A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver

I bought several books by Mary Oliver today. They are beautiful little books with soft covers that have beautiful pictures on them. With beautiful poems inside in attractive fonts. I like looking at and feeling them. Reading them, too, of course. I kept taking various books out, trying to decide which to get. Then I bought four. That didn't quite work out the way I intended. But anyway.


Here's the first poem in the book A Thousand Mornings by Mary Oliver.

               I Go Down to the Shore
               by Mary Oliver

               I go down to the shore in the morning
               and depending on the hour the waves
               are rolling in or moving out,
               and I say, oh, I am miserable,
               what shall--
               what should I do? and the sea says
               in its lovely voice:
               Excuse me, I have work to do.

This poem makes me smile every time I read it. It reminds me of how God responded when Job said, Why did these terrible things happen to me?

Your thoughts?

Scape by Luci Shaw

I am at Lynden this week. I came for my mom's funeral and then stayed an extra week to help close up accounts and take care of all the things that need to be taken care of after the death of our parents. (My dad died January 27, and Mom April 14).

It's April, which, thanks to Facebook, I know is the month of poetry. I bought several books of poetry at Lynden's bookstore. One was Scape by Luci Shaw, which I thought was extra appropriate since she is a local poet, living in Bellingham I believe. My sister Jan has gone in the past to some literary nights that Luci Shaw has held. I also saw and heard her at The Faith & Writing Festival.

Here is one poem from Scape.

States of Being
by Luci Shaw

Isn't stability greatly over rated?
Why would I ever want to sit
     still and smug as a rock,
     confident, because of my great
     weight, that I will not
     be moved?
Better to be soft as water,
     easily troubled, with
     at least three modes
     of being, able to shape-
     shift, to mirror, to cleanse,
     to drift downstream,
To roar when I encounter the rock.

I like this poem because it seems to describe an aspect of me -- someone not stable -- and it says that is okay, in fact is it overrated, to be stable.

I tend to think of being unstable instead, someone who doesn't say the right things many times, who blurts out tactlessly. I like thinking of it as being "soft as water" instead. And still someone who roars sometimes.

What do you think?

Silence by Shusaku Endo

I put off reading this book for quite a long time. I was worried it would be too sad and make me depressed. I knew that it was about persecution of Christians and included torture, death, and suffering. But I discovered that I am able to handle these sad events and story parts when I am left with a feeling of hope rather than despair.

Years and years ago, when Randy and I were dating, we used to have dinner and a movie on Fridays. We'd go to the movie theater and just watch something that was there -- no planning. One time we walked into and watched the movie "The Deer Hunter." Wow, that left me in despair. Days later I was on the phone with my mom and dad and Mom said, "Mavis, what's wrong?" She could tell by my voice that I was down.

Silence tells the story of two Jesuit priests from Portugal who go to Japan to find their beloved teacher, Christovao Ferreira, who, "an experienced missionary held in the highest respect," after 33 years in Japan, had apostasized (shown and said that he did not believe in Christ--he was not a Christian). The book takes place during a long period of time in Japan where Christians were persecuted.

The two priests who followed Father Ferreira were Francis Garrpe and Sebastian Rodrigues. They had "vivid memories of their old teacher Ferreira from whom they had learned theology," and asked themselves, "Had that face with its clear blue eyes and soft radiant light--had it been changed by the hands of the Japanese torturers?"

The story of their journey to Japan begins with letters written by Rodrigues. Through those letters, you learn of their harrowing, secret, forbidden trip to Japan and of them meeting their first Japanese person who took the journey with them:

What am I to say about this man, this first Japanese I ever met in my life? Reeling from excess of alcohol, a drunken man staggered into the room. About twenty-eight or nine years of age, he was dressed in rags. His name was Kichijiro. When finally he answered our questions we learned that he was a fisherman from the district of Hizen near Nagasaki. Before the famous Shimabara insurrection he had been adrift on the sea and had been picked up by a Portugese ship. Whether or not it was due to his drunkenness I do not know, but there was a crafty look on his face, and as he spoke he would roll his eyes.

Kichijiro reminded me of Gollum in The Lord of the Rings. He was a betrayer, someone used by the enemy, weak, cowardly, a liar, extremely unlikeable, and yet the missionaries needed him to show them the way, and near the end of the story, he was even an example of God's great love.

A big part of the story in this book is the "fumie." To prove you are not a Christian, you are told to step on the fumie, described as "a board to which was attached an image of the Virgin and child." Christians' faith was tested not only by having to step on the fumie, but they were also betrayed by the way in which they took this step, as when the reaction of the watching officials was described: "What had caught their attention was not the actual fact of the Christians placing their foot on the fumie, but the expressions on their faces as they did so."

Throughout the book runs the theme of God's silence. "Behind the depressing silence of this sea, the silence of God...the feeling that while men raise their voices in anguish God remains with folded arms, silent." That silence causes a crisis of faith for Rodriguez.

No, no! I shook my head. If God does not exist, how can man endure the monotony of the sea and its cruel lack of emotions? (But supposing...of course, supposing, I mean.) From the deepest core of my being yet another voice made itself heard in a whisper. Supposing God does not exist...

Rodriguez does not answer his own question, nor does God. Rodriguez just keeps going. As Christians are martyred because the officials find out he is with them, as he sees entire villages wiped out because of their Christian faith, he continues. In a way, this reminded me of Job. But in the story of Job, God speaks. He practically yells at Job when Job asks why me. God says over and over, "Where were you when I..." God doesn't answer Job, but he is not silent. In this book, there is no voice of God in response to Rodriguez. Just silence.

Another question troubles Rodriguez in this book. He wrote:

And there arose in my mind that terribly dramatic scene at the Supper when Christ turned to Judas with the words, "What thou dost, do quickly." Priest though I am, I find it difficult to grasp the full meaning of these words...What emotion had filled the breast of Christ when he ordered away the man who was to betray him for thirty pieces of silver? Was it anger? or resentment? Or did these words arise from his love? If it was anger, then at this instant Christ excluded from salvation this man alone of all the men in the world; and then Our Lord allowed one man to fall into eternal damnation.

Kichijiro acts as Judas for Rodriguez. Kichijiro betrays Rodriguez to the government officials.

As the story continues, Rodriguez is not asked to apostatize (say and show he is not a Christian) to prevent his own torture and death, but to prevent that from happening to others. This puts a whole new aspect on the question of whether or not to apostatize.

As I read parts of the book again in order to write about it, I noticed that there were a few times where Rodriguez had a vision of Christ's face, Christ's eyes looking into his, once with a tear. I did not remember this. It makes me think of the Jesus looking across the courtyard to Peter when Peter denied him the third time. I've always pictured the face of Jesus at that time filled with love and sorrow.

I will write about the conclusion of Rodriguez' story, so you are warned that this is a spoiler. I am writing more to think through the story than to rate or recommend it, although I do that as well.

After much time in prison, Rodriguez finally meets his beloved teacher Father Ferreira. Ferreira has turned away from his faith and is now working for the Japanese government himself. He has taken a wife and children, and a new name. He is writing about astronomy, which is something he seems proud to be able to do as a contribution to the Japanese people. He is also writing about why Christianity does not work in Japan. He speaks at length to Rodriguez about that. 

He tells Rodriguez that the Japanese never did believe in the Christian God, even during the wonderful period that Rodriguez has heard of, and that Ferreira was present for, when the priests were loved, there were thousands of Christian believers, and the faith flourished in Japan. Even then, Ferreira says, "They did not believe in the Christian God...The Japanese till this day have never had the concept of God and they never will...The Japanese cannot think of an existence that transcends the human...The Japanese imagine a beautiful, exalted man--and this they call God."

He tells Rodriguez, "This country is a swamp...a more terrible swamp than you can imagine. Whenever you plant a sapling in this swamp the roots begin to rot; the leaves grow yellow and wither. And we have planted the sapling of Christianity in this swamp."

Ferreira repeats words like these and more when he talks again to Rodriguez in his final imprisonment. Rodriguez hears what he thinks is snoring but is told that it actually is the moaning of Christians being hung over the pit. One of the dastardly tortures for Christians is to tie them up and hang them upside down over a pit. Slits are cut behind their ears to allow blood to escape from the pressure. It's a horrible, slow, painful death. Rodriguez asks why they do not apostatize and he's told they have, but they will not be set free unless Rodriguez steps on the fumie. 

Rodriguez is in agony while facing this decision. Ferreira brings up the question of what would Jesus do in this situation, how would he show his love. "Now you are going to perform the most painful act of love that has ever been performed," said Ferreira. Rodriguez thinks of that face of Christ he has seen before him. Now he is looking at Christ's face on the fumie. As he lifts his foot, "the Christ in the bronze speaks to the priest: 'Trample! Trample! I more than anyone know of the pain in your foot. Trample! It was to be trampled on by men that I was born into this world. It was to share men's pain that I carried my cross.'"

"It was to be trampled on by men that I was born into this world."

There was a final scene, too, with Kichijiro. Kichijiro asks Father Rodriguz, now called Okad San'emon, to hear his confession and give him absolution. Rodriguez talks to Jesus:

"Lord, I resented your silence."
"I was not silent. I suffered beside you."
"But you told Judas to go away: What thou dost do quickly. What happened to Judas?"
"I did not say that. Just as I told you to step on the plaque, so I told Judas to do what he was going to do. For Judas was in anguish as you are now"

Rodriguez then gives Kichijiro absolution, and he feels he is not betraying his Lord, even though he knows that his fellow priests would think so, since he performed a sacrament only a priests can administer. But Rodriguez thinks, "He loved him now in a different way from before. Everything that had taken place until now had been necessary to bring him to this love. 'Even now I am the last priest in this land. But Our Lord was not silent. Even if he had been silent, my life until this day would have spoken of him.'"

Wonderful video about Silence, Philip Yancey and Mako Fujimura in discussion.

Hallelujah Anyway by Anne Lamott

I read this book just before my mother died, shortly after my father died. I felt like it was very good timing. I love Anne Lamott. Her books Traveling Mercies, Plan B, Grace (Eventually), Stitches, Small Victories and Help Thanks Why are some of my favorites.

It's been a while since I've read those books, but it seems like one difference between them and this is that Hallelujah Anyway has less stories or vignettes, and more where Anne is talking about mercy or life, without necessarily telling a story.

This review speaks a little to that. At first, I wasn't so sure I was liking this book as much as her others because of that. I often think I am "all about the story" when I read. But as I read and re-read this book, I appreciated it more and more.

The title comes from a gospel song that Lamott quotes as "'hallelujah anyway.' Hallelujah that in spite of it all, there is love, there is singing, nature, laughing, mercy." That feels true to me. In spite of the death of my dad, followed by the death of my mom 2 months later, and the death of my young cousin in what seems like the beginning of the prime of his life, and the pending death of a friend's son at the age of 11. In spite of all that, hallelujah anyway.

The subtitle of the book is "Rediscovering Mercy." She draws her theme from Micah 6:8 "What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." Lamott says, "Oh is that all?" and calls herself and her friends "Arrogance R Us" when she says that walking humbly "isn't going to happen anytime soon." See what I mean? Don't you love it? She also writes, "We think that if our values aren't the correct ones, we would have other ones, which would then be the correct ones." Ha ha. But of course.

And more. "We know mercy is always our salvation...But I wish it was something else. I wish it was being able to figure things out, at which I am very good, or to assign blame, at which I am better, or to convince people of the rightness of my ideas." Yes, wouldn't it be nice if that were true? If God and everyone else valued my figuring-out and blame-assigning and rightness-convincing skills, life would be so much easier!

I love her thoughts on schadenfreude (I love that word, too!).

But some days the only thing that can cheer me up is something bad happening to someone I hate, preferably if it went viral and the photo of the person showed hair loss and perhaps the lifelong underuse of sunscreen. My heart still leaps to see this. I often recall The New Yorker cartoon of one dog saying to the other, "It's not enough that we succeed. Cats must also fail." This is the human condition, that in the face of death, cats must lose.

"Mercy means we soften ever so slightly," says Lamott. Maybe that's what I mean when I say my heart feels softer. Sometimes I imagine my heart feeling like a cool, kind of mushy but not drippy and messy thing. Maybe something like softened silly putty? Anyway, I seem to have more sympathy than I used to, less feelings of judgment. I still, as Anne says, feel that I am good at convincing people of my rightness, and often not only that, but others would be much better off if they would just realize my rightness, but somehow even that response is usually softer. Often I am able to feel have a better, more right opinion...and not say it! How about that?!

Lots of Anne's writing makes me laugh. It tickles me. A mis-reading also made me laugh. I read one sentence as "All I have to do in order to begin again is to love mercy, if I am to believe nutty old Mitch." It wasn't Mitch, it was Micah. But for a minute I was picturing good old Mitch, nutty and saintly, kind of like the angel Clarence in "It's a Wonderful Life."

Her turns of phrase are so funny, and often so wise.

"The good news is that God has such low standards."

"Jonah is burped onto dry land..."

"But everyone steps on the cosmic banana peel sooner or later."

"We learned that we were all animals, like monkeys and goats, but with Edward Gorey minds..."

"Raising my son brought me the greatest, happiest years of my life. And it was hard, which somehow people had forgotten to mention would be part of the mix. Oops."

She writes about Peter's denial of Christ in Matthew's Gospel, when Jesus called Peter Satan, and said, "But Luke loved Peter and Photoshpped this part out."

About a room full of "alkies" near Skid Row, "The sober people Tom knew in Berkeley all seemed like David Niven in comparison."

Silence has been a fascination for me recently. There's the book and the movie Silence. I haven't seen the movie yet but I did read the book. The silence in that case is the silence of God. I heard a podcast by a writer who collects silence and talks about it as an "endangered species" that made me want to visit Olympic National Park. Lamott write about silence.

Holy silence is spacious and inviting. You can drink it down. We offer it to ourselves when we work, rest, meditate, bike, read. When we hike by ourselves, we hear a silence still pristine with crunching leaves and birdsong. Silence can be a system of peace, which is mercy, easily offered to a friend needing quiet, harder when the person is one's own annoying self.

I am sure I will re-read this book, as I will Anne Lamott's other books. So much to absorb, to think about, and to laugh with.

Last Days of Night by Graham Moore

This book is written by the same author who wrote the sreenplay for The Imitation Game, which I thoroughly enjoyed as well. He wrote another book called The Sherlockian that I may read later.

Last Days of Night is a novel that really is a biography of a young lawyer who works for George Westinghouse, and through it meets Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla, among others. It was interesting to me to learn more about these legendary people. I associate them with things like light bulbs and inventions, but this made them real people.

We read this book in my book club and one of the members pointed out that there is a section in back where the author talks about what parts of the book are true, based on reports from the time, and those where he imagined what scenes were, and places where he either changed the order or combined things that happened at different times, and so on. I was glad to know that. As I read those notes, they seemed to point out that, really, the book is good history - the changes made it a story, a novel, instead of a textbook.

I liked the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. They were often by Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and others of that ilk. It was interesting to read again Thomas Edison's quote "I have not failed. I've just found ten thousand ways that don't work." But one of Tesla's issues with Edison was that when he was working in Edison's lab, they would have to experiment over and over and Tesla found that a waste of time. He felt he could determine if something would or would not work through, I think, exploring it thoroughly in his mind, and he didn't need to do all that actual experimenting.

The main character is a lawyer named Paul Cravath. He is based on a real person, too. Paul becomes employed by George Westinghouse pretty much straight out of law school. Westinghouse is suing Edison for the light bulb patent. The courts keep ruling that Edison invented the light bulb and Westinghouse improved it, but Westinghouse believes he truly invented something new, not just an improvement.

There was also a big hullabaloo about DC and AC. I had no idea! Direct current and alternating current were big concepts that had a lot to do with safety and costs and what worked over a distance and therefore what made sense to provide electricity for cities, and from there, everything else. In that fight, the invention of the electric chair was a tool to prove a point. The description of the first use of an electric chair is just horrific. And to think we are still figuring out if that is cruel and unusual punishment or not.

Here's a good passage that helps illustrate how the book is historical and you can learn a lot, yet it's a story, it keeps your interest, and it's characters "acting" to tell the story, not a textbook.

"I am being sued."   [George Westinghouse]
Paul was well aware. In the time since his invitation to dinner, he'd devoured all the newspaper accounts of Westinghouse's legal troubles. The dispute was highly public. "Thomas Edison has sued you for infringing on his patent on the incandescent light bulb."
"Edison's bulbs are terrible--poor-quality designs, two generations behind mine. There are a dozen companies across this country making bulbs of more advanced design than Edison's. Mine just happen to be by far the best."
"Yours are better. But Edison's were first. It's the latter issue that is of legal concern. Your difficulty is that he's the one with the patent."
"I did not copy Edison's design for the light bulb. I improved upon it. Tremendously. My light bulb is to his as a motor wagon is to a horse-drawn carriage. Would there be justice in forbidding Mr. Benz from selling the former because of the existence of the latter? Of course not. Edison is not suing me--he is suing progress itself because he lacks the ability to invent it."
"It sounds," suggested Paul, "as if you're in need of a very good attorney."

This book is a good story. Even if you, like me, have no special interest in learning about electricity, Thomas Edison, or Westinghouse, you'll enjoy the book for the story. Good writing, good plot, good characters.