Light from Light,

true God from true God.

I've been wanting to title something "Light from Light" for a long time. I may well title something else that - something real, you know, besides a blog post. But for now, a blog post will have to do.

How did theology result in the sort of poetry in "Light from light, true God from true God"? All I've ever seen of theology is strained, painful, and occaisionally sordid. Very much earthly. In fact, this semester I've taken to thanking God daily that he is greater than theology and greater than philosophy. That's what I'm thankful for. Because you know, if he wasn't, I'd give up. If God was restricted to our fighting out of theology, then he would be one messed up, illogical, fallible, contradictory God.

I've decided I'm going to become a pietist. Actually, the Mennonite tradition is already strongly pietist, so I suppose I already have a good bit of it in me. What I mean, then, is that I'm going to more consciously adhere to a lot of the pietist ideals. What I like about liturgical churches, I've discovered, is pietistic.

The one thing that strongly attracts me to the pietist movement at this particular time is their premise that the divine light is within each of us. Yes, that sounds Quaker, and no, I don't mean it like they do. I love the thought that God speaks directly to us, and that we really are indwelt by the Holy Spirit who teaches us and leads us and intercedes for us. The "inner light" is obviously not the only thing to rely on when making theological decisions, and I'm not about to go completely mystic, but I don't see that it's an idea that should be completely shoved in a closet forever.

I've heard it logically proven that God doesn't guide us personally and that he doesn't speak directly into our lives. Nobody had any good counterarguments (of course, he's a philosophy professor with a Ph.D. and we're undergrads - not exactly fair odds). Good thing I never placed any faith in logic. It's slippery; it can be nuanced and twisted. Frankly, I disagree with his premises, so obviously the conclusion doesn't follow. But I didn't have good philosophical reasons for it - only Biblical ones (which, we've all learned, are inferior reasons for believing anything). But you see? I may choose to reject the argument, but I didn't entirely escape the salvo. Presented with a tradition that so firmly believes we too have the light - that we share in the Light from Light and true God from true God - I cling to it like a drowning man (well, woman actually).

And when I'm completely stressed out of my mind, I cling to the thought of "in the world but not of it." Seperation, holiness, heck, I could go for that. I'd love to sever myself from my current college situation. Or, barring severing, I'd love to have that perspective of "this isn't my home - so does it really matter?"

And in a college full of talk, talk which sometimes seems calculated only to tear things down, who wouldn't like an emphasis on orthopraxy? The idea of doing something concrete, something outside ourselves and our stupid petty arguments about how souls arise, that's mana from heaven. After all, Jesus didn't say, "You shall know a righteous man by the strength of his philosophical arguments." He said, "you'll know the good tree by its fruit."

Here's my thing: Does it really matter at what point the soul becomes attached to the body or in what manner it is attached? Is mystery such a terrible thing? Is it wrong to just say, "Oh, God says we have souls, and I belive in God, so I believe in what he says, so I believe that we have souls"? Because that's where I fall. Not every debate is bad, but I feel totally mired in the stupid, useless, annoying, frustrating, useless... did I already say that? Useless kind. The kind that really, in the end, only serves to emphasize divides.

At this point, I'm ready to forsake anything that looks like religion of the head in favor of anything that looks like religion of the heart.

Oh, and here's another question: Does anyone else find it ironic that a professor advised me to embrace my rebellion? And that as I embrace my rebellion more and more, I care less and less what professors are telling me, and frankly, I care less and less about what anyone is telling me, unless I specifically sought their opinion. A professor told me not to care about what he's saying. Hm. Ironic? I think so.

In happy news, we had "thanksgiving" dinner in Lottie today, and that was tons of fun. We all went around in a circle and said things we were thankful for, and things we were unthankful for, and christened ourselves "the kids' table". Not sophomoric at all. No, but it was great. And the food really was good. And then we went for a short walk, after which I spent two hours at layout, which I really should have been using to do homework. But whatever. I'm going to have a job that's fun next semester, and that's the important thing. And it'll look good on my resume too or something, probably.

I finished my scarf today. It was supposed to be 72", and somehow, mysteriously, it ended up being 99". Not counting fringe. I didn't get into the whole weaving thing At All.

Thanksgiving break is only one week away. That's, like, the best thing ever.

"I was in an airport with my dad, and there were these sweet shoes to the left, and my sisters were there, and they left and I had to run after them, and then we were in this room full of conveyor belts playing this really complex gambling game. And that's it in a nutshell."
- Cody

"Dreaming is like defragmenting for the brain."

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Putting in a Window

Carpentry has a rhythm that should never
be violated. You need to move slowly,
methodically, never trying to finish early,
never even hoping that you'd be done sooner.
It's best if you work without thought of the
end. If hurried, you end up with crooked
door joints and drafty rooms. Do not work
after you are annoyed just so the job
will be done more quickly. Stop when you
begin to curse at the wood. Putting in
a window should be a joy. You should love
the new header and the sound of
your electric screwdriver as it secures
the new beams. The only good carpenter
is the one who knows that he's not good.
He's afraid that he'll ruin the whole house,
and he works slowly. It's the same as
cooking or driving. The good cook
knows humility, and his soufflé never falls
because he is terrified that it will fall
the whole time he's cooking. The good driver
knows that he might plow into a mother
walking her three-year old, and so watches
for them carefully. The good carpenter
knows that his beams might be weak, and a misstep
might ruin the place he loves. In the end,
you find your own pace, and you loose time.
When you started, the sun was high and now
that you're finished, it's dark. Tomorrow, you
might put in a door. The next day,
you'll start on your new deck.

- John Brantingham