Saturday, August 31, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
The Road Goes Ever On by Bilbo Baggins
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say
As I have read JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings I have often though of the above verses--a song attributed to Bilbo as he began his greatest adventure. I have often wanted to follow after him--realizing I cannot because after all he is a product of fiction. None the less, I still would like to follow--and I have wondered why?
It seems that the desire for exploration and adventure has always tugged at me--it would have been better if I had lived around 250 years ago when the wilderness of America remained mostly unexplored and unknown--alas now every seems to be found and charted. If we were further along with our technology and in space (and I was a much younger man) I would perhaps be the first chaplain in outer space (I of course would be going to Star Fleet academy).
No doubt this need I have for exploration and adventure is part of the drive for my desire to go on pilgrimage--though not all. There is also a deeper need to find time to reconnect with God and explore the spiritual unknown. This in some ways does not appear to make much sense, as I have been a Christian for over 40 years and a pastor for over 20--so you would think that this would not be needed.
However, perhaps it is due to my age, the current condition of the Presbyterian Church or both, that I have a longing desire to reconnect with God, my spiritual roots, considering the fact that now (since my dad's death a year ago) am now the oldest Story of the family (my grandson Gabriel reminded me of this fact).
Not only am I an explorer/adventurer at heart, the other part of me is a tendency to be a bit of a mystic/philosopher/theologian--thus my desire to reconnect with God, my spirituality and reason it all out according to theological and philosophical debate (which may in fact is an impossibility, because people have been trying to do this for thousands of years).
There is also my need to reconnect with humanity. As of this date the only people I have ever met from the "Old World" has been on my home turf--here in the U.S.A. where I have had the advantage. For the first time on my life I will be confronted with how they view life--experiencing life on their terms. And since I speak only a few sentences of French, fewer of Spanish, and a couple words of German, I will definitely learn what it is like to be in a foreign country not knowing the lingo.
Being an introvert at heart--I will be definitely pushing the envelope of my comfort zone--however, I want to do this as I need to be pushed beyond my borders in order to be able to understand, and experience life more fully--more later.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
The Journey Of The Magi
'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kiking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kiking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)