Heaven IV (dropping prose)

Heaven rises beyond words,
rides upon a silent, shifting cloud. Imperceptible,
but true.

Heaven speaks its own language,
a longing and a hope--
perfect consummation.

Heaven pushes the envelope;
You can't write it to your loved ones--
it doesn't cooperate,
plays by its own rules.

Heaven never forgets.
It cannot be forgotten;
not a memory, not a dream.

Heaven III

I saw Heaven as a forever adventure, a continual path of exploration and discovery. Zacharias references Chesterton in the celebration of monotony; the child's monotony.
Could Heaven be a constant chant of "Again, Again!" "Holy, Holy, Holy"? Is it astonishment and wonder at the uncovering of God's face before our freshly remade eyes; The One revelation constantly replayed, rejoiced, renewed? This dance of expectation, consummation, celebration, and fresh expectation is very similar to the idea of continual discovery, except the Identity of God is fixed. Can a fixed reality be so wonderful as to evoke eternal celebration?
Only God could be this reality. Is He?

Heaven II

Some thoughts from my journal. This is just as I wrote it. Some of it is borderline heresy that needs some major working out, but that's for another time.

Heaven is the dream of humanity, the pinnacle of desire; consummation.
Heaven is an equlibrium of inifinity. In God's presence is fullness of joy, but not the fullness of a large and delicious meal. This fullness is of joy, which is strength, a dynamic life-giving thing. The equilibrium is fullness of joy; it is found at the convergence of two peaks: desire and satisfaction.
Satisfaction is most complete the instant it exists, and detiorates rapidly. Desire (longing) is a thrill, a joy of its own, and the joy of it grows with the intensfication of the desire, if the desire is moving toward satisfaction. In God's presence we find the moment of most intense longing, and most complete satisfaction in the same eternal instant.
Heaven is not a static good feeling. It cannot be an instant everything, because the instant everything is received the joy begins to decrease. God is infinite, which, logically, means He does not even know the end of Himself. You could see Him as constantly expanding, like the Universe He created, and He is always a moment behind Himself, in awe of what He sees. When we join Him in this eternal adventure is when we experience fullness of joy.

...I think I just made Heaven sound like fun to myself, a fun that really would last forever. It's still terryfing, but it's good.

Heaven

I am now reading Ravi Zacharias' Recapture the Wonder. He's got some good intellectual fodder here, and some strong spiritual exhortation. It's far from exquisite literature, but good for contemplation and conversation. He quotes CS Lewis from The Weight of Glory:

In speaking of this desire for our own far off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each of you--The secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism and Adolescence: The secret also which pierces with such sweetness that when, in very intimate conversation, the mention of it becomes imminent, we grow akward and affect to laugh at our selves; The secret we cannot hide and cannot tell, though we desire to do both. We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name.

Now, that is exquisite literature, and exquisite longing.
What is heaven? What is this place or state of being that we long for, and know must be? How could it be that we would pass from this existence to nowhere or nothing, or something as gray and false as Sheol? No, there must be some Other World that our hearts lift up to. There must be, else our whole existence is a mockery, a very small mockery.

hopeless optimism strikes again

I'm currently reading East of Eden by Steinbeck. He writes a good story. He does what I like best in a novel: character development. The characters are deep, full, and very well developed.

I had just finished Section 1 of the book, and was wrestling with the deeply entrenched evil in Cathy and Charles. I was thinking about why I get so frustrated with such characters in a story. The reason is that I constantly long for redemption at every turn. This tendency becomes very apparent when I read a good story or watch a good movie, because of the focus on a small number of characters, and that most stories are a microcosm of real life magnified into the veiw of the reader/viewer.

My life is completely focused on the idea of redemption. I refuse to believe in fate, unforgiveness, or incorrigibility. I cling to hope at all times, that all men, all women, all children can be redeemed, remade, reborn.

more poetry

I wrote this yesterday, too. Maybe I'm moving into another prolific time of writing poetry. I've had 2 primary prolific periods of poetry: senior yr. of high school (97-98), and senior yr. of college (01-02).
Anyway, here are the words:
-------------------------------

You are so gracious to recreate me every moment,
as I stand, fixed on the temporary universe, your potter's wheel.

I am a vapor, yet you've found some way to hold me,
and you said that you would carry me for eternity;
Nothing can steal me from your perfect hand.

This is bliss,
to live in the impossibility of the moment,
held by invisible hands,
in the midst of becoming

solid.

You are so gracious to recreate me.
Every moment I am made more true,
and my existence moves closer to Reality.

poem today

This is not silence.
In the stillness of infinity
I am still speaking my mind.

My thougts pierce the comforting blanket of peace,
and I analyze this tranquility to shreads;
my mind is so slow to shut up.

Wholeness versus individuality;
my ego is bigger than me.
I can destroy the universe with a word.

Peace offends me.
I am absent without leave,
I have forgotten everything with impeccable timing.

Awe. I should worship,
I should take off the dirty sandals of my intellect,
for this is holy ground.

I should be filled with infinity, if only for a moment,
and give up my game:
words against the void of space.

November is Here

Well, the election came and went. I was proud to exercise my civic right/duty. I felt I cast the most informed votes of my brief voting career (the third time I've ever voted). The choices were less than stellar in most of the elections, and my third-party revolution failed miserably, but I am glad to have played my part in the national and local electoral scene. I look forwar to increased political involvement over the next four years.

I'm also looking forward to reading The Politics of Jesus, which I am ordering from Amazon.com today. I applied for a credit card and they're giving my $30 in free books! Woot!
Book 2 of that purchase is scheduled to be Mirsoslav Volf's Exclusion and Embrace, unless I get disctracted by Cornel West's Race Matters.

Speaking of Reading, here's my list of October reading:

A Generous Orthodoxy Brian McLaren
Blue Like Jazz Donald Miller
Foucalt's Pendulum Umberto Eco

I've already written a bit of my reaction to McLaren. I am looking forward to grabbing a copy of Miller's new book soon. He writes in a very entertaining style, and makes astute observations in a clean, clear, and crisp manner. Eco is heavy reading.

The interesting thing about Foucalt's Pendulum is how I see it as the culture from which The DaVinci Code was born. I had heard a lot about Eco, so decided to pick up one of his novels from the local library. I saw the name Foucalt, and thought it had something to do with the French philosopher. I was wrong. But, it seemed quite clear to me, from the very beginning, that Dan Brown read this late 80's release, and decided to plug it into his American, Indiana Jones arch-type formula. The result was the run-away best seller The DaVinci Code.

Kudos to Brown for picking Eco's dense novel over for the foundation of his two Robert Langdon novels. He's made a lot of money (a lot more than Eco made on Pendulum), and had to do a fraction of the work. I just think it's sad how eager Americans are for a novel that says Jesus has no relevance to their lives. The novel they chose to worship is a formula novel to the core, with little real scholarship, and no creativity.