Tuesday, January 8, 2019

SAYING YES IN THE BUCKET

STILL TIME TO TURN AROUND

Thinking of that Greek word METANOIA which is often translated into the English word  repent.  But repent does not say enough. Metanoia  describes a radical turn around.
The love of Jesus for each and every one of us  must be reflected back in some way by all of us.  When I wrote about Zaccheus the tax collector who is called down from the tree by Jesus to take Him home to dinner,  I was struck by the graciousness that Jesus shows him. The knowledge of his soul that he displays  brings Zaccheus to the instant recognition that he cannot and in fact he need not  hide anything from this  man.  So he immediately  volunteers to give up all his bad behavior and to make amends. Jesus does not prompt him; His Presence prompts him,  SO IT IS FOR EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US.

From the very beginning, faith, hope, and love are planted deep within our nature—indeed they are our very nature (Romans 5:5, 8:14-17). But we have to awaken, allow, and advance this core identity by saying a conscious yes to it and drawing upon it as a reliable and Absolute Source. Image must become likeness.
Our saying “yes” to such implanted faith, hope, and love plays a crucial role in the divine equation; human freedom matters. Mary’s yes seemed to be essential to the event of Incarnation (Luke 1:38). God does not come uninvited. God and grace cannot enter without an opening from our side, or we would be mere robots. God does not want robots, but lovers who freely choose to love in return for love. And toward that supreme end, God seems quite willing to wait, cajole, and entice.
Here is how a great poet describes and reacts to the enticement of an ancient Greek understanding of GOD.

Archaic Torso of Apollo


like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could 
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast’s fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.
Even here, or maybe especially here, we see that the poet ends with a recognition of the absolute necessity for us to change.  I remember the first time that I heard another great poet and translator RICHARD HOWARD  read this poem  at the salons he held at the University of Cincinnati when he was teaching there.  He stressed the directness and absolute  command  of the last five words of the poem:

YOU MUST CHANGE YOUR LIFE 

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