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.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Life in the Living of It
No one is born to die. No one ever was, Jesus least of all. Like everyone else, he was born to live, not merely an ephemeral spiritual life but a human life with all of the aspects that make it human. It is that kind of life that he gives back to us. As Bob Fox had said in his understanding of Jesus' participation with us, life is our mission or vocation. It is our celebration, and life is chosen in the living of it. It is not, nor ever was it meant to be, sorrowful, vindictive, or remorseful. It is not devoid of flesh and blood, but is rather fashioned from it. Life is humanity. It is joy, love, peace and so many other things. It has and is power and reality, the power and reality that is (not merely was) Jesus.
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