William Langland, writing around 1400, said, ‘And all the wickedness in the world that man might work or think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal in the sea.
But an acceptable Christianity is not Christian; a comprehensible God is no more than an idol. I don’t want that kind of God.
Everything that we do either draws the Kingdom of love closer, or pushes it further off.
We human creatures can make watches and clocks and sensitive timing devices, but we don’t understand what we’re timing.
In a world where pleasure rules, people tend to be underdeveloped in every other way.
The answer has something to do with love. Love that has to go through darkness and pain and endurance and a stark acceptance before it can come out into the far light of the sun.
And I was, as clearly as I can express something that is really unexpressible, out on the other side of fear.
God doesn’t stop the bad things from happening; that’s never been part of the promise. The promise is: I am with you. I am with you now until the end of time.
Maybe the job of the artist is to see through all of this strangeness to what really is, and that takes a lot of courage and a strong faith in the validity of the artistic vision even if there is not a conscious faith in God.
The written word Should be clean as bone, Clear as light, Firm as stone. Two words are not As good as one. I.
Why is it, she wondered, that things that hurt people make them deeper and more understanding?
Many waters cannot quench love,′ she whispered. ‘Neither can floods drown it.
With my intellect I see cause for nothing but pessimism and even despair. But I can’t settle for what my intellect tells me. That’s not all of it... There are still stars which move in ordered and beautiful rhythm. There are still people in this world who keep promises... That’s enough to keep my heart optimistic no matter how pessimistic my mind.
And joy, Grandfather would remind me, joy is the infallible sign of the presence of God.
Joy is what has made the pain bearable and, in the end, creative rather than destructive.
I know our world isn’t perfect, Charles, but it’s better than this. This isn’t the only alternative! It can’t be!” “Nobody suffers here,” Charles intoned. “Nobody is ever unhappy.” “But nobody’s ever happy, either,” Meg said earnestly. “Maybe if you aren’t unhappy sometimes you don’t know how to be happy. Calvin, I want to go home.
The first people a dictator puts in jail are the writers, the teachers, the librarians – because these people are dangerous. They have enough vocabulary to recognize injustice and to speak out loudly about it. Let us have the courage to go on being dangerous people.
Have you ever thought about time? The continuum that connects the dust of the ancients to the pollen that lands on our noses? Have you ever looked and thought... that thing needs a wrinkle in it?
Love does not judge.
When things are crazy, ” her grandfather said, “dogs are a reminder of sanity.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.