Christmas as metaphor
It is Saturday and it is also the day before Christmas – the day that Christians choose to celebrate the birth of a man who has come to symbolize the best of who we are within the context of our humanness.
I want to, once again pay tribute to Krista Tibbett and the person with whom she had a conversation on December 22, 2016, Eugene Peterson. Pastor Peterson “served as pastor for 29 years. He is the author of 30 books, including Answering God: The Psalms as Tools for Prayer, The pastor; A Memoir, and The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language.” (transcript of this conversation)
Mr. Peterson reminds the listener or reader of the role of metaphor and poetry in our journey of learning to be present in a most magical way. He says: “All the prophets were poets. And if you don’t know that, you try to literalize everything and make shambles out of it. A metaphor is really remarkable kind of formation, because it both means what it says and what it doesn’t say.”
Once again I am invited to stop and attend to what I have often referred to in these writings - the negative or seemingly empty space. In art, it is the space which holds the object or drawing. In music, it is the space between the notes. As Mr. Peterson reminds us in poetry it Is what is not said. The negative space or what is not spoken, written, drawn or played gives meaning to what is spoken, written, drawn, or played.
Often, it seems, religious texts are read or used as absolutes. Absolutes have no negative space – no space or notes to be filled in. As such, they are always exclusionary.
Mr. Peterson suggests:
“Poets tell us what our eyes, blurred with too much gawking, and our ears, dulled with too much chatter, miss around and within us. Poets use words to drag us into the depth of reality itself.”
Consider the contrast, as Ms. Tippett points out, between a traditional translation of the opening of Psalm 22 and Mr. Peterson’s translation:
“MS. TIPPETT: In the New Revised Version of the Bible that many of us read in church, Psalm 22, a cry of anguish from King David, begins: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?”
In Eugene Peterson’s translation, The Message he writes:
“God, God . . . my God!
Why did you dump me?
miles from nowhere?
Doubled up with pain, I call to God
all the day long. No answer. Nothing.
I keep at it all night, tossing and turning.”
The anguish of the minutes and the hours is held for all to experience between the words. The words which are there offer no rationale and no comfort. The poem is filled with despair and rage. One sees and hears the cursing of God by King David. One is forced to inject one’s own body into that exhausted form of King David doubled up with pain. The poem though what it does not say forces one to face one’s own pain. It is not King David. It is us. The poem affirms our pain. Someone notices.
All religions seem to paint the ridiculous of this human journey - the senselessness of this existence. Religion is the quest to make sense out of the pain and suffering. All, if we listen, provide the space for peace – the space to rest.
All religion is a metaphor for what cannot be uttered; for what cannot be explained; for what is contained outside of the container.
Christmas is a metaphor
It is christmas.
Yes, a small c
A call for
Allah
Krishna
Shiva
Vishnu
Elohim
Buddha
Jehovah
Yahweh
Hu
All wise one
All powerful one
Ever present one
Christmas is a metaphor
For the hope, which is contained in all religions
Christmas is a metaphor for all the rituals of all religions
just as those rituals are metaphors for Christians.
The Christ child arrives naked, homeless, unbidden.
Thus, begins a poem with all the spaces left blank
A beginning which contains no ending.
Joyful, joyful we adore thee
Silent night, holy night
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
Oh come ye, oh come ye
More nuclear bombs called for by some.
Dumped in a manger
Awaiting the cross
We gather at the river
The beautiful, the beautiful river
The river of life awaits
between the dashes
Christmas is a metaphor
Of the hope which intersects our anguish cries.
We reach out a hand towards Allah only to discover
The hand of one we have called enemy
Christmas is a metaphor.
Between the lines we notice all that is not.
All that can be.
Christmas is a metaphor
For the nothingness which is everything.
Christmas
Written December 24, 2016
It is Saturday and it is also the day before Christmas – the day that Christians choose to celebrate the birth of a man who has come to symbolize the best of who we are within the context of our humanness.
I want to, once again pay tribute to Krista Tibbett and the person with whom she had a conversation on December 22, 2016, Eugene Peterson. Pastor Peterson “served as pastor for 29 years. He is the author of 30 books, including Answering God: The Psalms as Tools for Prayer, The pastor; A Memoir, and The Message: The Bible in Contemporary Language.” (transcript of this conversation)
Mr. Peterson reminds the listener or reader of the role of metaphor and poetry in our journey of learning to be present in a most magical way. He says: “All the prophets were poets. And if you don’t know that, you try to literalize everything and make shambles out of it. A metaphor is really remarkable kind of formation, because it both means what it says and what it doesn’t say.”
Once again I am invited to stop and attend to what I have often referred to in these writings - the negative or seemingly empty space. In art, it is the space which holds the object or drawing. In music, it is the space between the notes. As Mr. Peterson reminds us in poetry it Is what is not said. The negative space or what is not spoken, written, drawn or played gives meaning to what is spoken, written, drawn, or played.
Often, it seems, religious texts are read or used as absolutes. Absolutes have no negative space – no space or notes to be filled in. As such, they are always exclusionary.
Mr. Peterson suggests:
“Poets tell us what our eyes, blurred with too much gawking, and our ears, dulled with too much chatter, miss around and within us. Poets use words to drag us into the depth of reality itself.”
Consider the contrast, as Ms. Tippett points out, between a traditional translation of the opening of Psalm 22 and Mr. Peterson’s translation:
“MS. TIPPETT: In the New Revised Version of the Bible that many of us read in church, Psalm 22, a cry of anguish from King David, begins: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?”
In Eugene Peterson’s translation, The Message he writes:
“God, God . . . my God!
Why did you dump me?
miles from nowhere?
Doubled up with pain, I call to God
all the day long. No answer. Nothing.
I keep at it all night, tossing and turning.”
The anguish of the minutes and the hours is held for all to experience between the words. The words which are there offer no rationale and no comfort. The poem is filled with despair and rage. One sees and hears the cursing of God by King David. One is forced to inject one’s own body into that exhausted form of King David doubled up with pain. The poem though what it does not say forces one to face one’s own pain. It is not King David. It is us. The poem affirms our pain. Someone notices.
All religions seem to paint the ridiculous of this human journey - the senselessness of this existence. Religion is the quest to make sense out of the pain and suffering. All, if we listen, provide the space for peace – the space to rest.
All religion is a metaphor for what cannot be uttered; for what cannot be explained; for what is contained outside of the container.
Christmas is a metaphor
It is christmas.
Yes, a small c
A call for
Allah
Krishna
Shiva
Vishnu
Elohim
Buddha
Jehovah
Yahweh
Hu
All wise one
All powerful one
Ever present one
Christmas is a metaphor
For the hope, which is contained in all religions
Christmas is a metaphor for all the rituals of all religions
just as those rituals are metaphors for Christians.
The Christ child arrives naked, homeless, unbidden.
Thus, begins a poem with all the spaces left blank
A beginning which contains no ending.
Joyful, joyful we adore thee
Silent night, holy night
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
Oh come ye, oh come ye
More nuclear bombs called for by some.
Dumped in a manger
Awaiting the cross
We gather at the river
The beautiful, the beautiful river
The river of life awaits
between the dashes
Christmas is a metaphor
Of the hope which intersects our anguish cries.
We reach out a hand towards Allah only to discover
The hand of one we have called enemy
Christmas is a metaphor.
Between the lines we notice all that is not.
All that can be.
Christmas is a metaphor
For the nothingness which is everything.
Christmas
Written December 24, 2016
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