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Posts Tagged ‘maggie ross’

 

 

 

 

— For the 3,000 people killed on 9/11 and those who killed them

— For more than 50,000 people killed in Afghanistan since 9/11

— For more than 2,000,000 people killed in Iraq since 9/11

— For the persecuted Christians in Iraq

— For the persecuted Muslims in America

— For an end to this senseless slaughter.

Voice in the Wilderness: Let Us Pray.

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Good Friday presents us with a stark duality—human power revealed as hostile to meaning and hope, and divine meaning and hope exposed as completely vulnerable to human power….

… that silence is the beginning of a global renewal: it is the darkness in which God is allowed to be God, in which the world, descending into its inner chaos, returns to the very moment of creation, when God speaks into the darkness. Our silence, our acceptance of the death of the creation in the death of Jesus, makes room for the word that recreates the broken world.

Rowan Williams, current Archbishop of Canterbury
quoted by Maggie Ross

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A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY’S DAY,
BEING THE SHORTEST DAY.
by John Donne

‘TIS the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,
Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ;
The world’s whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed’s-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr’d ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin’d me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
I, by Love’s limbec, am the grave
Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown’d the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else ; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know ; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love ; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

But I am none ; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night’s festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year’s and the day’s deep midnight is.

(Thanks to Maggie Ross for posting this poem, and for the helpful reminder that in Donne’s time, the solstice fell today–hence the calendar correction of 1582.)

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Have I mentioned Anglican solitary Maggie Ross before?  In the 1980s and 1990s, she wrote several wonderful books on the liturgical year, solitary life, and the theology of priesthood which are now, I say joyfully, back in print and available from your usual booksellers.  In addition, she’s republishing some old work and blogging trenchantly about new spiritual and political issues at Voice in the Wilderness.  She has lived in Alaska for some time and has quite a bit to say about Vice-Presidential candidate Sarah Palin.

From the land of randomosity comes the perfect thing for long dull afternoons at work, a video of a tumbleweed vortex.

Here’s a treasure of Washington, D.C. that you might not know about: The Brumidi Corridors, decorated with exquisite paintings of birds real and imagined.

That’s all I have for right now; I hope to be back soon with Actual Content.

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