ORTHODIXIE ... Southern, Orthodox, Convert, Etc.

This article is posted on Orthodoxy Today. While I understand the sentiments of the author -- and have made similar arguments with regard to the coexistence of Islam and Christianity in the Middle East -- I found a few areas of disagreement.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Wilderness?

The Creature. What would we do? Where would we be without him? He is so full of encouragement and knowledge.

We may be moving soon ... to the Garden. The creature tells us that the Wilderness is actually part of the Hill.

“Unless you want to die, like him, you must flee the Wilderness. You belong in the Garden. You were created for the Garden, and the Garden for you. Yours is not to die, but to live! How can you live without the plenteous fruit of the Garden?”

We want so badly to trust.

Doubt. Friends. Betrayal. Sin?

We remember the past. Remorse.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Wilderness ...

Our time on the Hill was very brief. We did not want to be there. But, because we trusted the voice in the Wilderness, there we were. But we did not want to be there.

We’d rather be alone. No one drove us into the Wilderness. We were not tempted. We made the decision all on our own. We are not headed back to the Garden. We just want to be alone.

Someone holds our hand. It is familiar ... it is okay.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Wilderness ...

Doubts. Funny. On the Hill our doubts are brought on by questions. In the Garden, they are due to answers received.

Whom to trust?

The more friends we found in the Garden, the lonelier we became. They became, like the fruit, too familiar. No mystery.

For the moment, we are content in the Wilderness. Someone holds our hand. We dare not look. Afraid.

“All will be well.”

“Trust me.”

We do not look. Mystery. For now, it is good.

“Yes.”

Who spoke?

... we are on the Hill.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden ...

Anger. Sometimes (do our eyes deceive us?) we seem to partake of anger by mistake. It often looks just like pride.

Since pride, we’re told, is the omnipotent remedy for all our ills -- we naturally reach for it daily.

Yet anger is found within.

“It is not anger. You are a god. You are in control. The world can be yours. Taste and see ....”

The creature. We no longer see him. He just seems to accompany our thoughts, doubts, and fears.

For this we are thankful. Because, on the Hill there’s no answers ... only questions. Mystery. Frustrating.

[Chomp!]

Anger? Pride? We’ve eaten too much sloth to care.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Garden ...

Friends. Ah, glorious friends! How we’ve missed you! The betrayals are forgotten. Let us eat, drink, and be merry!

In the Garden are many whom we know. They have welcomed us back to paradise with open arms, a warm embrace, and sweet caresses.

Lust tastes good as we feast upon the Tree. The way we’re eating, you’d think gluttony was our end! But, alas, all the fruit is good and plenteous. Thanks be to God!

(“No.”)

For a moment, we thought we heard ... a still small voice?

Must be the wine.

The homecoming is so overpowering that tomorrow we plan to eat of sloth.
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Wherein St Paul encourages frequent "relations" and St Peter is known as Rocky. (It gets worse.) The new translation [sic] is called "Good as New."

Heavens!

If snakes on trees could talk, this sounds like what they'd say ...
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again on the Hill ...

It seems that there are less people on the Hill today. More in the Garden.

We’ve stopped looking at the Tree on the Hill.

Everyone is happy, laughing, dancing in the Garden. There rings shouts of joy! In the Garden, where all is knowledge, there are no questions. The Tree is not stained with blood. There is life in the Garden.

It is familiar.

We can never get used to this Hill. It is too hard a thing for us. We were created to be in the Garden.

What awaits us here? Were we created to die?

“No.”
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again on the Hill ...

The longer we stay here, the less we ask. The longer we stay here, the less we ask. The longer we stay here, the less we ask.

The longer we stay here, the more we find ourselves looking into the eyes of our beloved, the man on the Tree. Our souls seem wedded to his -- and our bodies begin to obey our souls, his.

The questions. How is it that one is filled by emptying? How is it that one is happy yet crying? How is it that one is life-giving while dying?

The longer we stay here ...

The doubts. “If you are the Son of God, come down from the Cross and save yourself,” a voice cries.

Our eyes must ask the question ... for he again, with love, dies.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Garden?

It is hard to make out all that has happened. Too much partying. life is a blur. All is a blur. Our minds are clouded. Where are we?

Ahead, we see a shape. “Who’s there?”

No answer. Can’t be the creature -- for he has an answer for everything!

We slowly approach. If our eyes don’t deceive us, it looks like a tree.

Is it a tree?

Yes.

Is this tree, we now see, in the Garden? Or, is this the one on the Hill?

The calf only stares; the creature has disappeared.

There is no blood. There is no fruit.

Only a dead and barren -- lifeless -- tree in the Wilderness.

With great fear we look around us. We are truly alone. No fantasies, no gold, no friends, no hope.

It’s just us ... and a mirror.

A mirror.

We, the tree.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Wilderness ...

The beautiful creature is a wonderful guide, very intelligent. He has taught us that we can partake of heavenly fruit -- even in the Wilderness. All we have to do is think. “Bring the fruit to mind.” In so doing, we conjure up fantasy. Lustful fantasy. Hateful fantasy. We can build palaces of gold and silver, filled with riches, in our minds.

“Must we go back to the Garden?” we ask.

“No my child, you can have it all in the Wilderness.”

No longer alone in the Wilderness ... thanks to the beautiful creature and the calf of gold.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Wilderness ...

We are beginning to get accustomed to the Wilderness. It isn’t life. It isn’t death. It just is.

We can see the Garden; the fruits -- Life?

We can see the Hill; the Tree, the man -- Life?

The questions plague us ... (till death do us part).

No. It is better to just stay in the Wilderness. Here there is no salvation or damnation. No Satan, sin, and death. No faith, hope, and charity. No day. No night. Neither naked or royally clothed. We are alone and at peace. The beautiful creature has journeyed with us into the Wilderness. All is well.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Wilderness ...

“Don’t want to go to the Hill. Involves commitment.”

The Garden is much better. It requires nothing but your presence. The beautiful creature is a wonderful host. He is so smart, cunning, and encouraging. He makes us feel good, godlike.

We find the Hill generally depressing. "Except when there," whispers our soul -- but, we know better. What good is a soul? Does it feed you? Thrill you? Does the soul ever dance, sing, or laugh?

Doubt.

Doubting in the Wilderness. We're tired. Our memory races toward the past. The man who claimed to be king. The sinful pleasures of the Garden. The bitter deeds brought on by the beautiful fruit. The dying man. The blood. The Tree. Which tree?
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Wilderness ...

“Who am I?”

Tears. It’s been long in coming -- and still longer since last we cried. Once again we seemingly had it all in the Garden. Now all is lost. Again we were betrayed. It wasn’t the fault of the creature, or the environment of plenty. It was the others who chose to inhabit the oasis of the Garden. Damn them!

“Did they not know that ‘I am?’”

“I’ll show them!”

It was all to no avail -- scheming and planning. They were too powerful. In fact, they’ve actually lived in the Garden a very long time. They KNOW more. They’ve not only eaten fruit, they’ve stockpiled it in their paradisal warehouses. They were too powerful. Had to leave ... but, shall return.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Garden ...

It is easier in the Garden. The Hill involves sacrifice. For love requires that one give up self for other. Joy necessitates suffering. Peace implies war. Patience is ultra-sacrificial. And kindness quite often makes us nauseous!

Our taste buds dance was we bite again into the fruit of pride.

Yes, we eat it for a remedy. We were a little queasy last eve after a bout with envy and greed. It seems that we just can’t get enough of the Garden. Now, here we sit partaking of the omnipotent medicine of pride.

From where we sit in the Garden we can see the weak and naked pilgrims ascend the Hill of Hell. Oh how our minds delight in hating them and their pitiful wasted lives. Wait’ll they get to the top and realize that death alone beckons and awaits them.

“He dies, you know!”

“He dies!”

Pride is abundant upon this Tree in the Garden.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again on the Hill ...

“Fear God and all will be well.” There it is again -- that thought. What does it mean to fear God? Why, how, is it that “all will be well?”

The man who brought us to the Hill has been gone for a long time. Perhaps it was all a dream? A hoax even? Maybe it would be better in the Garden. Had the man ever been to the Garden? Perhaps he led us the wrong way? Maybe he can be found in the Garden?

“No.”

He clearly said that he was on his way to the kingdom. He bid us come, did he not? What was his name? “Fear God and all will be well. Fear God and all will be well. Fear God and will be well ....”

“I fear that I am lost,” we say. There, off in the distance, is the Garden. So inviting. So familiar. We’ve spent so much time there, in the Garden. It looks like home.

It is home. “Leave your cross and receive your crown, your reward,” bids the creature.

So be it.

... it is so.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

On the Hill we sit ...

How we got here, we’re not quite sure. Yet, thankful we be. For some odd reason, it seems that we’ve been sitting here ‘neath the Tree on the Hill ... staring off into space. And, oddly enough, this seems all right.

We remember that in the Garden we were clothed as royalty. Here, we sit in the shade of redemption -- naked -- with a cross. The man who led us here told us that we had to bear it if we were to find rest in him and his kingdom.

Funny, it seems that he met us in the Wilderness. We didn’t have to make the decision to either go into the Garden or to climb the Hill. Instead, we were met by a man who seemed to know us -- and, we him. He lovingly said, “Come, follow me.” And now, here we are.

Where did he go?

Where is his kingdom?

Why did he call us?
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In my secular work, the clinical team shares a daily reading during their staff meetings. Today's, June 17th, caught my eye. Thus, we interrupt the series of Two Trees meditations for the following ... meditation:

The desire to believe the best of people is a prerequisite for intercourse with strangers; suspicion is reserved for friends.
-- Mary McCarthy

How often we find ourselves treating our acquaintances with exquisite courtesy, while our friends and loved ones get our yawns, our sulks, our tantrums. We may pride ourselves on treating everyone alike, but most of us lapse into rudeness with our intimates. "It doesn't matter," we say. "They know me."

If someone doesn't know us, we behave with generosity. Why? To convince the stranger that we are nicer than we really are? Which is the ideal person, the one who is courteous to strangers, or the one who is rude to friends?

Mistrust of ourselves is the basis of these false values. Most of us fear, at one time or another, that we won't be liked, loved, or respected for ourselves alone. So we try to appear different, usually better. Once we're assured of approval from another, we feel comfortable enough to drop the facade.

Sometimes, perhaps, we even punish the new friend a little for the strain of our good behavior. Wouldn't the best behavior be a comfortable respect?

My friends deserve my courtesy as well as my love. Today I will welcome them gratefully to my life.

-- Taken from The Promise of a New Day by Karen Casey & Martha Vanceburg.

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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Garden ...

Knowledge.

Eating of the fruits of the Tree in the Garden, we find that we can’t get our fill. “More, more, more!” we passionately cry. Though we tire of anger, it seems to be a constant, consistent, emotion in our dominion.

Lust, we find, leads to action. The deed being done, we lie alone wasted with grief and remorse. The cure for which we also seek upon the Tree in the Garden. For the beautiful creature claims to have a remedy for all our ills.

This day, as we shrink from the fruit of lust, we are offered an orb of pride. The beautiful creature tells us that this fruit is the chief remedy of all ailments. “Taste and see,” says he.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Wilderness ...

It seems that every day we awake in the Wilderness. Then we must choose to either spend our time in the Garden or on the Hill.

Decisions, decisions, decisions ...

“I cannot do it alone.” It was just a thought. Or did it come from deeper within? Whatever it was, it landed us on the Hill! But, immediately upon our arrival, we found that we were surrounded by blood. Just before we cried “No!” ... our souls were fed on “faith, hope, love.”

At rest in the Garden, we put such things out of our minds as we bask ‘neath the Tree.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden ...

Our soul alone in silence waits.

Something is not right. In the Garden, we think we have found Paradise. Yet why is our soul so unhappy? Can it not taste the fruit? Does it not feel the power? Is it not shining with the light of the Garden?

“No,” says the soul. For a moment, our brain -- even our body -- agrees. But we KNOW better.

“You have eaten of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,” says the soul. “This, says God, is forbidden.”

Yet, we are in the Garden. “In the Garden, nothing is forbidden.” The beautiful creature said so. And, besides, we KNOW that the Tree in the Garden is the Tree of Life. It must be. For the man on the Tree on the Hill has died. A tree that ushers in death cannot bring life. This much we know. Therefore, this Tree, in the Garden must be ...
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Garden ...

In the Garden there is only life. The hill of death and doom seems to us now like a bad dream. We are thankful to be in the Garden. The beautiful and inviting creature tells us that the Tree in the Garden is known as the Tree of Life. After what we saw on the Hill, we believe him.

We then sink our teeth into a good-sized bit of sloth and decide to give the Hill no more thought. We lust for more, proud of our new found life. We eat, and eat, and eat. A glutton never had it so good. It is easy, nay necessary, to be greedy in the Garden. Our avarice knows no bounds -- we envy all. “I want it all!” we shout in anger.

We are clothed as royalty.

The beautiful creature in nowhere to be found. Does this mean? Of course. We are in charge!
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

In the Wilderness ...

The Wilderness is not where we want to be. Yet everyday finds us there with decisions to make.

We are in the Wilderness today with bruises. We were kicked out of the Garden. Did we kick ourselves out? Anyway, we didn’t want to leave. But our friends betrayed us.

There we were with all the powers one could ask for -- and WHAM!, betrayal. We lost all, in the Garden.

He’s on the Tree. The Hill that looks like Hell. Bruised and empty, we’ve had it with the Garden. Our soul sings, “Lord, forgive.”

We are there, beneath the Fruit of the Tree on the Hill. Feeling betrayed from the bountiful, beautiful fruit of the Garden, we decided to partake of this food. It looks bitter, dying ... dead? Yet, behold, there is redemption therein, for the fruits of this Tree are Humility, Patience, Chastity, Contentedness, Temperance, Liberality, and Diligence.

We look upon the Fruit, the man on the Tree. “May we stay here always, Lord?” With eyes of love he looks upon us and says, “I love you” ... and dies.

“No!” we cry.

Immediately we are transported to the Garden.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Wilderness ...

We were too smart for the Hill. The dream must have worn off. Now, in the Wilderness, we are tired and hungry. O soul, where art thou?

Depression sinks in. It is lonely and arid in the Wilderness. We know that in the Garden there is an abundance of fulfilling things. In the Garden is fame, fortune, and power. In the Garden is sensual pleasures, passionate pastures, and delights for the eyes.

O, to be in the Garden.

As we enter the Garden, we again see the beautiful and inviting creature on the Tree. He assures us that we will not become sick. “Come, eat!” In an instant our soul cries out, “Evil!” Our bodies deny the hearing. Our bodies KNOW better.

Better me, O Garden Tree. Better me, I beg thee ...
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden ...

Sick. Having eaten so much of the Fruit of the Tree in the Garden -- Pride, Anger, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Avarice, and Sloth -- we are sick. The Garden no longer seems so filled with light. We have once again discovered that the fruit which says “Come” speaks a lie.

If this is so, what of the Tree on the Hill?

It seems to be dark, Hell. What of it? Must we go and see?

The man hangs there. Is he dead? Why does he look upon us so?

There is pity and love in his stare. Before we have strength or ability to suppress it, our soul says “Yes!” -- we hear -- and suddenly, we are there, on the Hill, beneath the Tree.

Our eyes of Faith are opened and our spirit soars -- for here on this Tree is the Fruit of Redemption, the First Fruit of God. God Incarnate.

The refreshment of our souls overshadows our bodily lusts and passions. We are at peace.

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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden ...

From where we sit, in the Garden, we can see, off in the distance, the Hill, the Tree, and what appears to be a dying man hanging there. In the Garden, there is light. Yet, as far as we can see, the Hill looks dark and foreboding.

Again, we listen to our soul which seems to long for the Hill. We begin to make our way out of the Garden -- toward the Wilderness -- only to realize that the headway that we make seems to take forever. It seems that we are not moving. Our bodies, our senses, our bellies and tongues begin to scream at us “You hunger! You thirst! Eat of the Tree!.” We begin to question our motives, our movement, the Hill.

As we turn and look back toward the Tree in the Garden, we no longer see PALE GAS, but fruit -- ripe and inviting. There is a lovely creature upon the Tree in the Garden beckoning us to “Come, eat.” We glance toward the Hill -- a dying man upon a Tree covered in darkness. Our body begins to come alive, our soul withers. We turn back, back toward the Tree in the Garden.
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden ...

The fruit that looked so wonderful, so inviting, eventually turned bitter in our bellies. It appealed to our eyes, tongues, and senses. And although our souls said "No," we listened instead to our bodies. Now, with bellies full, we are still not satisfied.

For once, we understand out soul’s definition of the fruits of the Garden’s tree: Pride, Anger, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Avarice, and Sloth ... “Pale Gas.” To us, however, it is familiar fruit. The source of our nourishment. It all seems very natural.

Even silencing our soul seems familiar ... natural.
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I entered college in the fall of 1979. My family had always belonged to the Democratic party. I feared Ronald Reagan. I truly believed that his election meant the beginning of the end of the world. It was the Cold War. Everyone was a bit edgy.

Back in the day, those of us in the dorm played a card game, Rook, every night. (Yes, Mom, every night.) There was a promising rock star who was a favorite on the dorm floor: Prince. Prince's song, "Ronnie Talk to Russia," came to mind yesterday as I watched the news coverage of Ronald Reagan's passing.


Ronnie talk to Russia before it's too late
Before it' too late
Before it's too late
Ronnie talk Russia before it's too late
Before they blow up the world
You go to the zoo, but you can't feed guerrillas
Can't feed guerrillas
Left-wing guerrillas
You can go to the zoo, but you can't feed guerrillas
Who wanna blow up the world

Ronnie if you're dead before I get to meet ya
Before I get to meet ya
Before I get to meet ya
Ronnie if you're dead before I get to meet ya
Don't say I didn't warn ya

Ronnie talk to Russia before it's too late
Before it's too late
Before it's too late
Ronnie talk to Russia before it's too late
Before they blow up the world
Before they blow up the world
Dontcha.
Don't you blow up my world


Back then, all of us believed that World War III was inevitable & soon. When the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, some of us registered as conscientious objectors. Daily, we were reminded of the Cold War dangers that might escalate into the unthinkable.

When it came time to encourage folks to play Rook, I was known for saying, "Come on guys! One day you're gonna be 40 years old, married with children, and wishing you were back in Gardner dorm playing Rook!" Anyway, thinking we were all gonna die, we often partied like it was 1999.

Now having crossed that age marker, I hugged my tearful wife yesterday and explained to our children who Ronald Reagan was. It all seems so long ago. I've yet to want to be back in the dorm, in the Cold War, playing Rook.

I was wrong. With gratitude, I admit I was wrong ... and Ronnie was right.

May God be merciful to him and those who mourn.


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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Wilderness ...

Our mouths are dry, our bellies empty. What shall we do to quench our thirst? To quell our appetites? To refresh our souls?

We stare into the abundant garden. Our eyes receive a feast, our mouths and bellies cry out, "Yes!" And our soul must follow as our feet move toward the Garden. We are hesitant. Yet, remembering the vision of the Hill, our pace is quickened.

The Garden, though seemingly far away, is under our feet in an instant. (Did we move toward it, or it toward us?) A stirring in our soul says, "No." Yet, with eager hands and greedy passion, we pluck from the Tree in the Garden. Our bodies are awakened. O fruit of passion ...
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[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Let us travel into the Wilderness ...

Ahead, through the blinding, haze, nothing appears. All is naught, all is night.

To our left is a garden, an oasis of calm tranquility. It is a beautiful garden. In the middle of the garden stands a tree. It is the most beautiful tree -- tall and strong with abundant fruit.

Ahead is the Wilderness. To our left, the Garden.

When we look opposite the Garden, to the right of the Wilderness, we see a hill, a dark vision of gloom and death. It is ugly and skull shaped. On the top stands a tree. It is the most terrifying tree. Bloody, cross shaped.

Our eyes cannot continue to look upon the hill of doom. For a moment, we again look straight ahead into nothing. Then we find our eyes, slowly at first -- then in a flash -- returning to the beautiful garden. It looks like heaven. For this vision, we are thankful. For the Hill looks like Hell.
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At present, before the day of judgment comes, even though the Spirit cannot dwell within those who are unworthy, He nevertheless is present in a limited way with those who have been baptized, hoping that their conversion will result in salvation.
– St Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit

In Flannery O’Connor’s short story, The Peeler, the main character, Hazel Motes, is on a journey. It’s a spiritual journey which he has confused as a carnal tour. Along the way, he encounters a blind evangelist who sees into his darkened soul.

In the story, Haze happens upon a man hawking potato peelers in downtown Taulkinham. The brown potatoes go into the peeler and come out on the other side, white. (This is key to understanding the story.) In addition to acquiring a shadow, Enoch Emery, at this event, he also witnesses the blind man and a young girl who are handing out “Jesus tracts.” He makes eye contact with the young girl; overhears her offering to buy a peeler for less money; and ends up buying one with change to spare and running after the blind evangelist and girl with peeler in hand and Enoch in tow.

When questioned by Enoch, Haze denies he is following the Jesus freaks. His attraction to them – especially since he wasn’t interested in the tract he was given – is puzzling. When the blind man repeatedly accuses Haze of following him, Haze denies it saying he was following the girl. He gives her the potato peeler. The girl acts ungrateful, the blind man tells her to take the gift. Haze accuses the girl of being a flirt – giving him the “fast eye.” She denies it and complains that Haze tore up his Jesus tract.

While this argument continues, the blind man remains convinced that Haze followed them because he was seeking Jesus. “Listen,” the blind man said, “you can’t run away from Jesus. Jesus if a fact. If you’re looking for Jesus, the sound of it will be in your voice.” Ignoring Haze’s protests, the blind man feels his face and says, “You got a secret need,” the blind man said. “Them that know Jesus once can’t escape him in the end.”

Haze denies it, saying: “I ain’t never known Him.” “You got a least knowledge,” the blind man said. “That’s enough. You know His name and you’re marked. If Jesus has marked you there ain’t nothing you can do about it. Them that have knowledge can’t swap it for ignorance.”

“You’re marked with knowledge,” the blind man said. ‘You know what sin is and only them that know what it is can commit it. I knew all the time we were walking here somebody was following me,” he said. “You couldn’t have followed her. Wouldn’t anybody follow her. I could feel there was somebody near with an urge for Jesus.”

The blind man and the girl continue to try to get Haze to admit his sins, repent, and turn to Jesus. Haze finally jerks his arm away claiming that he is as clean as they are.

“Fornication,” the blind man said. Haze tries to wiggle out of the accusation by claiming that he doesn’t believe in sin.

“You do,” the blind man said, “you’re marked.”

“I ain’t marked,” Haze said, “I’m free.”

“You’re marked free,” the blind man said. “Jesus loves you and you can’t escape his mark.” He then encourages Haze to help them distribute their Jesus tracts at a theater. Instead, Haze ends up ridiculing them to those exiting the show. He eventually says to himself, “I don’t need no Jesus. I got Lenora Watts.” He leaves the evangelists and heads toward his woman with his shadow, Enoch Emory, fast on his heels.

On the way, Emory tries to get Haze to visit some prostitutes. Haze declines claiming he’s already got a woman. Emory then shows Haze the peeler that the girl had ended up giving him, the one Haze had bought for her. Needless to say, the two young men end on bad terms.

As Haze enters the woman’s house, he reflects on his first time with a woman, just last night, wherein he was not very successful. As he undresses, he thinks back to when he was twelve years old and wanted to follow his dad and other men into a carnival tent that was forbidden him. He finally convinced the barker to allow his entrance only to find a mixture of sex and death on display: a nude white woman writhing around in a black covered casket.

After escaping the carny scene, the next woman he sees is his mother. It is evident to her that her boy has seen something scary, vile. She repeatedly questions him, “What have you seen?” He gives no answer. After hitting him with a stick fails to draw a response, she says, “Jesus died to redeem you.”

“I never ast him to,” he muttered.

The next day he took his shoes in secret out into the woods. He never wore them except for revivals and in winter. He took them out f the box and filled the bottoms of them with stones and small rocks and then put them back on. He laced them up tight and walked in them through the woods what he knew to be a mile, until he came to a creek, and then he sat down and took them off and eased his feet in the wet sand. He thought, that ought to satisfy Him. Nothing happened. If a stone had fallen he would have taken it for a sign. After a while he drew his feet out of the sand and let them dry, and then he put the shoes on again with the rocks still in them and he walked a half mile back before he took them off.

Unlike the potato peeler, which rendered brown potatoes white, Haze is learning that life outside of paradise is often complicated by murkiness, grey areas. He cannot help but associate women with sin and death. And, at the same time, he seeks redemption ... all the while participating in sin. Such a vision and activity reads like insanity, but reflects life in practice: reality. Who hasn’t known similar dilimas? We often run from repentance, accountability, God ...
Even before we come to accept accountability for our actions, we are often troubled by what one writer has termed, the “hound of heaven.”

The Hound of Heaven
by Francis Thompson

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

I remember the first time I met with a priest to express my intrest in persuing the priesthood. Breaking the ice, I asked: “So, how did you wind up in those clothes?” “I got tired of running from it,” he replied. I ‘bout fell out of my chair! That was exactly the place I was coming from.

Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat - and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet -
"All things betray thee, who betrayest Me."

All things that are against us – that harm us spiritually – do battle against this “hound” that loves us, persues us. His pursuit is steady, patient, relentless. Why do we run from Him?

(For, though I knew His love Who followèd,
Yet I was sore adread
Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.)

This is the reason: We believe that all that we hold dear will be taken away from us if we succumb to Him. Like Jonah who complained of the Lord’s mercy even as it was saving his life in the bottom of the sea, we are ungrateful – wishing to stay in our sickened state rather than sacrifice our worldly “gains.” And it will ever be so, this flight from Love, until we heed the voice saying:

"Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me."

As St Augustine wrote: "Thou hast created my soul, O God, after Thee, and it is restless until it rests in Thee." We long to fill the emptiness inside with worldly cares and pursuits. Yet, our soul longs for the Lord. That which is lacking is precisely That which pursues us. We resist submission erroneously believing that in so doing we’ll be bereft of all when, in reality, it is the All that we need. Our souls thirst for God.

I’ve been working with addicts in recovery. One of the joys of the job is attending Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meetings. At these gatherings, one hears how personal emptiness was saturated with the vices of addiction: alcohol, drugs. Over and over again one also hears of those in recovery talking about how it was really a spiritual crisis. They needed fulfillment, but it was God that was lacking.

Recovery is a life style and relapse is often part the reality of recovery. Relapse happens. Many a recovering addict has suffered the disappointment of “falling off the wagon” after beginning the recovery process. At the NA meetings they always say, “Keep coming back.” Part of the reason that those who relapse are encouraged to keep returning is that the community gatherings are cathartic and healing rooms. Another big reason is this: recovery messes up your using. Or, to use their vernacular: “NA screws up your using.” Sin is no longer as encouraging once you know the Truth.

Isn’t that what happened with Hazel Motes (whose name, by the way, indicates a blocked or imperfect vision)? He keeps bumping into Jesus, the Peeler, and it messes up his sinning. Isn’t that what keeps the subject of Francis Thomas’s poem running? Isn’t that what keeps each of us struggling toward the Kingdom? We’re all partial to some sin(s). But once we know Christ we can honestly say, “God done messed up my using.”

Keep coming back.
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This is a tragic story ... worth reading (especially for fathers). WARNING: graphic details!

Follow up story.
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