Holy Hangovers
March 19th, 2008
It’s holy week. Here are some of the holy hangovers many of us used to live with:
That God is not concerned with our happiness…only desires our holiness. But how is a desire for joy and happiness opposed to holiness? Maybe…God wants our happiness more than our holiness. Somehow I’d sooner want my kids to be happy than holy. Maybe happiness is holiness. Maybe the dichotomy is false.
That holiness has a certain face. But I know some ordinary and some rather ribald people who have an inner light I’d call holy. I’ve met them and they are all generous. Some live on the street, some work in office towers. Some publish heavy equipment magazines. Many of them are mothers. Yes, some preach but you couldn’t call it that.
That holiness is being set apart for God’s purpose. Or as one Christian apologist has said, “Holiness is itself a drawing of a boundary around that which is uniquely associated with God.” Oh, now here’s a dangerous one! A kind of hyper-sacred-profane-dualism with the inference that God’s purposes are obvious. The unholy thing here is the idea that some created things are holy, uniquely having to do with God, and the rest is refuse…outside of God’s sphere. How many people-divisions has this spawned?
It’s holy eon, please enjoy everything, but pick up after yourself.
Entry Filed under: Christianity, Religion, Spirituality
The Veranda collapsed under the weight of a winter snow, so I built a Front Porch.

3 Comments Add your own
1. Connie | March 21st, 2008 at 9:43 am
…ribald sorts, publishers of heavy equipment magazines, holy?? ! How on earth can ribald coexist with flawless quiet submissive purity?
2. Stephen T Berg | March 21st, 2008 at 9:57 am
Holy human ribald can coexist with anything…it’s flawless, submissive purity that can’t coexist and goes off to form it’s own group based on the expulsion of the ribald. That’s the Easter story.
3. Jeff | March 21st, 2008 at 4:29 pm
A Easter bawdy song for Steve-O:
Mighty Tammuz
Deity of vegetation
Pierced by a mad wild boar
40 sad days
Virgins wept their irrigation
They’re trusting eyes most sore
O Happy fields
Drunk in joyous mutilation
Spring brings him back once more
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