Tania Runyan was my mentor via her book, How to Read a Poem, when Tweetspeak Poetry double-dog dared me to spend a month with T.S. Eliot. I’m excited to have her visit today as part of our month of Making Manifest.
In Making Manifest, Dave Harrity tells us to “Remember that what you create is something close to holy.”
Harrity’s words come from his introduction to a guide for spiritual exploration. However, I would argue (and suspect Dave would agree) that all poetry, no matter who the writer, her intentions, or beliefs, is holy.
Consider that we are all God’s poiemas, or “made things.” As creators crafted in his image, we, too, craft with the same mysterious energy that formed nebulae and giraffes. Poems, especially, wrought with so much gut and breath, seem to stand apart—the definition of holy—in the world.
How to Read a Poem, written for a general audience and published by a secular publisher, is, by God’s grace, one of the holiest books I’ve written.
The following poem by Billy Collins serves as the inspiration and organizing structure for my book:
Introduction to Poetry
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
Collins’s metaphors for reading poetry invite us to turn, listen, wander, and feel. People often compare poetry to prayer, and for good reason. Both ask us not for intellect or expertise, but for our full attention. Likewise, just as prayer can be mistaken for a coin in a vending machine, dropping down an “answer” in a quick transaction, poetry can be mistaken for a meaning machine. Let me read you real quick, we tell the poem, and then you can tell me what you’re about.
But the joy comes in turning the poem like a slide to the light, holding it to our ear for that bone-tingling buzz. When we approach a poem with humility, treating it as a holy artifact full of mystery, our hands feeling for the switch, we will find it speaks to different people in different ways at different times, just as the Spirit wafts into our individual lives.
Consider this poem by Mary Oliver:
The Kitten
More amazed than anything
I took the perfectly black
stillborn kitten
with the one large eye
in the center of its small forehead
from the house cat’s bed
and buried it in a field
behind the house.
I suppose I could have given it
to a museum,
I could have called the local
newspaper.
But instead I took it out into the field
and opened the earth
and put it back
saying, it was real,
saying, life is infinitely inventive,
saying, what other amazements
lie in the dark seed of the earth, yes,
I think I did right to go out alone
and give it back peacefully, and cover the place
with the reckless blossoms of weeds.
I don’t need to know about Mary Oliver’s relationship with God (and how would I find out, anyway?) in order to appreciate this poem as a Christ-like expression of reverence for life. One of my favorite verses comes from Ephesians, where Paul tells us God “chose us before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless.” I don’t pretend to understand the time-bending nature of the Trinity, but this kitten I can get. It is real, infinite, reckless, and somehow predestined to exist, like us. The Word at the beginning—with God and God—is saying, saying, saying so.
The poem doesn’t have a typically Christian stamp of approval, like a verse or cross or Kincaid illustration. But it brings me to a holy place.
As you work through Making Manifest, remember that your work is holy because it stands apart. Only you can write it, and you have no one to blame but the Creator himself. Your job now isn’t to ensure that your work is good enough, even spiritual enough. Your job is to listen for “what other amazements / lie in the dark seed of the earth.”
Tania Runyan is the author of the poetry collections Second Sky, A Thousand Vessels, Simple Weight, and Delicious Air, which was awarded Book of the Year by the Conference on Christianity and Literature in 2007. Her book How to Read a Poem, an instructional guide based on Billy Collins’s “Introduction to Poetry,” was released in 2014. Her poems have appeared in many publications, including Poetry, Image, Harvard Divinity Bulletin, The Christian Century, Atlanta Review, Indiana Review, Willow Springs, Nimrod, and the anthology In a Fine Frenzy: Poets Respond to Shakespeare. Tania was awarded an NEA Literature Fellowship in 2011. She tutors high school students, writes for the Good Letters blog, and edits for Relief Journal.
You can follow Tania on her website, Facebook, and Twitter. And as you can see, Wesley would follow her anywhere. At least he’d follow her book.
Last night I was reading Mary Oliver’s poem, Chameleon. I had taken a picture of it weeks ago from an old copy of the New Yorker I was flipping through in a waiting room at the hospital where I spend my days with my Dad. I usually don’t take pictures of poems! But this one whispered loudly of our present reality, a holy moment. I needed to collect it, keep it, remember the chameleon-like nature of life. I kept it in my phone until last night when I moved it back and forth on the screen looking for the light switch and resisting the urge to tie it to a chair.
I am more likely to tie my own poetry to a chair. Maybe I should take pictures of it?
And maybe you should share those pictures!
This is just beautiful, Dea. Yes, share those pictures!
Correction—Chameleon was penned by Ellen Bryant Voight that I referred to above. I shouldn’t comment so early in the morning …
Ha. That’s funny. No wonder I couldn’t find it. 😉
I am left here
breathing, barely
holy indeed
in Mary’s words, the kitten’s one eye
the yes that Tania pulls
from deep within my spirit
I keep thinking about that kitten’s one eye–and wondering if, had it lived, it would have seen better than many of us do with two.
Tania’s words spin me in different directions. I SO agree with some of them, but others, not so much.
“When we approach a poem with humility, treating it as a holy artifact full of mystery, our hands feeling for the switch, we will find it speaks to different people in different ways at different times, just as the Spirit wafts into our individual lives.” There is undeniable truth here. My soul is nodding in agreement until I get to these words: “… that all poetry, no matter who the writer, her intentions, or beliefs, is holy.” I’ve encountered some poetry that is absolutely evil, and in no way can I attribute holiness to it. It may be well written poetry, even inspired, using that term rather loosely, but not at all holy. But we can agree to disagree, and I read on through Mary Oliver’s poem and Tania’s response.
“… but this kitten I can get. It is real, infinite, reckless, and somehow predestined to exist, like us. The Word at the beginning—with God and God—is saying, saying, saying so.” And I’m tumbling again.
That ‘The Kitten’ is poetry, even good poetry, I get. That we should suggest a stillborn, deformed kitten, quickly taken away and disposed of under weeds says it was predestined to exist…? That’s a stretch. The kitten being born dead suggests the opposite to me. I laud the poet’s respectful treatment of it, but think Tania is “torturing” a meaning out of the narrative that isn’t there.
Sorry for the long comment, Sandy and Tania, but I thank you for a thought-provoking post. It’s always good to have to think (even if my early morning brain doesn’t always want to).
carol–I wonder what poetry you might consider to be holy, and what you might consider to be unholy. I think some elaboration might be good so I can understand your point… another idea, can it be poetry if it isn’t holy? how far does the word itself stretch? thanks!
I suppose from a near lifetime as a church worker I can’t see holy as anything other than as something connected to God, or maybe dedicated to him, sacred. All life comes from him, but what that life does by free choice is not necessarily of His doing. So yes, poetry as an emotional expression can be unholy.
Perhaps I should elaborate: “poetry as a *negative* emotional expression….”
also, what makes Oliver’s kitten a stretch?
I said saying it was predestined to exist was a stretch.
I kind of love that you’re spinning, Carol. It means you’re thinking. And you always make me think. So I’m going to go take a shower, because that’s where I do my best thinking. 😀
I’ll be back…
Yes, I’m thinking. In reading on into the comments this evening I see discussion of poetry drifting into differences in doctrine, and I do understand, as we come to the words from our various perspectives, we will glean different meanings. I believe that’s as it should be… good poetry should reach personal places deep within and elicit an emotional response.
Many thanks to Dave and Tania for taking the time to contribute to this discussion.
So unhappy to have to be typing on my phone in the doctor’s office; nonetheless I will underscore Tania’s piece to say that her book ‘Second Sky’ inspired me to mine my own favorite Scriptures to build a poem. They may never see the light of day but it has stretched me in the best way.
Jody, I got to take a workshop with Tania at the Festival of Faith and Writing. She led us through exercises that placed us within a scripture of our choice–to put us in a place where those words inspired our own. You would have loved it.
Thank you, everyone, for your generous reading and comments. Carol, the fact that you read the poem differently than I did, or with different emotions, is exactly why we should not torture poems and demand them to confess! Imagine if poems had just one “right” answer you could choose from a multiple choice test. There would be nothing to discuss, no mystery, no consideration of our personal experiences and beliefs. Thank goodness!
Emotions. Someone told me that’s one sign of a good poem, that it stirs emotions.
I’m remembering–again–back to that English Lit class I took when I was in my late 20’s or early 30’s. We had to write a paper on Beowulf, and I was so immersed in it and proud of what I “saw.” Excited that I was finally “getting” poetry and wasn’t afraid. Until I got my paper back all red-slashed with the noted that I was prying meaning out of it that wasn’t there. Kind of torturing it, I suppose, to mean what I wanted it to? Could I help that I saw Jesus all over it? But that’s where I was on my journey at that moment in time. But yeah, that discouraged me and made me fearful of poetry for years and years afterwards.
I don’t know if that fits in this discussion here, but I remembered it yet again. It was a very traumatic experience. 🙂
BTW, I don’t know what happened to that paper. I expect I burned it.
This is my experience, too, Sandra…and I’m sure it’s why I’ve been intimidated by poetry for so long.
I APOLOGIZE FOR LENGTH, BUT I COULD GIVE YOU NO GREATER COMPLIMENT THAN YOUI MADE ME THINK! THANK YOU! ~l.
Thank you so much, Sandy, and now, Tania, for this marvelous discussion!! I greatly appreciate your insights and also the introduction to Billy Collins’S poem and a new-to-me Mary Oliver poem. They’re both marvelous poets. And from what little I perused of one of your poetry collections on Amazon, Tania, you’re an excellent poet, as well. Congratulations!!
Because Sandy is inviting dialogue, for which I’m grateful, I’ll dive in. I think we learn and benefit from both observation and discussion. Tania, I love your take on Collins’s poem and approaching a poem with humility. Ultimately, unless a poet tells you, none of us knows his exact meaning; we all interpret poetry through our own lens. Plus, as you have pointed out, and as I believe has been mentioned in these discussions earlier, each of us receives different gifts from the same poem. I think that that is part of the beauty of them. They speak to us uniquely and often in significant and timely ways. I have even found the same poem speak to me in different ways at different times of my life, just as you suggest! We can walk inside the poem, turn, listen, and feel its subtle nuances and appreciate its multiply faceted nature. I like holding a poem to my ear, like a conch shell, and hear its reverberating echoes in my soul, often for a long time to come. And, Tania, I would also agree with you that one who is not a Christian could certainly give us a glimpse into Christlike reverence for life (and I have no idea of whether or not Ms. Oliver is a Christian). All truth is God’s truth, as the saying goes, and so is beauty and other virtues. Non-Christians (for lack of a better term), who are made in their Creator’s image, can reflect Him, even without knowing Him, even if it is not their intent. I’ve never limited myself to encountering and appreciating art (whatever the form) that is only considered “Christian” or created by a strictly Christian artist. To do so, I believe, would be to rob myself of richness.
But I would gently disagree with some of your other observations and with Mr. Harrity’s. He tells us to “remember that what we create is close to holy.” You say that you “would argue that all poetry, no matter who the writer, intentions, or beliefs, is holy.” While each of us is created in the image of God, we are fallen creatures. Nothing we do is strictly holy or likely even close to it, though we can certainly strive for it to be and ask for God’s help to become holy. To say that *all* poetry, no matter the writer’s intentions or beliefs, or I would add following this line of reasoning, ergo, the created thing itself is holy, stands in stark contrast to all art which is created as vile, ugly, and even blasphemous. For example, there is a poet (a non-Christian), much of whose work I love because of its beauty and depth, who also has written sexually explicit poetry (about his illicit relationship) and also downright blasphemous, anti-God poetry. These latter examples are a far cry from holiness. This is but one small, yet significant example which would negate the idea that *all* poetry is holy. Also, from a Christian perspective, God is very much concerned over our motives and intentions. We might create something on the surface, which seems holy, but is sin because of how we created it, with malice of heart (or some other sinful attitude).
I’m unsure of your meaning that those poems wrought with much gut and breath, seem to stand apart—the definition of holy—in the world. Perhaps you are speaking metaphorically that poems which required great heart-and-soul effort, honesty, craftsmanship, and just plain hard work on the part of the artist. stand apart in the world from other poems where such passion is not expended. But I’m thinking that “standing apart” is not the definition of holy. From all I have learned, holiness is being set apart from the world “unto God” and for His purposes. It is being set apart to emulate His righteous standards. Please know, that I am not attempting to “torture” your statement or to split hairs, but words are important and have meaning. And holiness has a very particular meaning, which much tawdry poetry (and other art forms) deny and often mock.
When you say that both prayer and poetry “ask us not for intellect or expertise, but for full attention,” again I am unsure of your meaning. I completely concur that both require our full attention if we are to appreciate and engage them, and we don’t have to be an expert to pray or make art; and neither prayer nor art is meant to be rendered superficially for quick fixes or demands (love your vending-machine metaphor!!); but to say that they ask not for intellect is, I think, to do a disservice to the poet, to ourselves, and to our great intelligent Creator-God who gives us minds with which to think. We are created in His image, not just to create beauty and emotional experiences, but, He gave us minds (and for Christians, Christ’s mind) to think, understand, and evaluate. One cannot read a poem without using his intellect. It’s simply not possible. We don’t have to analyze a poem to death, but it will have meaning as we think and ruminate on it, hold it to the light this way and that, and gain glimpses of truth that we can apply to our lives. God made us as thinking beings, and so we don’t shy away from that. And to deny our intellects (even when reading poetry) is, I believe, to deny God.
One other little thought . . . I was gripped by Oliver’s poem. She really made me empathetic towards all of God’s creation. All life is important andwothy of reverence. But all life is not the same in terms of being infinite and predestined. I am hardly saying your are equating a cat with a person, but your descriptions give me pause and I don’t believe are used accurately.
Thank you again so much, Tania, for all your poetic work, for your obvious appreciation and love for God, life, beauty, and art, for inviting dialogue, and moreover, for inviting God’s created beings to create, as they seek to emulate Him through their art!
Gratefully,
Lynn Morrissey
Wow, Lynn. I so appreciate you and the grace-filled and thoughtful way you’ve contributed to this discussion. I have to say I appreciated Dave’s “rule” #3 for believing writers to remember that everything we create (in the context of flowing out of our times of solitude with God) is close to holy. It frees me to let my imagination loose under His direction. And I know I’ve been brought to a sacred place, a holy place, by writers who likely never meant to take me there (like Beowulf.) I also think of writers whose words were not exactly what we would consider “holy” at one point in their writing journey but whose writings changed over the years to our definition of holy. And I wonder… could we consider the earlier words “holy” simply because, perhaps, God was working on them in their journey? Can’t we consider all words in some sense holy because they come from beings created by a holy Word? I’m pretty sure I’m probably not making much sense. I’m not sure I understand my own words. But I do know I’m being stretched, and I think that’s a good thing.
Oh, and Oliver’s kitten? I was just stopped there thinking of how sometimes we don’t attach value to the “deformed.” I was hushed by how Oliver chose to bury it rather than, say, tossing it into the garbage. She gave it back to the earth where out of its brokenness it fertilized and grew beauty in the form of wildflowers sprouting with abandon. Predestined? I don’t know. I’m finding the older I get, the less I know.
So, I know I don’t make much sense, but I’m at least feeling more creative. 🙂
So grateful for you, Lynn.
Sandy, what a loving, gracious reply, and thank you for welcoming me and my thoughts. I’m truly grateful. I think what you say here is key: “It frees me to let my imagination loose under His direction. And I know I’ve been brought to a sacred place, a holy place, by writers who likely never meant to take me there (like Beowulf.) ” As Christians, when we create, (maybe I should just stick w/ my experience), I ask God to free me under His direction—to sanctify my imagination, if you will. And yes: I have come to sacred places, reverent places from where artists have taken me, and certainly not only Christians. I mentioned that in my original post. I don’t limit myself to reading only Christian poetry or viewing only Christian art or listening only to Christian music–whatever the art form may be (and that can open a whole other can of worms, which I am not suggesting be done—like what is Christian art? Oh my! 🙂 To answer your other questions, I think what may have been helpful in the discussion initially would have been to express what is meant by holy. And yes, I think you make sense. And re: Mary Oliver’s poignant and powerful poem, while I mentioned those comments Tania later made about it with which I disagree, I think Tania expressed so beautifully that she was able to glean from it a Christ-like expression for reverence for life. I felt the same reverence when I read it, and like you, Sandy, I felt hushed. It’s interesting where poems will take us, individually, and this point has been made repeatedly by many throughout this conversation. When I read it, I felt that Ms. Oliver reverenced life by seeing as beautiful what some might even find unlovely or “abnormal” about the little stillborn kitten, and she honored this tiny, dead creature by giving it burial in a lovely setting. As you observed, she did not consider it trash. And then that poem took me, personally, to recall how aborted babies are not treated with reverence in the womb or after, and how I, personally, aborted my child so many years ago and treated her like so much refuse. While I know I am forgiven and have finally forgiven myself, there are times when the thought of what I did, as personally provoked for me by this particular poem, are still extremely painful and tender. I say all this to say that this is how I, personally, from my own life experience and perspective, was profoundly moved by this poem. I share that background to demonstrate what has been said about how poetry affects us uniquely. Thanks for listening.
Lynn
Thanks so much for sharing your story here, Lynn. I think our experiences really color how we come a particular piece of writing or even a word or image.
God bless you, Sandy. Not easy to share, but it’s part of my story (thankfully, redeemed).
Wow, what a lively discussion. Tania, first of all, I want to thank you for this beautiful piece of writing. For your insights, your expertise, and your willingness to contribute to this discussion. You come at this from a very different place than many of us, as a true student of poetry, and an expert in the use of language. And I’m so grateful for your insights. I don’t find your use of the term holy, or holiness to be off-center.
When we consider that the image of God resides in every human person, to some extent or other, then yes, there is always an intimation of holiness. I am sure there is a lot of dreck out there that probably wouldn’t fit into your definition of the term poetry. So perhaps Carol and Lynn are not in as much disagreement with you as it might seem!
I am actually deeply grateful for your and David’s encouragement to think of language, most particularly poetic language, as an avenue for the holy. I don’t think that’s quite the same thing as saying that every word ever written in every poem equals holiness. In fact, I fear that some of this discussion may have actually crossed over into what you are asking us specifically not to do. And that is, to tie words to a chair, and torture meaning out of them that was not intended!
So I want to thank you for making us think. For inviting us into the Art and design of poetry and poetic language. I, personally, have just recently discovered your own work, having read a section of your poem on Mary, the mother of Jesus, in a recent Good Friday service. That experience, perhaps more than anything else I can think of, has proven to me the truth and value of your words here and elsewhere. Thank you so very much.
thanks diana–i’m glad things are affirmed for you! what you’re saying about the image of god is so true and beautiful. it is so sad when we forget to think, fail to think, or cannot think about that! thanks again!
Tania, so happy to see you here! Thank you for introducing me to this poem of Mary Oliver’s. She never fails to astonish me.
lynn! thanks for chiming in. i appreciate your honesty and approach–gentle and kind. i hope you will read mine as such as well. if not, please know i meant it to be and i hope you might forgive me any offense!
to begin, it think it is really important to acknowledge that we value the myriad of experience and temperament between one another. tania comes from a different perspective than i do (maybe not wildly different, but different for sure) and—it seems—comes from a very different view than you might, as well as some others commenting today.
this is not bad—it is, as they say, what makes the world go round. that said, however, it might do some good for us to understand where you’re coming from, the poets/poems who you feel are “blasphemous,” and the ideas you have that are theological in nature that permeate your writing.
It is easy to mistake edginess for blasphemy, especially if you’re closely connecting the poem (the created art object) with the poet (the creator of the art object). it’s also easy to make the poem into something it isn’t, or something simpler than it actually is—like a thesis statement, list of ingredients, or table of contents. the poem is none of these things. this kind of analysis, i think, is extremely dangerous for many reason. i certainly hope that people don’t determine my faith by what they read in my books or poems—it is, after all, poetry and cnf (though sometimes ‘devotional’ in nature). my words are my perception of what is true in a particular moment, and often a tentative assessment of what’s true in a particular moment. just as scripture is literature/art first and life-instruction/theology second (or maybe even third or forth), so to is what any creative individual makes.
take anne sexton, one of my favorite poets. so much so that i wrote my thesis about her work, life, and poetry—all of which many would believe to be ‘vile’ or ‘sinful’ or any other word one might want to use to describe something not of god, or “unholy.” she talks about all kinds of things that might make your toes curl, and does so graphically. but i would contend it is just the opposite of unholy. sexton was moving into mystery in the only way she knew how, a way in which many people—especially professing christians—aren’t comfortable. but that doesn’t mean it can’t be holy, isn’t holy, or won’t create holiness. to say so would be an incredibly limiting tether on the god who made me, you, sexton, and the capacity for creativity itself. as wendell berry says: “there are no unsacred spaces / only sacred spaces / and desecrated spaces.” can we fault someone too badly for their own desecration when it is the inevitability of our existence, and our existence all together?
i wonder if you feel that you—as someone sinful, with “malice in you heart” (your idea, not mine)—are capable of making something holy. or do you believe that holy things are only made by god, and then humans go about mucking them up? if this is your view, that is ok, i suppose—it is the view of much of the mainline evangelical church/christianity—but you must understand it is not my view at all (and i can’t speak for tania, but i would imagine it isn’t her view either).
the theological underpinnings of your own aesthetics seem to be quite different from mine, they seem to be in line with what i previously mentioned. again, not wrong, just different. but it is certainly going to shape the way you view creative practice, as it does the way i do as well. you clearly believe god to be male and i think that you also believe god to be knowable and revealed in tangible ways. these are things that i’m not so certain about, thus they inform my aesthetic less. i find doubt to be a more resourceful and valuable idea than faith, almost always, and poetry seems to be the thing that keeps me oriented somewhere in the middle, allows me to explore, and keeps me oriented toward spirituality and discipline.
simply said, if we make holiness a monolith, than it becomes easy to say what is and isn’t holy. but it seems that your idea of holiness may be based on an idea of perfection, which makes me wonder what beauty you do see in the world, and how you see it, and how you make it manifest into a poem or story or piece of art. after all, what do you know in life your (or any of us know in our lives) that is valuable because it is without blemish? i don’t think i can name on thing.
Thank you so much, Dave. No offense taken whatever; and in fact, I’m honored and privileged that you would have answered at such length and depth. I hope to be able to comment a bit more, but dinner and evening activities call. But again, thank you more than I can say.
Lynn
Response to Dave Harrity:
Dave, it’s taken me awhile to get back to you, because life happens. Thanks for the challenge to think! You posed some deep, complex questions which are difficult to answer adequately in a cursory online conversation. But because you *did* ask, I would say that, yes, we can appreciate the myriad of experiences, temperaments, and beliefs that are brought to the table. People often see things differently through these lenses, and obviously, people don’t always agree; but we value their input and voice. We value people, period.
It seems possible to me that I am not comprehending what you mean by holiness. If that’s true and if we each have different understandings at the outset, we may be talking circles around each other, finding it hard to come to full understanding.
Re: one of your comments, I doubt anything that I would read would make my toes curl. And also, just to repeat what I had said earlier, I can be deeply, spiritually moved by art that is made by those who don’t profess to know Christ and who might never know Him. Created in God’s image, we all reflect some part of His glory, capable of creating beauty. I don’t close myself off in that way.
To address another of your points, I would not presume to judge who is a Christian by what he writes or determine his faith by it. How could I possibly know? God sees the heart, not I. I understand your point that it would be helpful to know the theological nature of ideas permeating my writing (as it would be for me to know yours), but because such beliefs can be multi-faceted, they’re nearly impossible to articulate blog-briefly.
No, I don’t believe that God is male and have never thought or said that. God is spirit. I didn’t say that I have malice in my heart, though I’m sure I have had at times. I said that if someone did have malice of heart in how he was creating something, then that would not be a holy act. I know that I have created unholy poetry because of why I intentionally, sinfully created it. Likely that fact would not have been apparent to someone reading it, but God understood my heart when I wrote it. My act was not holy, even though I was creating as someone created in the image of a holy God. We understand from the Bible that motives matter to the Lord.
You were right to push back at me 🙂 regarding what I realize, in re-reading my words, is an overly pessimistic view of our ability to receive and participate in God’s holiness. Thank you for doing that, and I stand corrected. The Holy Spirit’s work in us does truly make us holy in a very real way, even though His sanctifying work in us will be incomplete until our resurrection. I think that God sees Christians as holy in Christ, and that under the Holy Spirit’s influence, by God’s grace, we are capable of holy behavior and of producing holy words and works. But that I am a struggling sinner and quite cognizant of it, no doubt colored my earlier statement.
I would ask if you think there is such a thing as unholiness in creativity or in the act of creating—even given that we are created by a holy God, and we emulate Him when we create?
Yes, I do believe God to be knowable, but I believe Him to be unfathomable. How could I ever hope to come near to plumbing the depths of God? I am overwhelmed and humbled that He allows me to know Him at all. His mystery and majesty, in many ways, are beyond knowing by someone like me, and yet, He (amazingly!) calls me friend and child and lets me know Him on some level and lets me know His voice. He invites such knowing.
I personally don’t find doubt to be *more* valuable than faith, but I thank God that He invites me to wrestle, and that He doesn’t condemn my doubt. Trust me, I doubt a lot—a whole lot— and about things that might cause some Christians to say that I couldn’t possibly be a Christian because of it. As Sandy said, the older she gets, the less she thinks she knows. I would certainly say the same of myself. I can’t tell you how much I wrestle, Dave. And I do find that there is real value in that, because my doubts humble me, and because my wrestling puts me in direct contact with God. I’m close to Him when I wrestle. He bears with my doubts. He knows I am “but dust.” He’s patient and kind and doesn’t condemn. But I also know that faith greatly pleases Him, and actually it’s impossible to please Him without it. So like the man who brought his spirit-possessed son to Jesus for healing from his convulsions, to whom Jesus said that everything is possible for one who believes, I cry out along with him to God: “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” I want to have faith more than doubt. I beg Him for it.
You ask where I find beauty. In short, *everywhere.* I experience it through my mind, senses, and emotions. A few examples: in lilting Bach melismas (whether I hear or sing them) that soar my soul to the stratosphere; in winter birch branches splayed like lightening against the blue blaze of sky; in sunset’s variegated strata or in a brightly beribboned dawn; in a child’s tentative first steps or the far more halting steps of the elderly; recently in the garishly painted cardboard corpse that had once housed the soul of my beloved friend and had served as God’s temple on earth (and in her soon-to-be ashes that will one day rise in glorified beauty); in the drunkard spewing alcohol’s wrath into vitreous china or into a littered gutter (because as an alcoholic, myself, rescued by God, I can see beauty in brokenness for which Christ died and the need to extend the same compassion that I have received). Does beauty have to be perfect? I wouldn’t know, because whatever I see is through my imperfect eyes, and I know that all the earth is marred by man’s fall; yet praise God that His glory is greater than man’s imperfection, and He graces me to see glimpses of His glory everywhere. I think if I didn’t, I’d consider ending it all, Dave.
I would finally say (and perhaps I tread treacherous ground here, because we are not in tête-a-tête conversation where you could correct any wrong assumptions, and maybe I’m being presumptuous, though I don’t mean to be), but I infer from your comments that you may possibly be pigeon-holing me into a category which you label as “mainline evangelical church/Christianity.” I think that I get your drift, but I try to shy away from broad-sweeping characterizations. I think people and their beliefs are complex, and perhaps it might surprise you to discover ways in which I might not fit into what I presume you mean by this representational designation. (Ah, presumptions! 🙂 I’ll never really know, because we don’t know each other and truly can’t in this limited format. I’d enjoy meeting you, though, some day. I hope I’ve not overstepped my bounds here, and will stop, with all well-wishes extended for your art and for your ministry, made manifest. And by the way, I loved your book. It was excellently written, thought-provoking, and enriched my journaling/poetry experience.
God’s richest blessings to you, Dave.
Lynn