The Annual Question

Every year at this time, I find myself asking the same vexing question:

Why would the King of all leave the perfection and comfort of Heaven to come to a place that is foul, smelly, loud, chaotic and, frankly, somewhat hostile?
Oh, no. I'm not talking about the stable in Bethlehem.

I'm talking about my heart.

—Wayne S.

"I'd like to call you all by name."

“I’d like to call you all by name,

but the list has been removed 

and there is nowhere else to look.”

—Anna Akhmatova, Requiem

I have spent the bulk of my reading in the last few months immersed in the history and literature of the Second World War, and its corollaries, Hitler's Final Solution and Stalin's Great Terror. Recently I posted an sobering summary of the total human cost of the war. But it only tells part (not even half) of the story. Here are several  lengthy excerpts from a powerful book entitled Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin, which tells us that ideology can be more deadly than a gun:

The bloodlands were where most of Europe’s Jews lived, where Hitler and Stalin’s imperial plans overlapped, where the Wehrmacht and the Red Army fought, and where the Soviet NKVD and the German SS concentrated their forces. Most killing sites were in the bloodlands: in the political geography of the 1930s and early 1940s, this meant Poland, the Baltic States, Soviet Belarus, Soviet Ukraine, and the western fringe of Soviet Russia. Stalin’s crimes are often associated with Russia, and Hitler’s with Germany. But the deadliest part of the Soviet Union was its non-Russian periphery, and Nazis generally killed beyond Germany. The horror of the twentieth century is thought to be located in the camps. But the concentration camps are not where most of the victims of National Socialism and Stalinism died. These misunderstandings regarding the sites and methods of mass killing prevent us from perceiving the horror of the twentieth century.

...

To join in a large number after death is to be dissolved into a stream of anonymity. To be enlisted posthumously into competing national memories, bolstered by the numbers of which your life has become a part, is to sacrifice individuality. It is to be abandoned by history, which begins from the assumption that each person is irreducible. With all of its complexity, history is what we all have, and can all share. So even when we have the numbers right, we have to take care. The right number is not enough.

photo by Wayne Steadham

Each record of death suggests, but cannot supply, a unique life. We must be able not only to reckon the number of deaths but to reckon with each victim as an individual. The one very large number that withstands scrutiny is that of the Holocaust, with its 5.7 million Jewish dead, 5.4 million of whom were killed by the Germans. But this number, like all of the others, must be seen not as 5.7 million, which is an abstraction few of us can grasp, but as 5.7 million times one. This does not mean some generic image of a Jew passing through some abstract notion of death 5.7 million times. It means countless individuals who nevertheless have to be counted, in the middle of life: Dobcia Kagan, the girl in the synagogue at Kovel, and everyone with her there, and all the individual human beings who were killed as Jews in Kovel, in Ukraine, in the East, in Europe.

Cultures of memory are organized by round numbers, intervals of ten; but somehow the remembrance of the dead is easier when the numbers are not round, when the final digit is not a zero. So within the Holocaust, it is perhaps easier to think of 780,863 different people at Treblinka: where the three at the end might be Tamara and Itta Willenberg, whose clothes clung together after they were gassed, and Ruth Dorfmann, who was able to cry with the man who cut her hair before she entered the gas chamber. Or it might be easier to imagine the one person at the end of the 33,761 Jews shot at Babi Yar: Dina Pronicheva’s mother, let us say, although in fact every single Jew killed there could be that one, must be that one, is that one.

Within the history of mass killing in the bloodlands, recollection must include the one million (times one) Leningraders starved during the siege, 3.1 million (times one) distinct Soviet prisoners of war killed by the Germans in 1941-1944, or the 3.3 million (times one) distinct Ukrainian peasants starved by the Soviet regime in 1932-1933. These numbers will never be known with precision, but they hold individuals, too: peasant families making fearful choices, prisoners keeping each other warm in dugouts, children such as Tania Savicheva watching their families perish in Leningrad.

Each of the 681,692 people shot in Stalin’s Great Terror of 1937-1938 had a different life story: the two at the end might be Maria Juriewicz and Stanisław Wyganowski, the wife and husband reunited “under the ground.” Each of the 21,892 Polish prisoners of war shot by the NKVD in 1940 was in the midst of life. The two at the end might be Dobiesław Jakubowicz, the father who dreamed about his daughter, and Adam Solski, the husband who wrote of his wedding ring on the day that the bullet entered his brain.

The Nazi and Soviet regimes turned people into numbers, some of which we can only estimate, some of which we can reconstruct with fair precision. It is for us as scholars to seek these numbers and to put them into perspective. It is for us as humanists to turn the numbers back into people. If we cannot do that, then Hitler and Stalin have shaped not only our world, but our humanity. 

I [...] generally exclude from the count the people who died of exertion or disease or malnutrition in concentration camps or during deportations, evacuations, or flight from armies. I also exclude the people who died as forced laborers. I am not counting people who died of hunger as a result of wartime shortfalls, or civilians who died in bombings or as a result of other acts of war. I am not counting soldiers who died on the fields of battle of the Second World War. In the course of the book I do discuss camps and deportations and battles, and provide figures of those killed. These are not, however, included in the final figure of fourteen million. I also exclude acts of violence carried out by third parties that were clearly a result of German or Soviet occupation, but not German or Soviet policy. Sometimes these brought very significant numbers of deaths, as with the Romanian murder of Jews (some three hundred thousand) or the Ukrainian nationalist ethnic cleansing of Poles (at least fifty thousand)

Fourteen million, after all, is a very large number. It exceeds by more than ten million the number of people who died in all of the Soviet and German concentration camps (as opposed to the death facilities) taken together over the entire history of both the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany. If current standard estimates of military losses are correct, it exceeds by more than two million the number of German and Soviet soldiers, taken together, killed on the battlefield in the Second World War (counting starved and executed prisoners of war as victims of a policy of mass murder rather than as military casualties). It exceeds by more than thirteen million the number of American and British casualties, taken together, of the Second World War. It also exceeds by more than thirteen million all of the American battlefield losses in all of the foreign wars that the United States has ever fought.

The count of fourteen million mortal victims of deliberate killing policies in the bloodlands is the sum of the following approximate figures, defended in the text and notes: 3.3 million Soviet citizens (mostly Ukrainians) deliberately starved by their own government in Soviet Ukraine in 1932-1933; three hundred thousand Soviet citizens (mostly Poles and Ukrainians) shot by their own government in the western USSR among the roughly seven hundred thousand victims of the Great Terror of 1937-1938; two hundred thousand Polish citizens (mostly Poles) shot by German and Soviet forces in occupied Poland in 1939-1941; 4.2 million Soviet citizens (largely Russians, Belarusians, and Ukrainians) starved by the German occupiers in 1941-1944; 5.4 million Jews (most of them Polish or Soviet citizens) gassed or shot by the Germans in 1941-1944; and seven hundred thousand civilians (mostly Belarusians and Poles) shot by the Germans in “reprisals” chiefly in Belarus and Warsaw in 1941-1944.

In general, these numbers are sums of counts made by the Germans or the Soviets themselves, complemented by other sources, rather than statistical estimates of losses based upon censuses. Accordingly, my counts are often lower (even if stupefyingly high) than others in the literature. The major case where I do rely upon estimates is the famine in Soviet Ukraine, where data are simply insufficient for a count, and where I present a total figure on the basis of a number of demographic calculations and contemporary estimates. Again, my reckoning is on the conservative side.

The cry regarding the Holocaust is, "Never Again!" May the same plea be made for all mass killings. 

Can you be a criminal and a Christian?

   A blog I read on occasion is Friendly Atheist. It is the work of Hemant Mehta, a math teacher in suburban Chicago (and who is, indeed, a friendly atheist). On September 8, 2011, the title of his blog entry was:

If People of Faith Commit a Crime, Do They Still Represent the Faith?

   Mr. Mehta then referred to a study by the Brookings Institute and the Public Religion Research Institute. The study reveals that, if a Christian were to commit a terrorist act in the name of religion, 83% of Americans would declare that person as not a true Christian, while only 13% would say that you COULD be a Christian and a terrorist.

   The survey also found that, asked the same question about Muslim terrorists, the numbers are much closer: 48% say NO, while 44% say YES, a Muslim terrorist is probably a true Muslim.

   The blogger's only comment about the findings are this: "How's that for a double standard?" Well, it is, for sure. But I guess it bodes well for Christianity in general that we are disassociated with violent acts in the name of religion (although some think otherwise). As an aside, I think it is worth noting that the most horrific and brutal acts in history were carried out by people who, like Mr. Mehta, professed no faith at all.

   But I'm sure Mr. Mehta (and the Institutes) would never have thought to ask an even more provocative question, and it is this:

   Isn't being a criminal actually a prerequisite for being a Christian?

   I think the answer to that question should be an unqualified, emphatic YES! For at the heart of Christianity, as Christ taught it, were two hard truths: 

   First, Man is a criminal, if not for crimes against humanity, then for crimes against divinity—rebelling against and denying a God who made him and sustains him.

   And second, judgment has been passed and a sentence has been handed down. But strangely enough, the penalty has been paid for the crime, and we can walk free, if we admit our guiltiness and accept the payment.

   I have said in the past that a church is "a wonderful community made up of murderers, adulterers and thieves." If you've worked it out how to atone for your own shortcomings (sin, in Biblical parlance), or you disagree that you have any, then neither Christ nor Christianity will be your cup of tea. But if you have doubts...

—Wayne S.

P.S.: For those of you who like to get your sociology freak on, the above mentioned study is fascinating stuff. 

The Sorrow of God

Thanks in no small measure to the publication of Rob Bell's book, Love Wins, there is a renewed conversation about God's love. To many "spiritual but not religious" people (including, I think, Bell), the love is God is the primary thing about Him. And I am not about to disagree. But it is not the only thing that makes God desirable or trustworthy. To me, He loves us because He loves justice, truth and righteousness, and hates sin. There are many scriptural testimonies to that end, but for a concise overview, I recommend the New Testament letter of First John.

Geoffrey Anketell Studdert Kennedy was an Anglican priest and poet, who volunteered for chaplain duty in World War I. During that time, he wrote a powerful poem about an oft-ignored characteristic of God: His sorrow over sin. When we think of God's love, do we think of His sorrow in seeing His only son "lyin' there all uv a 'eap, Wi' the blood soaken over 'is 'ead"?

It is neither narrow-minded nor hard-hearted to say that all must come to God through Jesus Christ. It is just. It is true. It is righteous. In His sorrow is His love.

THE SORROW OF GOD
A SERMON IN A BILLET

YES, I used to believe i' Jesus Christ, 
      And I used to go to Church, 
But sin' I left 'ome and came to France, 
      I've been clean knocked off my perch. 
For it seemed orlright at 'ome, it did, 
      To believe in a God above 
And in Jesus Christ 'Is only Son, 
      What died on the Cross through Love. 
When I went for a walk o' a Sunday morn 
      On a nice fine day in the spring, 
I could see the proof o' the living God 
      In every living thing. 
For 'ow could the grass and the trees grow up 
      All along o' their bloomin' selves? 
Ye might as well believe i' the fairy tales, 
      And think they was made by elves. 
So I thought as that long-'aired atheist 
      Were nubbat a silly sod, 
For 'ow did 'e 'count for my Brussels sprouts 
      If 'e didn't believe i' God? 
But it ain't the same out 'ere, ye know. 
      It's as different as chalk fro' cheese, 
For 'arf on it's blood and t'other 'arf's mud, 
      And I'm damned if I really sees 
'Ow the God, who 'as made such a cruel world, 
      Can 'ave Love in 'Is 'eart for men, 
And be deaf to the cries of the men as dies 
      And never comes 'ome again.
- 132 -
Just look at that little boy corporal there, 
      Such a fine upstanding lad, 
Wi' a will uv 'is own, and a way uv 'is own, 
      And a smile uv 'is own, 'e 'ad. 
An hour ago 'e were bustin' wi' life, 
      Wi' 'is actin' and foolin' and fun; 
'E were simply the life on us all, 'e were, 
      Now look what the blighters 'a done. 
Look at 'im lyin' there all uv a 'eap, 
      Wi' the blood soaken over 'is 'ead, 
Like a beautiful picture spoiled by a fool, 
      A bundle o' nothin'--dead. 
And it ain't only 'im--there's a mother at 'ome, 
      And 'e were the pride of 'er life. 
For it's women as pays in a thousand ways 
      For the madness o' this 'ere strife. 
And the lovin' God 'E looks down on it all, 
      On the blood and the mud and the smell. 
O God, if it's true, 'ow I pities you, 
      For ye must be livin' i' 'ell. 
You must be livin' i' 'ell all day, 
      And livin' i' 'ell all night. 
I'd rather be dead, wiv a 'ole through my 'ead, 
      I would, by a damn long sight, 
Than be livin' wi' you on your 'eavenly throne, 
      Lookin' down on yon bloody 'cap 
That were once a boy full o' life and joy, 
      And 'earin' 'is mother weep. 
The sorrows o' God must be 'ard to bear 
      If 'E really 'as Love in 'Is 'eart, 
And the 'ardest part i' the world to play 
      Must surely be God's part. 
And I wonder if that's what it really means, 
      That Figure what 'angs on the Cross. 
I remember I seed one t'other day 
      As I stood wi' the captain's 'oss.
- 133 -
I remember, I thinks, thinks I to mysel', 
      It's a long time since 'E died, 
Yet the world don't seem much better to-day 
      Then when 'E were crucified. 
It's allus the same, as it seems to me, 
      The weakest must go to the wall, 
And whether e's right, or whether e's wrong, 
      It don't seem to matter at all. 
The better ye are and the 'arder it is, 
      The 'arder ye 'ave to fight, 
It's a cruel 'ard world for any bloke 
      What does the thing as is right. 
And that's 'ow 'E came to be crucified, 
      For that's what 'E tried to do. 
'E were allus a-tryin' to do 'Is best 
      For the likes o' me and you. 
Well, what if 'E came to the earth to-day, 
      Came walkin' about this trench, 
'Ow 'Is 'eart would bleed for the sights 'E seed, 
      I' the mud and the blood and the stench. 
And I guess it would finish 'Im up for good 
      When 'E came to this old sap end, 
And 'E seed that bundle o' nothin' there, 
      For 'E wept at the grave uv 'Is friend. 
And they say 'E were just the image o' God. 
      I wonder if God sheds tears, 
I wonder if God can be sorrowin' still, 
      And 'as been all these years. 
I wonder if that's what it really means, 
      Not only that 'E once died, 
Not only that 'E came once to the earth 
      And wept and were crucified? 
Not just that 'E suffered once for all 
      To save us from our sins, 
And then went up to 'Is throne on 'igh 
      To wait till 'Is 'eaven begins.
- 134 -
But what if 'E came to the earth to show, 
      By the paths o' pain that 'E trod, 
The blistering flame of eternal shame 
      That burns in the heart o' God? 
O God, if that's 'ow it really is, 
      Why, bless ye, I understands, 
And I feels for you wi' your thorn-crowned 'ead 
      And your ever pierced 'ands. 
But why don't ye bust the show to bits, 
      And force us to do your will? 
Why ever should God be suffering so 
      And man be sinning still? 
Why don't ye make your voice ring out, 
      And drown these cursed guns? 
Why don't ye stand with an outstretched 'and, 
      Out there 'twixt us and the 'Uns? 
Why don't ye force us to end the war 
      And fix up a lasting peace? 
Why don't ye will that the world be still 
      And wars for ever cease? 
That's what I'd do, if I was you, 
      And I had a lot o' sons 
What squabbled and fought and spoilt their 'ome, 
      Same as us boys and the 'Uns. 
And yet, I remember, a lad o' mine, 
      'E's fightin' now on the sea, 
And 'e were a thorn in 'is mother's side, 
      And the plague o' my life to me. 
Lord, 'ow I used to swish that lad 
      Till 'e fairly yelped wi' pain, 
But fast as I thrashed one devil out 
      Another popped in again. 
And at last, when 'e grew up a strappin' lad, 
      'E ups and 'e says to me, 
"My will's my own and my life's my own, 
      And I'm goin', Dad, to sea."
- 135 -
And 'e went, for I 'adn't broke 'is will, 
      Though God knows 'ow I tried, 
And 'e never set eyes on my face again 
      Till the day as 'is mother died. 
Well, maybe that's 'ow it is wi' God, 
      'Is sons 'ave got to be free; 
Their wills are their own, and their lives their own, 
      And that's 'ow it 'as to be. 
So the Father God goes sorrowing still 
      For 'Is world what 'as gone to sea, 
But 'E runs up a light on Calvary's 'eight 
      That beckons to you and me. 
The beacon light of the sorrow of God 
      'As been shinin' down the years, 
A-flashin' its light through the darkest night 
      O' our 'uman blood and tears. 
There's a sight o' things what I thought was strange, 
      As I'm just beginnin' to see 
"Inasmuch as ye did it to one of these 
      Ye 'ave done it unto Me." 
So it isn't just only the crown o' thorns 
      What 'as pierced and torn God's 'ead; 
'E knows the feel uv a bullet, too, 
      And 'E's 'ad 'Is touch o' the lead. 
And 'E's standin' wi' me in this 'ere sap, 
      And the corporal stands wiv 'Im, 
And the eyes of the laddie is shinin' bright, 
      But the eyes of the Christ burn dim. 
O' laddie, I thought as ye'd done for me 
      And broke my 'eart wi' your pain. 
I thought as ye'd taught me that God were dead, 
      But ye've brought 'Im to life again. 
And ye've taught me more of what God is 
      Than I ever thought to know, 
For I never thought 'E could come so close 
      Or that I could love 'Im so.
- 136 -
For the voice of the Lord, as I 'ears it now, 
      Is the voice of my pals what bled, 
And the call of my country's God to me 
      Is the call of my country's dead.

(For those who would prefer a less Cockney English version of the poem, go here. For more of Kennedy's poetry, go here.)

C. S. Lewis on "Hate the sin, love the sinner."

You are told to love your neighbor as yourself. How do you love yourself? When I look into my own mind, I find that I do not love myself by thinking myself a dear old chap or having affectionate feelings. I do not think that I love myself because I am particularly good, but just because I am myself and quite apart from my character. I might detest something which I have done. Nevertheless, I do not cease to love myself. In other words, that definite distinction that Christians make between hating sin and loving the sinner is one that you have been making in your own case since you were born. You dislike what you have done, but you don't cease to love yourself. You may even think that you ought to be hanged. You may even think that you ought to go to the police and own up and be hanged. Love is not an affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.

--C. S. Lewis from God in the Dock

Sixty-five years ago this week

(click to enlarge)

The fury of the Haitian earthquake, which has taken more than 200,000 lives, teaches us how cruel nature can be to man. The Holocaust, which destroyed a people, teaches us that nature, even in its cruelest moments, is benign in comparison with man when he loses his moral compass and his reason.

—Samuel Pisar, an Auschwitz survivor, in the New York Times.



Sixty-five years ago this week, Russian troops liberated Auschwitz/Birkenau, as American troops were entering Dachau. 

Sin—concealed, or revealed?

Those of whom God demands the most perfect hope* must look closely at their sins. This is to say that they must let God shine His lamp suddenly upon the darkest corners of their souls—not that they themselves must search out what they do not understand. Too much searching conceals the thing we really ought to find. Nor is it certain that we have any urgent obligation to find sin in ourselves. How much sin is kept hidden by God Himself, in His mercy? After which He hides it from Himself!

—Thomas Merton, from Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander

*I'm not sure, but I believe Merton was referring here to those called to monastic service. He was a Trappist monk.

For you

   Dear friends, let us look into the ocean through which Christ waded for us. He was without any comforts of God on the cross. No feeling that God loved him, no feeling that God pitied him, no feeling that God supported him. 

    God was his sun before, now that sun had become all darkness. Not a smile from His Father, not a kind look, not a kind word. 

   Nobody ever loved God and got this from God and yet loved anyway. Nobody ever loved people and got this from people and yet followed through. He went to hell for people. He was without a God as if he had no God. All that God had been to him was taken from him now. He had the feeling on the cross of being condemned. 

   He must have heard the judge say, ‘Depart from me, Ye cursed. You who shall be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of His power.’ That’s what he heard. 

   He felt that God said the same to him. Ahh, this is the hell which Christ suffered. Dear friends, I feel like a little child, casting a stone into some deep ravine in the mountainside, listening to hear it fall but listening in vain. It’s too deep. The longest line cannot fathom it. The ocean of Christ’s sufferings is unfathomable. He was forsaken and in the place of sinners. 

   If you grasp Christ as your surety and mediator, you will never be forsaken. From the broken bread and the poured out wine, do you not hear the cry arise, ‘My God, my God why hast Thou forsaken me!’ 

   And do you not hear the answer, ‘For you!’ For you.

—Robert Murray M'Cheyne, Scottish Presbyterian minister (1813-1843)

Candles

Click image to enlarge.

Helter-Skelter and Grace

This past August marked the 40th anniversary of the Manson family murders—Steven Parent, Abigail Folger, Jay Sebring and Sharon Tate on August 9, 1968, and Leno and Rosemary LaBianca the next night.

An excellent docudrama on the History Channel brought back the memories I had of the crime, and of reading Vince Bugliosi's account, Helter-Skelter. The story is one of pure and unexplainable evil.

But a perusal of the web turned up an interesting fact: Two of the murderers, Susan Atkins and Charles "Tex" Watson, have become Christians.

No doubt this infuriates some, as it did when infamous serial-killer/cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer also professed faith in Christ shortly before his murder in prison.

But the truth is, grace is available to anyone. Anytime. As much as we would like to say that Jesus died to keep people like Atkins and Watson from killing, the thing we must all accept, if grace is unmerited, is that it always follows sin. It is the only know antidote.

So, rejoice. As William Camden wrote in Remaines, speaking of a dissolute man who died when he fell from his horse:

     My friend, judge not me,

     Thou seest I judge not thee;

     Betwixt the stirrop and the ground,

     Mercy I askt, mercy I found."

W. S. 

Seeing the tables and chairs

A few verses in Proverbs, chapter 3, seem to offer an interesting insight into how certain people view the world, and sin in particular. They read as follows:

       "But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, that shines brighter and brighter until the full day. The way of the wicked is like darkness; they do not know over what they stumble."

Only the cruelest, most adolescent among us would find humor in a blind person trying to negotiate a living room without benefit of cane or directions. So why are we surprised when the spiritually blind among us trip over or break things? If anything, we should be more surprised, more dismayed, and even more baffled when the spiritually sighted trip over something that they can actually see. That, to me, seems to be the essence of grace and the promise of sanctification: not that we will never stumble or break things, but that, as the light gets brighter, we will recognize more and more what we must avoid.

In a letter entitled 1st John, the author says, in verses 6-8 of the first chapter, "If we say we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth; but if we walk in the light as He himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his son cleanses us from all sin. If we say that we have no sin, we are deceiving ourselves and the truth is not in us."



So for those among us who are spiritually sighted, the challenge is not to save the china or avoid the cat's tail--it is to have our "eyes" open enough that, at best, we avoid some obstacles, and, in general, confess our "clumsiness" (sin) when we stumble.

But there is more to sight than that. While we may see the obstacles, we may also see something else the blind cannot see: the table, set for a feast, and the feast-giver Himself, holding an outstretched hand to an empty chair.

W.S.

Feast of Simon the Pharisee by Peter Paul Rubens,oil on canvas, ca. 1618, 

189×254.5 cm, Ermitage, Sankt Petersburg. Click to enlarge.

Tolerance vs. Patience and Empathy.

I think “tolerance” is a much-abused word when applied to the church. A true church would not be tolerant as much as patient and empathetic. Patient because we know from experience that maturity in faith is a long process, much like a slog through an endless muddy field with a full backpack. And empathetic for the same reason—we are all more alike than we think. Everyone struggles. Everyone fails. Tolerance implies a turning of the head and a wink, as if to excuse mere human nature. That’s the point God is always trying to make—it IS mere human nature, but as His child you are no mere human. -- W. S. 



Illustration: "Empathy" by Lora Shelley

Morality and Freedom

A moral code does not suppress choice, but educates and forms liberty. But for some, morality is opposed not only to evil choice (sin) but any choice at all, any personal act of the will, any initiative, and obedience is therefore a compulsion, not an act of love. For them God is not love but power, obedience is not freedom but submission and inertia. — Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander.

Fear of falling?

What is vertigo? Fear of falling? Then why do we feel it even when the observation tower comes equipped with a sturdy handrail? No, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which temps and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves. — Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Sin Boldly

"If you are a preacher of Grace, then preach a true, not a fictitious grace; if grace is true, you must bear a true and not a fictitious sin. God does not save people who are only fictitious sinners. Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly. For he is victorious over sin, death, and the world. As long as we are here we have to sin. This life in not the dwelling place of righteousness but, as Peter says, we look for a new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells. . . . Pray boldly-you too are a mighty sinner." --Martin Luther (Weimar ed. vol. 2, p. 371; Letters I, "Luther's Works," American Ed., Vol 48. p. 281- 282)

Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, 1918-2008

Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, Russian novelist, dramatist and historian, died yesterday in Moscow. Here are two quotes from this remarkable thinker, writer and dissident. 

 It was only when I lay there on the rotting prison straw that I sensed within myself the fIrst stirrings of good. Gradually it was disclosed to me that the line separating good and evil passes not between states nor between social classes nor between political parties, but right through every human heart, through all human hearts. And that is why I turn back to the years of my imprisonment and say, sometimes to the astonishment of those about me, bless you, prison, for having been a part of my life. —FromThe Gulag Archipelago, 1918-1956: An Experiment in Literary Investigation (Volume One) 

We do not err because truth is difficult to see. It is visible at a glance. We err because this is more comfortable.

On Original Sin

Only with original sin can we at once pity the beggar and distrust the king. — G. K. Chesterton

We are all more alike than we presume

"She felt or fancied, then, that the scarlet letter had endowed her with a new sense. She shuddered to believe, yet could not help believing, that it gave her a sympathetic knowledge of the hidden sin in other hearts. She was terror-stricken by the revelations that were thus made. What were they? Could they be other than the insidious whispers of the bad angel, who would fain have persuaded the struggling woman, as yet only half his victim, that the outward guise of purity was but a lie, and that, if truth were everywhere to be shown, a scarlet letter would blaze forth on many a bosom besides Hester Prynne's?" Nathaniel Hawthorne—The Scarlet Letter

On the Hardness of the Human Heart

We know now that a man can read Goethe or Rilke in the evening, that he can play Bach and Schubert, and go to his day's work at Auschwitz in the morning. George Steiner, professor and writer.

Karl Friedrich Höcker (center), adjutant to the commandant of the Auschwitz/Birkenau extermination camp, enjoying a moment with fellow workers. The picture was snapped at Solahütte, a Nazi retreat center only 30 kilometers from the horrors of Auschwitz. Höcker served at Auschwitz during the most deadly time period, from June to December 1944. During this time, over 320,000 Hungarians—Jews, gypsies and others—were gassed, so many that the crematoriums could not keep up, and bodies were burned in gasoline-fueled piles in a nearby forest. (For more about The Höcker Album, go here.)