The more history I read, the more convinced I am that entropy seems a slow slide to those who are on it, but we tend to cross the Rubicon more quickly and with more finality than we can possibly anticipate. Frogs and boiling water. A certain level of chaos seems sustainable… until all at once, it isn’t. Only in hindsight is the acceleration apparent. As Willa Cather’s archbishop says, “Men travel faster now, but I do not know if they go to better things.”
More and more, I seek refuge away from the clanging and eternal noise of modernity- in the sacred spaces where I have enough room to breath. I’m afraid I’m turning into a hermit. In nature, I see God’s magnificence and grace reflected most soul-strikingly.
“Where there is great love there are always miracles,' [the archbishop] said at length. 'One might almost say that an apparition is human vision corrected by divine love. I do not see you as you really are, Joseph; I see you through my affection for you. The Miracles of the Church seem to me to rest not so much upon faces or voices or healing power coming suddenly near to us from afar off, but upon our perceptions being made finer, so that for a moment our eyes can see and our ears can hear what is there about us always.”
What a wonderful love it is, to see someone or something through the lens of affection. Love like that changes not only its object, but also its origin.
Texas “re-opened” last week in the midst of ever increasing Covid-19 cases. I headed for Palo Duro Canyon to get away from Dallas, feeling guilty for having the privilege to escape for the weekend and also recognizing a deep need to leave. This was my first time visiting Palo Duro, and I will certainly be back. I spent the weekend outside. West Texas heat is much easier to handle than the humidity I’m accustomed to; it was hot during the day, but mornings and evenings were crisp and cool. Dry air feels lighter somehow, and less oppressive. The desert smells wonderful: cedar and warm rocks and the occasional floral aroma from the wildflowers.
Oh Texas, my Texas. I’ve had a tough week. Driving out to Amarillo, we passed more political billboards than I’ve seen along 287 in my 12 years + of driving out that way. We saw many on our way to Fredericksburg in March, too. Everything is political. Facts are political. Truth is political. My eyes are so weary of viewing everything through this lens that’s been thrust in front of them. If the lens of affection allows us to view things with greater love, what happens when love is swapped out for politics?
Hermitude increases. I can practically feel myself turning into a mountain goat.
Here’s some pretty stuff. I need it today.
