One of my favourite passages in literature is this bit from the end of Jack Kerouac's classic, The Dharma Bums:
"... Now comes the sadness of coming back to cities and I've grown two months older and there's all that humanity of bars and burlesque shows and gritty love, all upsidedown in the void God bless them, but Japhy you and me forever we know, O ever youthful, O ever weeping." Down on the lake rosy reflections of celestial vapor appeared, and I said "God, I love you" and looked up to the sky and really meant it. "I have fallen in love with you, God. Take care of us all, one way or the other." My wife recently asked me to comment about my view of the city as Kerouac describes it here (all that humanity of bars and burlesque shows and gritty love, all upsidedown in the void). I tend to be drawn to that sort of gritty humanity, with all of its particolored enthusiasms, its misspent energies, it "raging glory" (to borrow a phrase from Bob Dylan). So that is why she asked.
Her question reminded me of a time we took a Reformed Episcopal friend (who is now a presbyter in the REC) to Venice Beach, California. After soaking up those crazy vibes for a while, he asked me: In your dream of the realized Millennium (for I was a Postmillennialist then), how much different would Venice Beach be?
My reply then was the same as it would be today: Not much different. Most of this can be redeemed.
But, how did it get so gritty? Why is it all upsidedown in the void?
I submit to you that much of it has to do with our poor inability to master time. Because we do not "know time" properly, we get ahead of ourselves, and in trying to get ahead of God, we find ourselves falling behind Him. Much of what happens in a typical bar (even a gritty one) is probably pretty good: images of God interact with other images of God, while partaking of those liquids that "make glad the heart of man."
But often the drinking, for instance, is a grasping of things (pleasure, relief, peace, creative inspiration) ahead of the appointed time. That is, God wishes to give us many of the same things we would seek in drink, but not yet.1
Like King David, we underestimate what God is willing to give us, in His good time, through the righteous channels.2 And so, like David, we grasp for what we want now.3 In Kerouac's most famous work, On The Road, the characters are frequently heard to repeat the mantra: We know time. But I think that it was all talk. Neither the author nor the characters knew time in the sense in which we must know it if we are to pass through things temporal that we finally lose not the things eternal.
Though the demons denied it4, Jesus Christ knew (and knows) time5. Of course, He has the advantage of having created time. It seems trite to say it, but let us wait on the Lord, and we will not spend so much time upsidedown in the void.
The eyes of all wait upon thee; and thou givest them their meat in dueseason. And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.
Sometimes, the advice of John Lee Hooker's mama seems to apply: 'Cause it's in him, and it got to come out!When this happens to me, I descend upon some local coffee house Open Mic night. This Mudcrutch song, Scare Easy, is so well written and so naturally playable that even amateurs sound good playing it.
For comparison (and for your listening pleasure) here is how the Pros do it!
I kept waiting for Baby Blue to post this Dylan video, because of what is happening about Israel these days. If BB posted it, I missed it, so I guess it must be Up To Me ...
Not only does this 25-year-old gem rock incredibly hard (even for Mr. Dylan), but it has never been more timely. I myself am not rabidly pro-Israel, but I cried a little when I played this song tonight.
There is something crazy wonderful to me about spending time in a church during "off hours" ... during hours of the day in which one is not typically in church. Yesterday, St. Bartholomew's had a day-long prayer vigil for the unborn, lasting from the end of the 10:10 am Holy Communion until the 6 pm Evensong/Benediction service.
Parishioners had signed up for half-hour time slots to come and light candles and pray for the protection of the unborn (something that I feel is particularly needed given the pro-abortion views of our President Elect, for whom we also prayed, of course).
My wife and I had signed up for an early time slot, after which we went over to watch movies with Mrs. G (the Rector's wife and Youth leader) and the youth of our parish: Miracle on 34th StreetandThe Keys of the Kingdom.
Then back to St. Bart's with the whole Youth Group in tow. The evening services were wonderful. I think it is the first time I'd been to Benediction at St. Bartholomew's, as I don't recall having seen the monstrance before yesterday. It was very moving.
But going back to the prayer vigil, and the subject of off-hours church-going: praying in the stillness of the early afternoon church, surrounded by many lit candles, reminded me of two of my favourite stories. I won't spoil either of them for you, but simply commend them to you as possible additions to your holyday reading list:
Henry James - The Altar of the Dead (Click on link to left or this one to read it FREE online). This story has always haunted me, and did so particularly yesterday, as I lit a candle (in part) for those dead by abortion. I have recommened this story, I think, to over 100 people now, and so far I don't know for sure if any of them actually read it. If you do read it (or have read it) please be kind enough to comment here. I'd love to know what you think!
Often, my life seems meaningless. Here is one explanation, which occurred to me after finishing a session with my current oil painting.
I make my paintings by peering very closely at the details of a reference photograph and then trying to get the paint on the canvas to resemble what I see (or, think I see; I've been known to get it wrong) in the photograph. I spend a lot of time looking at the canvas very close up, like this:
I push the paint around until it looks about right, but I never think about the pattern it is making - I am too close up to see that. Instead, I have a slavish sort of devotion (or "duty") to the Reference Photo (an analog of Holy Scripture). And I have to admit that, pushing the paint round ... does get old. Why does that old Reference Photo have to be so bloody complex?! It is tedious sometimes, and still I see no pattern or meaning, only abstract shapes and colors.
Finally, when it is time to go to bed, I step away from my easel and take a longer view of what I am working on. Today, it looked like this:
I wonder if, when my life is reviewed from the long view of eternity, there will appear some sort of pattern that pleases the Artist. I do hope so.
This song precisely captures my mood this week. Not the best week of my life.
winter is blue living is gone some are just sleeping in spring they'll go on our love is dead nothing but crying love will not find even one more new morning
why must i stay here rain comes i'm sitting here watching love moving away into yesterday
winter is blue everything's leaving fires are now burning and life has no reason i am alone waiting for nothing if my heart freezes i won't feel the breaking
why must i stay here rain comes i'm sitting here watching love moving away into yesterday
