Concentric Circles, pt. II.

The cosmic trail left behind by the Logos in having become Man, in having walked among us, in having gone to the Cross and risen, and in having returned to the Father, left the pattern for a new vocation on the part of creation. The Incarnation was both a vertical and horizontal movement: a pattern that can only be geometrically represented by a triangle. In other words, in the pattern established by the Incarnation, creation is renewed in its ability to represent God - and now even more fully than it could before. God the Holy Trinity, because of the simultaneous vertical and horizontal movement of Christ, is shown more fully in creation itself than He was even at the beginning, which implies in turn that every detail of creation can be seen as an icon of God, in one way or another.

This, I think, is the key to understanding the whole of the universe and the meaning of life. Life itself is an icon, and the stage on which life unfolds is an icon, which, if correct, takes account of such seemingly disparate works as Pope John Paul’s encyclical, Evangelium vitae, and Richard Hooker’s Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity.

Mums, Daffodils, and the Rest of the Cosmos

What I used to know as Mothering Sunday, and which the British call ‘Mother’s Day’, is looming. This coming Sunday, in fact. I was reminded of this as I walked to work this morning and got visually assaulted by a billboard telling me to remember to buy flowers.

The Mother’s Days of my youth I fondly remember as days on which the mothers of our parish were given daffodils. The servers would be dispersed from the sanctuary to hand them out, and would inevitably become flustered when faced by the one young woman whose maternal status was unknown. After church, we would proceed as a family to my grandparents’ home, where we would give my grandma the daffodil we had collected for her, and gorge ourselves on all the food her and my grandfather would lay out.

Into Great Silence - Review

Having spent yesterday afternoon at the cinema, I am compelled to review what must be the most remarkable film I have ever seen: Into Great Silence (Die Große Stille).

Now, when I say that this film was one of the most remarkable, it is not solely because I fancy watching almost three hours’ worth of ‘church scenes’, or that my penchant for the ancient strains of chant was well-satisfied. These things may be true, but the case for Into Great Silence goes much, much deeper.

Gambling on God

I have had a terrible week. It is now Friday, and I feel as if I have accomplished almost none of the things I set out to do last Sunday afternoon. My Lenten observance has not exactly been a resounding success, and my general disposition has been less than attractive to my wife and children. Perhaps I can console myself by pretending I am merely feeling the season.

When I get down, though, my thoughts will often turn to what it is I believe about God.

Missing the ‘gesimas

One of the reasons that it took Johnny Cash to wake me up for Lent this year, I am sure, has something to do with the disappearance of the ‘Gesima Sundays - that is, the three Sundays running up to Lent, including Septuagesima, Sexagesima, and Quinquagesima.

Johnny Cash Convicted Me

Because I spent Sunday afternoon compiling music for a class I will be teaching this coming week, I have had the good fortune of being forced to listen to the monks of St-Benoit-du-Lac, a Patriarchal Liturgy from Moscow, and the strains of Ambrosian Chant. Somewhat less fortunately, I have also had to listen to a piece or two from the pen of John Michael Talbot, whose use of first person personal pronouns must surely surpass history’s sum total before him. But it is a comparative exercise, so I had no real choice.