The Sacred Journey
Anyone who knows me well recognizes my great love for the writings of Frederick Buechner, a wonderful author. My next few posts will be looking at his memoir The Sacred Journey. I have decided to revisit this work for the sake of my blog and explore some of the many lines I have underlined or jotted in the margin about.
Chapter One: Once Below a Time
Our childhood has a mystical aura that at times is as slippery as the morning mist. We see back into it, not clearly or tangibly, but instead in dreams and memories, some hidden deep away, some always the center of discussion when people from way back get together. Buechner writes, "And the place where I started out during this once-below-a-time was Eden, of course. One way or another it is where all of us start out, if we have any luck at all"(11).
Of all the places to begin, it seems fitting that Eden would signify, for Buechner, that place of beginning. Eden to the religious and not so religious carries with it a symbolic meaning of life, of beauty, of things at peace. I won't discount the very real notion that, for many, childhood is nothing close to Eden--I suppose this is why Buechner qualifies with "...if we have any luck at all."
Eden is a world where religious, ethnic, and gender differences are irrelevant. A place where humanity lives in a fascinatingly unreal peace with one another. Eden is the place I think we all long for once we leave, because if Eden is where we begin to branch out from, then Eden is in fact our home. Perhaps that is why most of humanity is so restless. We are longing for a home we are unsure even existed, maybe somewhere in the ephemeral mist.
Of this Eden, Buechner writes, "There is no way to recapture fully the wonder and wildness of it"(12). And he is very right, I think. We spend much of our time, though, trying to find it again. Relationships; money; career. We even try to find Eden in God. Though too often, for too many of us, we find God just as elusive as Eden.
Eden is of course a picture of the grace we long for. There was no dying in Eden. There was no heartache or disappointment. God walked through the trees, was present and known. When Eden disappeared, we were left with only trace amounts of God in a gigantic world of memories. We were forced to see God in the beauty of a snow-capped mountain standing tall in the gloaming. We had to reach deep into our collective memory to see God in the unexpected smile of a stranger.
I think it is because of this, exactly, that Jesus said we must become like children. Children are so much closer to Eden then we are. Their existence is in close proximity to the start point on the timeline of life, that is Eden. It is perhaps why we envy them so much. Their carefree questioning and unwavering love. We envy their ability to remember Eden better than we can.
Chapter One: Once Below a Time
Our childhood has a mystical aura that at times is as slippery as the morning mist. We see back into it, not clearly or tangibly, but instead in dreams and memories, some hidden deep away, some always the center of discussion when people from way back get together. Buechner writes, "And the place where I started out during this once-below-a-time was Eden, of course. One way or another it is where all of us start out, if we have any luck at all"(11).
Of all the places to begin, it seems fitting that Eden would signify, for Buechner, that place of beginning. Eden to the religious and not so religious carries with it a symbolic meaning of life, of beauty, of things at peace. I won't discount the very real notion that, for many, childhood is nothing close to Eden--I suppose this is why Buechner qualifies with "...if we have any luck at all."
Eden is a world where religious, ethnic, and gender differences are irrelevant. A place where humanity lives in a fascinatingly unreal peace with one another. Eden is the place I think we all long for once we leave, because if Eden is where we begin to branch out from, then Eden is in fact our home. Perhaps that is why most of humanity is so restless. We are longing for a home we are unsure even existed, maybe somewhere in the ephemeral mist.
Of this Eden, Buechner writes, "There is no way to recapture fully the wonder and wildness of it"(12). And he is very right, I think. We spend much of our time, though, trying to find it again. Relationships; money; career. We even try to find Eden in God. Though too often, for too many of us, we find God just as elusive as Eden.
Eden is of course a picture of the grace we long for. There was no dying in Eden. There was no heartache or disappointment. God walked through the trees, was present and known. When Eden disappeared, we were left with only trace amounts of God in a gigantic world of memories. We were forced to see God in the beauty of a snow-capped mountain standing tall in the gloaming. We had to reach deep into our collective memory to see God in the unexpected smile of a stranger.
I think it is because of this, exactly, that Jesus said we must become like children. Children are so much closer to Eden then we are. Their existence is in close proximity to the start point on the timeline of life, that is Eden. It is perhaps why we envy them so much. Their carefree questioning and unwavering love. We envy their ability to remember Eden better than we can.
posted by Mr. McNamar at 2:53 PM
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