Eclectic Amateur

… nor to anyone’s berth on the archery team in 2008, either.

BUT, after a twenty-year break (give or take a bit), I am finally shooting a bit again. [Thanks to an incredibly generous neighbor with an extra bow.]

So, after tuning the sight, and tuning the shooter, I have gone from “not reliably hitting the backstop” at ten yards to “reliably hitting the target bag, some evidence of shot clustering” at ten yards. (Bullseye? What’s that?)

Deer have no reason to fear … yet. It’s a good thing my family is not relying on my marksmanship to put meat on the table.

And my neighbor’s trick of bagging bear this way? To quote Larry the Cucumber: “Nope. Not gonna do it.” (“Aw, c’mon. It’s for the kids.”)

And I can taste You in the Bread and in the Wine

There You spread Your feast of joy before me

And like the man who had fallen

On Elisha's bones

I'm alive again

...

Rich Mullins, ‘… And I Love You’

William Luse recently spurred me to comment on matters of the Eucharist. (“Fools rush in …”)

Supposedly, Rich Mullins was near to converting to Catholicism before his untimely death. I wonder, was this song inspired by his hungering and thirsting for the Body and Blood that he could not (yet) have?

No. I shouldn’t wonder. I know that he was.

“There was a sense of urgency,” said the priest. “He told me, ‘This may sound strange, but I HAVE to receive the body and blood of Christ.’ I told him, ‘That doesn’t sound strange at all. That sounds wonderful.’ … Of course, I’ll always remember that conversation. Rich finally sounded like he was at peace with his decision.”

That part, from Terry Mattingly’s article, I already knew. This I just found tonight, from a concert transcript (Plymouth, Michigan Concert Review: Temple Baptist Church, August 15, 1997)

Thanks so much! We’re gonna do a couple of songs now that you might not have heard because they’re from a musical that I wrote with Beaker and with Mitch, and I guess some of you have probably heard rumors that we started a religious order… (laughter from audience) (Rich chuckles) and they’re probably true! Because the truth is, we’d all like to be Franciscans, but we don’t even have the guts to really be Catholics. (laughter from audience) It’s hard on you, but I do love, as Mitch and Beaker do, Francis of Assisi…

“… don’t even have the guts to really be Catholics …” (I know the feeling.)

And to think, Winds of Heaven, Stuff of Earth was released in 1988. That’s quite a long time to be hungering and thirsting.

God bless you, Rich. Enjoy the Banquet. And do remember to pray for those of us who live in time.

Psalm 49 (1-13) was the Psalm for last Sunday in the ECUSA lectionary.

I am finding verse 4 in particular a great comfort this week. We are in evil days indeed, but hope is a virtue and despair is a sin.

Psalm 49  Audite haec, omne



1  Hear this, all you peoples;

hearken, all you who dwell in the world, *

 you of high degree and low, rich and poor together.



2  My mouth shall speak of wisdom, *

 and my heart shall meditate on understanding.



3  I will incline my ear to a proverb *

 and set forth my riddle upon the harp.



4  Why should I be afraid in evil days, *

 when the wickedness of those at my heels surrounds me,



5  The wickedness of those who put their trust in their goods, *

 and boast of their great riches?



6  We can never ransom ourselves, *

 or deliver to God the price of our life;



7  For the ransom of our life is so great, *

 that we should never have enough to pay it,



8  In order to live for ever and ever, *

 and never see the grave.



9  For we see that the wise die also;

like the dull and stupid they perish *

 and leave their wealth to those who come after them.



10  Their graves shall be their homes for ever,

their dwelling places from generation to generation, *

 though they call the lands after their own names.



11  Even though honored, they cannot live for ever; *

 they are like the beasts that perish.



12  Such is the way of those who foolishly trust in themselves, *

 and the end of those who delight in their own words.



13  Like a flock of sheep they are destined to die;

Death is their shepherd; *

 they go down straightway to the grave.



14  Their form shall waste away, *

 and the land of the dead shall be their home.



15  But God will ransom my life; *

 he will snatch me from the grasp of death.



16  Do not be envious when some become rich, *

 or when the grandeur of their house increases;



17  For they will carry nothing away at their death, *

 nor will their grandeur follow them.



18  Though they thought highly of themselves while they lived, *

 and were praised for their success,



19  They shall join the company of their forebears, *

 who will never see the light again.



20  Those who are honored, but have no understanding, *

 are like the beasts that perish.

(Hat tip: Destination: Order)

Let nothing disturb thee;
Let nothing dismay thee;
All thing pass;
God never changes
Patience attains
All that it strives for.
He who has God
Finds he lacks nothing:
God alone suffices.

— St. Teresa of Avila.

From A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997 by Wendell Berry:

1979: II

Another Sunday morning comes
And I resume the standing Sabbath
Of the woods, where the finest blooms
Of time return, and where no path

Is worn but wears its makers out
At last, and dissappears in leaves
Of fallen seasons. The tracked rut
Fills and levels; here nothing grieves

In the risen season. Past life
Lives in the living. Resurrection
Is in the way each maple leaf
Commemorates its kind, by connection

Outreaching understanding. What rises
Rises into comprehension
And beyond. Even falling raises
In praise of light. What is begun

Is unfinished. And so the mind
That comes to rest among the bluebells
Comes to rest in motion, refined
By alteration. The bud swells,

Opens, makes seed, falls, is well,
Being becoming what it is:
Miracle and parable
Exceeding thought, because it is

Immeasurable; the understander
Encloses understanding, thus
Darkens the light. We can stand under
No ray that is not dimmed by us.

The mind that comes to rest is tended
In ways that it cannot intend:
Is borne, preserved, and comprehended
By what it cannot comprehend.

Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by
Your will, not ours. And it is fit
Our only choice should be to die
Into that rest, or out of it.

Some of the descendants of Aaron and Anna Frey made pilgrimmage to West Unity, Ohio today to do the kind of things you do at family reunions of large (over 450), far-flung clans. You know, gorge on potluck food, play “guess the name” and “show off the [grand]kids”, catch up on who’s doing whatnot, etc.

Most of my observations are of no interest to anyone outside that particular circle.

But: there is one thing.

The singing.

I forget, and then I return to another Frey reunion. The singing. A number from The Mennonite Hymnal, a title, and a starting note from a pitchpipe or a piano … and a cappella harmony emerges. From memory this year — other years there have been copies of the hymnal available, this year I saw barely two or three. But the songs (in 4-part harmony) were still there.

The older generations (my father’s and grandfather’s) know the songs, that is. My generation (and younger) do not, for the most part. I know some of the melodies, and a very few of the harmonies. I usually can pull it off if I have the music or can key into a strong voice to follow.

Some of this is probably due to increasing religious diversity as the generations go forward — the family is no longer uniformly Mennonite, no longer shaped by the same church, worship, and music. But this can not be the whole of it. One of the best singers of these hymns is my great-uncle Charles, who is not Mennonite, but a retired Presbyterian minister. I manage as well as I do, and I haven’t been a Mennonite for decades. Younger men and women who I know are cradle Mennonites look about uncomfortably and don’t join in the songs of their birthright. So it appears that the break is generational, not denominational.

I realized later the parallel to what I felt hearing the music again, and not knowing how many more years it has left. I understood how Frodo and Sam must have felt, hearing elvensong passing in the night, being pierced by its beauty yet saddened by the knowledge that this ancient melody is passing out of Middle-earth even as they heard it.

Then Elrond and Galadriel rode on; for the Third Age was over, and the Days of the Rings were passed, and an end was come of the story and song of those times. With them went many Elves of the High Kindred who would no longer stay in Middle-earth; and among them, filled with a sadness that was yet blessed and without bitterness, rode Sam, and Frodo, and Bilbo …

Courage! Battles may be lost, but Mordor shall never triumph.

From A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997 by Wendell Berry:

1997: I

Best of any song
is bird song
in the quiet, but first
you must have the quiet.

The United States Senate consists of 100 Senators.

Yesterday’s cloture vote on the Federal Marriage Amendment had 98 of 100 Senators voting.

Any guesses as to the two playing hooky? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?

That’s right! Senator John Kerry and Senator John Edwards.

Wouldn’t want to go on the record before November, would you, Senators?

Cowards.

And now for something completely different!

For my first try at a web poll, let’s go with an international relations question:

#light {
color: 000000;
background: #F0F0F0;
;
}
#dark {
font-family: arial,verdana;
font-size: 11px;
color: FFFFFF;
background: #000000;
color: #ffffff;;
}
#table {
font-family: arial,verdana;
font-size: 11px;
border: 1px;
border-color: #000000;
border-style: solid;
}
#but {
font-family: arial,verdana;
font-size: 11px;
}

So last night, my youngest boy asks me “Daddy, can bears have ‘bear’ feet outside?”

Answer: “Of course, bears always have ‘bear’ feet.” (Cue insane preschooler giggling.)

And my heart swells with paternal pride. He’s just made his very first pun.

Did I mention that he’s only just three (plus two months)? I didn’t think punning was supposed to start that young.