People I hear often insist that "the journey is the destination." Well, uh... no. Regardless of whether I or my peers would like to admit it, time is an arrow, a mathematical ray, which shoots from one end of history to the culmination. There are plenty of births and deaths, winters and springs, ebbs and flows, waxing and waning cycles. Someday you and I will be dead, buried beneath ash or dirt or cement or sea, and we'll face the judgment seat of the Christ. Today is the day of salvation; kiss the Son, lest you perish.
"Lest" is a good word. As are "scaffolding," "scald," "sear," "suffer," and "state."
However, this is not to de-emphasize the importance of the preparation and adventure of the journey to the cross! T. S. Eliot, the American-turned-British author and poet of the mid-20th century, became a Christian, and this poem , I believe, is his testimony.
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, sore-footed, 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 kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may 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.
-------------
"Prepare to meet thy God, O Christian! Betake thyself to thy chamber on the Saturday night, confess and bewail thine unfaithfulness under the ordinances of God; be ashamed of and condemn thyself for thy sins, entreat God to prepare thy heart for, and assist it in, thy religious performances; spend some time in consideration of the infinite majesty, holiness, jealousy, and goodness, of that God, with whom thou art to have to do in sacred duties; ponder the weight and importance of His holy ordinances...; meditate on the shortness of the time thou hast to enjoy Sabbaths in; and continue musing... till the fire burneth; thou canst not think the good thou mayest gain by such forethoughts, how pleasant and profitable a Lord's day would be to thee after such a preparation. The oven of thine heart thus baked in, as it were overnight, would be easily heated the next morning; the fire so well raked up when thou wentest to bed, would be the sooner kindled when thou shouldst rise. If thou wouldst thus leave thy heart with God on the Saturday night, thou shouldst find it with him in the Lord's Day morning."
-George Swinnock, Works, (Edinburgh: James Nichols, 1868), I:229f
On a completely unrelated note, Rick Lindsay once told me "What? It's not like the internet's going to run out of space; post it [ this, to be specific ] on your blog!" This is true. The only problem is that I can't tell who reads my blog, or even who would stumble upon my words, which is the paramount problem with a public blog. I can see who chooses to let me know they "follow" my words, and those who leave comments, but besides that, my words seem to spew into the blogosphere, where they have unseen effects...
"Lest" is a good word. As are "scaffolding," "scald," "sear," "suffer," and "state."
However, this is not to de-emphasize the importance of the preparation and adventure of the journey to the cross! T. S. Eliot, the American-turned-British author and poet of the mid-20th century, became a Christian, and this poem , I believe, is his testimony.
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, sore-footed, 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 kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may 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.
-------------
"Prepare to meet thy God, O Christian! Betake thyself to thy chamber on the Saturday night, confess and bewail thine unfaithfulness under the ordinances of God; be ashamed of and condemn thyself for thy sins, entreat God to prepare thy heart for, and assist it in, thy religious performances; spend some time in consideration of the infinite majesty, holiness, jealousy, and goodness, of that God, with whom thou art to have to do in sacred duties; ponder the weight and importance of His holy ordinances...; meditate on the shortness of the time thou hast to enjoy Sabbaths in; and continue musing... till the fire burneth; thou canst not think the good thou mayest gain by such forethoughts, how pleasant and profitable a Lord's day would be to thee after such a preparation. The oven of thine heart thus baked in, as it were overnight, would be easily heated the next morning; the fire so well raked up when thou wentest to bed, would be the sooner kindled when thou shouldst rise. If thou wouldst thus leave thy heart with God on the Saturday night, thou shouldst find it with him in the Lord's Day morning."
-George Swinnock, Works, (Edinburgh: James Nichols, 1868), I:229f
On a completely unrelated note, Rick Lindsay once told me "What? It's not like the internet's going to run out of space; post it [ this, to be specific ] on your blog!" This is true. The only problem is that I can't tell who reads my blog, or even who would stumble upon my words, which is the paramount problem with a public blog. I can see who chooses to let me know they "follow" my words, and those who leave comments, but besides that, my words seem to spew into the blogosphere, where they have unseen effects...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteSorry about that. My mistake. I was saying that I read your blog. I don't normally leave comments becuase I have absolutely no clue what to say. Take from it what you will. :)
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