The calling of a name bids a particular other into close proximity to the one calling.
Isaiah 30 speaks of the name of the Lord coming from an unbounded place and he is intense and awful in his coming. The Holy Name of the One – his appearing is described as a speech act. His nostrils burning, thick clouds arising, his lips boiling over with rage. ‘Who is this one who comes ? I do not know him !’ His tongue is like a devouring fire & when His breath reaches me, it overwhelms like an overflowing stream reaching up to the neck ! There is nothing gentle in this speech act. ‘Under the whole heaven he lets it loose & his lightening to the corners of the earth’. This is violence, annihilating consummation – a radical discontinuity, dust & ashes.
My mistake is that I mostly think of God in equilibrium – omni this & omni that. There is power certainly but it is mostly benevolent, expended on behalf of mercy, grace & forgiveness. I rely on that God. Yet this One who comes from beyond the margin of the boundless is perilous and unpredictable. He leaves me feeling anxious but He certainly has my attention. If the Empire of the Same is about to be broken open by something wholly Other, I would rather be overwhelmed by God dangerous and creative – with an angry heart of compassion, the very pain of God - than whimsical, capricious chaos.
The Psalmist says God raises ‘the poor from the dust & lifts the needy from the ash heap’. That is because when he comes in anger, breaking out on behalf of His justice – that is all that is left – dust and ashes. The wonder of it is that the other others are not consumed.
When I am overwhelmed with trouble I am often silent & inactive in equal measure. I retreat inwards, waiting for the equilibrium to return. Yet when oppression births injustice, God breaks forth and his voice is majestic and heard, indeed his nostrils, lips, tongue and breath quiver with his purifying, terrible activity.
I think the thing I react to most is that this is not a God I am familiar with – Yahweh – God of righteousness & justice – totally Other breaking out in Holy bedlam !
That I may stand in the presence of God like one before the blast furnace and survive it. To rise up from the dust & the ashes – penitent, poor and needy - surely that is newness & wonder & resurrection. Outwards & downwards !
Monday, November 13, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Spirit Resonance...
The lite touch of God’s glory in the world is like the unexpected arrival of rain. Suddenly, leaves are dipping involuntarily in asymmetrical acknowledgement of its presence – a persistent shower giving lustre to the world & heightening awareness.
The Psalmist says that, “day after day pours forth speech and night after night declares knowledge… of the glory of God - yet there is no speech nor are there words…” While the lite touch of God’s glory is ever present, the sense of its arrival is always subtle. It builds in degrees, inhabiting the peripheral of vision or the graduated silences out on the edges of constant noise.
That our vision and hearing are dim to its arrival is witness to our routines of busyness and distraction.
That the activity of God’s glory in the world shapes our daily situation is beyond question. Glory lends intention to secret acts of mercy and kindness. Glory intensifies hope and endurance when the real is all too abrasive & unfriendly, Glory makes forgiveness the unthinkable possibility that dances in the midst of a hurting relationship At its most compelling the Glory of God ignites a passion for justice that burns & is vigilant, restless & creative.
When the dipping dance of the leaves ceases, the enduring effect of rained out rain is that cleansing wetness that soaks into every crack & crevice – absorbed into pores of everything it touches.
Drips hanging like jewels are the multitude of mundane moments touched by the finger of God.
The Psalmist says that, “day after day pours forth speech and night after night declares knowledge… of the glory of God - yet there is no speech nor are there words…” While the lite touch of God’s glory is ever present, the sense of its arrival is always subtle. It builds in degrees, inhabiting the peripheral of vision or the graduated silences out on the edges of constant noise.
That our vision and hearing are dim to its arrival is witness to our routines of busyness and distraction.
That the activity of God’s glory in the world shapes our daily situation is beyond question. Glory lends intention to secret acts of mercy and kindness. Glory intensifies hope and endurance when the real is all too abrasive & unfriendly, Glory makes forgiveness the unthinkable possibility that dances in the midst of a hurting relationship At its most compelling the Glory of God ignites a passion for justice that burns & is vigilant, restless & creative.
When the dipping dance of the leaves ceases, the enduring effect of rained out rain is that cleansing wetness that soaks into every crack & crevice – absorbed into pores of everything it touches.
Drips hanging like jewels are the multitude of mundane moments touched by the finger of God.
Name Calling II
The calling of a name identifies a particular other. It focuses attention & begins conversation. The calling of a name initiates movement in a particular direction.
To be immersed in the focused speaking of a name, a discordant cacophony of a multitude speaking as a community. To be immersed is to stand and let a unique bounded moment unfold around you.
The other evening was the first night of Idul Fitri – an all night of muslim prayer marking the end of the fasting month.
I was standing on a roof - in the anonymity of the night. Here & there the mere suggestion of shapes & surfaces marked my particular place in the world but my hearing told me otherwise. I was immersed in a uniquely bounded moment of a tremendous speech act, a multitudinous calling of the name of the One. From the front, now behind, to the side, the other side… an unbroken multi-vocal charge of different utterances converging, rising to crescendo then falling again… a creative gaggle of voices congregating around the speaking of the name of the One.
Yet there is a contrast, another speech act. It is the unending calling forth of my name by the One. It is a creative utterance that is uniquely unbounded - a self-involving moment. It calls me out from the anonymity of the night & into a world of light and encounter with particular others. It calls me to become familiar with the cadences of particular voices, engaging in a particular situation, immersed in particular stories.
Like the smoke of burning leaves that is a barb to my eyes or the pungent sickly smell of rotting garbage that taunts my nostrils. To be immersed in the speech act with particular others begins in speaking words with little meaning, the sounding of which is harsh and unfamiliar. To remain in the creative gaggle of continuing conversation in context after different context etches out a new space of meaning shared. I am shaped & held by the words and the stories of particular others. The stretch of it building & intensifying my presence in the world & my relation to the One.
To be immersed in the focused speaking of a name, a discordant cacophony of a multitude speaking as a community. To be immersed is to stand and let a unique bounded moment unfold around you.
The other evening was the first night of Idul Fitri – an all night of muslim prayer marking the end of the fasting month.
I was standing on a roof - in the anonymity of the night. Here & there the mere suggestion of shapes & surfaces marked my particular place in the world but my hearing told me otherwise. I was immersed in a uniquely bounded moment of a tremendous speech act, a multitudinous calling of the name of the One. From the front, now behind, to the side, the other side… an unbroken multi-vocal charge of different utterances converging, rising to crescendo then falling again… a creative gaggle of voices congregating around the speaking of the name of the One.
Yet there is a contrast, another speech act. It is the unending calling forth of my name by the One. It is a creative utterance that is uniquely unbounded - a self-involving moment. It calls me out from the anonymity of the night & into a world of light and encounter with particular others. It calls me to become familiar with the cadences of particular voices, engaging in a particular situation, immersed in particular stories.
Like the smoke of burning leaves that is a barb to my eyes or the pungent sickly smell of rotting garbage that taunts my nostrils. To be immersed in the speech act with particular others begins in speaking words with little meaning, the sounding of which is harsh and unfamiliar. To remain in the creative gaggle of continuing conversation in context after different context etches out a new space of meaning shared. I am shaped & held by the words and the stories of particular others. The stretch of it building & intensifying my presence in the world & my relation to the One.
Name Calling I
To get the voices of the many to converge around the speaking of the name of the One you would expect a unity - a singularity of purpose, a focus around a multi-vocal locus of praise. Yet the sound of it is certainly not Bach, not even within coo wee of a triumphant Hallelujah chorus. When I stand on my roof & hear the voices of the many from the mosques in every direction, the sound of it is diverse & discordant, rich in texture, uneven in rhythm… even time displacing.
It is like an unbounded moment when all that have ever spoken the name of the One are concentrated & focused into a particular now. It holds me in silence & wonder out on the edge of the realm of sameness and the unbounded world of the Holy Other.
It is like an unbounded moment when all that have ever spoken the name of the One are concentrated & focused into a particular now. It holds me in silence & wonder out on the edge of the realm of sameness and the unbounded world of the Holy Other.
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