I am worried about my friend. He's very sad. He's very lonely. I can't help him. I've tried. I really have. He's just so sad.
He cannot even envision tomorrow. It's not that he doesn't think anything good will happen. It's that he literally can't imagine what the future could possibly look like.
He's been cast totally adrift. He's lost his anchor. The anchor that he's held onto for the past five years. It's gone off to buy condoms and block him on facebook. He's in a dark place.
I've tried to comfort, and I've tried to provide hope, but I just don't understand the pain he's going through. I can't communicate on his level because I'm not there with him, and I can't be. The depth of his sorrow is such that I don't know if anyone who isn't actively feeling the same kind of sorrow could even begin to understand what his life is like.
I have nothing left to offer but prayer to a God I don't understand.
Lord, have mercy.
He will most likely never read this, or know that this even exists, but I will use this opportunity to ask you, my few and longsuffering readers, to pray for my broken friend. Pray for mercy. His suffering is more than he can bear, and I can't even bear it with him.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Perspective (as in: I need some)
I'm having a hard time coming up with some kind of quasi objective perspective on these multiple branching pathways in front of me. Perhaps I've spent too much time thinking about the pros and cons tonight, or perhaps I need to listen to all the pros and cons a little more often.
Is The Virgin Mary the ever virgin and blessed Theotokos, or is she mother of Jesus and his brother James, among others. Does it really matter? Do the seven ecumenical councils hold the same authority as the scripture they canonized? Were they directed by the Holy Spirit on all matters spiritual, or only on matters pertaining to certain doctrines (which I may choose)?
Why don't we protestants talk about the councils, and the early fathers and mothers? Why don't we talk about the Arian and Nestorian controversies, without which we would not have the doctrine of the incarnation as it stands today, that Christ was fully God and fully human? Why don't we talk about the formation of the scriptures, and the competing canons that were passed around for generations, and why we can trust the canon as it stands?
Am I being seduced by the aesthetics of the church, by the ancient traditions, by the stability of the hierarchical power structure, by the odd comfort of the ethnically distinct communicants? Or, am I actually, really, honestly, truly being drawn to something that is actually, really, honestly, truly sacred, holy and true? Have I found "the one true faith?" Or, am I just attracted to a religious package that's already been assembled for me? No more of this "some doctrinal assembly required" crap. I'm way too lazy for that anymore.
Also, girls. Blech. Sometimes, I just wish that I could be a monk. Unfortunately, I'm a hopeless romantic who's addicted to falling in love and abandoning said lovers. I'm afraid that if I became a monk and devoted myself to the life of the church as a husband to a wife, perhaps I'd just end up abandoning her as well.
Is The Virgin Mary the ever virgin and blessed Theotokos, or is she mother of Jesus and his brother James, among others. Does it really matter? Do the seven ecumenical councils hold the same authority as the scripture they canonized? Were they directed by the Holy Spirit on all matters spiritual, or only on matters pertaining to certain doctrines (which I may choose)?
Why don't we protestants talk about the councils, and the early fathers and mothers? Why don't we talk about the Arian and Nestorian controversies, without which we would not have the doctrine of the incarnation as it stands today, that Christ was fully God and fully human? Why don't we talk about the formation of the scriptures, and the competing canons that were passed around for generations, and why we can trust the canon as it stands?
Am I being seduced by the aesthetics of the church, by the ancient traditions, by the stability of the hierarchical power structure, by the odd comfort of the ethnically distinct communicants? Or, am I actually, really, honestly, truly being drawn to something that is actually, really, honestly, truly sacred, holy and true? Have I found "the one true faith?" Or, am I just attracted to a religious package that's already been assembled for me? No more of this "some doctrinal assembly required" crap. I'm way too lazy for that anymore.
Also, girls. Blech. Sometimes, I just wish that I could be a monk. Unfortunately, I'm a hopeless romantic who's addicted to falling in love and abandoning said lovers. I'm afraid that if I became a monk and devoted myself to the life of the church as a husband to a wife, perhaps I'd just end up abandoning her as well.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Europa
(Note: the following is only partially factual. The inspiration for this idea came from Ocean by Warren Ellis. For more information on Europa, see Wikipedia or follow this link.)
Europa is one of the six moons of Jupiter. It's an ocean moon, but without much of an atmosphere to trap heat, the ocean is covered in a thick layer of ice. No one knows what exists, or perhaps lives, in the depths of that ocean. But, lifeless or otherwise, we do know that the ocean of Europa is a turbulent place. The tides on planet Earth are mainly influenced by our own celestial little sibling, the moon. Europa has it the other way around, and then some. Europa's tides are predominately dictated by the gravitational pull of Jupiter, but the other five moons of Jupiter also have their own effects which are far from incidental.
With the combined weight of six heavenly bodies having their say on the shift and flow of the liquid world, the currents under Europa's ice are like that unto a worldwide typhoon. Or perhaps six worldwide typhoons, competing for dominance over control of the ocean's flow. The water on Europa is constantly shifting, moving, battling itself. The tide of Callisto crashes into the tide of Io with the eruptive power of a nuclear warhead. The tides of Ganymede and Jupiter VI try to pull away from the tide of father Jupiter himself, as water rises and falls from the corners of the tide, like six iterations of Niagara falls in reverse. The churning miasma shakes the interior of the planet, like a child shakes a snowglobe.
Meanwhile, the placid surface of the moon does not go unaffected. Europa is covered in linea, which is just the Latin word for lines. Linea are gigantic cracks in the ice that stretch for hundreds of miles across the surface of the frozen world, the tectonic result of the chaos below. These cracks appear in straight lines, gigantic gouges across the glittering landscape of the moon. Orderly stress fractures, almost in opposition to the watery chaos that created them.
Europa is still cooling. The older linea are more prevalent, and as time passes, and the ice thickens, linea become infrequent occurrences, and the old ones become shallower, less distinct. There will always be scars on the planet's surface, but they will pale in comparison to the deep wounds they once were. Europa is coalescing from a confused and chaotic mess of water, ice, and mud into a serene, frozen moon.
At least, that's the plan. But, the waters are not an easy thing to tame. Europa has taken millions of years and suffered the creation of thousands of linea to get to the semi-tranquil place it is today, but it would not take much to set the entire process back to the beginning. All it would take is a large stray asteroid from Jupiter's ring, or one rogue comet to brush Europa's gravitational field, and the uneasy balance would be thrown into chaos.
Europa has had its scares before. Minor meteors have affected the surface of the moon with little frozen craters. Inconsequential blemishes on an otherwise smoothing surface. But, Europa has never truly faced The Big One. Meteors can crack ice, but something with serious gravity could reach through the glacial hull and agitate the already furious waters below. The oceans would revolt. Geysers tall as mountains would erupt from the brittle shell. Tidal waves of ice would sweep across frozen plains sending shards of frigid arrows cascading in every direction. Linea deep and long enough to put any previous to shame would develop, and the crystalline sphere of Europa would take on the optical qualities of the universe's largest disco ball.
So, if you ever find yourself mindlessly watching PBS at 2 am and you stuble across another low budget episode of Jack Horkheimer: Star Gazer, and Jack mentions that Jupiter is quite visible this time of year. Or, if you happen to be gazing up at a brilliant sky and you notice that gas giant hovering just over the horizon. Look up and offer a prayer for the anxious Europa, trying to hold everything together, trying to mature into a solid, stable world, but constantly beset by the torment of possible complete relapse into chaos. Next time you follow Uncle Jack's advice and stargaze, pause for a minute, and have some sympathy for the heavens.
Europa is one of the six moons of Jupiter. It's an ocean moon, but without much of an atmosphere to trap heat, the ocean is covered in a thick layer of ice. No one knows what exists, or perhaps lives, in the depths of that ocean. But, lifeless or otherwise, we do know that the ocean of Europa is a turbulent place. The tides on planet Earth are mainly influenced by our own celestial little sibling, the moon. Europa has it the other way around, and then some. Europa's tides are predominately dictated by the gravitational pull of Jupiter, but the other five moons of Jupiter also have their own effects which are far from incidental.
With the combined weight of six heavenly bodies having their say on the shift and flow of the liquid world, the currents under Europa's ice are like that unto a worldwide typhoon. Or perhaps six worldwide typhoons, competing for dominance over control of the ocean's flow. The water on Europa is constantly shifting, moving, battling itself. The tide of Callisto crashes into the tide of Io with the eruptive power of a nuclear warhead. The tides of Ganymede and Jupiter VI try to pull away from the tide of father Jupiter himself, as water rises and falls from the corners of the tide, like six iterations of Niagara falls in reverse. The churning miasma shakes the interior of the planet, like a child shakes a snowglobe.
Meanwhile, the placid surface of the moon does not go unaffected. Europa is covered in linea, which is just the Latin word for lines. Linea are gigantic cracks in the ice that stretch for hundreds of miles across the surface of the frozen world, the tectonic result of the chaos below. These cracks appear in straight lines, gigantic gouges across the glittering landscape of the moon. Orderly stress fractures, almost in opposition to the watery chaos that created them.
Europa is still cooling. The older linea are more prevalent, and as time passes, and the ice thickens, linea become infrequent occurrences, and the old ones become shallower, less distinct. There will always be scars on the planet's surface, but they will pale in comparison to the deep wounds they once were. Europa is coalescing from a confused and chaotic mess of water, ice, and mud into a serene, frozen moon.
At least, that's the plan. But, the waters are not an easy thing to tame. Europa has taken millions of years and suffered the creation of thousands of linea to get to the semi-tranquil place it is today, but it would not take much to set the entire process back to the beginning. All it would take is a large stray asteroid from Jupiter's ring, or one rogue comet to brush Europa's gravitational field, and the uneasy balance would be thrown into chaos.
Europa has had its scares before. Minor meteors have affected the surface of the moon with little frozen craters. Inconsequential blemishes on an otherwise smoothing surface. But, Europa has never truly faced The Big One. Meteors can crack ice, but something with serious gravity could reach through the glacial hull and agitate the already furious waters below. The oceans would revolt. Geysers tall as mountains would erupt from the brittle shell. Tidal waves of ice would sweep across frozen plains sending shards of frigid arrows cascading in every direction. Linea deep and long enough to put any previous to shame would develop, and the crystalline sphere of Europa would take on the optical qualities of the universe's largest disco ball.
So, if you ever find yourself mindlessly watching PBS at 2 am and you stuble across another low budget episode of Jack Horkheimer: Star Gazer, and Jack mentions that Jupiter is quite visible this time of year. Or, if you happen to be gazing up at a brilliant sky and you notice that gas giant hovering just over the horizon. Look up and offer a prayer for the anxious Europa, trying to hold everything together, trying to mature into a solid, stable world, but constantly beset by the torment of possible complete relapse into chaos. Next time you follow Uncle Jack's advice and stargaze, pause for a minute, and have some sympathy for the heavens.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Transitioning to Fall
The image on the screen paused in the middle of a cross-fade.
An adolescent sea gull.
The apple tree losing leaves but still bearing fruit.
A city bus at a stop in the ride-free zone.
Protestant adolescents mumbling the Divine Liturgy.
Heartbroken twentysomethings finding solace in a rock show.
A square in capitol hill.
A freak in Magnolia.
A country boy missing stars from the train yard.
Pius and profane podcasts on the same hard drive.
Mundane tragedy.
Tragic humor.
Humorous normalcy.
Missing the girl who lives next door.
Crossing myself in the privacy of my room.
Nobody likes the band I discovered.
My circle of friends is a dot-to-dot in reverse.
I haven't got the heart to e-mail the missionaries.
Haunted by the bus driver's face after the man fell down.
Haunted by the Skype call, forgotten and not re-scheduled.
Haunted by An Horse and The Decemberists.
Haunted by everyone I've loved.
Facebook has a(nother) new layout.
There's a new actor playing The Doctor.
The DC Universe rebooted with mixed results.
It's raining again.
I've brought back my sweater collection.
I have a(nother) new roommate.
Cheap lightbulbs that burn orange.
Cat Power's voice in the dark.
Black coffee cooling in my brother's mug.
Ferries appear to move silently through the sound from my living room window, carrying more stories than could ever be told back to houses filled with more images than could ever be captured.
An adolescent sea gull.
The apple tree losing leaves but still bearing fruit.
A city bus at a stop in the ride-free zone.
Protestant adolescents mumbling the Divine Liturgy.
Heartbroken twentysomethings finding solace in a rock show.
A square in capitol hill.
A freak in Magnolia.
A country boy missing stars from the train yard.
Pius and profane podcasts on the same hard drive.
Mundane tragedy.
Tragic humor.
Humorous normalcy.
Missing the girl who lives next door.
Crossing myself in the privacy of my room.
Nobody likes the band I discovered.
My circle of friends is a dot-to-dot in reverse.
I haven't got the heart to e-mail the missionaries.
Haunted by the bus driver's face after the man fell down.
Haunted by the Skype call, forgotten and not re-scheduled.
Haunted by An Horse and The Decemberists.
Haunted by everyone I
Facebook has a(nother) new layout.
There's a new actor playing The Doctor.
The DC Universe rebooted with mixed results.
It's raining again.
I've brought back my sweater collection.
I have a(nother) new roommate.
Cheap lightbulbs that burn orange.
Cat Power's voice in the dark.
Black coffee cooling in my brother's mug.
Ferries appear to move silently through the sound from my living room window, carrying more stories than could ever be told back to houses filled with more images than could ever be captured.
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