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. . . that suffering for Truths sake
Is fortitude to highest victorie,
And to the faithful Death the Gate of Life;
Taught this by his example whom I now
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest.

To whom thus also th’ Angel last repli’d:
This having learnt, thou hast attained the summe
Of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the Starrs
Thou knewst by name, and all th’ ethereal Powers,
All secrets of the deep, all Natures works,
Or works of God in Heav’n, Aire, Earth, or Sea,
And all the riches of this World enjoydst,
And all the rule, one Empire; onely add
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add Faith,
Add vertue, Patience, Temperance, add Love,
By name to come call’d Charitie, the soul
Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loath
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess
A Paradise within thee, happier farr.
Let us descend now therefore from this top
Of Speculation;
(Milton, PL 12)

I believe Jesus Christ, the Lord of all believers (we entrust ourselves to Him, agree to cooperate with Him, and know He will transform us), is the same Creator God as the Father and Spirit; yet He is the Son to the Father, Who sends Him to be the Lord of all Creation.

I believe in God the Father, Almighty Creator of all things visible and invisible, near and far, close to Him and close to me.

I believe the Son and the Spirit are this same Creator God.

to be in a culture where, being a Christian dedicated to the least involvement of the State in the church’s life, pro or con, yea or nay, I am one of the feared and loathed oppressors

to be constantly inundated by debates about the direction of culture, when we know full well the culture can’t be changed except by what remains invisible to debates about the coercive measures used to constrain it

to be asked to believe that it matters so much where the nations of this world bury their dead before it burns….

note the “hastening” in that last. how odd to be thought odd for that!

Pretty much everything in this letter, from the very end of The Count of Monte Cristo (the book, not the movie, which has half the characters and less of the plot), is philosophically false; and yet, in a younger year, this letter did more for me to mark the nature of our hope, through evil times, than many another, more useful thing. Dantes is, of course, more devil than God; and yet we hope our own visions are reflected more accurately in the ending, in the “Wait and Hope,” than in the course of the Dumas novel.

My Dear Maximilian, –

There is a felucca for you at anchor. Jacopo will carry you to Leghorn, where Monsieur Noirtier awaits his granddaughter, whom he wishes to bless before you lead her to the altar. All that is in this grotto, my friend, my house in the Champs Elysees, and my chateau at Treport, are the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dantes upon the son of his old master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will share them with you; for I entreat her to give to the poor the immense fortune reverting to her from her father, now a madman, and her brother who died last September with his mother. Tell the angel who will watch over your future destiny, Morrel, to pray sometimes for a man, who like Satan thought himself for an instant equal to God, but who now acknowledges with Christian humility that God alone possesses supreme power and infinite wisdom. Perhaps those prayers may soften the remorse he feels in his heart. As for you, Morrel, this is the secret of my conduct towards you.

There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, Morrel, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of living.

Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words, — `Wait and hope.’ Your friend,

Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte Cristo.

I said philosophically false–and yet, on a very strict construction of “in the world,” the reduction of all to difference et ne plus ultra does not entirely miss the mark, either.

We choose between summum nihil est and consummatum est! daily, and in person; the person of Christ.

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
(John Donne, “Death be not proud“)

memento mori
(compare to the song referenced in the post title)

Just a moment’s thought about God’s goodness, and its complications.

In the past week, I have had reports from friends concerning the personal costs of radical disgust with humanity, the loss of a beloved grandfather, the near-total dissolution of a family, and the painful disorder of a beloved pet. I’m not even about to compare those to one another–suffice to say in every case my text here leaves out everything of interest except what strangers may glean passing by.

And yet here I am, too: stretched beyond my means in any practical sense, tired of looking for work, and knowing my family are in similar situations.

And God is good. No, really, He is. The prelims are getting scheduled. Profs are returning my mails, telling me what to do next. The bills were paid this month. There were jobs to apply for. Friends stayed in touch, and I renewed some friendships.

How do I weigh these things? By refusing to compare.