Lectio, Lectio, and More Lectio

I had never heard of lectio divina before I came to Southeastern. I learned about it and participated in it during the first semester I was here. In every semester since then I have had a class that has used lectio as an assignment or lecture. All of those were religion classes, so when we used a literary text today for lectio I was a bit confused. Don't get me wrong, it was an interesting experience. But, something was a little off for me and I couldn't fully grasp how each step of lectio related to reading the text. I understand that the exercise was meant to push us to go deeper into the text. What I don't understand is how meditatio works. What if there is nothing in that text that you feel led to pray about? I think it is a little odd praying about non-Christian text that has very little to do with God. I am not being close-minded about using lectio this way; I am just trying to understand the point of it all. The only prayer I could think would be "God please let me get closer to you rather than pursuing this part of the world" or "thank you God for keeping me away from that" or "let me learn from this story". I know that God is in everything but in this exercise He was harder to find for me.

After all of my lectio issues in class, I won't lie, I was a bit... I don't want to say disappointed, because that isn't the word, about the reading assignment today. The thing I can think of to describe my reaction was that I was less than enthusiastic. The author of the passage, "Reading for Transformation through the Poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins", used lectio to better understand the poetry of Hopkins who, to my understanding, was a Christian writer. The author says, "When we pray with poetry, whether the biblical poetry of the psalms or non-biblical poetry open to Christian appropriation, we open ourselves up to the possibility of spiritual experience". I'm not saying that this is wrong or anything of that nature. I am just trying to understand how to get a significant spiritual experience out of literary texts like this. I'm open to learning about it. God knows that I have a lot to learn which, I am pretty sure, is why He sends things like this in my direction.

The Blues Fuels the Blues: Post for 10/19

This story, Sonny's Blues, was a tough story to get through. Not because it was boring or difficult to understand, but because there was so much going on and most of it was very sad. The title of a story can tell you a lot of things about what is going to happen. When I first read the title, I won't lie, I thought Sonny was going to be a girl. A sad girl, but still a girl. I quickly figured out that Sonny was, indeed, male. I did get something right, though. Sonny had hard times in his life, some of it brought on by himself and other things that he couldn't control.

Another thing I didn't realize was that "blues" had two meanings. It did not just represent sadness, it also represented the type of music called blues. Sonny had started out wanting to play jazz, but ended up playing the blues at the end of the story. Jazz is much more carefree and peppy than blues. I believe that, because Sonny had gone through so much in his life, he could relate to blues more. A quote I liked from the story was, "Sonny's fingers filled the air with life, his life." (p.409). When Sonny began to pour himself into his music, that was really when the music thrived. He needed to put his passions and pains into notes and chords. I have noticed that this is true for more than just music. When someone puts their heart, their life, into something people respond better. People can feel the emotions within the song, book, etc. that they have experienced, too. They can relate to the work in a way they couldn't have if someone's passion had not been poured into it.

I know that this has nothing to do with the whole title discussion in the other paragraphs (except that it involves blues) but I really loved the way the author described music. The author made the music sound like a dialogue between the musicians. It was almost like the instruments were speaking with words. The author showed this by using phrases like "the drum talked back" and "the horn insisted". The music became much more than just sound among the musicians and even to some of the audience members. I love this description of music because it is a great way to show what music is all about. I love all types of music, but the best music is the kind that says something to you, you can relate emotionally to, and you connect with. That is why some music is so addicting. There is no certain genre that does this the best. For every person it is different. For Sonny, it was the blues.

A Bit Late for Tea: Post for 10/14

I know, I know, we read My Tea with Madame Descartes a while ago, but I never wrote about it. This week we have a blog due and no reading so Professor Corrigan told my group that we needed to write about something we had already read but didn't post on. It is actually a little funny because, when I read the poem again, I noticed that the man interviewing Madame Descartes was late for his meeting with her just like I am a bit late in writing about it. I also found it ironic that the title of the story is My Tea with Madame Descartes when they aren't actually drinking tea. I know she isn't and I don't think the author mentioned what the reporter was drinking. She is drinking aperitifs which are a type of wine served as an appetizer or a cocktail. I'm going off on a tangent here, I need to focus on something a bit more important.

In class, we discussed questions that we had concerning the poem. There were quite a few and I am not surprised. Poetry confuses a lot of people, including myself. My mind just doesn't work that way. I had quite a few questions about this poem. I still do. I have to accept that I won't understand it all. I won't know why she took a picture of him at the end of the interview. I don't know why he was interviewing her now of all times. Had there been a scandal she was involved in? Were there rumors about her that he wanted to clear up? I don't believe that he ever even asked her a question, she just started to talk. Actually, I don't think he said anything at all throughout the entire poem. It is all very strange.

Reading this story again helped me think more about the Madame Descartes character. I started to see past the fame, scandal, and her self-centered nature. I realized that I know someone like her. She toys with men, likes to start trouble, and talks a lot about herself. Something else about this person is that, with her close friends, all of that fades away and she struggles a lot. She only craves attention because she isn't confident enough about herself. The more people that like her and surround her the better she feels about herself. When all of those people are gone and there is nobody to impress she loses her joy. I wonder if Madame Descartes is like that. I wonder if, behind all of the beauty and fame, she is insecure. I know it would be hard to believe but if you look at the person that I know you might not believe it either. The things people think about or say when their walls are down just might surprise you.

A Cage for Words: Special Post for 10/7

I have always been told to keep my mouth shut. Expressing the opinions that longed to be shared was forbidden. Significant words must always be captured and never released from the prison that became my mouth. Never sound too intelligent. Why all of these rules? I yearn to truly speak. Enough of this mindless chatter that is expected of me! These thoughts are ever-present in my busy mind, but I have not yet acted upon them. Is it fear? I look at the face in the mirror in front of me. The reflection is pleasant but I am not happy with the person I see there.

Being a woman of two and twenty in this year of 1850 is a job I wish to resign from. Is there an end? I hear talk of women fighting for our rights but I am not brave enough to join them. I am not even brave enough to make a stand for myself.

My mother calls me downstairs. She is always telling me to be more social, like my sister. I see no point in socializing if my words are not true to myself.

“Violet, please,” Mother pleads, “be pleasant tonight at the dinner. Your sister has worked so hard to invite the right people. She is trying to make a good impression as a new housewife and doesn’t need you to spoil it all.”

“I will try my best, Mother,” I reply half-heartedly.

“She is also trying to play matchmaker for you. She just wants you to be as happy as she is, you know. You are two years older and still have not found a husband. Soon people will call you a spinster with no hope of ever marrying. You don’t want that, now do you? Then nobody will want you,” following this statement she then repeated, “Violet, please be pleasant.”

I nodded and then ventured upstairs to ready myself. The maid styled my long, dark brown hair in a more intricate fashion than usual. My dark hair was a striking contrast to my milky complexion and cornflower blue eyes. The navy dress with cream-colored trim I wore fit my small frame well. I glanced in the mirror once more before my departure. I looked the part of a well-polished and well-behaved young woman. Could I pull it off? Did I want to? I saw the longing in those eyes, the longing to be myself. Maybe tonight would be the night I spoke my mind. Maybe tonight I would be unafraid of the negative opinions that would surely be formed against me. Maybe tonight I would long no more. Maybe tonight I will finally look in the mirror and be pleased with what I saw. With these final thoughts I tore my eyes away from the mirror, walked down the stairs, and sat in the carriage meant to take me to my sister’s dinner.

The moment I arrived I was greeted enthusiastically by my sister, Lily. Just as all recently married women do, she glowed with joy.

“Violet,” Lily began, “I have so much planned for you this evening! Come, come, I must introduce you to them all before dinner begins! If we do not begin immediately we will never finish in time!”

Over the next twenty minutes I met at least ten single, successful men my sister had approved of for me. There was Mr. Jones the banker. There was Mr. Thomas the lawyer.  There were two or three who inherited family money so they have no need to work. Most of them passed in a blur. Most only wished to talk about the weather and their work. Only one piqued my interest, a Mr. Cahill the doctor. He was the last I was introduced to. Lily introduced us and walked away to check on dinner. I almost wished she had stayed. If she had stayed she would have scorned me for what I said to him and that would have been the end of it. Instead, he surprised me. After she first left, he opened his mouth to speak to me. I silenced him and interrupted him and then I spoke my mind.

“Sir, I pray that you say nothing of the weather or of your profession. I have heard enough of both from the other men and I shall hear no more of it. If that is what you wish to discuss I shall walk away and send Mr. Jones or Mr. Thomas your way,” I stated first. Once I realized what I had said I clamped my hand over my mouth. My eyes must have been the size of saucers. “I—“

“No,” he interrupted,” please, do not apologize. I find it refreshing when someone speaks what is on their mind instead of the same boring conversation that they have been taught to say. I was not going to ask you about the weather, I can see it for myself just by looking out the window. I also do not wish to speak of my profession, it is all I speak of all day and I do not wish it to become part of my evenings as well. I was actually going to ask you if you find enjoyment in reading.”

“I do,” I replied, still in a state of shock from both my words and his response to them, “I find books to be a wonderful way to learn new things and explore places I wish to travel to. Sadly, they also taunt me with the things I do not have but long for. What do you think?”

Our conversation went on until dinner began. Lily had placed me on the other end of the table from Mr. Henry Cahill so our talk was interrupted for now. I felt as though I should be ashamed of myself, speaking in such a way and to a man of all people! Instead of feeling shame, though, I felt invigorated. I knew that I should have stopped after the first slip up but I enjoyed it and so did he. Lily will soon hear of it. Mothers will hear soon after. Both will be disappointed. Surprisingly, I do not care.

After dinner was over, and we moved from the table into the parlor, Mr. Cahill asked me to a card game. We invited other guests but everyone else was caught up in their discussion of the weather and their professions. I was a bit too pleased no one had joined us. I had a question to ask him that I wasn’t eager for others to hear.

“There has been one question on my mind all evening,” I began, “Why are all of these men, including you, still unmarried? You are all so successful and seemed to be well-admired.”

He only took a moment to answer, “They have not yet found a woman they deem worthy of the greatness they believe they possess. I don’t think any woman short of nobility will ever amount to the woman they believe they deserve. Such is not the case for me.”

I was curious, “And what, pray tell, is the case for you?”

“I had not found a woman worthy of conversing with,” he stated, “My wife should not feel as though she cannot speak her mind to me. The mouth was meant to be an expresser of words, not their executer. I want to have meaningful conversation with my wife, not the dull and boring chatter that prevails in female dialogue or even dialogue in general. I had never seen such a woman. Until tonight, that is.”

“Oh, well —,” I was so flustered I couldn’t form coherent sentences. That had not been the response I had anticipated.  I felt my cheeks turn red. It did not help that he was handsome. It did not help that he was smiling. It did not help that he was sincere.

“I see that I have taken you by surprise,” he said, “I hope I have not over-stepped my bounds. I am quite taken by you, I must admit. I wanted you to know that.”

“You are perfectly within your bounds, I assure you. I was surprised, but I am quite flattered,” I clarified, “A reaction such as yours is not one that I have ever received from anyone before. Especially not a man.”

“If that be the case, then I have a favor to ask you,” he began, “Will you allow me the pleasure of calling on you?”

“That would please me very much,” I replied. Mother will be proud of me for at least one thing this evening. Much more importantly, I am proud of myself.

As I left when all was over, Lily asked, “Did you meet anyone of interest?”

“Yes, I believe I did,” I answered. She was delighted but hers did not quite match mine. I said goodbye and walked toward the door to leave. As I walked by the mirror in the hallway I saw my reflection and smiled.

Inspiration and Desperation: Post for 10/5

I already started to work on that "special blog" for Thursday. Overachiever? No. I just know that if I don't start on it early it won't be good. My mind is already jumbled from all of the different things that I have to put into this assignment. I decided to re-read the chapter on character to see if it would help me. I don't think it did, though. I think it made the mess in my mind even worse. My brain keeps repeating the words protagonist, antagonist, round, flat, static, dynamic, etc., etc. Obviously one of our characters needs to be round and dynamic. They need to be complex and go through a change in our story. If there was no substance to the character how good would a "character-based" story would it be? No good at all, I would imagine. I mean, it could still be a good story, just not a good character-based one. I thought reading the other stories would help guide me. They were interesting. I especially liked The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. It made me wonder how many writers, especially for comics, start off with a what and not a why. Why does my character do these things? Why are they drawn to these people or activities? Unfortunately for me, when I looked at these stories my ideas started to sound an awful lot like them. I couldn't do that! I am constantly coming up with these ideas that have been done a million times. Do I have an original thought in my mind? I even had to stop reading the book I am in the middle of because my story started to sound quite a bit like Mansfield Park. The idea I think I am going to use is even Austen inspired, with a little bit of the movie The Heiress thrown in there. It's like a 19th century story-line gumbo. I guess creative writing just isn't my forte.

Hinduism, meet Jesus: Post for 9/30

It amazed me how well the story, This Blessed House, was perfectly timed with the Hinduism section in my World Religions class. No joke. We just started learning about Hinduism last Thursday. I really enjoyed being able to understand Sanjeev's and his wife's perspectives on finding the Christian symbols throughout their house in a more in-depth way. The author expresses Sanjeev's unease with keeping the symbols in his house but didn't really give a further explanation of why he didn't like it. There was also no explanation of why she loved the symbols and he didn't despite the fact that they shared the Hindu belief. Did you know that many Hindus actually believe that Jesus existed and that he was a divinity? You see, they believe in one creator who is distant and does not and cannot speak to us. The way this creator speaks to people is through manifestations of himself which are known as the gods to the Hindu people. Many believe that Jesus was a manifestation of divinity, of their creator. I also find it interesting that some Hindus that believe in Jesus often have pictures of Jesus, especially Catholic images, hung in their shops, restaurants, and homes. This brings us back to the story. This Hindu belief of Jesus as a manifestation of divinity helps us to make sense of why the wife, Twinkle, was okay with and even excited about finding and displaying these Christian symbols around their home. Why didn't the husband like it? Maybe he was one of those Hindus who doesn't believe Jesus is divine at all and was just an influential man. There are also Hindus who don't find worshiping Jesus appealing because of the cultural context of him around the world. Maybe that was what he was thinking? To be honest, I don't even think that I would have those symbols in my house either and I am a Christian. I wouldn't want to get too caught up in the symbols and no longer focus on the relationship that God wants with us. He doesn't want us to worship symbols; He wants us to worship Him. Plus, I think some of those pictures and statues are just kind of creepy looking.

An Art Class (But Technically Not): Post for 9/28

When I heard about this assignment I was pretty excited. I love painting and art and creativity. I like to read a book or listen to a song and have images come to mind. Sometimes they are entire pictures. Other times they are just colors and patterns. When I read Joel it was difficult not to walk away with some vivid imagery. In fact, my hardest challenge was to pick what to paint from all of my many options. I ended up taking information from various parts of Joel and cramming it all into one picture. I used the passage on the locust, "What the gnawing locust has left.... the stripping locust has eaten". Part of Joel talked about fire, "For fire has devoured the pastures of the wilderness and the flame has burned up all the trees of the field". The book also mentioned, "The sun and moon grow dark". I just imagined this barren wasteland. No leaves on trees or grass. A tree on fire. Darkness. Locusts flying all around and landing on the plants to eat them. Not a pretty image.

When we got to class Professor Corrigan told us that the assignment was not intended for those who could actually paint. I thought, "Aw man! That was why I was going to like this assignment!". Then he mentioned how much time we had to paint. Thirty to forty minutes. I kept thinking how I wouldn't have enough time to paint what I wanted. I started to over think the assignment. I had to tell myself to stop and think about what I wanted to do. I told myself not to worry about whether or not I would finish the picture. I did, but that is beside the point. The point is I had to slow down and think about what I was doing and why. Why each part was important. I made myself not fix the many mistakes I made or I would have been there much longer. Actually, I might still be working on it because I would always be seeing something else that I could fix. Instead of focusing on the art involved in the assignment I started to focus on the literature part.