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Not A Theologian

"The statement: “I am a mere layman and not a theologian,” is evidence not of humility but of indolence."

~Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics IV/3, p. 871

Don't Let It Be Forgot

ARTHUR:
Each evening, from December to December,
Before you drift to sleep upon your cot,
Think back on all the tales that you remember
Of Camelot.
Ask ev'ry person if he's heard the story,
And tell it strong and clear if he has not,
That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory
Called Camelot.
Camelot! Camelot!
Now say it out with pride and joy!

TOM:
Camelot! Camelot!

ARTHUR:
Yes, Camelot, my boy!
Where once it never rained till after sundown,
By eight a.m. the morning fog had flown...
Don't let it be forgot
That once there was a spot
For one brief shining moment that was known
As Camelot.

~ Camelot (Reprise), lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner from the Broadway Musical, Camelot

The Wedding of St George and Princess Sabra

The legend of St George closely mirrors that of Perseus and Andromeda, with a dragon replacing Medusa and Princess Sabra filling in as the damsel-in-distress. I stumbled across the above picture last week and was immediately drawn to it. I was happy to discover that it is by my beloved Dante Gabriel Rossetti, although the backstory behind the painting makes me sad. Painted in 1857, Rossetti continued this series with another painting in 1862 with his wife, Lizzie Siddall, sitting for Princess Sabra only days before she overdosed on laudanum. 

Chills the Lap of May

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
~Lord Byron, from Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
~Oliver Goldsmith, from The Traveller

Now I have Seen You

My ears had heard of you
    but now my eyes have seen you.
6 Therefore I despise myself
    and repent in dust and ashes.

~Job 42:5-6

In "The Depths of Despair"

I think Gilbert Blythe may have been the first man I ever loved. I was young when I discovered Anne of Green Gables. The books came first-- I remember being about seven when my mother started reading it to my brother, sister, and me. I still remember the cover-- it was green, with an quirky red-headed girl in outmoded clothing and a straw hat. I was young to be reading that book, and I found it hard to stay focused as my mother's southern cadence caressed the words on her tongue and threatened to send me to dreamland. Years late, in fifth grade, my friends discovered Anne, and try as I might, I couldn't get into the books. Somewhere along the way, of course, I would have watched the miniseries, but I don't think I really fell for Anne until I discovered the books for myself in seventh grade (way later than all of my friends) and devoured them and anything else by L.M. Montgomery that I could get my hands on. I almost feel sure that the Anne series (eight books in total) taught me what a delight books are and birthed in me my life-long love of reading (and set in motion a voracious appetite for books that for years seemed to border on addiction and was quite insatiable).

The TV miniseries, which first aired in 1985, with a sequel airing in 1987, gave the world the faces of Anne and Gilbert. Anne (Ann with an E, mind you) was an instant bosom friend, a kindred spirit. I admired her spunk, her fierce spirit, her resolve. Anne was plain; I was plain. Anne's value lay not in her looks, but in her sharp mind, independent spirit, and all out quirkiness. She was an inspiration to me, and someone that I aspired to be like.

Gilbert, portrayed by actor Jonathan Crombie, wasn't exactly my type. It might have been that first impression, after all, when he teases my dear Anne-girl, provoking her by calling her 'Carrots,' so that she slams her slate over his head. His curly hair and freckles, coupled with that know-it-all smile, didn't engender him to me. I think his best trait, and the one that won me over, however, was his simple and life-long love of Anne. He had the good sense to love that irrepressible girl, and it's that-- that devotion that made me love him. Anne is truly a snot to him throughout much of the story, but Gilbert is always there, always loving her, always her friend. Their love story, and that culminating scene when Anne realizes that she loves him, is just as good as anything I have read in Jane Austen. Unlike Mr. Darcy, who seems to unwittingly fall for Eliza Bennett, Gilbert had the good sense to love poor orphan Anne from the first moment he laid eyes on her. And therein lies his virtue-- his wisdom in loving, and his faithfulness throughout.

Those books, and those characters on TV, definitively shaped who I am today. Anne showed me that it was okay to be a woman who loved knowledge. She showed me that I could be independent, and loved for who I am, and not what I look like. Her relationship with Gilbert showed me what it was like to be loved by a man-- to be utterly devoted to, because you are loved in your essence-- and what to long for and to seek out.

We lost Jonathan Crombie last week. Fans worldwide mourn his death as we reflect upon what his character meant to us. It's a strange thing, because it feels like we lost Gilbert himself. I'm thankful that in 2015, when it seems like the celebrities who grab the spotlight are more known for being infamous than for any actual skill or virtue, that a man who humbly graced the screen thirty years ago as one of literature's most beloved characters is remembered and mourned. Goodbye Gilbert Blythe, dear Jonathan Crombie. Thank you for your contribution to this world and what you impressed upon us. It's said that nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes. You may have escaped the latter this year, but not the former. May God rest your soul. Jonathan Crombie October 12, 1966- April 15, 2015

My New Neighbor

Looking at a cow one morning last month,
I wondered if the congregation of flies
on the eye of the cow
stared at the eye of the cow
with their compound eyes
and if I had ever seen this many eyes
in this small a space or had a thought
in which the word eye occurred so obsessively.
I wanted to touch the cow
and the cow seemed to ask to be touched,
but when I moved toward the fence,
the cow waddled away and the flies waddled with it.
The cow had a metal tag in its ear,
orange with the black numeral 42.
This will help them make hamburger of the cow,
which is the calling of cows in these parts,
help sellers and buyers and loaders of cows
note the selling and buying and loading of this cow.
I confessed to 42 that I eat cheeseburgers.
I had never addressed my food
before it had reached the plate and technically
not even then. What would I say to chicken teriyaki
by way of lessening the blow or making it feel welcome?
42 has large brown eyes and lives in a field
beside a small Pentecostal church.
I guess this makes 42 a God-fearing cow
and all cows have large brown eyes if 73 and 12
are a fair sampling. They pretty much do
what 42 does seven days a week, which is eat
and which suggests they are atheists after all.
Because of this philosophical bent,
I have taken to asking 42 if agnosticism
is the most reasonable position, my thought being
that the mind cannot dispense with the notion
of a first cause. When 42 blinks at my question,
the flies lift off and come back to what must be
their home planet. It is comforting to talk
to large animals, whether they listen or not.
I said, it is comforting to talk to large animals,
whether they listen or not.

~Bob Hicok, "My New Neighbor" from This Clumsy Living