My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
God as a Memory
What is the significance for people now of the fact that God once pitched his tent with theirs? That was a long time ago and a lot had happened, or failed to happen, in between. It may be his presence and actions are transtemporal, but that in itself does not seem to have any great significance at this moment unless we want it to, and sometimes not even then.
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