Thursday, March 30, 2006

i am a little church (no great cathedral)

i am a little church (no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness
)

e.e. cummings


This is a delightful poem which I have always liked. It is not perhaps "typical ee cummings", in that it looks on the page more like a traditional poem. Cummings was, of course, famous for his ingenuous, unexpected arrangement and typography of words and alphabets on the page, for example, Leaf and Grasshopper. Perhaps a less widely known fact is the Cummings in fact wrote the great majority of his poetry in the traditional form. The wonder of his works, is in how the words seem always to flow in a mercurial way, line into line, conjuring the magic of verse imagery in a humorously playful way. One is always in for an element of surprise reading Cummings poetry! (The last line of the poem I find really amusing - I imagine the little dimunitive spire fancying itself to be a proud steeple under the envelope of the night - you can be what you want in the dark!)

From my understanding of Cummings, he is not a particularly religious person. (He is more well known for his unabashed celebration of Romantic love and sexuality). The "theology" and "piety" of this piece is, however, almost perfect. Now, it is clearly a blessed state to be in - being content and secure in who you are in the Lord. One is almost envious of the little church for being such a happy non-worrier, " in longest of winters and shortest of springs". I do not know however whether one could say such is the state that all Christians should aspire towards - somehow I think the little church was "born that way" - it is a gift I think given to some people and not to others (whether or not you are a great cathedral, most of us are somewhere in between the size of ARPC and the church next door anyway, I suspect).

But remembering often to be happy as a little church is probably one of the best things about being a Christian. You worry less, take yourself less seriously, and still remain wise about life that "surges around - a miracle of unceasing birth, glory, death and resurrection".

Monday, March 27, 2006

Oscillating and Thanksgiving

There was some oscillating, but I decided in the end that I would start with something new, rather than pick up where I left off in Livejournal a while ago. It was a dilemma of sorts - for is it not inimical to the idea of One Life Here Only, that one should record it in more than one journal or place? How would any other person be able to form a coherent picture of who one is (or was, if the journal was read at the end of one's life) if there were various journals lying around in different treehouses and parts of cyberspace? Afterall, there is One Book of Life, and when we are to give an account of ourselves at the Great Byma, how shall would one remember and tell one's own tale?

Of course, in the end, I decided to migrate. For the uncomplicated reasons that God knows my story and will tell it on my behalf at that time, and by all appearances, this looks like a more friendly place than Livejournal to post niblets of all kinds, for free. :)

But one shouldn't be surprised if parts of old journal entries (whether enscribed in byte or paper form) find themselves re-posted here. After all, the past could be worth reminding oneself of some times. Like this poem that was inspired during Thanksgiving in November 2003 (the Year of SARS and Other Things that have Happened).


We walk this city of lights
And see not the Light above
A symphony of light dancin
g
Above the ferry berths
Beams across the night sky
Splashes of colour in dark water
Glorious, shining, and silent
As our unsung praises

The autumn breeze nudges gently
Into the harbour, soothing,
Bringing, into the mind
Pictures of joy and sorrow
Tales of cheer and trouble
Each picture and tale a blessing
To hold and remember Goodness
In the year that has just passed by

But such symphony of light should raise
A symphony of loud praise
For while lost hearts can still hear us
We ought to make each tale a note
Of joyous, great thanksgiving
Each testimony and story a sound
Of music we are living...

And so our song shall rise and grow
As days and months bring another autumn
And the lights this time shall dance to
A grand Thankgiving chorus.

- Written on Thanksgiving Saturday, November 2003, Victoria Harbour, Hong Kong

(Photo by Mitten Crab)