Pope Francis on hope

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In an interview a number of years ago in America: The Jesuit Review, Pope Francis had this to say about hope:

"Christian hope is not a ghost and it does not deceive. It is a theological virtue and therefore, ultimately, a gift from God that cannot be reduced to optimism, which is only human. God does not mislead hope; God cannot deny himself. God is all promise."

I printed out this quote years ago, and it's lived on an index card in my box of project notes for my hope manuscript and sometimes on my actual desk top.

Maybe what is needed more than me continuing to try and finish my book about hope, which has been aiming at similar thoughts, is instead to copy this quote over and over again across 100 sheets of paper and call it done, trusting that the repetition of the thoughts would allow them to sink in and do their work in readers.

Tempting as that thought is, I'm continuing to plug along.

~~~

For an interesting coincidence, see the next post for something more from Pope Francis.

~~~

[Photo: taken of the sunset the other night. No touch up or filters.]

Heschel on the higher goal

In The Sabbath, Abraham Heschel wrote: "The higher goal of spiritual living is not to amass a wealth of information, but to face sacred moments.... A moment of insight is a fortune, transporting us beyond the confines of measured time." Whether or not you think of yourself as a writer, picking up a pen to capture a spiritual insight or to describe a sacred moment is an act of wisdom, a fortune invested.

Ambition

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The Chrysostom Society of writers recently released Ambition, an anthology of essays about ambition by some of my favorite authors. Ambition is a hard word, a complicated word, often a scorned word in some circles, particularly writerly circles, and so it’s appropriate that the book’s cover is a scarlet “A”. I read it while on vacation/writing retreat last month and want to pass on a few pearls.

From Scott Cairns: “Ambition is only bad if it is an ambition for small things. Ambition for great things is itself a great thing, an honorable thing, and worthy of those who are shaped in the image of God, those called to acquire His likeness. I would have to say that this sort of ambition is, itself, something of a gift.”

From Erin McGraw: “As sins go, complacency is one of the delightful ones, inviting us to loaf and take our ease. Everything is fine, complacency says. There’s not need to bestir ourselves. Everything is A-OK, except maybe we could stand a refill of our iced tea while we lie out here on the lounge chair.”

From Luci Shaw: “We may be gifted, competent, creative. We want to learn as we go, and in our mature years we hope to have gained wisdom and genuineness. Like comets, we may trail behind us a plume of work well done, writing or art that seems to justify its existence. We need to ask (without knowing the answer): What is its eternal value? Was it done to God’s glory? When we invite God into every task, seek wisdom, trust the help that comes with prayer, the work itself becomes a sacrament. The immediate and the infinite join hands.”

From Eugene Peterson: “I knew I needed to find a way to keep ambition from deforming my vocation into something that I felt in my bones was squeezing the Spirit out of my life, professionalizing and depersonalizing my life into a role in which I was too busy to take time with the complexities of people or be present before God. I found it by happening on writers who I am sure didn’t have a pastor in mind when they wrote their books, but for me they were Lazarus dipping his finger into water. Over the years I found many. Here are three of the early ones who cooled my busy, overheated tongue: James Joyce, Wallace Stegner, and Wendell Berry.”

From Jeanne Murray Walker: “The summer our family went to Florence, I saw hundreds of versions of the Madonna with the Child in the Uffizi…. They embodied the Platonic thing, the big, true narrative to which my own mothering life referred: the narrative about Mary. If she had ambitions before Gabriel arrived, she surrendered them when she gave the avuncular angel her answer. “Let it be unto me as you have said,” she told him, pitching herself into mothering time. Yes, she said. I will live this life you have proposed.”

From Bret Lott: “You have everything to learn. This will be what keeps you. What points you toward humility: knowing how very little you know, how very far you have to go.” This essay, “Toward Humility,” in which Lott gives the backstory to Oprah’s selection of his novel Jewel for her book club is alone worth the price of the book.

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[Photo: taken of the book's cover.]

Isak Dinesen on two courses of thought

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"There are only two courses of thought at all seemly to a person of any intelligence. The one is: What am I to do this next moment?–or tonight, or tomorrow? And the other: What did God mean by creating the world, the sea, and the desert, the horse, the winds, woman, amber, fishes, wine?"

Isak Dinesen, from "The Dreamers" in Seven Gothic Tales

~~~

[Photo: yet another taken recently at the American Swedish Institute, from the ceiling of a playhouse set up for children. This photo reminds me of this companion post from nearly a year ago, "Beyond the Roof of the Stars." I hope you'll click and add that to your day's reading as well.]

When you're dreaming of escape

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This morning I read this quote by Gustave Thibon and then all day waited for the time I could set aside my client work and copy it out for you. This is the kind of thing you may want to read a couple times; I think it’s worth the time. If I had read this while writing Finding Livelihood, I may have tried to find a way to work part of it in to the labyrinth chapter – that chapter about how sometimes it seems we’re going over the same ground again and again, about how staying in place is a pilgrimage too.

 

“You feel you are hedged in; you dream of escape; but beware of mirages. Do not run or fly away in order to get free: rather dig in the narrow place which has been given you; you will find God there and everything. God does not float on your horizon, he sleeps in your substance. Vanity runs, love digs.”

 

There is so much beauty of language in those lines. So much wisdom.

~~~

[Photo: taken from the passenger seat of a moving car, just before Thanksgiving, of a full moon at twilight over a nearby lake.]

A moment of guerilla leisure with Kathleen Norris

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On a busy morning of a work-crammed week of a deadline-driven month, these words from Kathleen Norris in Dakota: A Spiritual Geography are like an island of calm. Taking two minutes to read them is act of guerrilla leisure, "guerilla" referring, of course, to an unconventional approach when you have little to spare or spend. Maybe reading them will be that for you too.

"Like all who choose life in the slow lane – sailors, monks, farmers – I partake of a contemplative reality. Living close to such an expanse of land I find I have little incentive to move fast, little need of instant information. I have learned to trust that processes take time, to value change that is not sudden or ill-considered but grows out of the ground of experience. Such change is properly defined as conversion, a word that at its roots connotes not a change of essence but of perspective, as turning round; turning back to or returning; turning one's attention to."

~~~

[Photo: taken of our river birch tree, which we planted about 5 years ago and that I love looking at every single day. One of our best investments.]

Revisiting Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

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Over the extended Labor Day weekend we were in Brooklyn, visiting our son and daughter-in-law. In honor of that great and diverse borough, here's one of my favorite sections from one of my favorite novels. I first read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith when I was in 7th grade but have reread it several times since. It was a pivotal book for me, because it took me out of my middle-class, northern, Protestant late-1960s world and transported me to the world of a girl my age, Francie, who was growing up poor and Catholic in Brooklyn in the 1930s. Yet Francie was a girl I could relate to, and that was perhaps the biggest surprise of all when reading that book at the age of 12: to find a kindred spirit across time, across geography, across social class and religious affiliation.

    “Francie held the books close and hurried home, resisting the temptation to sit on the first stoop she came to, to start reading.          

    Home at last and now it was the time she had been looking forward to all week: fire-escape-sitting time. She put a small rug on the fire-escape and got the pillow from her bed and propped it against the bars. Luckily there was ice in the icebox. She chipped off a small piece and put it in a glass of water. The pink-and-white peppermint wafers bought that morning were arranged in a little bowl, cracked, but of a pretty blue color. She arranged glass, bowl and book on the window sill and climbed out on the fire-escape. Once out there she was living in a tree. No one upstairs, downstairs or across the way could see her. But she could look out through the leaves and see everything. ...

    Francie breathed the warm air, watched the dancing leaf shadows, ate the candy and took sips of the cooled water in-between reading the book."

            –Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

~~~

[Photo: taken on a street in Brooklyn.]