Circling Back Around

Including today, I have 10 full days left in England.

Wow did that creep up on me! This time in Oxford has flown by. That's partly because of the classes and work, I'm sure, but none of it has been drudgery. Our classroom is more of a parlour, complete with curtains that match the wallpaper and comfy chairs. It would seem like that would make it harder to concentrate, but I really think it helps. The homework has been perfectly manageable- I only have 1 journal and 2 exams to go!

How great it's been here though! After class, or even in between, I can walk down to City Centre and find some magic. One day, I was going to pick up my tickets for Harry Potter. However, the cinema wasn't open yet, so I figured I'd find a place to sit and read a while. Starting to search, I found instead a market going on! How exciting. With a nonchalant gait I began to stroll up, down, and around the aisles, stopping at all the sections with books of course. Then I found it. A 1845 copy of Milton's works. Yep, I kinda flipped. I got it, and am now the proud owner of such a book, pocket-sized, readable, and so smell-worthy.

Another adventure, just yesterday, was thus: We had a birthday in our group, so some of us went to go get tea in Port Meadow. To get there, we walked through this great expanse of field, with horses and cows actually in the field with us. Or, I suppose, we were in the field with them, since they were there first. Then the path took us across two bridges and by the water, under a canopy of trees. To get to the tea place, we had to dive into a secreted pathway, replete with trellis arches. The trees and other growth were so close to us and so closely knit that it was dark mid-afternoon, but it was the darkness that accompanies mystery. Coming out, we found The Perch, our restaurant. After delicious tea and even better laughter, some of our group left, but some of us continued on. Where did we go? Berry picking of course. We got raspberries, and blackberries, stained hands and smiles. It felt so normal. It's just the sort of thing I would do at home, so it made me feel like less of a tourist, and more like I just belong. I could forget, too, that I was in a city.



So what's next? My last full day in Oxford is Wednesday, so I shall be racing around until then. I plan on going punting this weekend, finding Tolkien's house and grave, and going to the Ashmolean. Thursday we head to Bath, hopefully stopping along the way at Hay-on-Wye and Tintern Abbey. Friday will be a full day in Bath, where hopefully I can get some tea. Saturday is Tintagel and Sunday is Salisbury. Monday, I will be coming back! The odd part is, we leave somewhere around 5:30pm on Monday, and get in at 8pm on Monday. I know it's because of the time zone change, but it still seems a bit funny to me. See you soon!!

Poetry

So for my class, Poetry and Place, we can choose one of our assignments, making the class either a literature credit or a writing credit. Naturally, I picked the writing assignment:

Dashed Dreams and Tangled Truth

Heaven is a car park

All grey and out of tune

The sun don't shine

The sky ain't blue

And the rocks get in your shoe

Oh I know it be sad

Who wud’ve, cud’ve thought it

All our wishin’

And awonderin’

Tossed inta’ the rubbish bin

Don’t believe me?

Sure, that’s most.

But I saw it

On a plate

Running straight ‘cross the gate.

Yea, there’s still a gate

Just as was been said

But it ain’t asparklin’

And it don’t got gold

Those emeralds be mold.

There ain’t no celestal choir

No ser’nade nor dance

But the crunch of gravel

Whirl of tires

‘mongst the neighbor liars

Where’s my Savior?

I’ll cry it all the loud

Don’t shush me; no!

He ain’t here

Not much, but that is clear

Shove off, you fools

You’ve heard the truth

Shove off your fancy dreams

Heaven is a car park

For all that it seems

The Man with the Scar Across His Chest

Did you see him? Did you see him?

I can’t, I just, wait—

A glimpse, a shove and a plea—light!

Eyes drinking, grasping for more,

Gnawing, stealing others’ hands.

Just a sparkle, a piece, a breath.

Yes, they saw him, the crowd pressing in close.

But not too far, lest his majesty should prove.

Lest he should be less man, and more beast.

Lest he should be less man, and more god.

Lest he should be the most man of all.

Yes, I saw him;

I saw the man with the scar across his chest.

That wretched gap, a yawning cavern

Sucking you in when you stare to long—

Jump back!

No arms complain at our curiosity,

Our impious, irreverent clamor.

No rebuke, no shout;

Nay, his lips stay quiet

And cause quiet; I dare no more than whisper.

I tremble—what might he say?

I die—what does he think and hold to himself?

Those steady eyes tell no tale.

No life but neither death.

Only straight and constant,

A great jarring blow to the curving, changing life I must inhabit.

As great as the wound across his chest

That merely makes him stand taller.

It threatens to tear him apart,

Separate his heart from his head;

How does he keep them together?

This regal king and humble servant,

Inaccessible and welcoming,

But I cannot traverse the final gap.

I stand tottering on the edge, and the dark comes up to grab.

I found a new purchase,

At the very bottom,

The bottom of the man with the scar across his chest .

What monster am I in? What angel has swallowed me?

Mystery holds him as it holds me;

Silence tames both of our lips.

No, I am wrong—

Silence he has chosen; I am the weaker and cannot withstand wishes.

But there comes a sound; hark!

Use what little strength you have.

A thudding, pounding into my ears

Knocks me to the ground and keeps me in place.

My chest pulsates as I cower within his;

Stroke after stroke, I will not, cannot free myself.

What a heavy heartbeat!

One could only guess from the outside;

One can only guess at his mind, his will, his tongue,

His patience, his might, his holiness.

I beg you, cower! And save yourself.

I will force you down.

Lower your haughty eyes that you may not mar him with looking.

I wish, I ache for him to speak that I might feel him

Reverberate, where I kneel in his skin.

He is too good; I shall speak what I know he must:

Get back! Leave he and I in peace,

Me to feel his insides,

Him to be known without words.

Who are you that you should have any claim?

His majesty is not for you. Why do you think he stands silent?

If you could only understand how he looks at you,

Deigns to wait ‘til you gluttons have had your fill.

You would kill him, selfish beasts! – if you could.

You will always look up to him; never face to face.

I… I don’t need to look; I feel.

You will always guess at the man with the scar across his chest.

Don’t you know that scar is me?

Books

“Where do I find Oxford?”

“Up the road and to your left,

But why talk to me?

There’s a book that’ll tell you just the same

And better.”

“You’re right, and then you’re not

For you have something books cannot

I can hear your cadence, see your face—”

“—forget my words, miss my feel.

You can turn and return to a book.

You cannot possess me nor my wisdom.”

“Think you truly so? Are not books sometimes a plague?

A wall between person and person,

A hindrance to humanity?”

“Nay! And I curse your saying so!

Books are a rescue, a lifejacket and a fireman.

They shelter us from the storm,

And prepare us to weather it.

In their dry pages that numb the thumbs

Of servants everywhere,

We fellows may learn how to better interact.

There’s a book that says as much, I assure you.”

“There’s a book that says everything,

And everything for a book.

Print gives no more validity than speech.”

“It does a better job of audience though.”

“We are after truth, man, not numbers.”

“Then pick up a book;

You’ll find you get both.”

“No, I tell you, fight me yourself.”

“Fight without fists and feet?

Tis impossible.

But meet my army, and then we shall spout

Plato and Cicero, Hume and Locke,

Jerome, Chaucer, Lewis, Fox,

Shakespeare and Marlowe, Augustine,

Need I go on?

We shall crush you.”

“Yet all of they were men like you and me.

Were I to write down my words, would you then listen?”

“Yes. But not to you alone.

No honest scholar has one professor.”

“Ah! Then I shall die a man without a voice.”

“Nay, if thou livest rightly,

Hearing the testimony of the ages,

Thou shall die a man.”

“Be wary; you aggravate me, man.”

“I challenge thee and seek only thy growth, boy.

If you would make your way to Oxford,

Make your way by your ears.”

“You that professes to read so much,

Talks too much.

But I will ask you, since you seem so assured,

So confident, so brash,

And I charge you answer me on your true opinion—”

“—fact.”

“You easy preacher, or arrogant knave,

What, then, for all your reading, is the meaning of life?”

“Oh, poor fool, have you heard nothing?

You will die a wolf at Oxford.

There’s a book for that.”

 

A Day in Chapel

What I have really been appreciating is that we haven't just been doing classes. We've been having chapel too, and not just 3 times a week, but every day of classes. It's a wonderful time that draws us all together. It's a time of community, worship, and learning, and it's completely unique.

Well, this week, Dr. Jacobs asked Marissa to plan 2 days of chapel, and she asked me to speak on Monday. The following is what I spoke about, and also some of what has been floating around my mind.

Chicago. It's a city I all know. Tall buildings, face pace. Some splendor, some grime. I've seen the beggars there plenty of times. I knew London was a city. But somehow, every time I would consider it, it was gold. Shining and splendorous. The first time I saw a person begging in London, I was shocked. Someone had taken my stained glass lenses and poked just one piece out. Falling, tumbling, it struck the hard ground and shattered into slivers and shreds. It would never be returned to its place. Now I could see through to the real world. Oh, I could still see the wonderful, but I could now also see through to the reality behind the dream. It started to really bug me. How could I be spending so much, especially considering things such as souvenirs and gifts that weren't necessary, while there was this person who didn't even have a place to live? And even were this one person to be suddenly all right, my delusion was over. Even if they were all right, there are more people in need that I can see. So what do I make of what I'm doing? Is it right? Is it wrong?

I started to examine what it means to be selfish. I wish I knew. I wish I had a definition, for myself, and for everyone else. But, the more I think about it, I believe it might be a very good thing that I don't have the exact answer. If I had all the answers, I wouldn't turn to God for them. I'm asking him questions all the time, and I love it. So my first "answer" is: turn to God for the answers. Pray and read his word. He speaks.

My second "answer" is a type of negative theology so to speak. The same way that negative theology strives to arrive at a conception of God by establishing what he is not, I shall apply the same tactics regarding selfishness.

First, selfishness is not self-consideration. We consider ourselves all the time. I consider when I get up, that I should eat and what I should eat, etc. Also, if I say selfishness is wrong and try to stop, by being conscious of my selfishness and trying to not act thusly, I am still considering myself and my actions. Also, it is said that as we draw closer to Christ, we come into a fuller idea of who we truly are. This is quite different from the idea of nirvana. We do not seek the annihilation of self, but, rather, the recognition of true self. (I realize that this raises a whole host of further questions, but will place them aside currently for the sake of continuing along the same line of thought). Therefore, self-consideration cannot be synonymous for selfishness.

Neither is selfishness synonymous with self-edification. Reading a good book is edifying. Reading the Bible is edifying. Striving to live in the feet of Christ is edifying. Therefore, selfishness is not self-edification.

There is still the all important caveat. It would seem that self-consideration and self-edification are not necessarily selfishness. I would say that they could be though, if the pursuit of either is placed over and against love of God and others. The hard part then, if discovering whether the placement is proper or not. Again, I wish I could claim to know. However, it still stand that I do not, and I am just grateful to know where to go when I'm confused and searching.

I would like to draw one more distinction. It is the difference between outward and inward edification.

Here, I am being edified outwardly so much. Probably more than I can say. For starters, I'm in England. Then I'm taking these great classes, from Christian professors with Christian peers, so that our conversations are fitted within the Christian paradigm. I am seeing  cites of literary and theological value, and just plain enjoying myself.

However, it will be a constant war to avoid the assumption that just because the outside is shining, that so too is the inside. It is so easy for me to do that, and especially when the outside is painted in the semblance of something Christian. I can say that there was chapel, a prayer before meal, talking about Lewis and God, while perfectly ignoring my personal relationship with Christ. In London, I found myself so caught up with excitement and the fast pace of life there, that my devotionals dwindled. First 10 minutes, then 5, then nothing but a muttered prayer as I raced out the door. I cannot live like that. I cannot live without my Lord.

My last urge, for me, for my peers, for the body of Christ, is to be vulnerable. James 5:16 prompts us to confess our sins to one another. I'll be the first to admit that that is not fun. It's uncomfortable. Who wants to admit their weaknesses? If we just pretend we're fine, maybe our delusion will become reality, right? No. By covering up our cracks and scars, we're only holding ourselves back from help. The converse side of this is: pray for one another. Even if someone refuses to let you see their brokenness, you know they are. We are all broken, and we all need prayer. Start praying now; you don't have to wait for someone to come to you.

I used to interpret the last part of James 5:16 really differently than I do now. It says, "The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." Well, for so long, whenever I would read that verse, I thought that all I needed to do was find a really righteous person, and then have them pray for all my sins and shortcomings. You know, the type that does 2 devotionals a day, leads a bible study, is writing a theological book, and is probably a pastor too. Haha well, God showed me differently. I am a righteous woman. I have the righteousness of Christ. My prayers are powerful and effective, not because of me, but because I have a powerful and effective God. So, my brothers and sisters, I beg you. You know that your family is broken and hurting, and you know that you have the power of prayer. Then, pray! Pray in faith, pray in love. Pray with the mind of Christ.

Under a Month and More than a Lifetime

   I've been abroad less than a month, and yet I feel as though I have absorbed more than a lifetime's worth of experiences. I'll try to recap:

   We had 11 days in London. In those 11 days, I saw 7 plays. I'm not sure I've ever seen that many plays, and definitely not in such short time. It still doesn't quite seem possible that I did that, that I lived like that. That must be someone else's life, not mine. It can be my dream, but can it really be my reality? The plays I saw were the following:
      Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap
      Dr. Faustus ((standing) at the Globe) (with Arthur Darvill, who is Rory from Dr. Who)
      Much Ado About Nothing (with David Tennant who is the 10th doctor from Dr. Who and with Catherine Tate who is his companion in series 4 of Dr. Who)
      Much Ado About Nothing ((sitting) at the Globe)
      Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead
      Blood Brothers
      The Cherry Orchard
                                                              They were all fantastic! What experiences, each one!

   I went to the British Museum twice: the most famous things I saw were the rosetta stone and the elgin marbles. The British Library was also wonderful. It's a place were everyone gets their priorities right - reading and writing, what more could you ask for? I was inches from manuscripts of the Bible, of The Canterbury Tales, of Handel's Messiah, of the Magna Carta and so much more! I wonder if, in their day, the writers ever imagined that the people of the future would venerate their works as we do. Also, there happened to be a special exhibit about science fiction! Science fiction can be a clever way of asking questions like: what counts as a human? what counts as life? Do we have the right to treat something that's non-human inhumanely? What is free will and do we have it? If we could control others, would we? And on and on. Naturally, I loved it. Combining questions with literary genius... I thought it was fantastic.

I've been in wonderful churches and abbeys and minsters. I've been to Sung Eucharist at Westminster Abbey, Evensong at Great St. Bartholomew's, the ruins of St. Augustine's Abbey, Canterbury Cathedral, York Minster, the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey, St. Paul's Cathedral, and Notre Dame (in Paris, I took a day trip). Each one is fantastic! They all have a different feel, whether its awe, regality, the smell of dust and books, the need to fill it with singing, etc. They are truly fantastic, in size, in detail, in design.

After London (I know I left some things, actually probably a lot, out, but for expediencies sake I must proceed), we stopped in Helmsley. Helmsley is a cute country market town. Think English country side, and you've probably got a good picture of it. We arrived there Thursday night after visiting the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne (it's an island half the time when the tides rise and cover the causeway to it) (think of the Lindisfarne Gospels), and stayed in a Hostel. I had pictured hostels as concrete rooms where you're lucky to get a bed and where everyone forgets about the words "personal space." I was very pleasantly proved wrong. I shared a room with only 5 other girls, and the meals were amazing. That night I strolled around and journaled.

The next day, Friday, was our only full day in Helmsley. After breakfast, we took a walk across the country side to get to Rievaulx Abbey. Oh how beautiful it was! Stretching grass and strong trees, different shades of green running down the land. At one point, the path we were following us took us into the enclosure of sheep and horses. I'm not kidding, we were actually in amongst the animals! I could have touched them! We traipsed from the fields to the forests, and past a river, and arrived at the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey. Where the floor would have been, nature had spread out a blanket of grass, and was trying to continue its redecorating, spotting the ruins with flowers. The blue sky sparkled above us, with bright cloud kingdoms just waiting to be ascended. After pondering and enjoying and reveling in the Abbey, we went back to town. The rest of the day, most of us read/wrote/studied within the common areas of the hostel. I loved that! It was so enjoyable, the way we could all be hanging out together, all in our respective worlds, and yet never have to say a word.

Then we left for Durham, but on the way we stopped at the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne and saw some ruins there. I even put my hands in the ocean!! Now in Durham, I have my own single room. I love everybody on the trip - they are all nice and so unique and fun. I think I didn't realize how little personal time I was getting, so this little time in Durham will be nice. Also, from one of my windows, I can see the cathedral, and I can hear its bells dancing, enchanting me in my room. Tomorrow, classes start up again!