I was going to call this entry "cooking ennui," but it really isn't that. I still love getting into the kitchen, putting on the apron, and rolling up my sleeves. If I think of something to cook, or Terry asks for something, or an improvisation pops into my mind, I'm totally there.
What I can't get into is pulling out the netbook and finding a recipe to follow. Or getting all those backlogged recipes into the netbook. My backlog is actually worse than it was in January.
I'm not going to stress about it. Perhaps the great food on our Alaska trip will get me back into the recipe thing.
I have to share one more from Peter Gomes, again from The Scandalous Gospel of Jesus.
|Jesus does not ask us to behave as he did; he asks us to behave as we ought—which is why
asking “What would Jesus have me do?” is far riskier than asking what Jesus himself would do.
It might very well be as Thomas Merton writes: “It seems to me that I have greater peace
and am closer to God when I am not ‘trying to be a contemplative,’ or trying to be anything special,
but simply orienting my life fully and completely towards what seems to be required
of a man like me at a time like this.”
"…orienting my life fully and completely towards what seems to be required of a [person] like me at a time like this." Did he really begin that clause with "simply"?
Sounds pretty darn tough if you ask me!
We're in Lectionary Year A, and Matthew can be harsh, big time. But one of the oddities of the lectionary as delivered to us by the "lectionary elves" (I love that term!) is that the one time in the three year cycle we get the Emmaus story from Luke on Sunday morning is Easter 3, Year A, the year of Matthew.
It's my favorite Gospel story, and I love the way it describes how Christ can be there with us. It was such a delight to hear it read yesterday morning.
New insight for me this year, courtesy of Father Phil. In this passage Christ is revealed in the Word (as they walked along the road) and in the Meal (as he broke the bread after they reached the village), just as He was revealed in the Word and in the Meal in the life of the early church, and just as he is in our liturgical worship today.
Here's to Emmaus, once again.
Back in 2007 I wrote about the song "You Have Come to the Lakeshore" and asked that if anyone knew of a recording of it to please let me know. I never got any responses. Until last Sunday. The person commenting, one Debi, must have found my entry while googling the song. She suggested I check YouTube. Sure enough, there are several versions there. Here's one of them, which I share not necessarily because it is the best, but because it includes the lyrics.
The attribution of the composer at the beginning is somewhat mangled. The copyright is by Cesáreo Gabaráin in 1979, but there seems to be some question as to whether it is really his work. In any case it is a beautiful song, and I love the message.
Peter Gomes tells the hard truths. In The Scandalous Gospel of Jesus he tells us:
|If God loves all that he has made—and he has made everyone, not just ourselves, in his own image—
then the commandment to love God means that we must love all whom God has made, even those different
from ourselves, and disagreeable to us.
Interestingly, I read this just about the same time the daily lectionary reading was John 10:1-18, the Good Shepherd passage. John 10:16 reads: "I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd"
We have a mandate to be inclusive. sigh It's so much easier to stay in one's little clique. But I'm working on it.
I mean I'm working on being inclusive, not on staying in my little clique.
And she didn't come down on me for missing Passion Sunday and all three Tridiium services.
I really appreciate my spiritual director.
Back in 2008 I wrote with some annoyance about authors whose books purported to be non-fiction narratives, but which, in fact, deviated greatly from events as they actually happened. Then, the next year, after having pulled out and re-read some of my essays from the mid-1970's, I had to admit guilt myself.
It was with great interest, then, that I discovered a book Carl H. Klaus published last year called The Made-Up Self: Impersonation in the Personal Essay. Klaus writes:
|E. B. White in a letter about his work (August 15, 1969), frankly acknowledges that
"Writing is a form of imposture: I'm not at all sure I am anything like the person
I seem to a reader." And Nancy Mairs, whose self-revelatory essays in Carnal Acts
might seem to be unrehearsed confessions, declares in "But First," that
"I am not the woman whose voice animates my essays. She's made up."
I'm enjoying the book. It's interesting to delve further into this phenomenon.
Tasha turned seven on Sunday. By our reckoning at least.
We brought her home from the shelter on All Saints' Day 2005. We immediately took her to our vet who said that she was about a year and a half. Given that, we decided that her birthday would be May 1, in memory and honor of my beloved Grandma Monaghan. So May 1st this year makes her seven.
You wouldn't know it for all the energy she has.
We love you, girl, and hope to have you with us for a very long time.