Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Prayer

December 6, 2015

In my dead moments | From an Old Soul

Do you recognize this tactic? I do. My comments follow.

July 24

My soul this sermon hence for itself prepares:–
“Then is there nothing vile thou mayst not do,
Buffeted in a tumult of low cares,
And treacheries of the old man ‘gainst the new.”—
Lord, in my spirit let thy spirit move,
Warning, that it may not have to reprove:–
In my dead moments, master, stir the prayers.

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul
Augsburg Fortress Press 1994

What’s on MacDonald’s mind as he begins this sonnet?

Restlessness. He doesn’t like the stillness, the apparent absence of God. Read the rest of this entry »

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December 3, 2015

“Yestereve, Death came. . .”

With others, my mind and heart have been caught up in recent events that involved unscheduled, sudden death for many human beings. I’ve been thinking about this post and decided to feature it today–for all of us mortals who can be certain of one thing: Death is our common lot. Are we ready? Is God ready? Am I?

Elouise's avatarTelling the Truth

This week I’ve been thinking about death, including my own.  My mother and one of my three sisters, Diane, died in February.  Mom died in 1999 from complications following a stroke.  Diane died in 2006 after living with ALS for ten years.  Both were polio survivors of a 1949 polio epidemic.  Their death anniversaries are within a few days of each other.

When George MacDonald wrote the two sonnet-prayers below, he had death on his mind.  His coming death–whenever that might be.  He had already lost four of his eleven children to death.  My comments are at the end.

January 27 and 28

Yestereve, Death came, and knocked at my thin door.
I from my window looked: the thing I saw,
The shape uncouth, I had not seen before.
I was disturbed—with fear, in sooth, not awe;
Whereof ashamed, I instantly did rouse
My will to seek thee–only to fear the more:
Alas!  I could not find thee…

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October 4, 2015

When my heart sinks | From an Old Soul

When your heart sinks, how do you think about yourself in relation to God? Things aren’t always as they seem. Read the rest of this entry »

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July 16, 2015

Strange creatures | From an Old Soul

In this sonnet, George MacDonald is in a state of terror. The moans and screams are more than enough to keep his imagination working overtime. He seems lost in one of his fairy tales for children, uncertain what’s going on.

July 2

It must be, somewhere in my fluttering tent,
Strange creatures, half tamed only yet, are pent—
Dragons, lop-winged birds, and large-eyed snakes!
Hark! through the storm the saddest howling breaks!
Or are they loose, roaming about the bent,
The darkness dire deepening with moan and scream?—
My Morning, rise, and all shall be a dream.

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul
© 1994 Augsburg Fortress Press

Before I comment, here are a few terms that may not be familiar to everyone.

  • pent – a verb used with an object (here the strange creatures). Normally it means confined for safekeeping.
  • lop-winged birds – birds with large floppy wings, especially those that have long, skinny legs that flop around in the air as they fly. Think, for example, of herons and cranes.
  • large-eyed snakes – snakes with eyes (sometimes heads, as well) larger than their long, thin bodies, able to see you in the dark perhaps?
  • the bent – stiff grass, a moor, or grassy land used as a pasture.

Though MacDonald seems to be lost in one of his fairy tales, he’s also praying. These sonnets are addressed to God. The fairy tales aren’t irrelevant, but hearing this as a prayer may be a good place to start. I hear him expressing something like this:

Don’t You hear these horrific beasts in my tent? That would be the ‘tent’ that’s already torn to shreds and flapping around in the wind! It seems someone has locked them up in here with me. What a nightmare! Then again, they could very well be lurking out there in the fields, just waiting to devour me! 

No, I’m not making this up! Even with that wretched wind storm, I still hear them howling their heads off. 

Can’t You do something? You’re the Morning Star! All You need to do is just show up. That’s all! They’ll be gone in a heartbeat! Hello? Are You still there?

I hear something like that—a mix of terror and faith. Here are a few observations and questions.

  • In MacDonald’s fairy tales for children, strange, even enemy-like creatures often appear. Sometimes the challenge is to befriend them. But not always. Discernment is important.
  • The ‘strange creatures’ here are as yet ‘half-tamed only.’ Does this suggest they could be or are on their way to being fully tamed? Right now they seem untameable. But….? I don’t know.
  • MacDonald sometimes tames the strange creatures in his fairy tales by coming to understand them, not by magic. What are their strengths? Their personalities? What does their shape and behavior suggest about them? For what might they have been created—if, that is, they aren’t manufactured by our fear and aren’t evil creatures.

MacDonald doesn’t have answers. He seems to be flailing around without a narrative or direction that would make sense of what he’s experiencing.

He also seems perfectly willing to have these strange creatures disappear into thin air when he wakes up in the morning and realizes his terror was ‘all a dream.’ But was it?

What does MacDonald mean by ‘My Morning’? Perhaps it’s as simple as a new day that will bring light, and relief from night terrors and fears. On the other hand, perhaps ‘My Morning’ refers to God.

In either case, what will happen with the strange creatures? Will they be banished? Or will he learn something about himself by learning about them? Especially those parts of his life that seem too scary to face, even though they may be half-tamed.

Like the July 1 sonnet, this seems also to end with a question that only God can answer. In that case, it’s right to pound on the door, insisting that God attend to him as one of God’s beloved sons and daughters.

One thing is clear: MacDonald isn’t going to figure this out on his own.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 15 July 2015 

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February 10, 2015

“Yestereve, Death came. . .”

This week I’ve been thinking about death, including my own.  My mother and one of my three sisters, Diane, died in February.  Mom died in 1999 from complications following a stroke.  Diane died in 2006 after living with ALS for ten years.  Both were polio survivors of a 1949 polio epidemic.  Their death anniversaries are within a few days of each other.

When George MacDonald wrote the two sonnet-prayers below, he had death on his mind.  His coming death–whenever that might be.  He had already lost four of his eleven children to death.  My comments are at the end.

January 27 and 28

Yestereve, Death came, and knocked at my thin door.
I from my window looked: the thing I saw,
The shape uncouth, I had not seen before.
I was disturbed—with fear, in sooth, not awe;
Whereof ashamed, I instantly did rouse
My will to seek thee–only to fear the more:
Alas!  I could not find thee in the house.

I was like Peter when he began to sink.
To thee a new prayer therefore I have got—
That, when Death comes in earnest to my door,
Thou wouldst thyself go, when the latch doth clink,
And lead Death to my room, up to my cot;
Then hold thy child’s hand, hold and leave him not,
Till Death has done with him for evermore.

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul,
© 1994 Augsburg Fortress Press

The first stanza has a slightly nightmarish quality.  MacDonald addresses God.  He describes what happened the night before, how he responded, and how distressed he became when he couldn’t find God in his house.  Perhaps his ‘house’ refers to himself?  In any case, MacDonald names his greatest fear:  that God won’t be present at his death.  Perhaps God abandoned him or forgot him?  Or decided not to come?  He doesn’t say.

In the second sonnet he’s thinking about Jesus’ disciple Peter and his bold decision to walk on water—before beginning to sink.  MacDonald decides to pray a new prayer, and wants to be certain God hears it.  His voice is now direct, bold and concrete.  He knows exactly what he wants God to do!  In fact, it seems that in the act of praying his new prayer he finds his voice, his identity and his courage to name and face the enemy.

I’m struck by how conversational MacDonald’s prayers are.  They’re sometimes childlike, despite his great learning and vast vocabulary.   Almost effortlessly, he weaves formal and informal prayer into his daily thought-life.  Finally, I love his ‘new prayer.’  I can imagine praying it, or something like it, for myself.  I was going to say “praying it someday,” but that might be foolish.  Like MacDonald, I know death is coming but I don’t know when.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 February 2015

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January 28, 2015

“. . .Thou art thou, and here am I.”

I’m surprised at feelings I’ve had since I began writing Dear Dad letters.  Sometimes I’m afraid I’m trying to get something from Dad that he can’t give me.  I don’t think I am.  I definitely feel I’m ‘out there,’ in the driver’s seat without a finished roadmap, uncertain where this will lead.

Most surprising, though, Read the rest of this entry »

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January 22, 2015

“Thou in my heart hast planted…”

Longwood Meadow Gardens Entrance/Exit - November 2014

It’s November.  My husband and I just finished a hike through the meadow at Longwood Gardens Though the weather forecast promised warm afternoon sun, it’s gray, cold  and misty.  On a whim, I ask my husband to take a picture of this sign. Read the rest of this entry »

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January 9, 2015

Lord, make my heart pure . . .

gannet-flying-overhead-great-saltee-8130xl[1]

Gannet Flying Overhead
Photo credit: Cliff’s View Blog

***

“Refining”

Lord, make my heart

Pure as the gannet’s wing, Read the rest of this entry »

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December 23, 2014

Not Far to Go

Here’s a little gem from Amy Carmichael.  It reminds me of every child’s question, “Are we there yet?”

Not Far to Go

It is not far to go,
For Thou are near;
It is not far to go,
For Thou are here;
And not by traveling, Lord,
We come to Thee,
But by the way of love;
And we love Thee.

Amy Carmichael, Mountain Breezes:  The Collected Poems of Amy Carmichael, p. 16.  © 1999, The Dohnavur Fellowship, published by Christian Literature Crusade.  First published in Edges of His Ways (1955) and Gold Cord (1932)

I used to think a day would come when I had truly ‘arrived.’ Read the rest of this entry »

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December 22, 2014

He Stands by Us

Karl Barth, one of my favorite theologians, preached periodically to women and men in the Basel, Switzerland prison during the 1950s.  Following each sermon, he and they celebrated Holy Communion.  The following excerpt is from a Christmas Communion sermon in 1958.

Barth’s sermon challenges me to take my place with the “Dear Brothers and Sisters” to whom he preached it.  The sermon isn’t elegant or literarily stunning.  Barth simply tells the truth in a direct, personable way to women and men looking for someone to stand with and for them right there in prison.  The excerpt is from the end of the sermon.

* * * * *

Luke 2:7:  And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

“. . . We probably find ourselves in a stable or an open-air feeding spot for animals.  Certainly not in a nice and comfortable place where people like to dwell because it looks so cozy and homely, or at least decent.  No, it was a place compared to which the cells of this house might well be called luxurious.  There were animals right beside, oxen and donkeys, as many painters have represented it.  In this gloomy place Jesus Christ was born.  Likewise, he died in an even gloomier place.

“There, in the manger, in the stable next to the animals, it happened that the sky opened above the dark earth, that God became man, to be wholly with us and for us.  There it happened that this fellowman, this neighbor, this friend, this brother was given to us.  There it happened.

“Thanks be to God, the parents and the baby for whom there was no room in the inn found this other spot where this could happen, and indeed did happen.   And thanks be to God, as we now consider the Savior’s coming into our own midst, [that] there are not only the various inns where he stands outside, knocking and asking.  There is quite another place where he simply enters, indeed has already secretly entered, and waits until we gladly recognize his presence.

“What kind of a place in our life is this?  Do not suggest some presumably noble, beautiful or at least decent compartment of your life and work, where you could give the Savior a respectable reception.  Not so, my friends!  The place where the Savior enters in looks rather like the stable of Bethlehem.  It is not beautiful, but quite ugly; not at all cozy, but really frightening; not at all decently human, but right beside the animals.

“You see, the proud or modest inns, and our behavior as their inhabitants, are but the surface of our lives.  Beneath there lurks the depth, even the abyss.  Down below, we are, without exception, but each in his or her own way, only poor beggars, lost sinners, moaning creatures on the threshold of death, only people who have lost their way.

“Down there Jesus Christ sets up quarters.  Even better, he has already done so!  Yes, praise be to God for this dark place, for this manger, for this stable in our lives!  There we need him, and there he can use each one of us.  There we are ready for him.  There he only waits that we see him, recognize him, believe in him, and love him.   There he greets us.

“What else can we do but return his greeting and bid him welcome?  Let us not be ashamed that the oxen and donkeys are close by.  Precisely there he firmly stands by us all.  In this dark place he will have Holy Communion with us.  This is what we now shall have with him and with one another.  Amen.

“O Lord our God!  When we are afraid, abandon us not to despair!  When we are disappointed, Let us not grow bitter!  When we fall, leave us not lying there!  When we are at our wit’s end and run out of strength, let us not perish!  Grant us then the sense of your nearness and your love which thou hast promised to those with a humble and contrite heart who fear thy word.  Thy dear Son has come to all men and women in despair.  To overcome our plight he was born in the stable and died on the cross.  Awaken us all, O Lord, and keep us awake to acknowledge and confess him! . . . Amen.”

Karl Barth, Deliverance to the Captives, Harper & Row ppb (1978). pp. 141-43.  Translated by Marguerite Wieser from Den Gefangenen Befreiung, published by Evangelischer Verlag AG, Zurich, in 1959.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 December 2014

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