But, oh, there is, there has to be, I think, something being said in those groans.

October 20, 2011 § 6 Comments

§ 6 Responses to But, oh, there is, there has to be, I think, something being said in those groans.

  • This resonates with my thinking in preparation to speak at my ordination. It is, in some circles, an increasingly peddled image but I am coming to see a minister (as my tradition names it) called to the priestly task of idol clearing, keeping the space between the cherubs’s wings empty; keeping the tomb’s slab, flanked by messengers in white, empty.

    • Brad Johnson says:

      I do not know how what I wrote might resonate with what you describe, but (as indicated) neither do I have the power to stand in the way of it doing so.

      • I sometimes want to ‘settle’ for particular activities of the ministry, which I am not opposed to doing (and of course are necessary). But these things are ‘far from my mind when I reflect on what ministry can do’. And so I, at times, resolve myself to creating a sort of space (anti-idolatry) because I don’t know what it (holiness?) should like.

        To put it more in your idiom.

  • Brad Johnson says:

    This renders the idiom very strange to me. I don’t know how to respond. But go w/ God, as they say. Be fruitful & multiply. Or, barring that, divide & conquer.

  • tom clark says:

    Brad, shocking admission but, to put it in my own idiom, I seem to have become, in these latter centuries, a terrible nocturnal solitary groaner.

    Sometimes I hear myself doing it, usually while attempting some challenging middle-of-the-night task, e.g. cooking.

    I assume these groans are like the proverbial trees falling in the forest. because no one hears them. Except the cats. Who regard groaning as a perfectly normal ambient noise.

    Now and then a human hears… now there’s the rub.

    If only, one of these times, it would be a pleasant cherub, wanting nothing more than a congenial knees-up.

    My ordination drifts further and further out of reach, like a planet that has forgotten its orbit.

    (Closest brush with Earth came c. age twelve, though strictly speaking that was not a full-fledged ordination, merely a so-called “vocation” — and you know how it is with those, they exist strictly in the mis/conception of the beholder.)

  • Brad Johnson says:

    Tom, perhaps it is when the nocturnal groans are noontime grunts that there are, for lack of a better word, problems. Though it does seem I hear much more at midnight than noon, so I could be very wrong.

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