(A metaphor too good not to steal repeatedly.)
For my soul delighteth in the scriptures, and my heart pondereth them.
Behold, my soul delighteth in the things of the Lord; and my heart pondereth continually upon the things which I have seen and heard.
The body is not a waldo.
Our body is not something that we possess, but something that has become a part of us . . . . This is why I don’t like the lessons that use a glove and a hand as an analogy for death and resurrection. It . . . suggests that the union of spirit is deliberately temporary and reversible. In reality death is more like a violent dissolution of elements that should be united. It’s more like ripping off your skin than about taking off a glove. Sometimes we talk about bodies and spirits as though the spirit is the self and the body is something that the self possesses. In reality, the spirit and the body are both the self. So losing the body is a loss of the self, at least in part. President Smith’s revealed comments about how the dead viewed the separation as a form of bondage go along the same lines.
when we are born, we do not just “gain a physical body;” we become physical beings. And when we die, we don’t just separate from our bodies; rather a piece of our own souls actually dies.
Last night my daughter had trouble sleeping. She went to bed, got up to go to the bathroom, went back to bed, got up to go to the bathroom, and back to bed, every five minutes, like a metronome. No real bladder works like that, so the Lovely One and I knew she was nervous and unsettled. We talked to her for awhile. Then I gave her a blessing.
I blessed her that she would have a good night’s sleep. We all felt a spirit of calm.
She then went to bed and promptly got up again to go to the bathroom. This time it wasn’t the bladder. Apparently the bladder had been a symptom–the onset of stomach flu had put pressure on it.
My wife set up a little pallet for her, close to the bathroom, in preparation for her passing an unquiet night. And I spent a few unquiet minutes laying in bed wondering why my priesthood blessing had gone wrong. (more…)
The serious sin is not so much in doing otherwise than the ideal, but in assuming or arguing otherwise, or saying that sex and sexuality ‘don’t matter’; in making laws and regulations on that basis, or in failing to repent (i.e. acknowledge the sub-optimality of) other behaviours.
-thus Bruce Charlton
Last week I explained why the Spirit cannot always speak distinctly from our own thoughts and our own feelings if it is to fulfill its mission to comfort and sanctify.
This week I am approaching the problem from another point of view and offering a different explanation (though it may be the same explanation in the end). (more…)
I recently noted an unusually deep thinker I have encountered on the blogosphere: William Wildblood.
Over a long period of spiritual searching and enlightenment, Wildblood had some unusual spiritual experiences which led him by an unusual route to a non-denominational but broadly ‘traditional’ Christianity – and this path seems to have led to some carefully considered views and evaluations.
His current post on sexuality may make a good start for interested readers:
As so often with Wildblood’s writing, he brings to a notoriously polarizing subject a calmness, thoroughness and truthfulness that I find both satisfying and enlightening.
|Meg’s series of posts about Nauvoo polygamy at Millennial Star is now in book form. Available at Amazon.com in paperpack, and Kindle ebook.|
“As the rain clouds dispersed over Madison High before a recent Saturday afternoon game, a throng of pro scouts in a rainbow of Major League Baseball caps crowded along the backstop, eyes focused on two seniors who may not even be playing baseball in two years.”
In the Washington Post, with quotes from former missionary Jeremy Guthrie and not-former missionary Bryce Harper. (link)
Last week I read Bruce Charlton’s post about his walk:
From ancient and modern Catholic folk piety, via Lord Armstrong and a Rabelaisian doctor, through a best selling novelist and a great concert pianist, to an Art Nouveau gem: my regular walk through Jesmond
It was winsome. It appealed. Like all good art, it had a kind of unity to it. But in fact the only unity was Bruce Charlton himself. His common enjoyment was all the different parts of his walk had in common.
That got me thinking.
Our lives are a unifying principle. The common fact that we love them and lived them draw together otherwise discrete people and places. Everything we touch becomes part of a whole.
Once one person is exalted we are all meaningful, because our lives are tied to theirs, or tied to lives that are tied to theirs, and we are part of their story.