

Sunday Night Prayer

Father God,

Thank you for full moons on the snow and for cats whose tails are too large for their bodies and for impish toddlers. Thank you for love over and above us and all around and for the way your wake can be felt in the chills of a cold winter night. Thank you for homes to return to and for friends to mend us. Forgive us for allowing ourselves to be sheltered from the cold of other's nights. Forgive us when we forget not only to care for our enemies but when we even fail to care for our friends--even the very gift friends whose love burns at the center of our hearts. Forgive us for not knowing when we do wrong. For not fighting apathy and the seductions of our own schedules. Mend our hearts that pentitence has broken so that we will not become proud in our confessions but merry in the grace that binds us to you and tears us from ourselves. Give us joy that sees in strangers the possibility of conversation with you and towards you and the thrill of experiencing the freedom of your law. Amen

The first three months

Our life together here in Parkdale is now about 3 months old. As we can see daily with Jacob (who is 2 mos. old) this is a vulnerable and exciting age. Jacob has learned to smile. We too are learning to negotiate one another--read each others expressions and nonverbal cues and the inflections in each others voices. Jacob is looking around soaking in the world. We too are soaking in this neighborhood and learning about it--learning slowly (much slower than Jacob) about this new world we are entering. We are experiencing little victories--a table that could ultimately seat 20, finding church communities, finding fresh veggies, keeping our spaces hospitable, sharing our vision with the local newspaper, and finding jobs for Doug and Ben. We are also experiencing setbacks. We wish there could be more of the original new year's crowd about. We feel weak with all our commitments to budding families, school, and new jobs to start creating rich networks or inviting the people that already have expressed interest to our table. We still might need sometime more of nuturing and comfort and peacefulness. However, we are here. Hoping that we have given birth to something really special.

From Ben and Angela

Hello, Ben here. Job is going fine at Mt Sinai, it feels good to be 15 seconds away from the ER in case anything goes horribly wrong. (I'm just kidding, nothing can go horribly wrong.)


Hey all - it's Angela here - I can't remember my password, so I'll probably sign out as Ben...

We began our visioning process at our community meeting in preparation for our retreat in mid-February. It was good to begin talking about things that have been on our hearts for a long time and realize that we are really doing this community thing.

Our lives continue in a daily routine or not so routine of child care, work, meeting people, baby yoga, dishes, dishes, and paper writing. Our lives swirl around each other during the day, we converge around dinner and then swirl off again - often touching during the day at various points sharing life's events. Oh and lets not forget our visits to St. Josephs hospital that have also become routine.

I am discovering the art of allowing caring for my child to be an accomplishment in and of itself - something I am allowed to check off my checklist of my oh so guilty calvinistic work ethic mind that pushes productivity driven by tangible daily deeds and activities. Yes, breastfeeding can be checked off, and that dirty diaper, and that rocking to sleep and that gazing into eachother's eyes for endless moments marveling in the beauty of my child....

Updates:

Doug just return from training with the MCC in Akron. He learned that he is an INTJ and that his wife is an INFP. :)
Johanna has been quite sick since our return, she has been taking antibiotics, might have pneumonia, however, she is def. getting better.
Jacob is so cute. His face is filling out and he has these "knock ya dead" big brown eyes.
Angela, is recovering from an infection.
Ben is in the third week at his new job as a researcher at Mt. Sinai Hospital.
Jodie is Ta-ing for a class in Church history and grading for a class in The Gospels.
She is keeping busy writing a paper on Weber and Foucault and taking care of Johanna.
We met for a community meeting last night and decided we miss you all.

What is up with you?

A Time To PRAY

I want to find a time to pray for Heather and Mike's baby. The little guy or gal is facing a heart surgery right after birth. We want to find a time in the day to coordinate prayer. I was thinking that each of us could make a pact to pray every dinner for our little babe.

Baby's Name

Jodie,
"His name is Emmanuel." ..... And "no" I am not Isaiah.

New Community Member

Naji and Anne had their third little boy today - guess that means I need to go buy another Walter book. The little community is certainly growing! We'll try to do our part beginning in 5 months (Brooke would prefer I say 17 here).

Untitled from BC

Well, here it is. I am officially a blogging member of the community, with full administrative rights. I'd like to dedicate this posting to John, for his encouragement and care throughout the years and for his supportive comments blogged on 30 December.

Toronto Star Article

An experiment in `new monasticism'
SHARING | Two young families pool their resources to live in the style of early Christians, writes Leslie Scrivener


Jan. 8, 2006. 01:00 AM


In the little Parkdale house they share, two young families sit down to dinner — a scene that would be completely ordinary were it not for the reasons they live together.

There's a comfortable feeling as the parents and children link hands and begin their meal with a prayer. Books on the side table reveal a bit about their interests: Life Together, Dietrich Bonhoeffer's book on living in a community, and The Political Theology of Paul. That's St. Paul.

Though it doesn't look like it, these two married couples — with their babies, donated furniture and Holly the dog — are living what they call the "new monasticism."

It's a movement that started about a decade ago in the United States and has been slowly spreading there and now in Canada.

The two families, which are in their third month of communal living, share their beliefs in the same way they share the cooking, cleaning, child-care — and all the money they earn.

When Ben ElzingaCheng was offered a job as a research technician at Mount Sinai Hospital, after his arrival in Toronto in November from British Columbia, he and wife Angela sat down with the other couple to discuss whether he should take the job.

Angela, a community organizer had just given birth to their first child, Jacob. The other couple — Jodie Boyer Hatlem, who's working on her PhD at the University of Toronto, and street pastor Doug Johnson Hatlem have two children: Johanna, 2, and Simeon, 11 months.

How would Ben's working full-time affect their little community? In the end, they decided he should take the position.

Doug and Jodie, who are Americans, are pacifists deeply opposed to the war in Iraq.

Ben and Angela are Canadians who feel the same way.

These four monastics are all Christians who grew up in middle-class, evangelical families.

They reject the consumerism of North American culture and they are dedicated to living simply, offering hospitality to those in need, sharing what they earn and practising peace-making.

In a way, each of them has gone beyond the traditional Christianity in which they were raised.

"I go back to my faith community — my church — and tell them we're pacifists and it's almost like it's heretical," says Jodie.

Doug grew up in a fundamentalist Baptist congregation, but his life was changed when one of his university professors, a Mennonite, introduced him to the concept of pacifism.

"I couldn't shake the idea that you can't take the gospel seriously if you don't take seriously the pacifist spirit of early Christianity," he says.


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They share their beliefs as they share the cooking, cleaning, child-care — and all the money they earn

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"With all the Bible-thumping I'd been raised on, I fought hard against it, but ultimately I changed."

Says Ben: "When I was growing up, my family's church focused on personal salvation. The most important thing was evangelism and reaching non-believers. And if you worked hard, God would reward you.

"But I wanted my faith to be a bit more real. I always felt a disconnect between what my faith commanded and how I was living my life, about actually putting faith into action.

"If I had a career and a house and family and went to church on Sunday, it wouldn't feel real."

Angela's family was committed to Christian education and she later worked organizing communities — one was to help families in Grand Rapids, Mich., have more influence in their children's education.

"I've been pushed beyond how I grew up," she says. "Here I can offer hospitality in ways I wouldn't do myself. I grew up middle-class, my education is high but I want to live differently."

They model their lives on the first Christian communities. Those early Christians, as described in The Acts of the Apostles, rejected private ownership and shared their possessions communally. Those who owned property sold it and gave the money to the apostles to be distributed to those in need.

According to Stanley Hauerwas, a theology professor at Duke University in Durham, N.C., new monasticism is exactly what Christianity needs now.

"We are watching the death of Christianity, particularly Protestantism," Hauerwas says. "It's become so deeply accommodating to the world, people are thinking: `Why you would bother with it?'"

How accommodating?

"The war. Christians don't have a problem with the war .... The other accommodation of the church is money. Christians think we need a lot of it. They want to be upper middle-class and believe in Jesus, too.

"They worry about how gays are destroying the family and don't get the fact that what's destroying the family is money — not gays."

A block from Duke University, in a poor black neighbourhood, is another new monastic community.

Ten people, blacks and whites, share meals and open their doors to neighbours in need. Recently released prisoners and people who have lost their apartments because they couldn't pay the rent have been invited to stay.

The Durham monastics have been inspired in part by the Catholic Worker Movement, which also has a community in Toronto that includes James Loney, one of the four Christian peacemakers who were taken hostage in Baghdad on Nov. 26.

Catholic Worker groups stress hospitality, voluntary poverty, prayer and community living.

Back in Parkdale, where life together is only a few months old, the two couples are still sorting out exactly how they will practise their new monasticism as they get to know their neighbourhood, find work and welcome a new baby into their midst.

"But we have prayed about this a lot," says Ben ElzingaCheng. "This is the right thing to do."

waiting for Elijah

Jessica spent New Year's here and a good time was had by all.

We really need to consider our next steps as a community. We have room for one more person. We wonder if we should fill it or whether we should save it for Elijah.
We are in a rushrushwaitwait sort of pattern right at the moment.

So, I have been trying to remind myself to do the good that is set out before me. However, I don't want that to devolve into some pitiful Calvinist ethic (sorry to all my Calvin friends) whereby we fulfill our calling by being a petty bureaucrat for the state (I think a street sweep might actually be a holy occupation.) I guess what I am left wondering is if I should be out there chasing down Jesus or if I ask hard enough he might just come knocking on my door. Behold, I stand....and I was everywhere naked, and hungry, sick and worn.... How have I got to this point where I can't see him. Ok. So, this is the sort of introspection I promised myself I wouldn't bother the blog with. However, I'm going to end with prayer and I hope you can pray with me.
Lord, help me to stop being such a shortsighted, caught up in my own worried world, fool. Please help me to stop being so suspicious of all the people you bring into my life: catergorizing them, judging them, dispensing with them... Allow me to come into the bold faith of one of your true disciples and please fill me with your love that (truly) moves the world and each of us to eternal life with you. Amen.



Any New Year's resolutions you would care to share?

Jessica is here!

The Car is dead. Merry Christmas!

So are little purple-ish civic is finished. We were heading up to Buckley on the 23rd and she broke down. Luckily we got to a gas station and weren't stranded. We ended up having to rent a car, load our present in it, and leave the car problem for the New Years (there may be a chapter II.) However, it looks like Ben, Angela, Jacob, Johanna, Simeon, Doug, and Jodie are now the proud owners of a big, blue van. We have a communitymobile (for better or for worse) so we better find some place to drive.