"Anyone in Christ is a new person. The old is gone and the new has come." - 2 Corinthians 5:17
When I heard this I decided to meditate on it, using some of what I've learned in class to getter a deeper understanding of the passage. So I read in lectio and picked out these words: old and new. I thought about the difference in the words and, though it may seem obvious, there is a definite change that must take place in this passage. However, it's not just a change but a transformation. Now I read in meditatio and rotate around those two words. Anything I've seen in this world never becomes younger or newer. Everything just ages away and there's no stopping it. This passage says that our old selves will transform into something new in Christ. Reading it again I focused on the word "gone." It's not that the old has become new. It will be comletely replaced by new. It's amazing that nothing in this physical world could possibly do something such as this. Only God has the ability to take a person and create a new soul in them.
Is it a new soul? I don't know. myabe it's just a new life or a new wa of living. A lot of psychology teaches that one's personality is just about set in stone around the age of ten. With God that means nothing. Psychology means nothing. God will throw it out the door. This passage shows that God has control to take old things and make them dissapear, creating a new and more powerful creation. It's amazing how much one can get out of so few words. This passage is small but has a lot of meaning. There is a change, a replacing, of what we are. One in Christ cannot continue to live as they were or they cannot be in Christ.
Prayer: Lord I want to change. Inside of me there is something old, hanging onto me. Let it dissapear. Let what I once was, "All of my gains now fade away." Please let me be new in you. Amen.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Enemy of the People
Enemy of the People is a play that I found intriguing. For myself, personally, there was an overwhelming sense of an inability to succeed. Dr. Thomas Stockmann is trying to unveil a truth about the town's water supply for a large bathing area. The water has been tainted by a bacteria that will hurt the people of the town. Normally this would come under shock and awe and people should pick up and come together to fix the issue. However, this is not the case for Dr. Stockmann.
The story evolves as Stockmann fights his brother, the mayor, on the issue of publishing the find. The mayor is trying hard to undermine what the doctor is trying to accomplish. Why? The reconstruction of the water supply would take years and the town would lose valuable income, effectively crippling it financially. The mayor goes to the papers who have agreed to publish an article written by the doctor and he coerces them into no printing it. Meanwhile the doctor is fighting hard to bring the truth of the matter to the people.
Over and over again it seems that the doctor is outnumbered. Often times this is the case. The truth can be outnumbered by the lies, by those things that don't want the truth to be known because the truth can cause problems. Those people don't want to take the small problems now even though it will require that they deal with the larger ones later when eveyone is poisoned from tainted water. Near the end the Doctor expresses the issue to the people. However it is not taken well and the people become angry at him. He is labeled an Enemy of the People.
People don't know what is good for them. A quote I remember from Men in Black is this, "The person is smart, people are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it." Was Christ not considered an enemy by his people? They hung him like a criminal. The mob spat on him and cursed him. Sometimes being the one that speaks truth and the one that must stand out for good is the one that is labeled as an enemy and is outcast.
The story evolves as Stockmann fights his brother, the mayor, on the issue of publishing the find. The mayor is trying hard to undermine what the doctor is trying to accomplish. Why? The reconstruction of the water supply would take years and the town would lose valuable income, effectively crippling it financially. The mayor goes to the papers who have agreed to publish an article written by the doctor and he coerces them into no printing it. Meanwhile the doctor is fighting hard to bring the truth of the matter to the people.
Over and over again it seems that the doctor is outnumbered. Often times this is the case. The truth can be outnumbered by the lies, by those things that don't want the truth to be known because the truth can cause problems. Those people don't want to take the small problems now even though it will require that they deal with the larger ones later when eveyone is poisoned from tainted water. Near the end the Doctor expresses the issue to the people. However it is not taken well and the people become angry at him. He is labeled an Enemy of the People.
People don't know what is good for them. A quote I remember from Men in Black is this, "The person is smart, people are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it." Was Christ not considered an enemy by his people? They hung him like a criminal. The mob spat on him and cursed him. Sometimes being the one that speaks truth and the one that must stand out for good is the one that is labeled as an enemy and is outcast.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
More on The Odyssey
This book has been one of the most exciting reads I have had in a long time. It's adventurous, smart, and yet it has that literary feel to it that I could relate to a literary text rather than a popular fiction. Though, maybe in many years from now, some of our popular fiction will become literary texts. However, not many of the popular novels today have the same literary nature that a book like "The Odyssey" has. It's just the nature of the words used, how characters are described and developed, an the overall language used throughout.
A couple posts ago I described how Homer began to develop Odysseus' son Telemachus. Now I wanna go more into Odysseus, the main character of the story. Odysseus is the man who thought the idea of the Trojan Horse. He fought in the war between Greece and Troy. This is where the story really begins and shows a glimpse of Odysseus' character. As everyone knows, the Greeks come out of the large wooden horse and open the gates for their army to come in and wipe out the Trojans during their feasting. Here is where Achilles, the mightiest warrior, dies because of his weak heel.
After the war, as all the Greeks are beginning to sail home, Odysseus proclaims his victory to the gods and how self sufficient he is. He makes a personal remark to Poseidon who takes offense. And thus the real story begins. From then on, Poseidon makes Odysseus wander the seas, never to arrive back at home in Ithaca. Odysseus must overcome extreme odds and gain the help of other gods to make it back to his kingdom. "The Odyssey" is not about strength, though strength is required for Odysseus to take on the obstacles that are placed before him. What sets Odysseus apart from the heroes of Greece like Achilles is his cunning and wits. He is an ordinary man who is just very bright.
An example of this is the cyclops. When Odysseus and his men go into a cave and feast, a cyclops comes in and shuts the opening with a large boulder. Odysseus knows that he cannot move the boulder so he tricks the giant by stabbing out his one eye. The cyclops opens the way out so that Odysseus and his men can escape. Later, to escape the Sirens' song, Odysseus has his men tie him up so that he will not be able to run the ship ashore or jump off the side. The character of Odysseus is brilliant. It takes Greek mythological and fantastic ideas and sticks a man with no more than his wits to overcome the gods.
I highly suggest reading this book or looking into it.
A couple posts ago I described how Homer began to develop Odysseus' son Telemachus. Now I wanna go more into Odysseus, the main character of the story. Odysseus is the man who thought the idea of the Trojan Horse. He fought in the war between Greece and Troy. This is where the story really begins and shows a glimpse of Odysseus' character. As everyone knows, the Greeks come out of the large wooden horse and open the gates for their army to come in and wipe out the Trojans during their feasting. Here is where Achilles, the mightiest warrior, dies because of his weak heel.
After the war, as all the Greeks are beginning to sail home, Odysseus proclaims his victory to the gods and how self sufficient he is. He makes a personal remark to Poseidon who takes offense. And thus the real story begins. From then on, Poseidon makes Odysseus wander the seas, never to arrive back at home in Ithaca. Odysseus must overcome extreme odds and gain the help of other gods to make it back to his kingdom. "The Odyssey" is not about strength, though strength is required for Odysseus to take on the obstacles that are placed before him. What sets Odysseus apart from the heroes of Greece like Achilles is his cunning and wits. He is an ordinary man who is just very bright.
An example of this is the cyclops. When Odysseus and his men go into a cave and feast, a cyclops comes in and shuts the opening with a large boulder. Odysseus knows that he cannot move the boulder so he tricks the giant by stabbing out his one eye. The cyclops opens the way out so that Odysseus and his men can escape. Later, to escape the Sirens' song, Odysseus has his men tie him up so that he will not be able to run the ship ashore or jump off the side. The character of Odysseus is brilliant. It takes Greek mythological and fantastic ideas and sticks a man with no more than his wits to overcome the gods.
I highly suggest reading this book or looking into it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Helen
Helen
I thought it would last forever. In the shortness of life I should have known better. My heart burns like the fires of my home. A steady flicker at first, not quite catching light, unable to sustain, then it roars as a torrent of pain. I remember her as if I just saw her. Every detail. Helen was her name. What a beautiful name it was. A name matched by her figure and her mind. When I reflect too long on what once was, I find solitude in the glassy view. Now I look upon a kaleidoscope of color. Each liquid meant to bring a slow and degenerate lapse in my past. That is what I think before I break the seal and begin to unravel; so the night progresses.
Helen gave me the most joy I could ever know. Was it her visage that I was infatuated with? Yes… quite so. Her eyes could melt a man. They had shown bright and brilliant blue, that of the sky in a clear and cold winter day. Such a perfect complexion she had. There was no blemish on her. At least, there was none that my eyes would let me see. I would be mesmerized when she spoke, her lips, soft and thin. Every word she uttered was a song, a clear and steady song that lifted my heart with each beat. How I long to hear that voice again. My ears yearn for her whisper. The liquid burns my throat and the memories continue to flow.
She had long golden hair that fell just past her shoulders. I still remember as it burned. It matched her stunning face. She would tie it back when she worked. Her body was kept well. We would run together in our neighborhood. Our friends and those who lived around us would see us and wave. They would smile and yell a greeting sometimes. Helen would always say hello to them. It could have been on the fifth mile of the run and still, her spirit was never perturbed. So happy was she, full of joy and light. I feel that I lost my joy that day as I watched the fires consume all that I loved. I start to feel light headed. The bottle is half empty.
My love for Helen went beyond the mere physical intoxication she brought upon me. Her temperament was unchangeable. Of course I saw her angry and at times livid against me. However, she would always come back to that peaceful and harmonious view of all things. It was something that drew me, inexorably, to her. I feel, sometimes, that my self-concerned and selfish nature would have buffered me from any and all people who try to come close to me. This was not so for Helen. Nobody could make me feel accepted like she would. Now I feel lost and empty like a man without work, like a man without purpose. The fires consumed my life, no, they consumed what gave me life like the drunkenness burning within me, obliterating my sense,
It was a Sunday night in the middle of fall. Snow had not fallen yet. Sill, the air was cold. I had worked a long day and had come home late. Helen had stayed home that day, went to the church down the road that morning. She was such a person of faith. I had always struggled with it. During days such as that day, she would spend time in quiet solitude. She would pray. When I asked her what she spoke to God about, she would reply, “You,” and would smile. I always took that for granted. I’m sure she prayed that day. I wonder if God told her they’d see each other soon. Bitter one may ask? More than I’ve ever known.
I heard the sound before I felt the heat. It was a roaring noise that overwhelmed the steady patter of the water. My heart leapt as I did. Reflexes take over where the mind begins falter. I took my towel and quickly rapped it around me, the washcloth held against my mouth. The instant the door opened I was blinded by tears as the envelope of smoke smothered and began to suffocate. I was stunned for a moment that felt like a lifetime. Helen… She was the only thought in my mind. I ran down the hallway, skirting the fires spreading from below. The railings on the stairs were ablaze. There was a pain in my hand but it was so far away. Helen.... “Helen!”
My feet hit the scorching tile floor of the foyer. I couldn’t stop. There was light outside the window for some reason. It flashed. However, tonight was all but usual. Helen was in the kitchen baking bread or something. I can’t remember. I rushed past the stairs, my skin burning. As I rounded towards the door of the kitchen my eyes fell upon a sight that shall forever be branded into my memory. She lay there, afire, golden hair gone in blackened smoke. My heart broke. I believe I uttered a scream. I heard it in my soul at least. I fell to my knees. There was a crashing sound. The house was falling in around me. Let it.
Suddenly I felt strong arms wrap around me. I was being pulled away from her. I tried to fight at first but I couldn’t. The doorway to the kitchen began to fall away, a silhouetted figure rushing in. Cold air hit me then. I saw the outside of the house, fires licking the sides. The trees around the house shown bright with yellow, orange, and red. I was hoisted up. A clear mask was placed upon my face and I began to cry. Then my mind went blank
Slowly the fog begins to take me. My eyes become drowsy. The bottle slips from my hands and is muffled on the carpet. Unconsciousness takes me away so that I forget for a moment. I will awake the next day amidst a haze of pain. Then I’ll start my cycle again. I may forget for a while. Then it will come back to me and I’ll find myself standing in front of the clear liquid display, despondently debating on the best form with which to waste away. Would she be proud of me? No… I know that she wouldn’t. I feel ashamed. “Let this be it,” I say to myself. “Let it be done.” May my eyes be lifted and may my mind finally find peace. I fall asleep and dream of something that I will not remember.
I thought it would last forever. In the shortness of life I should have known better. My heart burns like the fires of my home. A steady flicker at first, not quite catching light, unable to sustain, then it roars as a torrent of pain. I remember her as if I just saw her. Every detail. Helen was her name. What a beautiful name it was. A name matched by her figure and her mind. When I reflect too long on what once was, I find solitude in the glassy view. Now I look upon a kaleidoscope of color. Each liquid meant to bring a slow and degenerate lapse in my past. That is what I think before I break the seal and begin to unravel; so the night progresses.
Helen gave me the most joy I could ever know. Was it her visage that I was infatuated with? Yes… quite so. Her eyes could melt a man. They had shown bright and brilliant blue, that of the sky in a clear and cold winter day. Such a perfect complexion she had. There was no blemish on her. At least, there was none that my eyes would let me see. I would be mesmerized when she spoke, her lips, soft and thin. Every word she uttered was a song, a clear and steady song that lifted my heart with each beat. How I long to hear that voice again. My ears yearn for her whisper. The liquid burns my throat and the memories continue to flow.
She had long golden hair that fell just past her shoulders. I still remember as it burned. It matched her stunning face. She would tie it back when she worked. Her body was kept well. We would run together in our neighborhood. Our friends and those who lived around us would see us and wave. They would smile and yell a greeting sometimes. Helen would always say hello to them. It could have been on the fifth mile of the run and still, her spirit was never perturbed. So happy was she, full of joy and light. I feel that I lost my joy that day as I watched the fires consume all that I loved. I start to feel light headed. The bottle is half empty.
My love for Helen went beyond the mere physical intoxication she brought upon me. Her temperament was unchangeable. Of course I saw her angry and at times livid against me. However, she would always come back to that peaceful and harmonious view of all things. It was something that drew me, inexorably, to her. I feel, sometimes, that my self-concerned and selfish nature would have buffered me from any and all people who try to come close to me. This was not so for Helen. Nobody could make me feel accepted like she would. Now I feel lost and empty like a man without work, like a man without purpose. The fires consumed my life, no, they consumed what gave me life like the drunkenness burning within me, obliterating my sense,
It was a Sunday night in the middle of fall. Snow had not fallen yet. Sill, the air was cold. I had worked a long day and had come home late. Helen had stayed home that day, went to the church down the road that morning. She was such a person of faith. I had always struggled with it. During days such as that day, she would spend time in quiet solitude. She would pray. When I asked her what she spoke to God about, she would reply, “You,” and would smile. I always took that for granted. I’m sure she prayed that day. I wonder if God told her they’d see each other soon. Bitter one may ask? More than I’ve ever known.
I heard the sound before I felt the heat. It was a roaring noise that overwhelmed the steady patter of the water. My heart leapt as I did. Reflexes take over where the mind begins falter. I took my towel and quickly rapped it around me, the washcloth held against my mouth. The instant the door opened I was blinded by tears as the envelope of smoke smothered and began to suffocate. I was stunned for a moment that felt like a lifetime. Helen… She was the only thought in my mind. I ran down the hallway, skirting the fires spreading from below. The railings on the stairs were ablaze. There was a pain in my hand but it was so far away. Helen.... “Helen!”
My feet hit the scorching tile floor of the foyer. I couldn’t stop. There was light outside the window for some reason. It flashed. However, tonight was all but usual. Helen was in the kitchen baking bread or something. I can’t remember. I rushed past the stairs, my skin burning. As I rounded towards the door of the kitchen my eyes fell upon a sight that shall forever be branded into my memory. She lay there, afire, golden hair gone in blackened smoke. My heart broke. I believe I uttered a scream. I heard it in my soul at least. I fell to my knees. There was a crashing sound. The house was falling in around me. Let it.
Suddenly I felt strong arms wrap around me. I was being pulled away from her. I tried to fight at first but I couldn’t. The doorway to the kitchen began to fall away, a silhouetted figure rushing in. Cold air hit me then. I saw the outside of the house, fires licking the sides. The trees around the house shown bright with yellow, orange, and red. I was hoisted up. A clear mask was placed upon my face and I began to cry. Then my mind went blank
Slowly the fog begins to take me. My eyes become drowsy. The bottle slips from my hands and is muffled on the carpet. Unconsciousness takes me away so that I forget for a moment. I will awake the next day amidst a haze of pain. Then I’ll start my cycle again. I may forget for a while. Then it will come back to me and I’ll find myself standing in front of the clear liquid display, despondently debating on the best form with which to waste away. Would she be proud of me? No… I know that she wouldn’t. I feel ashamed. “Let this be it,” I say to myself. “Let it be done.” May my eyes be lifted and may my mind finally find peace. I fall asleep and dream of something that I will not remember.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Odyssey
Wow.... Homer is the man. So far I have only been able to read the first book (or chapter) as it's called and I am awed at the characterization that has taken place. I had an idea of how the story goes from reading pieces of it, however I have never really appreciated how the author describes people and events. Telemachus, Odysseus' son will be the focus. He is home in Ithaca while his father goes to war against Sparta. When Odysseus does not return home, Telemachus is stuck dealing with his father's kingdom and the many suitors that come to take his mother's hand in marriage and continue to eat away at his resources or his "inheritance."
Homer does a great job of underlying the strain that this is having on Telemachus. "If only I had been a child of some happier man whos latter years found him at ease in his own posessions!Instead - think of the most unhappy of mortal men - it is his son I am said to be." The fact that Telemachus' father has not come home, has not been proclaimed dead, and has given no word of his return and that his mother is being hounded by suitors while they take all that he has and he feels hopeless to stop it for is just a young boy is killing him inside. He just wants to find a way to stop it. Thus Athenes, daughter of Zeus, comes down from heaven to give him word and hope to one, find news of his father, and two kill the suitors looking for his mother.
I am excited to see how the story continues. I have an understanding of the story and the plot and twists. However, I am excited to see how these characters progress and change throughout the story. Those Greeks had it right in this book.
I am excited to see how the story continues. I have an understanding of the story and the plot and twists. However, I am excited to see how these characters progress and change throughout the story. Those Greeks had it right in this book.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Museum
The museum trip last week really made an impression on me. I found it interesting to view artwork visually while mentally, critically working out a poem. The poem that specifically stood out to me was the one on the Rembrant painting and the old lady. For some reason I found this odd. Who wouldn't save the old lady? Is human life not always more important to art and posessions? Then I thought about it more. Do people not die for books? What about the Bible? Sure this can be seen in a different light because it is a book inspired by God but it elisits strong emotions. Can a painting get these same emotions from people?
In nations where books were burned to allow the current rainging regime to have more control over the citizens, did not people die to save literature then? Again, why is art different? This old lady will die no matter what. The painting could last forever if it is saved. So what is more important? I believe that this poem says that it is not for us to decide what is more important. It is beyond those of us who are young.
I would save the old woman. For it is my moral obligation to protect life even at the cost of a priceless object. However, would Rembrant save the old woman were he alive and in that situation? Would the old lady save herself?
In nations where books were burned to allow the current rainging regime to have more control over the citizens, did not people die to save literature then? Again, why is art different? This old lady will die no matter what. The painting could last forever if it is saved. So what is more important? I believe that this poem says that it is not for us to decide what is more important. It is beyond those of us who are young.
I would save the old woman. For it is my moral obligation to protect life even at the cost of a priceless object. However, would Rembrant save the old woman were he alive and in that situation? Would the old lady save herself?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Descartes
The poem we read last Tuesday, My Tea with Madame Descartes, gave me renewed hope in poetry. I felt, almost, as if it were more of a characterization in a novel than a poetic description. While reading the words, the author painted a vivid picture of this women to me. I could imagine her and the way she would speak, the tones she would use and the old luxurious breathy voice I would hear as she explained her life away.
I've come to realize literature isn't just telling a story, it's painting a picture. There is a distinct connection between literature and imagery. By this I mean, photos, drawings, paintins, and anything that gives a visual of the story. In fact, the very words alone are the same as a photo, however one must individually draw out the image. The words can only go so far and we must take those and apply the textures, smells, and sounds, ourselves.
I generally read for plot. But I see the value in the character, in the place, the sounds, and the feelings. In this case, Madame Descartes has so much history and character in her that it takes the palce of plot. Just here personality and what she has done makes up more than enough for the lack of a story plot or eventful progression. There is a small one in the poem but there is more weight being placed simply on her as a character. It's great stuff.
I've come to realize literature isn't just telling a story, it's painting a picture. There is a distinct connection between literature and imagery. By this I mean, photos, drawings, paintins, and anything that gives a visual of the story. In fact, the very words alone are the same as a photo, however one must individually draw out the image. The words can only go so far and we must take those and apply the textures, smells, and sounds, ourselves.
I generally read for plot. But I see the value in the character, in the place, the sounds, and the feelings. In this case, Madame Descartes has so much history and character in her that it takes the palce of plot. Just here personality and what she has done makes up more than enough for the lack of a story plot or eventful progression. There is a small one in the poem but there is more weight being placed simply on her as a character. It's great stuff.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Through the Curtain, Alone with God
Lord my redeemer, your blood runs through my viens
My love for you is deeper than it was yesterday
I enter through the curtain, parted by your grace
Oh, You're the lover of my soul
We sang these lyrics today in Encounter chapel. I was rushed last night and this morning and completely forgot about my blog post. While zoning out in the presence of God, these words stuck out to me. It was the imagery that caught grabbed my attention the most. In my mind, I saw the veil, the curtain, being torn asunder as I walked through it with fire in my veins, breathing in air that burned with something more than oxygen.
I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
These came up to me next as I looked at the background picture that they had set up. It was of a dock leading out into calm waters beyond the eye could see. It was a simply white-washed dock, old looking, gray and dull; but there was something about it that draws one to it. It went back into the picture a ways into the distance. It gave me more of a sense of deepness. On this dock stood a single figure. As Dr. Cotton spoke on solitude I begun to see a bigger picture. What a place to come closer to the Lord, to meditate and calm oneself. This is as good of a place as the top of a mountain looking down over the world or the single boat in a small lake away from the cities. It is important to find solitude in life to reflect on what is around us, or to simply come closer to our God given human nature..
Here I am using Lectio Divina to get a further understanding of the text in this song. I am trying to incorporate specific ideas learned in class to what I read and hear in the world around me. So, though this is not a specific literary text from the class I am still trying to engage in concepts learned.
My love for you is deeper than it was yesterday
I enter through the curtain, parted by your grace
Oh, You're the lover of my soul
We sang these lyrics today in Encounter chapel. I was rushed last night and this morning and completely forgot about my blog post. While zoning out in the presence of God, these words stuck out to me. It was the imagery that caught grabbed my attention the most. In my mind, I saw the veil, the curtain, being torn asunder as I walked through it with fire in my veins, breathing in air that burned with something more than oxygen.
I'm deep in love with You, Abba Father
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
My heart it beats for You, precious Jesus
I'm deep in love with You, Lord
These came up to me next as I looked at the background picture that they had set up. It was of a dock leading out into calm waters beyond the eye could see. It was a simply white-washed dock, old looking, gray and dull; but there was something about it that draws one to it. It went back into the picture a ways into the distance. It gave me more of a sense of deepness. On this dock stood a single figure. As Dr. Cotton spoke on solitude I begun to see a bigger picture. What a place to come closer to the Lord, to meditate and calm oneself. This is as good of a place as the top of a mountain looking down over the world or the single boat in a small lake away from the cities. It is important to find solitude in life to reflect on what is around us, or to simply come closer to our God given human nature..
Here I am using Lectio Divina to get a further understanding of the text in this song. I am trying to incorporate specific ideas learned in class to what I read and hear in the world around me. So, though this is not a specific literary text from the class I am still trying to engage in concepts learned.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The last class discussion on lectio divina was very instructional to me. I have never been one who enjoyed or recieved anything out of poetry, which is sad because much of the Bible is a form of poetry. To me it was a form of literature that I didn't understand. This form of reading has given me a new view of poetry and other readings as well. To get deeper into a text it is more important to spend time on it that to just try to critically think through the issues. One does not become good at something by trying it once critically. The act of repeating text in different lights and viewpoints gives the reader a broader sense of the meaning of that text.
I'm taking this act and putting it to action. Over the next months I'm going to use this method of studying text and I'm going to post on my readings. Whenever there is another free post, it will be on scripture, poetry, or some other form of literature that using lectio divina will open up the doors for me. I hope to gain more out of these literary texts than just the words on the surface.
I'm going to start reading a chapter of scripture for the next free post, using this method, and see what I can get out of it. After that I'll probably move to a section of a book from an author that I might gain some spiritual insight on. If there are any recommended texts please comment on this post with any ideas.
I'm taking this act and putting it to action. Over the next months I'm going to use this method of studying text and I'm going to post on my readings. Whenever there is another free post, it will be on scripture, poetry, or some other form of literature that using lectio divina will open up the doors for me. I hope to gain more out of these literary texts than just the words on the surface.
I'm going to start reading a chapter of scripture for the next free post, using this method, and see what I can get out of it. After that I'll probably move to a section of a book from an author that I might gain some spiritual insight on. If there are any recommended texts please comment on this post with any ideas.
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