Thought for the Week: Becoming Fire

Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said to him, "Abba, as far as I can I say my little office. I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace as far as I can. I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?" Then the old Abba Joseph stretched his hands towards heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, "If you so choose, you can become all flame."

***

I work in a pretty conservative church. Each Sunday, I show up, play some outdated worship music that is so theologically oversimplified that I have to grit my teeth to belch out the full song, and then listen to folks complain about how it's not as good as those old-timey hymns. They talk a lot about "winning  souls" for Jesus, and how people are transformed not by our doing, but by the blood of Christ alone.

I work in the kind of church that often talks about fire. 

If you don't evangelize people, truly turn them to Jesus, then you will be cast into a fiery hell which burns forever. Also, you are supposed to be on fire for God. Talk about mixing metaphors.

It seems like fire has been so overused as an image in Christian theology that it has become cliche, its meaning almost lost. We Christian folk have become quite fond of using the phrase "on fire for God" every time we see a passionate speaker, or someone with powerful ambition (this latter example is perhaps the most common--and most dangerous--use of the phrase). I was first introduced to the true power of the fire metaphor in mewithoutYou's brilliant elegy, "The King Beetle on a Coconut Estate," which was inspired by a Sufi bedtime story told to the band's lead singer when he was a child. 

Not long after that, I became engrossed in the teachings of the Desert Fathers, and soon stumbled upon this week's thought, courtesy of Abba Lot and Abba Joseph. You've read their mysterious anecdote. Now listen to the song below:

Fire is not a threat to be brandished for wrongdoing. Fire is not (or at least, should not be) a glossy label for someone driven by ego and desire for power.

We do not consume the fire. We allow the fire to consume us. To transform us into something mysterious and unknowable--broken of our own will, we become one with the fire. And that fire is God.

Why not be utterly changed into fire?

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

Hey, y'all! I'm posting today on behalf of my friend Derek, who plays in a one-man band called The Homeless Gospel Choir. He's trying to release a new album (on vinyl, as well as digital download) called You Work So Hard Just To Be Like Everyone Else.  I really like this guy and his message, and think that you, O gentle reader, might like him, as well.

Derek's cool, because he doesn't rely on record labels and managers to earn his money for him. He creates meaningful, beautiful, and sometimes offensive art, and produces it himself. But he needs help getting this new album out there. Specifically, he needs about $1,500 to produce the record and the merchandise for the record. So hop on over to his kickstart site and pledge a couple bucks--or 15 or 20.

New Podcast

I used to produce a short, 30-minute podcast featuring some independent recording artists. It's been about 9 months since the last one was recorded. But I think that getting married, going to grad school, moving, and getting a new job have sort of taken precedence.

Anyway. After a long hiatus, I've finally managed to get my recording equipment back together, and I now present to you the new and improved Everyday Revolutionary podcast, featuring tunes from Listener, the Homeless Gospel Choir, and Arcade Fire. Enjoy!

Thought of the Week: Crime and Punishment

For our thought for the week, we're going back to the Apopthegmata Patrum!

It is a story reminiscent of a scene from Victor Hugo's Les Miserables; the convict Jean Valjean escapes with the Bishop's valuable silverware, only to be captured and returned to the Bishop by the police. "The Bishop gave me the silverware," Valjean lies. And then the Bishop does the most curious thing: he agrees. Emphatically. But it doesn't stop there--he eyes Valjean angrily, and asks,

"Why did you not also take the candlesticks, Valjean? I told you to take the candlesticks, as well."

He fetches the silver candlesticks, and forces the thief to take them, as well, thereby giving away the only remaining valuables the Bishop owns in this world.

***

Once, while Abba Macarius was in Egypt, he discovered a man who owned a beast of burden engaged in plundering the good Abba's goods. So he came up to the thief as if he was a stranger and helped him to load the animal. The Abba saw the man off in great peace, saying, "We have brought nothing into this world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. The Lord gave and the Lord took away. Blessed be the name of the Lord."

***

What does it mean to own something? I mean, to really, really have true possession of an item.

What do you make of the Abba's response to the sin of the thief? Putting this in a more contemporary context, was it wrong for Macarius to let the thief go? What about "personal responsibility"? Didn't Macarius have an obligation to report the rapscallion to the authorities? How might the philosophy behind this story be applied in a mundane, everyday setting?

Your thoughts, please.

Thought for the Week

The thought for this week comes from what many have called "the black national anthem." It's actually a hymn, and it's one of my favorites; I grew up singing this song in high school when I attended a liturgical United Methodist congregation in Poplar Bluff.

In honor of Dr. King, whose words grace the banner of this blog, here is "Lift Every Voice and Sing."



Lift every voice and sing
'til earth and heaven ring,
ring with the harmonies of liberty!
Let our rejoicing rise
high as the listening skies,
let it resound loud as the rolling sea!
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us.
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
let us march on 'til victory is won.


Stony the road we trod,
bitter the chastening rod,
felt in the days when hope unborn had died.
Yet with a steady beat,
have not our weary feet
come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered.
Out of the gloomy past,
'til now we stand at last
where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.


God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who has brought us thus far on the way,
Thou who has by Thy might
led us into the light,
keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand
may we forever stand
true to our God,
true to our native land.


Have a good week! I start work in the coffee shop for the first time on my own this week, so I'll keep you posted. Until next time,

keep fighting the good fight,

Joshua

Sigh.

Unfortunately, Alyssa and I get this a lot when we talk to people about Anavah House.

Thought for the Day

For those of you that didn't know, I'm a big fan of the Desert Fathers, the ascetic Coptic Christian monks who practiced lives of spiritual discipline in the desert. Many of their sayings and doings are compiled into a single collection entitled Apopthegmata Patrum. Here's one of their stories.

Abba Doulas, the disciple of Abba Bessarion, said, "One day, when we were walking beside the sea, I was thirsty, and said to Abba Bessarion, 'Father, I am very thirsty.' He said a prayer and said to me, 'Drink some of the sea water.' The water proved sweet when I drank some! I even poured some into a leather bottle for fear of being thirsty later on. Seeing this, the old man asked me why I was taking some. 'Forgive me Father,' I said, 'It is for fear of being thirsty later on.' Then the old man said, 'God is here. God is everywhere.'"

I like it. What do you think it means?