Why Theology Matters

J.S. Mill wrote at the end of the 19th century that, since religious claims cannot be empirically verified, the best public policy option is one of agnosticism and pluralism in public, with piety and conviction being relegated to private life. This has become the prevailing notion in contemporary America.

Alongside Mill's idea has arisen the postmodern idea that truth is relative, and that truth claims are power plays meant to subjugate people. Throughout history, people who claim to know the truth tend to follow Al Capone's famous maxim: "you can get more with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word." Theology, then, on a postmodern account, is just a power play, designed to give an elite class privileged status, or else merely an exposition of one's subjective ideas.

Standing over against this view is the orthodox Christian belief that Truth exists, is knowable, and is communicable. If Truth exists, and if God exists, then Theology is a category of non-fiction; that is, it describes, and attempts to describe accurately, something that actually exists. 

Suppose you were writing a travel guide to a fantasy world. If the world was a product of your own imagination, then by definition whatever you said about it would be true. But if you're describing an actual place, like London, then your descriptions of it are either true or false. The statement "Piccadilly square is painted green" either accurately described Piccadilly square or it doesn't. 

But now suppose that there are no boats capable of bearing us across the Atlantic and so nobody we know has ever been to London. Who can tell us what it's like? 

The book of Job, the earliest book of the Bible, records what mankind has been wondering about God ever since the beginning:

"If only I knew where to find him;
if only I could go to his dwelling!"

"If only there were someone to mediate between us,
someone to bring us together..."

But the gospel of John tell us that even though no one can travel to where God is, there is One who came to tell us everything we need to know:

"No one has ever seen God, but the one and only Son, who is himself God and is in closest relationship with the Father, has made him known."

"No one has seen the Father except the one who is from God; only he has seen the Father."

And in 1 John it all comes together:

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God...this is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins...no one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.

This is how we know that we live in him and he in us: He has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in them and they in God. And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.

God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them." (1 John 4:7-16) 

Jesus claims to bring a firsthand account of London. Should we believe his claims? What should we make of them if we do?

That's Theology, the Queen of the Sciences. And if you've ever caught yourself wondering, "What's the point?" then nothing could be more relevant, or more timely. 

Getting with the Program

Socrates is on the record as having asserted that "the unexamined life is not worth living." One of the reasons for this is that unrealistic ideas can often survive for far too long if they remain insulated from reality. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and the people around us is to reveal to them, gently, the unrealistic nature of their desires. 

When I was a teenager, I wanted nothing more than to drive a Mazda Miata when I got my license. I was on the soccer team and fairly athletic, but I was also 6'1" and 250 lbs, and the Miata, to put it kindly, was not designed with those particular dimensions in mind.  When my dad commented that he wasn't sure it would be big enough, I didn't listen, and after months of pining away over the smooth lines, canvas convertible top, and racing stripe, he finally took me to the Mazda dealership. The salesman didn't do as well as my dad at hiding his good-natured incredulity, and when I finally climbed in, everything became clear. 

My legs were too long to work the pedals (and I couldn't yet drive a manual, to boot), my shoulders were too broad for me to buckle the seat belt, and when I tried to get out, I suddenly understood why ejector seats in airplanes were rocket powered. We almost needed the jaws of life. Needless to say, my dreams had to adjust to reality. There was a period of mourning, as there always is, but in the end I wound up in a Jeep- which, as any Jeep owner will confirm, is always a good decision. 

So what does old Socrates have to do with any of that, you ask? Well, part of examining your life is assessing how realistic your goals are, certainly. Big dudes and tiny cars don't mix. But how do we keep ourselves from despair when a dearly held dream is dashed by the cold smack of reality?

We've all had it happen, and some of us fare better than others. But Christian believers have resources available to them that keep them from giving up hope. Ephesians 2:10 reads: "For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." 

That's an incredible statement. It means that if we'll submit ourselves and 'get with the program', we become part, not only of a cosmic dance that steps through the centuries and connects us to countless generations of believers, but of the consummation of our own story. 

Ask yourself: why would the One who loves you enough to die for you, who formed your innermost being and knit you together in the depths of the earth, make your life's work something with which you are incompatible, or, what's worse, something you hate? Sure, maybe you're stuck for the moment in something lousy, but it's changing you, in ways you'll only recognize much later, into a creature who is better able to reflect the glory of your Creator. Philippians 2:13-16 reads: 

...for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose. Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.”Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky as you hold firmly to the word of life.

Whenever you feel the sting of defeat; whenever the sharp crack of a door slamming shut is ringing in your ears- remember the words of Moses in the desert, the horsemen of Pharaoh in hot pursuit: 

"The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still."

The same spirit that led the heroes of old will lead us, too, and will use the circumstances of our lives, even wicked betrayals and pitiful disasters, to mold us into what we were always meant to be.

"The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it..." for "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever."

What Should I Read?

We've all heard that "you are what you eat," and Jefferson Airplane reminds us to "remember what the dormouse said: feed your head." 

I've heard it said that, in five years' time, a person will be just the same as they are now, except for the people they meet and the books they read. If that's true, then what you feed your head should be chosen with some care, since reading has a direct effect on the way we think, much as food has both an immediate and a long-term impact on the way our bodies feel and function. We find in the book of Proverbs that "as [a man] thinketh in his heart, so is he," and Marcus Aurelius reports in his Meditations that “The mind will be like it’s habitual thoughts; for the soul becomes dyed with the color of your thoughts.” So, if one's reading choices will leave an imprint on one's very soul, then it's important to choose wisely. But how?

Matsuo Basho, a 17th century Japanese poet, gives the following advice: "Do not follow in the footsteps of the old masters. [Rather,] seek what they sought." In other words, we should choose what we read based on what it is that we seek. Want to be knowledgeable in your field? seek out the literature. Want to improve your skills? Seek out books about the things you want to master. You'll get better by the act of adding to your knowledge and contending with a different perspective.

But it goes deeper than that, I think. To know what we seek is one thing, but what is it that we ought to seek? St. Thomas Aquinas, the great Catholic theologian, taught that “Three things are necessary for the salvation of man: to know what he ought to believe; to know what he ought to desire; and to know what he ought to do.” Leave the salvation piece aside for the moment, and notice the three areas of importance: beliefs, desires, and actions. All three shape who we are, and are tremendously important in every area of life, so they can guide our search for what to read.

I'm suggesting here that we allow what we believe, what we want, and what we do determine our reading choices, but the joy of reading is that it becomes a sort of precipitation cycle, in which what you read influences what you think, and that color dyes the soul. 

It's also very important to bear in mind that the soul is nurtured by Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, and, consequently, will begin to wither without them. Be intentional about seeking out what is true, beautiful, and good, and you'll be surprised how much vitality it can add to not only your inner landscape but also to your life and the living of it. 

So, how do we choose what to read?

1. Choose with great care, for you're choosing what stains your soul

2. Choose to expand your knowledge, hone your desires, and empower your actions

3. Actively seek out the true, the good, and the beautiful


I've read some good ones lately. Find my Goodreads profile here.

Book Review: "Can I Know God?" and Other Sermons

"Can I Know God?" and Other Sermons

W.E. Sangster was, I gather, a Methodist minister in Britain with a great deal of homiletical skill, having written several volumes on the subject. There were three things I enjoyed about his book of sermons. 

First, I like reading conservative mainliners. Their liturgy and their traditions give them a sense of grandeur- I think John Piper would call it "earnestness"- that evangelicals often lack, the latter having been brought up in brass and pastels and singing Hillsong and the Newsboys since grade school. That grandeur, combined with a respect for the authority of scripture, is a powerful duo, and can result in some very summoning rhetoric.

Second, I like reading the work of seasoned pastors. D.A. Carson advises that any scholar spend at least some time on the 'front lines' of gospel ministry, and among the reasons why is this: unhelpful or overly lofty theological reasoning doesn't survive contact with a working class congregation for very long, and what remains after the dross is burnt off is good, nourishing broth. 

The English is the British English of the mid-20th century, and is mostly better than ours today, but some allusions and examples sailed right over this American's head. This isn't a book of apologetics, but simple, frank appeals are made for people to come and see what all the fuss about Christ is about for themselves, and that's a good thing. 

Third, the sermons were the perfect length for reading before bed- longer than a one-page devotional, but not so long that there's no hope of finishing before lights out.

Christian Philosophy

In this post and the next few to come I'd like to share a few thoughts on Christian Philosophy. 

Let me begin with this caveat- I was not a stellar student. For one, I came into the Philosophy department having spent the first two years of my college experience as a History major, and so I didn't have as deep or wide a foundation as a student would have who had taken philosophy courses from the word go. For another, I was working full time, and often neglected my studies in favor of my career. Finally, I was an angry young man, and the chip on my shoulder was so large as to sometimes obstruct my view of the page I was reading. Let me also say that, as a mere undergraduate, one ought to read what I'm writing with a grain of salt, at least until I get a few more impressive letters after my name. 

At any rate, I studied Philosophy at UNCG, where I think it's safe to say that there was a majority of professors who were not Christian believers. I didn't get a lot of hostility toward the gospel, aside from the normal antipathy toward the Jerry Falwell/moral majority types that liberal intellectuals love to hate, but I did get a lot of indifference. Where it was discussed in detail, it was recalled as something one struggled with while one was being raised in a Christian home, and which one finally heaved off one's shoulders as he ascended the airy heights of intellectual endeavor. 

Professors being educated in the 1950's, 60's, and 70's have two things going against them in terms of Christian belief, in my opinion: the intellectual climate, and the Christian alternative.

The first is the prevailing intellectual wind at the time, being saturated with the behaviorism of Skinner and Watson on the psychological front and the verificationism (and resulting scientism) of contemporary epistemology and the sciences. 

Behaviorism is the theory that people learn by being conditioned. The most famous instance of this principle comes from Pavlov's experiments on his dogs. Every time he fed them, he would ring a bell. He did this for a length of time and then, one day, rang the bell without feeding them. The dogs had so closely associated the bell with lunch that their mouths began to water without there even being food present. It was taken from this that the brain forms associations between two things, and that what cements that association is pleasure and pain. The result is something called "Conditioning." 

Everyone accepts this, but some people thought that it accounted for EVERYTHING we learn. These people were called Behaviorists. "Give me a child", Skinner famously boasted, "and I'll turn him into a doctor, a lawyer, or whatever you want." One merely had to carefully control the input- after all, garbage in, garbage out.

This view caught on because we had just beaten the Nazi's, who thought that people's value came from their lineage. The intellectuals of the 50's and 60's were still reeling from the horrors of the Holocaust, and the theory that people could be in charge of their own development was a welcome alternative- and so the pendulum swung from nature to nurture (There was a lot of Marxist dialectical materialism in there too, but let's not go there for now).

Verificationism is the belief that it only makes sense to believe something if you can prove it beyond doubt, and the only way to prove something beyond doubt is to prove it by science- that is, using the five senses to do experiments which produce predictable and reproducible results. Since religious claims can't be submitted to scientific testing, people thought that not only were they wrong, but meaningless.

Just as the parable of the sower illustrates, it would be difficult to believe in the gospel surrounded by such thick brambles as these. But now consider the Christian alternative.

During the 60's, 70's, and 80's, evangelical Christianity was largely confined to fundamentalist circles. An anti-intellectual strain has always existed in the Church and has been combated since the early fathers, but as the academy became not only increasingly secularized, which had been happening since the enlightenment and especially since Darwin, but also more and more hostile to theistic belief, the American community of believers became increasingly reactionary, aiming to produce "Christian versions" of the sciences and largely withdrawing from the Philosophical community. Intellectual rigor is often lacking in these separate versions, and many fail to pass what good old Dr. Terrence McConnell called "the straight face test."

The mid-20th century intellectual, therefore, looked at a Christianity which emphatically insisted that to be a good Christian meant puppy-like devotion to things like six literal, twenty-four hour days and a young Earth, and found it profoundly intellectually dissatisfying. 

Consider this exchange between Christian philosopher Dr. William Lane Craig and a questioner. It's a bit long, so bear with me:

The question:

"I really can't see how God would punish me, if I lead a good, honest, a compassionate life but just feel that [naturalism] is the only position that makes sense of the world around me and what I understand about it. This does not seem to me to be worthy of condemnation when I compare my attitude to standards of evidence and investigation to those of some Christians, especially those who hold extremely unreasonably dogmatic positions. If I accept the findings of science, will God punish me but reward those people who reject all scientific evidence and adhere only to scientifically insupportable positions, such as a literal interpretation of Genesis whereby the entire universe was created between 6 and 10 thousand years ago?

I would add to this by saying that many of the advocates of this position, so called Young Earth Creationists, disseminate outright falsehoods and misinformation and everything from astronomy, to geology and biology, any field of science which disagrees with their reading of what they regard as divinely inspired scripture."

To which Dr. Craig responds:

"...at the heart of the Christian doctrine of salvation is God's unmerited grace.

This teaching is obscured today by a sort of cultural Christianity which has shaped American culture. Cultural Christianity teaches that if your good deeds outweigh your bad deeds, then God will forgive your bad deeds and reward you with eternal life in heaven. (How Jesus Christ fits into this picture is unclear—maybe as a living illustration to us of what God is like.) By contrast biblical Christianity teaches that no one is good enough to merit heaven. To be judged on the basis of our deeds would be the worst possible thing that could happen to us, for none of us measures up to God's moral law (perfection)...

So forget about the Young Earth Creationists! Why let them stand between you and God? Why not receive God's transforming grace yourself and then be better than the Young Earthers? You know that I don't hold their views about the age of the universe. Neither do most evangelical Christians, despite the high profile of their movement in churches. So why not become a Christian and then be a better thinker than they are? (In fact, you just might find that God will do a transforming work in your own heart, replacing what seems to be hatred and resentment toward these folks with a genuine compassion for them.)"

So much for the prevalence of atheistic philosophy on contemporary college campuses. I'll follow up soon with some thoughts on my own experience of Christian Philosophy, and how it didn't come together for me until I read the existentialists. 






For the masochists among you who actually want to read further about the subjects I've mentioned, find here some useful links:


The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entries on the subjects:

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/behaviorism/

http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/logical-empiricism/


The exchange between Dr. Craig and the skeptic in its entirety:

Will God's Judgement be more Tolerable for Atheists than for Young Earth Creationists?

We All Matter to Someone

The following is a reproduction of an article of mine that ran in the June 20th, 2014 edition of the Greensboro News and Record:


Know This: We All Matter to Someone

Asked which three words of the English language carried with them the greatest measure of Pathos, I'd wager that the average man on the street would breezily respond with "that's easy-'I love you.'" Allow me to submit an alternative, familiar to anyone who's suffered loss: "now we can't."

"Now" evokes the passage of time, from which none are free, and the point at which we are closest to eternity. "We" is the pronoun of communion, of "I and thou." "Can't", as observed by many a manager and coach, is a seemingly innocuous but ultimately corrosive conversation ender. It stifles debate, and defies reason, because it doesn't come from reason. "Can't" is an emotion, a belief, as is “can”- consider the recent success of "yes, we can!" As a slogan. “Can’t” is informed by experience but is ultimately a condition of the heart, to be overcome only by the will, and the aid of Providence.

I offer this missive in memorandum of my dear friend, who, in the cosmic equivalent of taking his ball home because he didn't want to play anymore, took his own life in June of 2011.

Suicide, like the M*A*S*H* theme says, brings on many changes (though it is indeed not painless). Everything changes, and nothing changes. Author Wendell Barry observed this in a short story in which the reality of a beloved cousin's untimely death is lost on the young protagonist until he saw, hanging on a hook in the barn, the dead boy's coat. This was now a world, he realized (though it had been all along), in which a coat could be hung up and never retrieved; in which people can leave and not come back, and the unthinkable was not impossible. This, in my view, is the loss of innocence, from which many never recover.

Read these words, and really let them sink in. Whether you believe in a morally ordered universe divinely governed, or prefer instead the great purposeless chaos of a cosmic car crash, you matter to someone. Without you, nothing will change- the world will keep on spinning, and the price of tea in China will still fluctuate-but everything will change as well. Everything you could have said, or been, or did, or meant to those around you, would be gone. And that would be tragic.

Fans of "House, M.D." will recall the curmudgeonly doctor's observation that "almost dying changes nothing, but dying changes everything." I almost died of cancer a couple of years ago- allow me to recommend against it if you're given the option- and I can therefore confirm this sentiment. I liked, and continue to like, gummy bears, video games, and making snide remarks, both before and after remission. What has changed, however, is that sense of infinite possibility, the waxy wings with which so many young people fly too close to the sun. The world will get on without me, as it happens, as deflating as that realization was, but without my unique contribution, or yours, which no one can make in our stead, the world will not be what it could be.

Find what you're good at, O reader. Find what brings you joy, and then find out where they meet. Use those gifts to help people, to alleviate their suffering, and to empower them to use their own gifts. Be, in military terms, a force multiplier. "Be the change you wish to see in the world." You can’t relive the past, but here’s what we CAN do: "do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can." People will notice. Because you matter to someone.

Church Time

Columnist Peter Hitchens once remarked that the King James Version of the Bible was written "to be remembered, to lodge in the mind and to disturb the temporal with the haunting sound of the eternal." (Full article here) I share his sentiment about the beautiful, ancient language of that translation, and would add something else to the list: the liturgical calendar.

I first encountered the liturgical calendar at the top of the program I was given as I entered Ebeneezer Lutheran Church on Walker Ave. in Greensboro as a college student. I read that the day I had come was a "Sunday of Epiphany". I had no idea what that meant. Shortly afterward, as soon as I had gotten used to the flow and melodies of a Lutheran service, the music abruptly changed one Sunday as we entered into Lent. Believing I had things down, I sang out confidently the wrong melody and drew some embarrassing attention to myself. 

The idea is that, at different time of the year, Christians focus their energies and attention on different aspects of their spiritual lives. The time we presently find ourselves in is the season of Advent.

Advent is comprised of the four weeks before Christmas. It's a season of expectant waiting. But waiting for what?

Before Christ was born, people who believed in God and trusted Him to fulfill His promises knew that He was sending someone to redeem them from their sins and set things right. Jewish tradition called this person the "Messiah", or anointed one (for an interesting list of predictions concerning the Messiah and their fulfillment, check this out).

I've never really attached any significance to dates. Aside from the avaricious hunger for stuff that I experienced as a kid waiting for Christmas, I don't ever remember eagerly anticipating or reveling in a day simply due to it's occurrence on a calendar. This can be good, for instance, when I don't experience a breakdown on the anniversary of a tragedy, but also dangerous, causing me to be extra diligent to remember my girlfriend's birthday or our anniversary. 

But the liturgical calendar calls me to attend to the realities that shape my existence. Advent is a reminder that a lot of my life is built upon waiting for the things I've been promised. Some passages from Hebrews 10 come to mind:

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds... -Heb 10:23-24

You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised. For, "In just a little while, he who is coming will come and will not delay." Heb. 10:36-37

The life we're called to live is difficult. If the Bible is right, and we're not made to live in this world, then we're called to live somewhere we don't belong, and that's a hard thing. But it won't always be that way. Advent reminds us that waiting is part of life, and also affirms that it's not forever. We will receive that which we patiently seek- for every Advent, there is Christmas. 

"We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!"

-1 Corinthians 13:12The Message (MSG)

Some Reflections on Friendship

I've been blessed with many friends in my life, and during this season of reflecting on the gifts I've been given, I want to talk about the gift of friendship. Aristotle, the Greek philosopher who got the human race started on pretty much everything, somehow found time in his busy schedule to write a treatise on the institution. In it, he describes two tiers of friendship. The first is defined by a series of mutual goals, desires, or interests. A shared love of golf, sports, or music creates pleasure for the interested parties, and a friendship begins. Writer C.S. Lewis opines that "the typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, "What? You too? I thought I was the only one." 

Aristotle believed that there was another level of friendship, as well. While the first one rose and fell along with the interests and goals, and fell away when the mutual desires were met or discarded, the second was characterized by a deep and abiding regard for the well being of the other. This higher friendship wants what is best for the other for their own sake. He also believed that it took a certain kind of person to be capable of this higher form. He called such a person a καλὸς κἀγαθός (kalos kagathos), which means, roughly, "man of wisdom and virtue". 

His point was that it takes someone who is capable of selfless love to love selflessly. But while he believed that such love was off limits to everyone except the very best, I believe that all of mankind is stamped with the image of God, and can, as such, speak the language of love. Anyone who's spent any time with a mother of a newborn can apprehend this. 

I believe that friendship is a gift we're given. Here's Lewis again:

“In friendship...we think we have chosen our peers. In reality a few years' difference in the dates of our births, a few more miles between certain houses, the choice of one university instead of another...the accident of a topic being raised or not raised at a first meeting--any of these chances might have kept us apart. But, for a Christian, there are, strictly speaking no chances. A secret master of ceremonies has been at work. Christ, who said to the disciples, "Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you," can truly say to every group of Christian friends, "Ye have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another." The friendship is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste in finding one another out. It is the instrument by which God reveals to each of us the beauties of others.”  

Let me encourage you to look at the friendships in your own life, and thank God for the people He's brought alongside you. 

What's the Nugget?

It seems to me that what we expect to remember about our lives and what we actually think about when we're reminiscing are usually quite different. A friend of mine once remarked that life is more like a slide show than a news reel, and I'm inclined to agree.

I went hunting with some friends in Virginia once a few years ago. After a harrowing climb up a tree stand with very skinny steps and no rails I sat in the cold and waited for a deer that never came for about three hours. By all accounts the trip was a failure, but about halfway through I heard something behind me so I turned to look. One tree over, maybe about eight feet, was a woodpecker, blissfully unaware of my presence. "Maybe this is it," I thought. "Maybe seeing this bird is the nugget." It turns out that it was.

I'm of the opinion that our lives are ordered in such a way as to provide us opportunities for moral development, and it follows from that that there is something to learn from every situation. for some things, like touching a hot stove, the lesson is immediately clear. For others, like cancer, it's a complicated answer that unfolds over time. But there's a nugget in there somewhere, every time.

It doesn't eliminate the fear and discomfort of life to know that it's possible to grow from everything you do, but it certainly can add some perspective.

Of course, this only works if you think you'll live forever somewhere, and will benefit from those lessons indefinitely.

Just my two cents.

"Air"

I don't have any deep philosophical musings tonight, only a recommendation. I'm posting a link to J.S. Bach's Air (on the G string), presented only with the comment that the soul is nurtured by Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, and that Bach was a devout Lutheran who gave the world much Beauty to be nurtured by.

Air (On the G String)


I also want to present a poem that's come to be meaningful to me, in the hopes that it might speak to someone else as well:

Pablo Neruda

Tu Risa

Your Laughter

Quítame el pan, si quieres, quítame el aire, pero no me quites tu risa

Take the bread from me, if you want take the air from me, but do not take from me your laughter

No me quites la rosa, la lanza que desgranas, el agua que de pronto estalla en tu alegría, la repentina ola de plata que te nace.

Do not take away the rose, the lanceflower that you pluck, the water that suddenly bursts forth in your joy, the sudden wave of silver born in you.

Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo con los ojos cansados a veces de haber visto la tierra que no cambia, pero al entrar tu risa sube al cielo buscándome y abre para mí todas las puertas de la vida.

My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth, but when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me and it opens for me all the doors of life.

Amor mío, en la hora más oscura desgrana tu risa, y si de pronto ves que mi sangre mancha las piedras de la calle, ríe, porque tu risa será para mis manos como una espada fresca.

My love, in the darkest hour your laughter opens, and if suddenly you see my blood staining the stones of the street, laugh, because your laughter will be for my hands like a fresh sword.

Junto al mar en otoño, tu risa debe alzar su cascada de espuma, y en primavera, amor, quiero tu risa como la flor que yo esperaba, la flor azul, la rosa de mi patria sonora.

Next to the sea in the autumn, your laughter must raise its foamy cascade, and in the spring, love, I want your laughter like the flower I was waiting for, the blue flower, the rose of my echoing country.

Ríete de la noche, del día, de la luna, ríete de las calles torcidas de la isla, ríete de este torpe muchacho que te quiere, pero cuando yo abro los ojos y los cierro, cuando mis pasos van, cuando vuelven mis pasos, niégame el pan, el aire, la luz, la primavera, pero tu risa nunca porque me moriría.

Laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon, laugh at the twisted streets of the island, laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you, but when I open my eyes and close them, when my steps go, when my steps return, deny me bread, air, light, spring, but never your laughter for I would die.

- translation by Donald Walsh