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I turned 35 Sunday and spent it in the mountains and in the water and it couldnt of been spent any better.
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The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
-By Marge Piercy
The words of wise men are like goads and masters of these collections are like well-driven nails; they are given by one Shepherd. –Ecclesiastes 12:11
How different it is with the man who devotes himself to studying the law of the Most High, who investigates all the wisdom of the past and spends his time studying the prophecies! He preserves the sayings of famous men and penetrates the intricacies of parables. He investigates the hidden meaning of proverbs and knows his way among riddles. –Ecclesiasticus 39:1-3
I scored big on my recent book hunt at my new favorite bookstore in Coeur D Alene. Its a great bookstore filled with old books, classical music playing softly in the background and decorated with tons of old art pieces, artifacts and old sculptures. Simply a delightful Bag-End like experience that is tucked away on a side street that beckoning the explorer of wisdom to discover her.
My finds includes:
"I'm afraid your analogy is a faulty one. It is not like buying one record, it is like buying one instrument and learning how to play it. If you are committed, boredom is not a danger." -a conversation between two people in Doug Wilson's book, Persuasions: A Dream of Reason Meeting Unbelief.
"Good sermons require some art, some virtue, some knowledge. Real sermons require some special grace which does not transcend art but arrives at it by instinct or 'inspiration'; indeed the Holy Spirit seems sometimes to speak through a human mouth providing art, virtue and insight he does not himself possess; but the occasions are rare." -J.R.R. Tolkien
I definitely view sermons as a piece of art. They are born almost the same way in me and through me, as other art projects are. Some are filled with more celestial electricity than others and leap out like currents from another world...like the startling of lightening.
I often find myself stunned by the suddenness of their coming.
Others slowly brew inside my belly, like a soupy broth at first but through the additions of prayer, the word and flashes of life they soon begin to chunkily solidify into a hopefully tasty meal.
However they are born, arrive or cook, all are subject to the painfully handicapped process of reflection, judgment and response. The sermon boomerang can hit hard! It is extremely difficult for me to separate the art from the artist; even though it's supposed to be a work of grace, an offering, and a service to be given in humility and void of ego's greedy fingers. How can one bake something and not find your hands in it and it on you? A work of hospitality it is and to not be interested in how it benefits the one who experiences it is hard indeed.
I read this quote in a book I am reading called: Tolkien, A celebration, collected writings on a literary legacy. I felt it captured a part of the whole sermon experience.
"There is the very ominous and ever-present danger that ones creation will fail and be repudiated, that the beautiful child of one's artistic devotion will fall flat on its chubby little face. There is potential discouragement, rejection, loss. Artistic sensibilities are tender, creative egos fragile. They bruise more easily than bananas." -Stephen R. Lawhead