Ille epistula est divisa in partes tres. Ten points to everyone who gets the reference. Ten points of sad, sad Latin-knowing geekery. Excessive education or no, the post is indeed tripartite, and it is divided thusly:

1. Reflections on CPE
2. A few thoughts on Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis, and
3. A magical third part, made up of delightful photograms scattered throughout the posting, taken from my excursion with my goddaughter Miss Ketturah Sloan to the Philaselphia Zoo.

And so, I submit for your consideration, a web log empostation.

I.

As you may or may not have guessed, CPE continues to be a part of my life. Like a bad cold, I can’t seem to shake it, and I have a sinking feeling that I will be metaphorically coughing (that goes out to you, Dr. K) for another four weeks, minus one day. As I write this e-ssay (see how clever that is?), I am on call at the hospital, one Thomas Jefferson Univerity Hospital, and I even just got back from a page. Did you miss me? So, now that I’m seven weeks into CPE, and am starting (ha) to run out of steam, I heard something today that has reframed what it is that I’m doing here. In a discussion on grief and the presence (or non-presence) of God, one of my colleagues in the program made the observation that for many of our patients, we the chaplains are the only concrete symbol of God’s presence in their suffering. This is not to suggest that we all have giant messiah complexes or that we each believe that we are Christ come again, but rather that if we are to take the Christian message seriously, and actually think about what baptism means, then we have to realize that God is acting through us to be with these people. For my own part, I have always experienced God most closely through other people. A lot of the time, they probably never knew that’s what was going on for me, but that doesn’t matter: God knows what God’s doing.

So, thinking about my work in such a way, that I am privileged to relate to these patients strictly and explicitly on those terms, as a potential instrument of God’s love in their lives (that, indeed, is the whole work of the chaplain), I am somewhat renewed in my energy for the next four weeks (minus one day). Does this mean I’m magically un-exhausted, or I suddenly love the idea of being a hospital chaplain? No, of course not; don’t be silly. But it does mean that I have a new appreciation for the work here, and it’s something I’m happy to be doing, even if I don’t exactly enjoy it.

II.

One of the best things about this summer has been the Septa train that obligingly carries me from Swarthmore Station to Market East Station and back again each day. I am obliged to the Septa train for providing me with approximately eighty minutes every day during which time I can do little but read. And read I have. My pile of read books grows apace, and lo, it is glorious to behold.

The latest addition to said pile is C. S. Lewis’s Till We Have Faces. It’s not one of his better-known books, but by connoisseurs of his work it is considered amoing the best. Indeed, my English teacher in high school valued it as one of the finest works of twentieth century fiction. My own opinion is, how shall I say, more moderate.

The novel is a retelling, indeed somewhat of a “this is how it really happened” version, of the Greco-Roman myth of Cupid and Psyche, form the perspective of the oldest sister. Ever a man of his age, Lewis’ often brilliant insights into human nature are often sadly obscured by an often unnecessary gender-essentialist language. (That is, talk of “women are this way, and men are this way”). If those comments can be excised from the manuscript (and they usually can without any real damage to either the content or quality of the book), then the insights he has into some of the primary forces of human nature are remarkable. Thankfully, I think that, at least in this book, Lewis’ spiritual and philosophical insight may serve to soften somewhat the impact of his paternalism, by rendering them in the context of a greater divine reality. [Man, Lewis would be so very, very upset by what I’m writing right now.]

As Lewis composes it, the story becomes a multi-layered fable describing the struggle of the mind over the passions, and the troubled relationship between rationalism and mystericism. Neither rationality nor mystery is categorically repudiated or unquestioningly praised, but a dogmatic adherence to either (the -isms) is justly criticized. At its strongest, Till We Have Faces provides a subtle and nuanced examination of the (post)modern western tug o’ war between the process of rational analysis and the potent and mysterious symbolic language of religion. The title line, which comes near the end of the book, and which can really only be understood after the preceding 280 pages, encapsulates a theology and philosophy of profoundly humane and insightful dimensions.

I heartily recommend the book, especially the last thirty pages. Whatever you do, though, don’w skip to the end. Read the whole book, which itself is a shining exapmle of Lewis’ spare, beautiful style, looking forward to the final theological / philosophical climax.

Having set aside Till We Have Faces, I have picked up A Letter of Mary, the third installment of the Mary Russell & Sherlock Holmes novels. If you haven’t read these, and you’re reading this web log, you really should. I can almost guarantee you’ll enjoy them. The first is called The Beekeeper’s Apprentice, and they are all (unsurprisingly) written by Laurie R. King (an alumna of GTU+CDSP, by the bye).

III.

The photograms above presented repesent the following animals: The Hippo, the Giant Elephant Shrew (whose nose and legs are of prodigious, even absurd length), the More Reasonably Sized (though markedly tank-like) Elephant Shrew, the Elephant, the Coati, the Meercat, and the Harvest Mouse (who would kill you as soon as look at you).

I should also mention before I finish that I very much appreciate your comments. I am unclear as to why they are not showing up on the “Comments” link for each post, but they are collected in the “Comments Feed” found at the bottom of the sidebar. We have all our experts looking into the problem, and we hope to have regular service back very soon.

Peace and Love.

Dear readers, please let me offer my sincerest apologies for depriving you of my words of comfort and succor from El Ciudad del Amor de Hermanos. Comfor. Succor. There. I hope you’re happy. With luck, I will be writing twice a week starting next week: Mondays and Thursdays I hope. With that: Happy In-Dependence Day. This’ll blow your mind: what if we called it Inter-Dependence Day? Wouldn’t that totally change the world? No? Fine. Be that way.

Last weekend, I took the exciting and reportedly dangerous Chinatown Bus from Philadelphia to New York. For those of you who don’t know, the Chinese crminal syndicates use the cover of a cheap busline to traffick heroin, tiny shoes, and the latest prophecies fresh in from China, authorized by Beijing’s Ministry for Lying to Americans, for use in fortune cookies. For the mere price of twenty dollars roundtrip, and the sure knowledge that you are participating in a criminal endeavor, you can get almost anywhere on the eastern seabord in approximately two hours. Word on the street is that J. K. Rowling researched the Chinatwon buses for her transparent ripoff, the Knightbus.

My stay in New York was too short, but a lot of good times were packed into those few days. Friday afternoon Harry Huberty and I tromped merrily around the Metripolitan Museum of Art. We refrained from holding hands and skipping merrily, but it was a close thing. In order to prove to all you skeptics out there that I did indeed visit the museum which is called Met, I present Photo-Magical Imagery!

This is some kind of pagan idol from the Eurpoean Dark ages. No one is quite sure of its significance, or what kind of practices it inspired, but it sure is lovely.

This is another pagan idol, though it dates much later, to the Rennaisance. It is a representation of the dark Goddess Kaphé, imported from the New World. See how her twin tails stand ready to dispense scalding black nectar and delicately foamed milk? Other theories suggest it is a depiction of a siren from Greco-Roman mythology, but this has yet to be proven by science.

This is a picture of Mary Magdalene, recovered from the chapterhouse of a Christian worker’s guild from the middle ages. These societies helped thier dead members by paying for services to be said for them after their deaths. In this case, the society’s patron saint was Mary of Magdala, and so their prayers are addressed through her. No, this is true. Really. Why are you lookign at me like that?

In typical fashion, European colonial powers not only enslaved the inhabitants of this island paradise, but they crystalized its panoramic views and took them back to their dreary and icy homes in the European Wastlands. This is an example of such a stolen vista.

After our sojourn amongst the beautiful art, Harry and I made our way to meet Master Dan Chamberlin of the New York Chamberlins, and then made haste to the Tambasco household, where we played an excellent roleplaying game called Dogs in the Vineyard. We learned how dangerous wine can be. (It apparently can lead people to try to summon demons. Who knew?)

The next day, after settling the island of Catan, The native New Yorkers helped Harry and me find our way to a rain-soaked barbecue in Brooklyn.

Finally, I went to church at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine (which is HUGE), then spent a couple of hours in the surprisingly disappointing Strand bookstore in Union Square, then jumped my bus back to Philadelphia. All-in-all, an excellent long weekend. You should try it sometime.

For those of you keeping up with my reading, know that I am slowly making my way through Pillars of the Earth. It’s good, but getting a little bit predictable/repetitive. I must know what happens to Tom Builder, though! Damn you Ken Folleeeeeeet!!!!

Salutations, friends! There is not much news to report from the CPE front, except to say that CPE is engaging, rewarding, important, and amazingly exhausting. For those of you who know me well, you know also that I am of the introverted persuasion. This means that prolonged social interaction has a way of leaving me drained. CPE is nothing if not socially interactive. And so, at the end of the day, I am nothing if not drained. I’m learning a lot, and am very glad to be here, but nevertheless, I’m looking forward to being able to rest for real when it’s all over!

That said, here are some more magical photo-graphs. These are from a stained glass window in the Museum of Art. It’s in one of the aforementioned “reconstructed rooms,” and is a very nice, and peaceful place to sit. I think it’s made up of pieces of broken windows, put together into a new one.

Without further wei:

I like the way that the face looks like it is just leaving the picture, as if it has somewhere to be.

See how the way the glass on the left is cut so it looks like an angel wing for the figure on the right? I’m not sure if it was done on purpose, but it sure looks excellent.

I’m sure this is for St Mark the Evangleist. Medieval pictures of African animals are so funny. You can tell the guy who painted it had never actually seen a lion. I love the human ears.

The brick walls in the pieces on the right and left look strangely modern; they almost remind me of World War II imagery, like concentration camps or something. Kind of dark next to the bright yellow shield.

A nice abstract piece.

Ooooh… something interesting is going on over there! What’s going on over there?

I like how the little plant sprout is glowing…

So, there it is: more delicious photo-graphery! The horizontal pictures also make very nice desktop wallpaper, if I do say so meself.