Name: Tess
Home: St. Louis
Ash Wednesday
With some trepidation, I'm participating in a Lenten study group with online friends. I feel a little like an impostor; one of the first questions we discussed was the state of our souls, and I'm not even sure I believe in the concept of souls. I have many more religious questions than answers. But I trust and like my friends, so I'm giving it a try.
Today came a set of readings for Ash Wednesday. I posted my response:
Yesterday I was working on a story and I needed a title. I decided to see if I could pull something from Ecclesiastes (since everyone else does). I read bits of that and the book of Job, and marveled at the poetry, and at the frank discussion of human despair. The readings today make me think of those passages.
Have we lost the tradition of lamentation in our culture? Strong, vigorous words that express our grief and sorrow? Have we traded lamentation for the titillating confession, or the self-explaining language of psychobabble?
My friend who is leading the group referred me to this sermon about laments. I was fascinated by the author's beliefs: "The cry of pain is our deepest acknowledgment--we are not home. We are divided from our own body; our own deepest desires; our dearest relationships. We are separated and long for utter restoration. It is the cry of pain that initiates the search to ask God, What are you doing?"
Today came a set of readings for Ash Wednesday. I posted my response:
Yesterday I was working on a story and I needed a title. I decided to see if I could pull something from Ecclesiastes (since everyone else does). I read bits of that and the book of Job, and marveled at the poetry, and at the frank discussion of human despair. The readings today make me think of those passages.
Have we lost the tradition of lamentation in our culture? Strong, vigorous words that express our grief and sorrow? Have we traded lamentation for the titillating confession, or the self-explaining language of psychobabble?
My friend who is leading the group referred me to this sermon about laments. I was fascinated by the author's beliefs: "The cry of pain is our deepest acknowledgment--we are not home. We are divided from our own body; our own deepest desires; our dearest relationships. We are separated and long for utter restoration. It is the cry of pain that initiates the search to ask God, What are you doing?"
posted by Tess | 7:26 AM
1 Comments:
The cry of pain is our deepest acknowledgment -- we are not home. Goose bumps! Very poetic. I think, barring poetry, songs are the only place I can find any measure of expression for grief and sorrow. Not that pop songs are necessarily poetic, but the really good ones merge music and words to form something more powerful. A strong melody adds weight to the words. And considering that very few people read poetry aloud any more -- which lends impact to the words -- songs are about the only alternative.
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