Five Hundred a Year

I need to write. How many times have I said this, over and over, to you, dear Reader, and to myself? But I will say it again: I need to write. Today, I need to write because I feel compelled to do so. Because I am able and because I am free to do so. Last night, I read Virginia Woolf’s correct and beautifully crafted essay “A Room of One’s Own”. I read it because it caught my eye at the library on Friday, while I was laying in supplies for a Reading Party. The only Virginia Woolf I’d read before was the brief “A Mark on the Wall” in a Brit Lit Survey class in college. I like her, thus far, though I’ve not yet given her fiction a chance. We shall see. . .

I want to tell you that “A Room of One’s Own” fits perfectly, perfectly, into our discussion of voice this year. Woolf boils the whole subject of women’s writing into 2 points: to write, one must have five hundred a year and a room of one’s own. Reading Woolf renewed my growing conviction of the great difference opportunity can make in the lives of separate persons.

 These words—king, beggar, wife, husband, rich, impoverished, educated, illiterate—merely describe opportunities given or denied, they do not speak of innate qualities or potentialities. I want to highlight this idea of opportunity because I feel that it is an essential component in finding one’s voice. To have a voice, sorry, I should say, to use one’s voice, one must have the opportunity to do so. 

Everyone has a voice, but not everyone receives the tools to develop it, to give it form and meaning in language's soft vowels and scraping consonants. Those who are seldom heard--the poor, the marginalized, the illiterate, and the oppressed--have lacked opportunity, but are not voiceless. As Americans, we wonder why children in Asia tend to be better at math. Is it because American children are by nature stupid and slovenly? Are they less intelligent, or just more inclined to the arts? No. It is because children in Asia are given the opportunities necessary for excellence in numbers. We ask why, in America, white children in wealthy families are more likely to be successful than the ethnic inhabitants of inner cities. It's because of opportunity. Wealthy children tend to receive the opportunity of a better education, and are therefore more likely to find, and use, their own voices.

Woolf notes how difficult it is for a woman to write while acknowledging that her predecessors—her mothers and grandmothers—spent their lives crying out in child bed and otherwise living as mute ornaments to their husbands’ glory. Woman, Woolf notes, lacks the strong, certain tapestry of letters that man has claimed as part of his rightful dominion over the world. She cannot look back on thousands of years, reciting genealogies of female poets and playwrights. She instead looks back on a liturgy of housekeepers, servants, slaves, and sexual objects—possessions prized or disdained. Woman writing must, in hearing her own voice, recognize the silence of her sisters throughout time and space.

Because I have not been forced into one kind of life, and because I am not even among those who fought for the opportunity to speak, I get to be the Woman writing. I am able to use my voice, and I know what it sounds like. 

I am blessed. This is simply another way of saying that I have been given the opportunity to use my voice. 

Let's summarize. We have seen that to use one's voice one must first be cleansed of iniquity, otherwise all that one speaks is filth in the eyes of God. And to use one's voice, one must have a private space, and five hundred a year.

A Burning Coal

Happy New Year!

The theme for this year is voice, and I want to start thinking about this topic right now. Yesterday, while I was pondering the end of the year and the concept of using one's voice, I remembered that God made voices primarily for prayer and worship. When I think about this, and about how rarely my voice makes supplication or offers praise, I am humbled. I quoted from Isaiah chapter 6 last night, because I think it apt to begin a year-long attention to voice with a vision of holiness. The vision in chapter 6 begins with Isaiah transported into God's presence. The picture is majestic: the LORD sits on a throne surrounded by the voiced acclamations of terrifying angels while his robe fully inhabits the temple. Vision comes before voice for Isaiah, and his vision nearly renders him speechless. What Isaiah sees in God's throne room is not only God's glory, but also his own unworthiness. This is an appropriate place to begin, because what must come before voice is a recognition of my own inability to give voice to what is good. So, to begin the new year, we begin with a vision of cleansing.

    And I said: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”

 Madeleine L'Engle refers to this need of purification in her writings on art and faith. At the moment, I can't recall any specific quotations, but L'Engle writes with the understanding that voice is a gift given to unworthy recipients.We are called to serve this gift, not to boast of our own worthiness to receive it.

    Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: “Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.”

After visions of holiness---after receiving forgiveness--we speak. 


"O Lord, open thou our lips, and our mouths shall shew forth thy praise."

As with Ceaseless Voice They Cry

“O Lord, Open thou our lips, and our mouths shall shew forth thy praise.”

Well, friends. It's the end of another year. I'm feeling quite glad about the frequency with which I've written in this blog over the last 12 moments. Moments seems like a more apropos word than months suddenly. I'd like to keep up this blog and improve it if I can. I have another, secret blog, which I write in purely for the sake of my own feelings, and every year I select a theme to form my thoughts around. I'd like to do the same for this one. Since I have two blogs, I'll need two themes. I've decided to go with Vision for the other blog, and Voice for this one. I'm choosing voice as a theme for the year 2013 because I've been realizing, in the dregs of this year, how important it is to use one's voice and how damaging it can be, sometimes, to remain silent. I'm choosing vision for the secret blog because vision is the thing that precedes voice. One must have thoughts before one can have words. The type and content of my posts shouldn't change much, they'll just all be formed around the subject of voice. Voice can mean lots of different things, you'll see. . .

I've also realized that there is another connection between vision and voice. Prophets are strong in both of these areas. A prophet's task is to give voice to what is visible, and prophecy is one of the spiritual gifts that is supposed to be desired.

    And I said: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”
    Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: “Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.”
(Isaiah 6:5-7 ESV)

Holy Nativity: Bright Paint and Sweet Anger

God in three persons, Holy Trinity.

Well, it's Christmas Eve, and as usual, I've failed to keep this blog abreast of the progress of my Nativity Fast. I'm feeling really glad that Lent is coming up in a few months. I think, maybe, I'm getting used to the rhythm of fasting and feasting. I failed several times during this fast, and abandoned my reading plan half way through. But still, being in the general mindset of fasting was invaluable during this frenzied, noisy holiday season. I'm shockingly calm. Calm and prepared are the two words that best describe my mood this year.  I think this is due entirely to my experience of God in this fast. One day I will be good at fasting, I tell you! One day. In the meantime, I am going to learn to fight legalism and slovenly habits as I align my life to the Christian calendar.  

I'm learning things about myself this fall. Mostly, I've been learning a lot about what I picture when I use the word "home", and how far my actual home falls short of this image. I think, sometimes, I feel guilty about wanting to be comfortable. I have the personal tastes of Marie Antoinette, but I try to live like John the Baptist. This is maybe irrelevant to this post, but for me to feel at home, the walls have to be painted in bright colors. Or at least, I have to be surrounded by lots of brightly colored, beautiful things. No, the walls really, actually have to be painted in bright colors. I have tried several times in my adult life to live without this, and each time, the experiment has failed. It's always the same. I buy a few things: a colorful bedspread, a whimsical piece of artwork, and feel like I have accomplished the goal of setting up a nest for myself. But it always fails. White walls make me crazy. The earth is not my home, this is sure, but it is a place to practice living real, eternal life. I must do that in a place that feels like home. I should have painted my apartment. I should've painted, and I should've bought a lot of furniture. I am not a nomad, I am not a desert father, I am an Ayodele. And Ayodeles need their houses to be decorated like Anthropologie stores.

Also, I've learned about my general lack of assertiveness. Again, this is not a new lesson. Why must I learn everything 85 times? I hate being angry; I gravitate towards tranquility. But, as I'm human, I cannot escape human emotions. I spent a lot of time this fall, during this Nativity Fast, incensed. I wonder what the etymology of the word incensed is. Anyway, I'm learning again that it is OK to be mad, that when I am angry I cannot make myself otherwise, and that the swiftest path to righteousness is speaking the truth in love. "I feel mad when you. . ." At the moment, it is nearly impossible for me to communicate anger to another person. I fear conflict, and I fear my own ability to handle anger appropriately. But I must work on this.

What does any of this have to do with the Incarnation? Well, both of these things, colored paint and assertive language, affect my ability to feel at home in my own flesh. Since I am incarnate, I cannot live peacefully if I'm always trying to just endure ugly, glaring white paint or situations that make me angry. Sometimes you just have to work to make things better, instead of trying to survive them. This is the truth.

I think this fast has made it easier to hear God when he speaks. Maybe that is what fasting is about, telling God that you're listening. Fasting is living in a posture of listening.

Speaking of my natural inclination toward extravagance, I may at least congratulate myself on the way I observed Christmas this year. Christmas is so important to me. And I love all of it. I love the shopping, and the brass bands playing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" on the street corners, and the trees, and the lights, and the office holiday parties, and the presents. I cannot cut corners on Christmas. Lucky for me, I planned ahead this year. I put up my tree 2 days after Thanksgiving, ordered and sent out Christmas cards, and used an Advent Wreath. This is my first year using an Advent Wreath. I made it myself and everything. I will do it every year. I think lighting the Advent candles helped me to get a handle on the time. Isn't that what fasting is about? Getting a handle on the time? I knew exactly how many days it was until Christmas, and I was able to focus on the right things, like Love, Hope, and Joy--at least on Sundays. So, some part of my brain chose to act according to common sense this year. Hooray! I love the Advent season.

Now I need to go complete another Christmas tradition, and finish reading On the Incarnation.

Merry Christmas!

Branding instead of Beauty

It's the third day of my Nativity Fast, and I'm feeling fond of emotional capitalization. At least, I think so. The weather is cooling, though not cold, as though the days are a preface to sacredness, but not the Thing itself. I have to admit that I'm awful at fasting. Why do I even attempt it? I think one day I'll move past the rudimentary acquisition of discipline and begin to gain something from these moments of self-denial. I've begun reading through Isaiah, which seems fitting, because it starts out in a tone as morbid as my own feelings. Oh, how my thoughts are wandering just now. Yesterday, I finished re-reading Home, by St. Marilynne Robinson, and I feel closely connected to the character of Jack Boughton. 

Jack, the Prodigal Son, can't come home even when he is home. I feel like that sometimes. Jack hears but does not understand, and he sees but does not perceive. And he is lonely. Jack is a faithless character who was raised within the Faith (see the emotional capitalization again?). He is surrounded by others whose lives are filled with Love and Virtue, people who are reaching their arms out to him, longing to comfort him, all day long. But Jack cannot be comforted, it is the nature of his affliction to be alone in his vice. I think his character scratches at my heart so sharply because I often feel like him. I think this is one of the reasons it comforted me to read Home again, because sometimes I need to be reminded that loneliness is part of the human experience. We are born into sin, and alienated from God, after all. What could be more lonely than being at odds with the All-Perfect Creator of your own soul?

So people are lonely. Is there anything more to be said?

I'm currently terrified of reaping what I sow. There are so many verses in the Bible concerned with this general principle: "whatever one sows, that will he also reap." I'm more comfortable thinking that the great Gospel Narrative is about helping me not to reap what I sow.   . . .for all have sinned. . .   No one wants to reap the misery of a fallen humanity.

"Tell the righteous that it shall be well with them,
        for they shall eat the fruit of their deeds.
    Woe to the wicked! It shall be ill with him,
        for what his hands have dealt out shall be done to him.

In these next 37 days, I'm going to try to sow actions I'd actually be glad to harvest."



Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things and give me life in your ways.

A Day in the Life of a Bridesmaid. . .

Yesterday, my best friend of over 20 years got married. Yes, I know. Married. Here are some gratuitous photos to prove it, given here for the gratification of my own feelings. I can't go into a long description of the day, or my feelings about it, because I don't actually want to.  I will say though, that it surprised me. Each wedding I've been in is as different as each of the friends I've attended. Shall I show the photos now? Yes. I shall.

All done crying, by this point.

The Best Man got lost for a while and missed this photo opp.

Using all of my rhetorical powers.

Being the Church

So Great a Cloud of Witnesses: Distracted Musings on All Saints' Day

 

“Around your throne the saints, our brothers and sisters,

sing your praise forever.

Their glory fills us with joy,

and their communion with us in your church

gives us inspiration and strength

as we hasten our pilgrimage of faith, eager to meet them.

With their great company and all the angels

we praise your glory as we cry out with one voice:

‘Holy, holy, holy…’ “

 

Thus ends Poetry Appreciation Month. It was good while it lasted. 

Today is All Saints' Day. I had so many ideas for this day. Alas, we went on a field trip. The truth is that field trips are always secretly exhausting. It's a wonder I can hold up my head right now. In other news, my best friend is getting married in 9 days. Yet another reason why I am feeling the rush of activity rather than the inner stirrings of quietude.

Last night, I read up on some saints, thought about Hebrews 11, and read bits of Revelation. I planned to watch Millions, read St. Joan, and think about people I admire: the George Muellers and the Amy Carmichaels. I wrote out a list of All Saints' Day worthy activities. Today I even wore a white dress, but forgot to feel significant feelings about it. I'm too tired to observe such a holy day.

What can I say about all of this? We know that righteousness is possible, and real. Not just for God, but for those who love him and are called according to his purpose.

What we do know is that faith is the common factor in the lives of all these holy people. . .

Without faith, it is impossible to please God. 

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.