I am very excited to get back to reflective writing, philosophizing, metaphorizing, and making grandiose claims about things seen and unseen, but before I hop back on that horse, I want to take time to acknowledge some tracks in the mud left by the previous ride.
I had sat down with the full intention to write out my re-inaugural post, when I came across this old draft that never got completed, nor posted. Yet, reading it through, I think it is a worthy artifact in the development of my thoughts (and feelings!), so I hope you will indulge me by reading my old news.
Cue black-and-white nostalgic look into the past...
The following was written late in the summer of 2012.
I have recently returned to Ellington, Connecticut after 1) a long summer journey which included Jesus-minded friend-making through Youth Hostel Ministry, 2) a time in Chicago discerning my future with some fantastic Mennonites, 3) some more time back in Wheaton passing the time with the most pleasant of people - the remnant of the Class of 2012, and 4) a long train ride to the east, where I am for a short time before returning to Evanston and the Reba Place community.
I am a Man free from the stressful schedule of scholarship (though not loose from the leash of loans), a Believer released into a world reveling in recalcitrant secularism and agnosticism, a Boy thrown from the realm of imagined innocence into the den of reality
- one of sweat, tears, and sometimes blood, and a Mouth never at a loss for words,but a Mind ever wandering for truthful wonderings.
Is truth creative? Is holiness heavy, or weightless? Can righteousness really be recognized by wrongdoers, like me? I've no fewer questions, but the same impetus that enticed me to my college endeavors keeps my fingers typing today: to seek truth at all costs.
The thing about Truth is, it knows no container. No time can end it, no space can dwarf it, no place can fully portray it, no person may fully comprehend it. For now. True understanding is for those who have the ability to stand over all thoughts and things in a given singularity and remain in sagacious passivity at their intimate interlocution, unsurprised and unusurped by their inner workings. We may not have that power nor the capacity to obtain it, but toward that end, Truth, do we ever strive. Or, at least we should. Proto-Protestant Reformer Jan Hus of what we now know as the Czech Republic died for the sake of truth. "Truth prevails" was essentially the motto of this intellectual martyr, borne brazenly as he became a conflagration for this cause, eventually burnt at the stake following an official condemnation by the Catholic Church (who later expressed regret for this treatment, by Pope John Paul II). While a prime example of striving for sagacity, his is a story that I cannot do justice for here. However, from Jan Hus we are reminded of an age-old lesson: truth has its costs.
The unwary reader of the book of Proverbs might think that "seeking wisdom, no matter the cost" might practically translate as "try really hard." I don't think trying is involved. If we must try to breathe, then we know that we are in great trouble, it should not be a trial, it should be habitually forgettable. What then, if we made our desire for wisdom so simple? No, simple is an improper word for this, with its connotation to unintelligence or "simple-mindedness."
What if we made our striving for sagacity as reflexive as breath? With the inhalation of air, with the expanse of the lungs ballooning with new entrance, oxygen enlivens our corporeal construct. However, what came before and what will come after this expansion was and will be the purging of that which has been used and cannot be used for the same use again. In the case of lungs: mostly carbon dioxide, but in the case of our minds: what must we loose so that we might leash more learning? All that lives cycles, in some form or another. What cycle, then, do we submit our minds to so that we can shed the skins of old folly and invite in fresh flesh to bronze in the enlightenment of tomorrow? I ask, because I find myself itching at some flaky folly, festering to be loosed from these languished limbs. I've come to an end of a season; how, in this autumn, do I plant bulbs for spring? My mind's hands have known the turning of textbook pages and the passing of unpleasant tests, but my mind's feet have lost their nerve, untrained in practicality. How do I work on my mind, now when my immediate work is not for my mind - that is, when my primary position is not "student"?
Questions, questions. Practically speaking, what usually happens to me, and is telling true currently, is I become quite tired, sluggish even. I get roped into the conveniences that televisions and computers offer for a man interested in new stories but unwilling to write or sculpt them yet. I further plug into video games and their never-near narratives, and find myself a world that never lived nor never will birth the ballad I've been given to sing. Escapism. Hibernation. Call it what you will, it's oft accompanied by many yawns, low-spoken murmurs, and unenthusiastic agreements. (I suppose it was those rare dreams of mind-winter napping that became the kindling for the nonchalant flares of activity on this blog.) But, beside dismal accounts of my boring down-time and regurgitated metaphors of four seasons that you will hear time again on this blog, let us turn to examine how we might, even in our habits of hibernation, wander after wisdom, rather than dismissing it as too expensive, or more dangerously, dismiss wisdom as optional.
If you're a human, it turns out that seeking wisdom is not actually that hard. Thank God, really, because if it is as important as that breathing thing we do, we should be celebratory it isn't too difficult. According to the Proverbs alluded to above:
While you may have gotten out of that question when mom or dad asked, "Did you hear me?" because they used one word or the other, Lady Wisdom will not be the one asking about your wisdom and righteousness, it will instead be your poor neighbor, your struggling sister, the new kid, the old loser, the tired traveler, or the subtle stranger. It will be Jesus asking, "Did you listen?" How wonderful it would be then, if we would respond, "Yes, Brother Savior, I breathed." As inhalation and exhalation are two parts of the one life-giving process that is breathing, so are listening and speaking the two parts of the one life-giving process that is sagacity. The same delicate lung walls are used to process the in-going and the out-going air, just as the same gray folds process the input and output of wisdom to and from our heads. (Perhaps the vocal cords and ear drums were built so close together that they might learn to play in rhythm with one another, harmonizing a symphony of simple truths.)
...and that is where the post ended.
I could now "finish" the post, wrapping it up nicely with another witty anecdote and an application point and send you on your merry way, but there is something honestly riveting about encounter a near-but-not-neat completion of a thought, a dream, an attempt at an exhortation to echo Lady Wisdom. In a way, this little two-year-aged draft was the firstfruits of the flirtatious promenade along the ideological precipice the last two years have become. Not long after this I'd entered into a time of intense discernment, external reflection, hidden humiliation of invisible expectations, and an encounter with empowering peace. But, that's the story that will take place now...two years later.
Let's get back to the future next time with the start of a three-part blog series whose titles will be pseudo-namesakes after my dear book mentor, C. S. Lewis', space trilogy. Tune in next time for the first installation: Out of the Silent Planet.
But, until then, listen to that crazy lady in the street, Lady Wisdom. She want's your attention, for Christ's sake, and the sake of generations to come.
Peace,
Jason
I had sat down with the full intention to write out my re-inaugural post, when I came across this old draft that never got completed, nor posted. Yet, reading it through, I think it is a worthy artifact in the development of my thoughts (and feelings!), so I hope you will indulge me by reading my old news.
Cue black-and-white nostalgic look into the past...
The following was written late in the summer of 2012.
I have recently returned to Ellington, Connecticut after 1) a long summer journey which included Jesus-minded friend-making through Youth Hostel Ministry, 2) a time in Chicago discerning my future with some fantastic Mennonites, 3) some more time back in Wheaton passing the time with the most pleasant of people - the remnant of the Class of 2012, and 4) a long train ride to the east, where I am for a short time before returning to Evanston and the Reba Place community.
I am a Man free from the stressful schedule of scholarship (though not loose from the leash of loans), a Believer released into a world reveling in recalcitrant secularism and agnosticism, a Boy thrown from the realm of imagined innocence into the den of reality
- one of sweat, tears, and sometimes blood, and a Mouth never at a loss for words,but a Mind ever wandering for truthful wonderings.
Is truth creative? Is holiness heavy, or weightless? Can righteousness really be recognized by wrongdoers, like me? I've no fewer questions, but the same impetus that enticed me to my college endeavors keeps my fingers typing today: to seek truth at all costs.
The thing about Truth is, it knows no container. No time can end it, no space can dwarf it, no place can fully portray it, no person may fully comprehend it. For now. True understanding is for those who have the ability to stand over all thoughts and things in a given singularity and remain in sagacious passivity at their intimate interlocution, unsurprised and unusurped by their inner workings. We may not have that power nor the capacity to obtain it, but toward that end, Truth, do we ever strive. Or, at least we should. Proto-Protestant Reformer Jan Hus of what we now know as the Czech Republic died for the sake of truth. "Truth prevails" was essentially the motto of this intellectual martyr, borne brazenly as he became a conflagration for this cause, eventually burnt at the stake following an official condemnation by the Catholic Church (who later expressed regret for this treatment, by Pope John Paul II). While a prime example of striving for sagacity, his is a story that I cannot do justice for here. However, from Jan Hus we are reminded of an age-old lesson: truth has its costs.
The unwary reader of the book of Proverbs might think that "seeking wisdom, no matter the cost" might practically translate as "try really hard." I don't think trying is involved. If we must try to breathe, then we know that we are in great trouble, it should not be a trial, it should be habitually forgettable. What then, if we made our desire for wisdom so simple? No, simple is an improper word for this, with its connotation to unintelligence or "simple-mindedness."
What if we made our striving for sagacity as reflexive as breath? With the inhalation of air, with the expanse of the lungs ballooning with new entrance, oxygen enlivens our corporeal construct. However, what came before and what will come after this expansion was and will be the purging of that which has been used and cannot be used for the same use again. In the case of lungs: mostly carbon dioxide, but in the case of our minds: what must we loose so that we might leash more learning? All that lives cycles, in some form or another. What cycle, then, do we submit our minds to so that we can shed the skins of old folly and invite in fresh flesh to bronze in the enlightenment of tomorrow? I ask, because I find myself itching at some flaky folly, festering to be loosed from these languished limbs. I've come to an end of a season; how, in this autumn, do I plant bulbs for spring? My mind's hands have known the turning of textbook pages and the passing of unpleasant tests, but my mind's feet have lost their nerve, untrained in practicality. How do I work on my mind, now when my immediate work is not for my mind - that is, when my primary position is not "student"?
Questions, questions. Practically speaking, what usually happens to me, and is telling true currently, is I become quite tired, sluggish even. I get roped into the conveniences that televisions and computers offer for a man interested in new stories but unwilling to write or sculpt them yet. I further plug into video games and their never-near narratives, and find myself a world that never lived nor never will birth the ballad I've been given to sing. Escapism. Hibernation. Call it what you will, it's oft accompanied by many yawns, low-spoken murmurs, and unenthusiastic agreements. (I suppose it was those rare dreams of mind-winter napping that became the kindling for the nonchalant flares of activity on this blog.) But, beside dismal accounts of my boring down-time and regurgitated metaphors of four seasons that you will hear time again on this blog, let us turn to examine how we might, even in our habits of hibernation, wander after wisdom, rather than dismissing it as too expensive, or more dangerously, dismiss wisdom as optional.
If you're a human, it turns out that seeking wisdom is not actually that hard. Thank God, really, because if it is as important as that breathing thing we do, we should be celebratory it isn't too difficult. According to the Proverbs alluded to above:
Out in the open Wisdom calls aloud, she raises her voice in the public square on top of the wall she cries out, at the city gate she makes her speech: 'How long will you who are simple love your simple ways? How long will mockers delight in mockery and fools hate knowledge? Repent at my rebuke! Then I will pour out my thoughts to you, I will make known to you my teachings. (Proverbs 1: 20-23, see verses following for further exhortation.)So, I don't know if it was being raised with many female teachers, many female friends, or just having sensitive ears, but I've always found it pretty easy to listen to shouting women, so tuning into Lady Wisdom should be pretty easy. But, for those of you who may have a more natural aversion to such sounds, let's pose this as a "listening" versus "hearing" opportunity. We all know you "heard" your mom or dad's lecture, but did you listen? Think of wisdom as that which can be heard, and righteousness the result of listening.
While you may have gotten out of that question when mom or dad asked, "Did you hear me?" because they used one word or the other, Lady Wisdom will not be the one asking about your wisdom and righteousness, it will instead be your poor neighbor, your struggling sister, the new kid, the old loser, the tired traveler, or the subtle stranger. It will be Jesus asking, "Did you listen?" How wonderful it would be then, if we would respond, "Yes, Brother Savior, I breathed." As inhalation and exhalation are two parts of the one life-giving process that is breathing, so are listening and speaking the two parts of the one life-giving process that is sagacity. The same delicate lung walls are used to process the in-going and the out-going air, just as the same gray folds process the input and output of wisdom to and from our heads. (Perhaps the vocal cords and ear drums were built so close together that they might learn to play in rhythm with one another, harmonizing a symphony of simple truths.)
...and that is where the post ended.
I could now "finish" the post, wrapping it up nicely with another witty anecdote and an application point and send you on your merry way, but there is something honestly riveting about encounter a near-but-not-neat completion of a thought, a dream, an attempt at an exhortation to echo Lady Wisdom. In a way, this little two-year-aged draft was the firstfruits of the flirtatious promenade along the ideological precipice the last two years have become. Not long after this I'd entered into a time of intense discernment, external reflection, hidden humiliation of invisible expectations, and an encounter with empowering peace. But, that's the story that will take place now...two years later.
Let's get back to the future next time with the start of a three-part blog series whose titles will be pseudo-namesakes after my dear book mentor, C. S. Lewis', space trilogy. Tune in next time for the first installation: Out of the Silent Planet.
But, until then, listen to that crazy lady in the street, Lady Wisdom. She want's your attention, for Christ's sake, and the sake of generations to come.
Peace,
Jason
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