"I Will Carry You"

Doing the truth

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.
-Isaiah 46:4

“He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart.”
–Isaiah 40:11


Elizabeth Anscombe

Married for nearly sixty years, and nurturing three sons and four daughters, Mrs. Anscombe was a beloved wife and mother when she died at home in Cambridge in 2001, surrounded by family prayers. Wittgenstein's prize student and protege, Elizabeth Anscombe was also one of the foremost philosophers of the twentieth century, whose convincing logic as a young woman at a university debate with C.S. Lewis in 1948 persuaded the intellectually honest Lewis to rewrite a chapter in Miracles. 1 With her penchant for rigorous intellectual honesty and for putting her faith into action, she whole-heartedly loved her God. Though troubled in the last few years of her long life by a heart ailment and nearly crippled in a car accident, Elizabeth Anscombe wrote what would be her final lecture, entitled "Doing The Truth"--a touchstone to St. John 2, and a fitting capstone to a life engaged not only in philosophical studies of human action and intention, but chiefly in a lifelong passion for her God.

If we say that we have fellowship with him and walk in the darkness, we lie, and do not the truth: but if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanseth us from all sin.
–1 John 1:6,7.

"Doing the truth"—from Cambridge to Lanesville—is manifest simply in the ardent, faithful acts of daily life by imperfect, broken men and women who together yearn and pray to love their heavenly Father more and more. “Doing the truth” is no solitary endeavor, or something we ourselves somehow accomplish—it is not some tidy, uncomplicated enterprise in the midst of our otherwise messy and often heartrending days. C.S. Lewis urged that "by doing the truth which we already know, let us make progress towards the truth which as yet we are ignorant of."3 Step by step, “doing the truth" is simply an allegiance to walk in the light day by day in fellowship with one another and with our "Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ."

"Doing the truth" extends immeasurably beyond even our best plans and most beneficent strategies--as godly as those plans may be. In “doing the truth” we remember that whatever we do, God carries us. From this vantage, we have one humble purpose: to love God and our neighbor—where as C.S. Lewis pointed out “your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses.”4 Our own strategies are welcome and necessary--but they are the prayerful plans and deliberations of men and women already securely enfolded in the arms of their heavenly Father.

“Doing the truth” is rooted in God’s great and utterly sacrificial love for us—with His lavish love we’ve been given everything. We are then free to proceed boldly beyond the things that would perhaps keep us from doing His purpose, from extending His mercy throughout our community and the world. Our confidence to pray, to act and to serve rests entirely in Him, our surety in a loving Father who carries us “close to His heart.” A fitting nineteenth-century Danish meditation from Soren Kierkegaard reminds us to Our Lord’s love, redemption, strength and rescue as he carries us:

O Lord Jesus Christ, there is so much to drag us back: empty pursuit, trivial pleasures, unworthy cares. There is so much to frighten us away: a pride too cowardly to submit to being helped, cowardly apprehensiveness which evades danger to its own destruction, anguish for sin which shuns holy cleansing as disease shuns medicine. But Thou art stronger than these, so draw Thou us now more strongly to Thee. We call Thee our Saviour and Redeemer, since Thou didst come to earth to redeem us from the servitude under which we were bound or had bound ourselves, to save the lost. This is Thy work, which Thou didst complete, and which Thou wilt continue to complete unto the end of the world; for since Thou Thyself hast said it, therefore Thou wilt do it—lifted up from the earth Thou wilt draw all unto thee. 5

Hallelujah!


Notes:

1. Anscombe and Lewis debated 2 February 1948, at the Socratic Club, Oxford. See Lewis, C.S., God In The Dock (Grand Rapids: Wm. B Eerdmans Publishing, 1994), p. 144.

2. This use can be seen not only here in John's first epistle, but in his gospel as well: "But he that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God" (John 3:21 KJV).

3. From a letter to Fr. Calabria, 13 January 1948. See Lewis, C.S. and Calabria, Don Giovanni, The Latin Letters of C.S. Lewis, (South Bend: St. Augustine's Press, 1998), p. 43.

4. Lewis, C.S., The Weight of Glory, (New York: Harper Collins, 2001), p. 14-15.

5. Kierkegaard, Soren, The Prayers of Kierkegaard. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), p. 87.


(The original PDF can be found here: I Will Carry You)

Song: Caresse Sur L'océan

Our family was taken years ago with the film "Les Choristes" and especially this song from the soundtrack.


Bruno Coulais' "Caresse Sur L'océan"


A live variant version can be viewed here.

'How fragile we are'...

One of two marvelously tender videos...

"Fragile": a moving song by Sting, September 11th 2001, Tuscany.



Lyric:
If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime's argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star, like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are, how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star, like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are, how fragile we are
How fragile we are, how fragile we are

'Heaven on earth, we need it now'...

The other marvelously tender video...

"...heaven on earth, we need it now..." The U2 song "Walk On" in the aftermath of 9/11/2001...

U2's 'Walk On', 2001


Lyric:

And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for one second you turn back
Oh no, be strong

Walk on, walk on
What you've got they can't steal it
No, they can't even feel it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight

You're packing a suitcase for a place
That none of us has been
A place that has to be believed to be seen
You could have flown away
A singing bird in an open cage
Who will only fly, only fly for freedom

Walk on, walk on
What you've got they can't deny it
Can't sell it or buy it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight

Yeah, I know it aches, how your heart it breaks
You can only take so much
Walk on

You gotta leave it behind
You gotta leave it behind,
We've got to leave it behind
All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break
All that you measure
All that you deal
All you count on two fingers
And all that you steal
You gotta leave it behind

Halle halle
Halle hallelujah
You gotta leave it behind
Halle halle
Halle hallelujah
Halle halle
Halle hallelujah
Halle halle
Halle hallelujah
We're going home sister
Halle halle
Halle hallelujah
Halle halle
See you when I get home
Halle hallelujah
See you when I get home, sister
Halle halle
Halle hallelujah
Halle halle

Alasdair MacIntyre

Alasdair MacIntyre, 25 September 2009

John's esteemed professor (eons ago) with a recent (9/25/09) lecture, 'Ends and Endings'...

My Life as a Dog (Mitt liv sum hund)

OK--the film My Life as a Dog is one of our family's favorites.

But I need to come clean: I watch it 3 or 4 times each year, loving its rhythm, cadence--cheered in much the same way a Chopin berceuse soothes, stirring the soul. I can only thank my family for their kindness, tolerance!





Translation:

I should have told her everything. She loved stories like that.
... ... ...
It's not so bad if you think about it. It could have been worse.
Just think how that poor guy ended up who got a new kidney in Boston.
He got his name in all the papers, but he died just the same.

And what about Laika, the space dog?
They put her in a Sputnik and sent her into space.
They attached wires to her heart and brain to see how she felt.
I don't think she felt so good.

She spun around up there for five months until her doggy bag was empty.
She starved to death.

It's important to have something like that to compare things to.

Medley of snaps

Another miscellany/catch-all/hodgepodge/medley of snapshots...

To paraphrase Huck Finn: "...persons attempting to find a [narrative in the album below] will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot."

Most are snaps of nearby Annisquam (probably our favorite spot in the world), followed by a potpourri of photos of forever friends, and newlyweds Sean & Duyen, among others.


Annisquam


Robin, Jessie, Allison, Duyen



Jessie, Duyen, Robin



View of Annisquam Light from below Squam Rock.



Mom & Dad Lovell



Allison & John



Duyen



Robin



Annisquam Light from pasture



Annisquam Light, midway pasture



Family, Annisquam Light



Jessie in a cleft granite seat



Sean & Duyen's Gloucester wedding

After the church wedding, some photos from Rockport's Long Beach...


Duyen



Jessie & mom Allison



Sean & Duyen



Robin, Cameron, Sean & Duyen, John & Allison, Jessie




Family & friends


Allison, niece/cousin Jewelea, Jessie, Robin



Edithe, John, Allison, Mark



John, brother Jim



Cameron, proud Mom Allison



John's 58th, July 17 2009



Cam, Christmastide, 2008



Goofing: Cam, Rob, Sean



Cam & Mom, Aunt Peggie leading the way. Wisconsin, June 2009


Rockport Memorial Day Parade, 2008


Robin w/xylophone



Robbie, a quick rest




Oldies


John, best friend Jim, Labor Day, 1980, Gloucester's Round The Cape race



John, Robert Hanlon, winter 1978


Wedding day, 1980: Jim & Louise Rotholz


Wedding day, 1981: John & Allison Lovell


John, Essex MA


John, New Hampshire


John, Robert Hanlon, New Hampshire


New Hampshire


Jim, Lanesville MA


Wedding day, 1980: Allison's sister Jennifer Lyon


John, Louise Rotholz


John (w/Smokey), Jim Rotholz (w/Ivan)


Allison & John, Louise, Jane, Martha, Abby


Wedding day, 1980: Jim & Louise, Rockport Country Club

Robert Frost's "Directive", 1948

A magnificent poem.

Directive

Back out of all this now too much for us,
Back in a time made simple by the loss
Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off
Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather,
There is a house that is no more a house
Upon a farm that is no more a farm
And in a town that is no more a town.
The road there, if you’ll let a guide direct you
Who only has at heart your getting lost,
May seem as if it should have been a quarry—
Great monolithic knees the former town
Long since gave up pretense of keeping covered.
And there’s a story in a book about it:
Besides the wear of iron wagon wheels
The ledges show lines ruled southeast-northwest,
The chisel work of an enormous Glacier
That braced his feet against the Arctic Pole.
You must not mind a certain coolness from him
Still said to haunt this side of Panther Mountain.
Nor need you mind the serial ordeal
Of being watched from forty cellar holes
As if by eye pairs out of forty firkins.
As for the woods’ excitement over you
That sends light rustle rushes to their leaves,
Charge that to upstart inexperience.
Where were they all not twenty years ago?
They think too much of having shaded out
A few old pecker-fretted apple trees.
Make yourself up a cheering song of how
Someone’s road home from work this once was,
Who may be just ahead of you on foot
Or creaking with a buggy load of grain.
The height of the adventure is the height
Of country where two village cultures faded
Into each other. Both of them are lost.
And if you’re lost enough to find yourself
By now, pull in your ladder road behind you
And put a sign up CLOSED to all but me.
Then make yourself at home. The only field
Now left’s no bigger than a harness gall.
First there’s the children’s house of make-believe,
Some shattered dishes underneath a pine,
The playthings in the playhouse of the children.
Weep for what little things could make them glad.
Then for the house that is no more a house,
But only a belilaced cellar hole,
Now slowly closing like a dent in dough.
This was no playhouse but a house in earnest.
Your destination and your destiny’s
A brook that was the water of the house,
Cold as a spring as yet so near its source,
Too lofty and original to rage.
(We know the valley streams that when aroused
Will leave their tatters hung on barb and thorn.)
I have kept hidden in the instep arch
Of an old cedar at the waterside
A broken drinking goblet like the Grail
Under a spell so the wrong ones can’t find it,
So can’t get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn’t.
(I stole the goblet from the children’s playhouse.)
Here are your waters and your watering place.
Drink and be whole again beyond confusion.

Franz Wright's "The Only Animal"

Allison & I have loved this poem since we first found it in the New Yorker years ago now.

Franz Wright reads it at: NPR.


The Only Animal

The only animal that commits suicide
went for a walk in the park,
basked on a hard bench
in the first star,
traveled to the edge of space
in an armchair
while company quietly
talked, and abruptly
returned,
the room empty

The only animal that cries,
that takes off its clothes
and reports to the mirror, the one
and only animal
that brushes its own teeth

somewhere
the only animal that smokes a cigarette,
that lies down and flies backward in time,
that rises and walks to a book
and looks up a word
heard the telephone ringing
in the darkness downstairs and decided
to answer no more.

And I understand,
too well: how many times
have I made the decision to dwell
from now on
in the hour of my death
(the space I took up here
scarlessly closing like water)
and said I'm never coming back,
and yet

this morning
I stood once again
in this world,
the garden
ark and vacant
tomb of what
I can't imagine,
between twin eternities,
some sort of wings,
more or less equidistantly
exiled from both,
hovering in the dreaming called
being awake, where
You gave me
in secret one thing
to perceive, the
tall blue starry
strangeness of being
here at all.

You gave us each in secret one thing to perceive.

Furless now, upright, My banished
and experimental
child

You said, though your own heart condemn you

I do not condemn you.

Growing up in southern California

4th Grade, El Centro Elementary School: I'm in the middle of the back row.


My 40th high school reunion came and went this summer--Allison and I hoped to go, but couldn't. In preliminary emails we were asked to "briefly describe what it was like, growing up as a teenager in Southern California." Here's what I jotted back:

Everything's so terribly half-remembered!--and (to steal from book titles) those teen years in the '60s were both "days of heaven" and "chronicles of wasted time!" Here's a short history.

I mostly relished the '60s--I realized even then that I basked in all sorts of beauty right there around me--physical, intellectual, spiritual--the palms, magnolias, eucalyptus, bougainvillea--hummingbirds, a fish pond, my dog Kim in the backyard--the architecture of El Centro, SPJHS, the Plunge--swimming, skating--biking to the Arroyo and all round town with my little brother Jimmy. The joys of playing piano, reading wonderful books in and out of school, the thrill the first time I heard the Beatles over a transistor radio as I biked home from SPJHS. The steadfast, uncomplicated loyalty of school chums and caring teachers taught me so much about (steady, good-humored) human kindness--I realized later this was pretty much Augustine's "to be faithful in little things is a big thing"...

And yet and yet and yet--the sad effects of divorce continued to cascade into my teen years--troubled, unsteady, ungainly in some ways--though through it all I was mostly happy. The '60s--what an eclectic confluence: I was a kid with buckteeth, braces and glasses--loved his folks and couldn't wait to leave; enthralled with the Gospels, the beach and Beach Boys; reading Kierkegaard, Huck Finn; loving the Boy Scouts, hiking the mountains, mile swim in Catalina; poolside Saturnalia; playing B football, lobbing Salvo detergent into the SM pool with the guys; loving Chopin, Wolfman Jack--the strange, joyous unpatterned mix of things that growing up still entails, I suppose.