a parable of permanence

"when I lose my way, find me. when I loose love's chains, bind me. when I forget my name, remind me."

"bone of my bones, & flesh of my flesh"

Week 1, Engage Paper, Trinity Forum Academy

“But I cannot stand forward, and give praise or blame to any thing which relates to human actions, and human concerns, on a simple view of the object as it stands stripped of every relations, in all the nakedness and solitude of metaphysical abstraction.” Edmund Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France

“The man said, ‘The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me the fruit of the tree, and I ate.’” Genesis 3:12

I always wondered whether Eve rolled her eyes when Adam tried that line. “The woman? You mean me? You mean your wife, moron?” In addition to deflecting all blame for the original sin, Adam’s very language is distant and depersonalizing, and even goes so far as to indict God. Gone is the poetry of their first meeting: “This at last is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.” By referring to his wife as an abstraction, Adam tries sever their one-flesh attachment, and remove any trace of his involvement. If she is truly bone of his bones and flesh of his flesh, then Adam not only has skin in the game, but half of himself.

In our Living Speech reading, James Boyd White analyzes Simone Weil’s essay, “The Iliad, or the Poem of Force.” White describes Weil’s Empire of Force as, “the ideology, the way of imagining the world and oneself and others within it—that is always present in war and required by it, but present also in our lives whenever people deny the humanity of others whom they destroy manipulate, or exploit.” War is the most concrete example. “If one is not a psychopath,” White says, “one can engage in war only by denying the full humanity of those one is trying to kill.” For a solider to dwell on the “world of possibility” or “web of relationships of caring and concern” that surround every human being would be “unendurable.” In the same way that Adam abstracted his wife in order to throw her under the bus, the language of war abstracts our enemies (both innocent and guilty) into indivisible swaths of animate matter, to which we have no responsibility or attachment.

Abstraction allows us to keep our hands out of the messiness of embodied human interaction. Dostoyevsky’s famous quote from The Brothers Karamazov captures this perfectly: "I love mankind…but I find to my amazement that the more I love mankind as a whole, the less I love man in particular." Abstract humanity has no draining friendships, annoying relatives, or untidy neighbors. Abstract humanity never asks us to stay up until 2 AM, counseling a distraught friend. Abstract humanity never overstays its welcome. Abstract humanity’s dog never poops on our lawn. We are never responsible for, or adversely affected by, humanity in the abstract.

The E. Bradley Beevers article seemed to come at this issue from a different angle, calling it “neutralization.” “The world diverts its attention from its sin by seeking a neutral description of the experience.” When I am trying to shift responsibility, I always revert to the passage voice, or depersonalize the source of my anger by cutting myself out of the equation. “The stress of the day made me explode.” But in doing so, am I not saying that I am a purely appetitive animal that can’t make a rational, intentional decision about my reaction? That was Adam’s response—“The woman…gave me the fruit of the tree, and I ate”—implying that he was powerless against her seductive, fruit-wielding charm!

“The word became flesh and made its dwelling among us.” The Word. The Logos. Human language himself became incarnate. Christ didn’t come to earth as an abstraction, but as bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh. He came as a particular person, to a particular location, at a particular time. Christ didn’t just speak theoretically about “poverty reduction,” “alternative lifestyles,” or “interfaith dialogue.” He healed the paralytic, called the Samaritan woman out of sin, and bid Nicodemus be born again. Christ calls to me personally, not as an idea, but as Meredith. He carries me in my weakness and gets his hands dirty in my wretchedness. And one day, when I stand before God and he asks me, “What is this that you have done?”, Christ, in his broken, bloody, incarnated body, will answer him.

a poem for all single people

Gospel-centered truth about singleness. Gracias a Patrick! [Pass it on.]

a holiday by the sea

"Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer. 'We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us,' said Mrs. Gardiner, 'but perhaps to the Lakes.' No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful." -Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice

June 24th was my last day as Executive Assistant to the President and Provost at Patrick Henry College. Two years ago last May, I packed most of my worldly possessions into my Jeep, and waved "goodbye" to Patrick Henry College. I didn't know at the time that it was actually "au revoir." Just a few months later my Jeep and I drove back to Patrick Henry, to set up shop in the Office of the President and Provost.

It has been a sweet and challenging two years. I learned deep lessons. That most of life is lived out in the commonplace and routine. That community cannot exist with commitment. That the fruit of a placed and rooted life is subtle, but exceedingly sweet. And that in order for your ship to come in, you usually have to “cast thy bread upon the water.”

I learned that no morning is complete without a Tim Keller sermon, and no evening without a BBC miniseries. That 3:11 pm is the proper time for a coffee break. That eighties music is cool again and Zumba is the new Jazzercise. That Northerners make the best office mates, Southerners make the best friends, Lutherans make the best bosses, and that Librarians give the best advice. I am inestimably grateful for my friends in Purcellville and my congregation at Guilford Baptist Church, who helped me to understand community as a reality, instead of as an intellectual buzzword.

I also learned a few things the hard way. For example, that leaving George Clay’s VIP guests at Dulles Airport will result in eternal infamy as “The Skunk.” That you shouldn’t bring a Jeep to a Semi fight. And that a Bunn Coffee Pot will erupt like Mount St. Helens if you disturb its delicate mechanical sensibilities. That said, God graciously delievered me from all of the above.

After wrapping up my work PHC, I spent a whirlwind week coordinating PHC’s second Leadership & Vocation Camp. Then, I once again packed my worldly goods into the back of my Jeep Grand Cherokee (and a few friendly basements), and made pilgrimage back to Minnesota. I am very thankful for a certain pleasant innkeeper in Columbus, Miss Laura Marshall, who shortened the twenty-hour trek with her avocado grilled cheese, vermontucky lemonade, and sparkling company.

The rest of the summer held a blissful fortnight in Florida, a retreat to Lake Superior with Dad, and a week with my lovely and lively mother in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. During the in-between times I tackled the Trinity reading list, grilled dinners on the back porch, and visited friends and family. It was sublime.

One week ago today, I began another Holiday by the Sea. This past March, I accepted a fellowship with the Trinity Forum Academy in Royal Oak, Maryland, on the beautiful Chesapeake Bay. The Trinity Forum (www.ttf.org) proper is a non-profit organization that:

"…works to cultivate networks of leaders whose integrity and vision will renew culture and promote human freedom and flourishing. [The Trinity Forum provides] access to a broad but focused body of classic and thoughtful writings designed to facilitate conversation and reflection around some of society’s most intriguing questions and themes. This is accomplished through unique programs and publications that offer contexts for leaders to consider together the great ideas that have shaped Western civilization and the faith that has animated its highest achievements."

Trinity’s fellowship program, the Trinity Forum Academy (TFA) (www.academy.ttf.org), accepts twelve postgraduates each year to live, study, work, and worship at their retreat center in Royal Oak, Maryland. Fellows take classes in theology and cultural studies, pursue a personal project under the guidance of a mentor, and work in the retreat center, all in the context of an intentional community. It’s sort of a structured, selective version of L’Abri, Francis Schaeffer’s academic community in Switzerland. Minus the breeches and backpackers.

Although I have not yet narrowed my research topic, I hope to concentrate on the politics of hospitality, heaven, and the tension between pilgrimage and place. I get a lot of blank looks when I say that, which means I probably have a lot of work to do! I have revived this blog to be a place of reflection about my time here, and to keep friends and family updated on the many switchbacks on my own road to heaven.

Life after Trinity is still uncertain, but I imagine (and hope) it will hold one of those gloriously ordinary things we call a job. And I wouldn’t mind a cute studio apartment in Georgetown either. But two years after graduation, I have learned to hold onto my plans loosely, and onto Christ more firmly.

"It is not in our life that God’s help and presence must still be proved, but rather God’s presence and help have been demonstrated for us in the life of Jesus Christ. It is in fact more important for us to know what God did to Israel, to his Son Jesus Christ, than to seek what God intends for us today….I find no salvation in my life history, but only in the history of Jesus Christ. Only he who allows himself to be found in Jesus Christ, in his incarnation, his Cross, and his resurrection is with God and God with him." –Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together

Coram Deo,

Meredith

On Humility

This song cut me to the quick. Props to Pandora for playing it.

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The Only Thing - Ronnie Freeman

I heard someone say the other day

They'd seen in me true love displayed

Blessed by something I had done for them

No sooner had they said these words

I found myself somehow disturbed

Uneasy as I took their compliment

Cause I know the heart inside this man

I know the truth of who I am...

The only thing that's good in me is Jesus

The only thing that's good in me is Jesus

I know me well enough to know

No matter what this life may show

The only thing that's good in me is Jesus

If you could walk the hallways of my heart

And see things as they really are

I wonder if you might be surprised

Seeing faded walls of pride and fear

Rooms I've filled with faithless tears

And corners where I've stood in compromise

But you'd see the work His grace has done

You'd know just how far I've come

In a thousand years

When the dust of this world clears

And I look back on my life

And see in perfect light

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"He must become greater, I must become less." John 3:30

The Castle House

"And the world is passing away, along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever." 1 John 2:17

I grew up in a castle. A 7,000 square foot, grey stone mansion with a brass tipped turret, wrought iron fences, lush perennial gardens and ominous lion busts guarding the solid oak door. A spiral staircase, handmade Italian tile, ornate cherry woodwork, antique crystal chandeliers--all pomp and old world glory. And my favorite, a great kitchen island, where my mother salvaged, stripped, scrubbed, and arranged an intricate pattern of vintage 1920s tile. It was a labor of love.

It was also a money pit. My mom and stepdad built it largely themselves, project by project, which meant it was never quite done. Painful and perpetual sanctification. Something was always under construction...or in need of it. The basement flooded every spring. The stone siding became a haven for great, towering wasp nests. The french doors opened to a sheer, two-story cliff where the deck was supposed to be. Growing up as "the girl in the castle house" was somewhat less charming while breathing in sawdust and polyurethane.

But despite its petulance the castle house was truly magnificent. Christmastime was the best. Miles of white lights, evergreen garland, crystal candelabras, and not one, but three Christmas trees. No one could throw a holiday party like Mom.

We lived there until I was 17. Mom moved to Tennessee, and I moved to St. Cloud to live with my dad. The house went on the market. And stayed there for a long time. The market for glorious and unfinished castle houses is small. After a great while, it sold to a man who promised to make the house into all it ought to be, and more. That was 5 years ago.

A week ago, my mom drove by the castle house. Outside, the acres of lawn were overgrown and unkempt, practically swallowing the stone retaining walls. To her horror, when she peeked through the windows, everything was destroyed. The cherry corbels were ripped off the molding. The Italian tile pulled up. Walls knocked down. Chandeliers sold. And that grand kitchen island, home to countless buffet dinners, to acres of custard pie and divinity before Thanksgiving, to the laughter of women over coffee and leftovers--gone.

A colosseum in ruins.

The truth hit close to home, even for a pilgrim soul. The world, in its present form, is passing away. Things do not endure. Empires do not endure. Eventually, everything bows to moth and rust and marauder. Even castle houses.

"For we know that if the tend that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heavens." -II Corinthians 5:1

"Hands"

My favorite commercial of all time.