Railroad tracks split the campus in half
and at night you’d lie on your narrow cot
and listen to the lonely whistle
of a train crossing the prairie in the dark.
“The Beginning of Poetry” Edward Hirsch, The Living Fire
It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
for lack
of what is found there.
From “Asphodel, that Greeny Flower” William Carlos Williams
In the first two weeks of May I attended two poetry readings – one given by Robert Bly and the other a joint reading offered by Minnesota poets Connie Wanek and Joyce Sutphen. That I was free both these evenings was something of a miracle. That I could attend these readings was a gift of grace.
I first fell in love with poetry in high school. Words seem to have a certain power, a certain magic and when put together rhythmically and beautifully they plunged deep into my soul. My love affair with poetry waxed and waned over the years, but became intense again as I worked on my doctorate. The PBS series, Voices and Visions came out during that time, and watching it, hearing poems read – Wallace Stevens, Elizabeth Bishop, others - rekindled a deeper passion that has stayed lit since. Reading poetry has feed my soul, sparked my imagination, ignited my mind, set my heart to dancing. Reading poetry has helped me enormously in my reading of the Bible which is filled with so much poetic language. The brevity of parables has a poetic quality.
And so I read. And so I listen.
To live without rotting from within,
to ignore imperfections of the skin,
to be heavy, and still be chosen,
to please a strict vegetarian,
to end the day full of light.
From “Pumpkin” Connie Wanek, On Speaking Terms
What you wanted was no less than the truth,
something you could hold lightly in your hand.
What you found was this uncertainty,
memory mixed with desire. How we live.
From “How We Live” Joyce Sutphen, First Words
And so I read. And so I listen. And I am changed.
Rene Char
you are a poet who believes
in the power of beauty
to right all wrongs,
I believe it also.
With invention and courage
we shall surpass
the pitiful dumb beasts,
let all men believe it
as you have taught me also
to believe it.
From “To a Dog Injured In the Street” William Carlos Williams, Pictures from Brueghel
Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.
Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Poetry helps me be there.
And the Word became flesh… full of grace and truth. And the grace and truth that became flesh can become word again, often in the words of poets.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Gathering Up the Years
At that moment, you gather
up the years like a shawl
and wrap yourself in them,
one corner touching another.
Joyce Sutphen, “How You Learn”
This past Thursday night I attended a poetry reading, the second in as many weeks – a gift of grace. The poets were Connie Wanek and Joyce Sutphen. I was working out some thoughts for a brief essay on poetry for this blog, but then something else occurred which touched me even more deeply. I will return to the essay on poetry soon.
On Friday afternoon, I attended a graduation ceremony for our son, David. David has completed his Master’s degree in Advocacy and Political Leadership from the University of Minnesota, Duluth. When the program was created it was the first of its kind in the nation.
Listening to the program director, the University Chancellor, two UMD honorary degree recipients – a prominent Democrat and a prominent Republican, helped me realize what a special program David has been involved with. Listening as the students talked about each other, helped me realize what a unique community he has been involved with. Listening to one of his fellow students describe him filled me with pride and joy. A son who emerged into the world six weeks before he was supposed to, spent his first three weeks in the hospital, has grown into a wonderful human person. The years were gathered like a shawl, and we wrapped ourselves in them, one corner touching another.
As a parent, one hopes that you give your children a solid foundation on which to build a life. When they accomplish something special, you hope you contributed something to that, and you know that they have also done a lot on their own. Julie and I are proud of each of our children. Friday was a wonderful day to celebrate David. Congratulations, son.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
up the years like a shawl
and wrap yourself in them,
one corner touching another.
Joyce Sutphen, “How You Learn”
This past Thursday night I attended a poetry reading, the second in as many weeks – a gift of grace. The poets were Connie Wanek and Joyce Sutphen. I was working out some thoughts for a brief essay on poetry for this blog, but then something else occurred which touched me even more deeply. I will return to the essay on poetry soon.
On Friday afternoon, I attended a graduation ceremony for our son, David. David has completed his Master’s degree in Advocacy and Political Leadership from the University of Minnesota, Duluth. When the program was created it was the first of its kind in the nation.
Listening to the program director, the University Chancellor, two UMD honorary degree recipients – a prominent Democrat and a prominent Republican, helped me realize what a special program David has been involved with. Listening as the students talked about each other, helped me realize what a unique community he has been involved with. Listening to one of his fellow students describe him filled me with pride and joy. A son who emerged into the world six weeks before he was supposed to, spent his first three weeks in the hospital, has grown into a wonderful human person. The years were gathered like a shawl, and we wrapped ourselves in them, one corner touching another.
As a parent, one hopes that you give your children a solid foundation on which to build a life. When they accomplish something special, you hope you contributed something to that, and you know that they have also done a lot on their own. Julie and I are proud of each of our children. Friday was a wonderful day to celebrate David. Congratulations, son.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Friday, May 7, 2010
Robinson and Bly (sounds like a law firm!)
So we had traces of snow in March – very unusual for Duluth, and no snow in April, also unusual. Today, May 7, it snowed over four inches. Earlier in the week I had thought I might get the lawn mower ready to roll tomorrow. Guess not!
Well if snow was an unwelcome event in my life, I have had two very pleasant and welcomed events this past week. Two authors whose works I’ve read and enjoyed were in town, and my schedule actually allowed me to hear them both. Last Saturday night Marilynne Robinson, novelist and essayist lectured at the College of St. Scholastica. Tuesday evening, the poet Robert Bly read at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. I have had the joy of hearing him before, at Southern Methodist University while I was working on my Ph.D.
Robinson’s lecture was rich, densely rich. I would have been glad to have a manuscript to follow along, but the basic theme was arguing against what she views as reductionistic and “scientistic” views of humanity which don’t really account for the wonder and mystery that is human existence. She is out with a new book, based on the Terry Lectures at Yale, and entitled Absence of Mind. Her lecture seems an extension of that book, as best I can tell, not having read it all yet. Here are a couple of excerpts from that work.
Recently I read to a class of young writers a passage from Emerson’s “The American Scholar” in which he says, “In silence, in steadiness, in severe abstraction, let him hold by himself; add observation to observation, patient of neglect, patient of reproach, and bide his own time, - happy enough if he can satisfy himself alone that this day he has seen something truly…. For the instinct is sure, that prompts him to tell his brother what he thinks. He then learns that in going down into the secrets of his own mind he has descended into the secrets of all minds.” These words caused a certain perturbation. The self is no longer assumed to be a thing to be approached with optimism, or to be trusted to see anything truly. Emerson is describing the great paradox and privilege of human selfhood, a privilege foreclosed when the mind is trivialized or thought to be discredited. (xvii-xviii)
Might not the human brain, that most complex object known to exist in the universe, have undergone a qualitative change as well? If my metaphor only suggests the possibility that our species is more than an optimized ape, that something terrible and glorious befell us, a change gradualism could not predict – if this is merely another fable, it might at least encourage an imagination of humankind large enough to acknowledge some small fragment of the mystery we are. (135)
Robinson wants to make greater room in our current intellectual and cultural space for the mystery that we humans are. Poetry helps explore that mystery, too, deepening it. A favorite Robert Bly poem of mine, one that has not found its way into most of his selected works, comes from his early book Silence in the Snowy Fields (and how appropriate for this day in Duluth!).
Afternoon Sleep
I
I was descending from the mountains of sleep.
Asleep I had gazed east over a sunny field,
And sat on the running board of an old Model A.
I awoke happy, for I had dreamt of my wife,
And the loneliness hiding in grass and weeds
That lies near a man over thirty, and suddenly enters.
II
When Joe Sjolie grew tired, he sold his farm,
Even his bachelor rocker, and did not come back.
He left his dog behind in the cob shed.
The dog refused to take food from strangers.
III
I drove out to that farm when I awoke;
Alone on a hill, sheltered by trees.
The matted grass lay around the house.
When I climbed the porch, the door was open.
Inside were old abandoned books,
And instructions to Norwegian immigrants.
Sleep, dreams, sex, loneliness, age, death, books – the human mystery indeed.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Well if snow was an unwelcome event in my life, I have had two very pleasant and welcomed events this past week. Two authors whose works I’ve read and enjoyed were in town, and my schedule actually allowed me to hear them both. Last Saturday night Marilynne Robinson, novelist and essayist lectured at the College of St. Scholastica. Tuesday evening, the poet Robert Bly read at the University of Minnesota, Duluth. I have had the joy of hearing him before, at Southern Methodist University while I was working on my Ph.D.
Robinson’s lecture was rich, densely rich. I would have been glad to have a manuscript to follow along, but the basic theme was arguing against what she views as reductionistic and “scientistic” views of humanity which don’t really account for the wonder and mystery that is human existence. She is out with a new book, based on the Terry Lectures at Yale, and entitled Absence of Mind. Her lecture seems an extension of that book, as best I can tell, not having read it all yet. Here are a couple of excerpts from that work.
Recently I read to a class of young writers a passage from Emerson’s “The American Scholar” in which he says, “In silence, in steadiness, in severe abstraction, let him hold by himself; add observation to observation, patient of neglect, patient of reproach, and bide his own time, - happy enough if he can satisfy himself alone that this day he has seen something truly…. For the instinct is sure, that prompts him to tell his brother what he thinks. He then learns that in going down into the secrets of his own mind he has descended into the secrets of all minds.” These words caused a certain perturbation. The self is no longer assumed to be a thing to be approached with optimism, or to be trusted to see anything truly. Emerson is describing the great paradox and privilege of human selfhood, a privilege foreclosed when the mind is trivialized or thought to be discredited. (xvii-xviii)
Might not the human brain, that most complex object known to exist in the universe, have undergone a qualitative change as well? If my metaphor only suggests the possibility that our species is more than an optimized ape, that something terrible and glorious befell us, a change gradualism could not predict – if this is merely another fable, it might at least encourage an imagination of humankind large enough to acknowledge some small fragment of the mystery we are. (135)
Robinson wants to make greater room in our current intellectual and cultural space for the mystery that we humans are. Poetry helps explore that mystery, too, deepening it. A favorite Robert Bly poem of mine, one that has not found its way into most of his selected works, comes from his early book Silence in the Snowy Fields (and how appropriate for this day in Duluth!).
Afternoon Sleep
I
I was descending from the mountains of sleep.
Asleep I had gazed east over a sunny field,
And sat on the running board of an old Model A.
I awoke happy, for I had dreamt of my wife,
And the loneliness hiding in grass and weeds
That lies near a man over thirty, and suddenly enters.
II
When Joe Sjolie grew tired, he sold his farm,
Even his bachelor rocker, and did not come back.
He left his dog behind in the cob shed.
The dog refused to take food from strangers.
III
I drove out to that farm when I awoke;
Alone on a hill, sheltered by trees.
The matted grass lay around the house.
When I climbed the porch, the door was open.
Inside were old abandoned books,
And instructions to Norwegian immigrants.
Sleep, dreams, sex, loneliness, age, death, books – the human mystery indeed.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Traveling and Reading
I spent much of this past week on Portland attending a meeting of the United Methodist Commission on General Conference. I serve on the Commission and on the Rules Committee. I enjoy the people and appreciate the work.
The trip to Portland is a rather long one, and a benefit of long trips like this is the time they afford for reading – the time in the airport waiting, the time on the plane, and a little time in the evenings. My reading for the week was eclectic, as I like it.
Flannery O’Connor’s novel Wise Blood was first on the list. A reading group I convene is reading this novel. While I have owned a copy for awhile (it must be “for awhile” – the price on the cover is $2.95!), I had never read it. O’Connor, in an introductory note written ten years after the novel was first published in 1952 calls it a “comic novel,” and so it is, but darkly comic. The chief protagonist, Hazel Motes is a person haunted by Jesus and Christian faith. O’Connor writes in her introductory note: “That belief in Christ is to some a matter of life and death had been a stumbling block for readers who would prefer to think it a matter of no great consequence.” That illuminating introduction ends with these words: “Free will does not mean one will, but many wills conflicting in one man. Freedom cannot be conceived simply. It is a mystery, and one which a novel, even a comic novel, can only be asked to deepen.” Having read the novel, I was a little haunted myself, by the mystery of O’Connor’s work. So I read a couple of her short stories, packaged with the novel – “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” and “A Temple of the Holy Ghost.” I look forward to discussing O’Connor’s work with others, to see if they too were haunted a bit.
I finished Wise Blood on the trip to Portland and brought only one other book along, a slim volume entitled Psychoanalysis and Moral Values by Heinz Hartmann. Hartmann’s essay seeks to describe “the complexities of moral reality which every application of moral principles has to consider” (19). The book is insightful, but after a strong dose of O’Connor, I was looking for something a little lighter, at least for a time.
Thankfully, the hotel I was staying at was near a bookstore, and this being spring, a good baseball book seemed like a wonderful idea. So I bought and read George Vecsey’s Baseball: a history of America’s favorite game. It was a delightful read, but not removed from the mysteries of freedom and morality. Baseball, being “America’s game” has mirrored some of the beauty and ugliness of our land. There is beauty in this game – wonder that humans create games at all, beauty in the combination of team and individual effort that is baseball, beauty in the history of the game and some of its legendary characters. But baseball has suffered under anti-Semitism, and more especially, racism. Vecsey hides none of this, and his chapter on Jackie Robinson reminded me of the enormous courage of that graceful and determined man.
I am also working my way through the Bible again, and found myself in both Luke and Ezra – an eclectic combination in itself - - - the power of Jesus presence, the hope as exiles return.
Life cannot be conceived simply. It is a mystery which eclectic reading deepens, and for that I am grateful.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
The trip to Portland is a rather long one, and a benefit of long trips like this is the time they afford for reading – the time in the airport waiting, the time on the plane, and a little time in the evenings. My reading for the week was eclectic, as I like it.
Flannery O’Connor’s novel Wise Blood was first on the list. A reading group I convene is reading this novel. While I have owned a copy for awhile (it must be “for awhile” – the price on the cover is $2.95!), I had never read it. O’Connor, in an introductory note written ten years after the novel was first published in 1952 calls it a “comic novel,” and so it is, but darkly comic. The chief protagonist, Hazel Motes is a person haunted by Jesus and Christian faith. O’Connor writes in her introductory note: “That belief in Christ is to some a matter of life and death had been a stumbling block for readers who would prefer to think it a matter of no great consequence.” That illuminating introduction ends with these words: “Free will does not mean one will, but many wills conflicting in one man. Freedom cannot be conceived simply. It is a mystery, and one which a novel, even a comic novel, can only be asked to deepen.” Having read the novel, I was a little haunted myself, by the mystery of O’Connor’s work. So I read a couple of her short stories, packaged with the novel – “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” and “A Temple of the Holy Ghost.” I look forward to discussing O’Connor’s work with others, to see if they too were haunted a bit.
I finished Wise Blood on the trip to Portland and brought only one other book along, a slim volume entitled Psychoanalysis and Moral Values by Heinz Hartmann. Hartmann’s essay seeks to describe “the complexities of moral reality which every application of moral principles has to consider” (19). The book is insightful, but after a strong dose of O’Connor, I was looking for something a little lighter, at least for a time.
Thankfully, the hotel I was staying at was near a bookstore, and this being spring, a good baseball book seemed like a wonderful idea. So I bought and read George Vecsey’s Baseball: a history of America’s favorite game. It was a delightful read, but not removed from the mysteries of freedom and morality. Baseball, being “America’s game” has mirrored some of the beauty and ugliness of our land. There is beauty in this game – wonder that humans create games at all, beauty in the combination of team and individual effort that is baseball, beauty in the history of the game and some of its legendary characters. But baseball has suffered under anti-Semitism, and more especially, racism. Vecsey hides none of this, and his chapter on Jackie Robinson reminded me of the enormous courage of that graceful and determined man.
I am also working my way through the Bible again, and found myself in both Luke and Ezra – an eclectic combination in itself - - - the power of Jesus presence, the hope as exiles return.
Life cannot be conceived simply. It is a mystery which eclectic reading deepens, and for that I am grateful.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, April 24, 2010
INSPIRATION
Recent discussions have led me once again to think deeply about what it may mean to speak of the Bible as “inspired.” It was made clear to me in some recent conversations that how one understands the Bible to be inspired profoundly influences the way in which one reads this book and the way in which one expects God’s Spirit to speak through this text.
Christians agree that the Bible is inspired by God and revelatory of God. “Inspiration, however it is explained and understood, or even denied, refers to the divine influence in virtue of which the biblical text is, in fact, experienced by some people/communities as revelatory” (Sandra M. Schneiders, “Inspiration” in The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible). The basic biblical text cited for this is II Timothy 3:16-17: All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work.
What this means, however, is contested. For some in the Christian community, inspiration seems to mean that God so overwhelmed the authors of the Biblical writings that their character as human writings is negligible. This position is sometimes called “verbal inspiration” and it claims that these texts are inerrant and infallible. Those who hold that Scripture is verbally inerrant attribute this trait to the infallibility of the divine author who, despite the limitations of the human authors and human language through which God communicates in Scripture, guarantees that there is not and cannot be error of any kind in the biblical text. (Schneiders) Others see the matter differently, but why might one even search for an alternative?
Sandra Schneiders argues that the position of verbal inspiration “bristles with difficulties.” All human language changes in meaning and reference over time…. The problem of how divine inerrancy could characterize essentially limited, perspectival, and linguistically constrained human discourse seems rationally insurmountable. I think Schneiders makes a convincing case, but it will not be very convincing to those whose primary mode of discourse focuses on Biblical texts themselves. They might respond that the Bible claims it is inspired and faith in the God of Jesus Christ entails faith in that claim, as well.
But there are some interesting statements in the Bible itself which undercut the idea of verbal inspiration. II Peter 3:15-16 reads, in part: So also our beloved brother Paul wrote to you according to the wisdom given him, speaking of this as he does in all his letters. There are some things in them hard to understand, which the ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction, as they do the other scriptures. Paul writes according to the wisdom given him – PAUL WRITES! This letter writer is asserting human authorship, though also characterizing Paul’s writings as “scripture.” Jesus, in Mark 10 speaks of divorce, and in the give and take asks what Moses wrote – WHAT MOSES WROTE. People respond, and Jesus comes back with this: Because of your hardness of heart [Moses] wrote this commandment for you. The commandment has to do with presenting a certificate of divorce and can be found in Deuteronomy 24.
The Bible itself seems comfortable with claiming both human authorship of its writings and divine inspiration. Jesus is willing to say that writings of Moses, which are a part of Scripture, were written in a particular context, for a particular people, and may be limited by that context. Even II Timothy seems to have little concern for claiming that inspiration entails inerrancy and infallibility. The author of that work seems to think that inspiration has to do with the way Scripture shapes those who listen to it, read it. Scripture is inspired, and useful. It is useful in forming a life.
Maybe the writings of the Bible are human documents, written by men and, perhaps women, who were genuinely engaged with God’s Spirit, inspired by that Spirit to write, but writing as human beings still trying to grapple with all that God is and all that God requires. Some of what they wrote may even be context-bound. It is certainly written in language which by its very nature is limited, perspectival, and linguistically constrained. Nevertheless, it is as we read these writings in our own thoughtful, prayerful way, open to God’s Spirit today - read them in on-going conversation with other persons of faith, that our lives are shaped, transformed, and we become equipped for every good work. We are trained in righteousness. Such an understanding of inspiration is a bit messy. Those who claim it need to take time to understand history, culture, the nature of language, the nature of reading, in order to better understand the text. Yet reading the Bible in this way is an adventure as wild as the Spirit who inspires the writings in the first place.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Christians agree that the Bible is inspired by God and revelatory of God. “Inspiration, however it is explained and understood, or even denied, refers to the divine influence in virtue of which the biblical text is, in fact, experienced by some people/communities as revelatory” (Sandra M. Schneiders, “Inspiration” in The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible). The basic biblical text cited for this is II Timothy 3:16-17: All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work.
What this means, however, is contested. For some in the Christian community, inspiration seems to mean that God so overwhelmed the authors of the Biblical writings that their character as human writings is negligible. This position is sometimes called “verbal inspiration” and it claims that these texts are inerrant and infallible. Those who hold that Scripture is verbally inerrant attribute this trait to the infallibility of the divine author who, despite the limitations of the human authors and human language through which God communicates in Scripture, guarantees that there is not and cannot be error of any kind in the biblical text. (Schneiders) Others see the matter differently, but why might one even search for an alternative?
Sandra Schneiders argues that the position of verbal inspiration “bristles with difficulties.” All human language changes in meaning and reference over time…. The problem of how divine inerrancy could characterize essentially limited, perspectival, and linguistically constrained human discourse seems rationally insurmountable. I think Schneiders makes a convincing case, but it will not be very convincing to those whose primary mode of discourse focuses on Biblical texts themselves. They might respond that the Bible claims it is inspired and faith in the God of Jesus Christ entails faith in that claim, as well.
But there are some interesting statements in the Bible itself which undercut the idea of verbal inspiration. II Peter 3:15-16 reads, in part: So also our beloved brother Paul wrote to you according to the wisdom given him, speaking of this as he does in all his letters. There are some things in them hard to understand, which the ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction, as they do the other scriptures. Paul writes according to the wisdom given him – PAUL WRITES! This letter writer is asserting human authorship, though also characterizing Paul’s writings as “scripture.” Jesus, in Mark 10 speaks of divorce, and in the give and take asks what Moses wrote – WHAT MOSES WROTE. People respond, and Jesus comes back with this: Because of your hardness of heart [Moses] wrote this commandment for you. The commandment has to do with presenting a certificate of divorce and can be found in Deuteronomy 24.
The Bible itself seems comfortable with claiming both human authorship of its writings and divine inspiration. Jesus is willing to say that writings of Moses, which are a part of Scripture, were written in a particular context, for a particular people, and may be limited by that context. Even II Timothy seems to have little concern for claiming that inspiration entails inerrancy and infallibility. The author of that work seems to think that inspiration has to do with the way Scripture shapes those who listen to it, read it. Scripture is inspired, and useful. It is useful in forming a life.
Maybe the writings of the Bible are human documents, written by men and, perhaps women, who were genuinely engaged with God’s Spirit, inspired by that Spirit to write, but writing as human beings still trying to grapple with all that God is and all that God requires. Some of what they wrote may even be context-bound. It is certainly written in language which by its very nature is limited, perspectival, and linguistically constrained. Nevertheless, it is as we read these writings in our own thoughtful, prayerful way, open to God’s Spirit today - read them in on-going conversation with other persons of faith, that our lives are shaped, transformed, and we become equipped for every good work. We are trained in righteousness. Such an understanding of inspiration is a bit messy. Those who claim it need to take time to understand history, culture, the nature of language, the nature of reading, in order to better understand the text. Yet reading the Bible in this way is an adventure as wild as the Spirit who inspires the writings in the first place.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Saturday, April 17, 2010
A Gift
In the midst of a very busy week and weekend, this poem found its way to me, a bit of rain in a parched place, a gift of grace in my hurried world – even if I am not sixty yet.
“Halleluiah” Mary Oliver from Evidence
Everyone should be born into this world happy
and loving everything.
But in truth it rarely works that way.
For myself, I have spent my life clamoring toward it.
Halleluiah, anyway I’m not where I started!
And have you too been trudging like that, sometimes
almost forgetting how wondrous the world is
and how miraculously kind some people can be?
And have you too decided that probably nothing important
is ever easy?
Not, say, for the first sixty years.
Halleluiah, I’m sixty now, and even a little more,
and some days I feel I have wings.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
“Halleluiah” Mary Oliver from Evidence
Everyone should be born into this world happy
and loving everything.
But in truth it rarely works that way.
For myself, I have spent my life clamoring toward it.
Halleluiah, anyway I’m not where I started!
And have you too been trudging like that, sometimes
almost forgetting how wondrous the world is
and how miraculously kind some people can be?
And have you too decided that probably nothing important
is ever easy?
Not, say, for the first sixty years.
Halleluiah, I’m sixty now, and even a little more,
and some days I feel I have wings.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
Friday, April 9, 2010
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
More than any other sport, [baseball] summons the past…. Baseball is, I suspect, our most mythological of sports; it has the longest history, it is by its own proclamation our national pastime, and it harbors, I think, our greatest mythological figures…. It is a sport with its own rhythms and graces.
David Halberstam, in Everything They Had
Baseball memories are seductive, tempting us always toward sweetness and undercomplexity.
Roger Angell, in Game Time
For all its changes, baseball has not strayed far from its origins, and in fact has changed far less than other American institutions of equivalent antiquity. What sustains baseball in the hearts of Americans, finally, is not its responsiveness to changes in society nor its propensity for novelty, but its myths, its lore, its records, and its essential stability…. Spring comes in America not on the vernal equinox but on opening day; summer sets in with a Memorial Day doubleheader and does not truly end until the last out of the regular season. Winter begins the day after the World Series…. We grow up with baseball; we mark – and, for a moment, stop – the passage of time with it. It is our game, for all our days.
John Thorn, in Baseball: Our Game
The 2010 baseball season opened this week. The Minnesota Twins will play in a new stadium in this, their fiftieth year in Minnesota (it is my fifty-first year of life – I have grown up with baseball here in Minnesota!).
I enjoy baseball for its rich history. Some of the first historical photographs I remember seeing were old black and white pictures of famous baseball players from the past. I appreciate the leisurely pace of the game. It can get long, can be tedious sometimes, maybe a little boring even – but in our hectic world, a little boredom can be a good thing - - - time to think, time to reflect. I like the combination of team and individual effort that is a part of the game.
Baseball memories are seductive. I am sure I love the game for its deep associations from my childhood. I can still smell the hard bubble gum that came with a pack of baseball cards. I remember the white sugary powder that dusted the pink gum and can still recall its taste when you began to chew. The flavor never lasted long. I remember the games I invented to play with my card collection. I had my cards organized by teams, and the cards alphabetized within teams. One summer I took paper and made rosters for each of my teams, put together starting line-ups, and began playing a season – a season that I never finished. I still have the small vending machine baseball that I used to simulate plays. It is now hard and yellowed. I can almost hear the voices that broadcast ball games from out of a small transistor radio with the single ear piece – Herb Carneal and Halsey Hall. These memories do tend toward sweetness and undercomplexity. Growing up was not always easy. Yet baseball is deeply associated in me with a simpler time, with a certain innocence. I had yet to see some of the complexity and difficulty of the world.
Becoming a mature person, a person growing in faith, hope and love involves, I think, staying in touch with hopeful innocence and peacefulness while looking with eyes wide open at the world in all its ugliness and beauty. We cannot live in sweetness and undercomplexity, but perhaps visiting there once in awhile to refresh our spirits and recharge our batteries is not such a bad thing. Baseball does that for me.
Take me out to the ballgame.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
David Halberstam, in Everything They Had
Baseball memories are seductive, tempting us always toward sweetness and undercomplexity.
Roger Angell, in Game Time
For all its changes, baseball has not strayed far from its origins, and in fact has changed far less than other American institutions of equivalent antiquity. What sustains baseball in the hearts of Americans, finally, is not its responsiveness to changes in society nor its propensity for novelty, but its myths, its lore, its records, and its essential stability…. Spring comes in America not on the vernal equinox but on opening day; summer sets in with a Memorial Day doubleheader and does not truly end until the last out of the regular season. Winter begins the day after the World Series…. We grow up with baseball; we mark – and, for a moment, stop – the passage of time with it. It is our game, for all our days.
John Thorn, in Baseball: Our Game
The 2010 baseball season opened this week. The Minnesota Twins will play in a new stadium in this, their fiftieth year in Minnesota (it is my fifty-first year of life – I have grown up with baseball here in Minnesota!).
I enjoy baseball for its rich history. Some of the first historical photographs I remember seeing were old black and white pictures of famous baseball players from the past. I appreciate the leisurely pace of the game. It can get long, can be tedious sometimes, maybe a little boring even – but in our hectic world, a little boredom can be a good thing - - - time to think, time to reflect. I like the combination of team and individual effort that is a part of the game.
Baseball memories are seductive. I am sure I love the game for its deep associations from my childhood. I can still smell the hard bubble gum that came with a pack of baseball cards. I remember the white sugary powder that dusted the pink gum and can still recall its taste when you began to chew. The flavor never lasted long. I remember the games I invented to play with my card collection. I had my cards organized by teams, and the cards alphabetized within teams. One summer I took paper and made rosters for each of my teams, put together starting line-ups, and began playing a season – a season that I never finished. I still have the small vending machine baseball that I used to simulate plays. It is now hard and yellowed. I can almost hear the voices that broadcast ball games from out of a small transistor radio with the single ear piece – Herb Carneal and Halsey Hall. These memories do tend toward sweetness and undercomplexity. Growing up was not always easy. Yet baseball is deeply associated in me with a simpler time, with a certain innocence. I had yet to see some of the complexity and difficulty of the world.
Becoming a mature person, a person growing in faith, hope and love involves, I think, staying in touch with hopeful innocence and peacefulness while looking with eyes wide open at the world in all its ugliness and beauty. We cannot live in sweetness and undercomplexity, but perhaps visiting there once in awhile to refresh our spirits and recharge our batteries is not such a bad thing. Baseball does that for me.
Take me out to the ballgame.
With Faith and With Feathers,
David
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