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Posts Tagged ‘textures’

I am not a doomsayer.

If this sounds both egocentric and unrequired, I risk making my statement in just this way because I am headed in the direction of one of those apocalyptic texts in Revelation of which the doomsayers drink deeply and then scatter their painfully precise predictions to the wind.

As I write this, we are in the midst of or in the wake of or at the beginning of an economic shakedown that many are calling unprecedented. I’ve consulted with a lot of smart people on where events appear to be taking us. None of them knows. (more…)

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For a reader like me who has lived without hunger and first-hand experience of judicial violence, it is difficult to fathom the venom that the writer of the Apocalypse injects into his depictions of cosmic villains. Babylon the great mercantile capital, figured as a woman, is a case in point:

So he carried me away in the spirit into a wilderness, and I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast that was full of blasphemous names, and it had seven heads and ten horns. The woman was clothed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold and jewels and pearls, holding in her hand a golden cup full of abominations and the impurities of her fornication; and on her forehead was written a name, a mystery: ‘Babylon the great, mother of whores and of earth’s abominations.’ And I saw that the woman was drunk with the blood of the saints and the blood of the witnesses to Jesus. When I saw her, I was greatly amazed.

John sees an incorrigible evil in the world’s conventional arrangements that I do not. Where he detects the brazen drunkenness of a woman who has gulped won ‘the blood of the saints and the blood of the witnesses to Jesus’ from a filthy goblet, I see a flow of goods and services that perhaps could become a bit more fluid if only the boys at the WTO would get their act a bit more together on the Doha Round. (more…)

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Zechariah inhabits that prophetic intermezzo in which the divine purpose lurches redemptively between well-earned judgment and the most deeply inevitable restorative mercy. It is not a bad place for a poet to live, for the space is rich in drama and pregnant with unanticipated action. Certainty of doom crumbles over and again when YHWH decides he simply cannot continue to curse those whom his heart drives him to bless. (more…)

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No joy accompanies a prayer that’s been returned to sender. The leaden, silent skies mock our attempts to penetrate them. Our words deflect and fall to the soil that’s been dampened by our tears and packed hard by our restless pacing. (more…)

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The biblical proverbs owe a portion of their potency to what we might call the shock-and-recognize phenomenon. The pithy statements that are the warp and woof of this wisdom anthology are capable of startling with the apparent novelty of a declaration, then allowing the reader to settle back into the realization that, yes, he always felt that way but wouldn’t have found the words to say so. (more…)

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La literatura bíblica emplea el verbo hebreo bara’ con reticencia. Notoria por la manera en que describe la creación del mundo en el primer capítulo de Génesis, la palabra adquiere un significado creativo que realiza su vocación léxica en la medida que alude a actos de creación de la nada. Es decir, YHVH de costumbre forma y YHVH de costumbre configura. Pero uno siente que la palabra bara; llega a ser apropiada solo en aquellos momentos cuando YHVH hace algo nuevo de la nada. (more…)

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Anger, we are resolutely assured, is not a bad emotion. If societal instruction comes to us in unanimity on any topic, this one surely occupies the top of the list.

It is also true: anger is not in itself a bad thing. (more…)

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The searching eye of the Lord is not always for the biblical writers a pleasant notion. In his agony, Job finds it ruthless. Sinners, we are told, consider it laughable and, sometimes, a paper tiger meant to scare people straight but quite powerless once you get a clear angle on things. (more…)

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No voice speaks more poignantly from exile than the writer of the one hundred thirty-seventh psalm. ‘By the rivers of Babylon’, he explains, ‘we sat and wept for Zion.’

To these captors of the exile Judaeans, the songs of Zion seemed mere entertainment. The exotic accent, the strange musical lilt, must have appeared to offer a respite from empire’s deadening tedium. All they wanted—it didn’t seem like much—was to prod their captives to sing a tune or two from the Old Country. (more…)

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A special bond links those who labor by night. Few volunteer to lay their energies down on the dark side of the day’s cycle. Usually extraneous considerations have made it necessary, often unpleasant ones. The world looks different from the angle of nighttime work. People who have seen it understand this and become part of a loosely linked tribe defined by its members’ shared nocturnal journey.

A psalm speaks to those whose temple assignment finds them waking to their nightly duties while others retire. Fittingly, it is brief and spun of well-wishing.

Come, bless the LORD, all you servants of the LORD, who stand by night in the house of the LORD! Lift up your hands to the holy place and bless the LORD!

May the LORD bless you from Zion, he who made heaven and earth! (Psalm 134:1–3 ESV)

One thinks of the night attendant breaking the monotony by mouthing these words quietly from the shadows. He lifts his hand towards the most holy place. From his solitude he blesses the Lord. No one knows except the unseen God who receives the blessing and, more often than not, returns it in grace.

Those, too, who labor through the soul’s dark night recognize each other. From their shadow, they raise a hand towards a holy place. Quietly their lips form their blessing, shaped by darkness, spoken quietly as befits the night and its sounds that carry far.

May it, too, be returned from Zion, speeded to its destination by the maker of heaven and earth. May it rest gently on the shoulder of the one who stands alert in his corner while others sleep, unknowing.

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