Christmas Thoughts on Literary Devices and Why Jesus Came

Christmas Thoughts on Literary Devices and Why Jesus Came

“And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction (oppression), yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher (God).

Let me hear what God the LORD will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his saints; but (then) let them not turn back to folly. Surely his salvation is near to those who fear him, may glory dwell in our land. (When) steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other.” (end quote)

Note: (parentheticals and underlining are mine)

As literary works, these ancient passages from the Old Testament, also called in Hebrew “Tanakh” pronounced [təˈnax]; helped me learn more about writing tools:

·         metaphor, a substitute for perspective;

·         metonymy, a substitute for reduction;

·         synecdoche, a substitute for representation; and

·         irony, a substitute for dialectic.

The metaphor of bread and water represent synecdoche for the bare essentials needed for sustenance. Jesus instructed in the NT that in this godless world, we’d continue to experience difficulties, which indicates to me that tribulation is a basic component of life. But the next sentence from Jesus is an encouragement: “Take heart! I’ve conquered the world.”

During the season of hope that Christians call “Advent”, where hope’s coming to the world is celebrated; the promises of God can be found by listening to God through his Word (metonymy). After this good news above, the prayer is that we’ll not turn back to the folly of the “rat-race” which is the world, then and at this time.

These passages can be used as metaphor in order to gain perspective and not as a tired, dying cliché; like a tutor showing the lesson by using a word picture to bring home the point. I’m encouraged that the Teacher (metonymy) is not hiding, that my eyes have been opened to see God through his Word.

It is a fearful and wonderful thing to be taught at the feet of God, simply by opening his Bible and allowing its glory to shine light into one's circumstances. This is the intersection where steadfast love and faithfulness meet.

The metonymy of such large concepts: righteousness and peace embracing for a kiss, reduces meeting of truth to something loving, human, and simple to conceptualize. Picture the metaphor of the intimate closeness, and the kissing: it’s a story of relational love!

The apostle Luke wrote about Jesus and said, “then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and (Jesus) said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance for the forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.’” 

Jesus' clear instructions are that to hear from God, to learn about the gospel (metonymy), one must try to understand what is written in the Bible about his coming, his life & death, and the meaning of the resurrection; and it should be proclaimed to all nations. As we seek the light of the Scripture, shining into our land, bright with God’s glory; the gospel is the climax of the story, bearing witness to Jesus and his work. This is where the steadfast love of God meets the faith of believers. Merry Christmas. ##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Blogging... Five years in... The Sailboat...

(Dear Reader:)

Keeping a digital diary is very modern, but five years ago, in 2011 I started blogging just to try it out. Not thinking anyone would read my posts, it provided a channel for me to practice writing and find a voice for deeper expression. Also, as the supervisor of school communications, it was an experiment in social media: the Head of School thought Twitter was the coolest thing going, but wouldn't know a "weblog" if it rolled in front of his shiny grey Camry. The New Rostra was my own, and my impression is that many artists don’t create for their audiences until much later in their journey. Blogging allows the writer an intersection of their thoughts and lives; sometimes in juxtaposition, like my partner does here with her art and a diagnosis of breast cancer:

www.theartofcancerblog.wordpress.com

Origins
As I finish 5 and ½ years of blogging and this 142nd post, looking back, I see the same kinds of topics initially placed on the Blogspot® “Profile”: fiction, politics, religion, sports, culture, books, movies, wine, and basic “lifetime” story-telling which has attracted almost 46,000 site visits. Even in today’s fast paced social media society, some of my longest posts are the most clicked; nevertheless I am still surprised when a stranger takes the time to read and comment on what I’ve written. It's fun hitting the “Publish” key after spending time and effort writing a post; however, it is also rewarding to think that a reader out there relates to what you’ve written (agree, disagree, like, dislike, but just read it). This is not a Writer's Manifesto or a Declaration of Blogging Independence, but I'm sure that nowhere else can you sear ideas onto a page like a weblog. Twitter's 140 character limit is a ceiling, a natural filter, so it is on the New Rostra where I explore in depth those thoughts most captivating. 

Building the Machine
Through blogging I’m encouraged to write more, even attempting chapters which might someday be cobbled into a book. There’s a lot of fiction stirring around in my brain if I can ever find time to put it down in short chunks. As I’ve read two (well-known) best-selling authors' latest novels this month, it occurred to me that books are written one chapter at a time, like building a brick wall, brick-by-brick. There’s no magic to it—work is required, and continuity, flow, and character development must be consistent throughout; but a story is made like our lives unfold, one-day-at-a-time. These simple truths do not break any ground to anyone who writes, but blogging reinforces this reality.

Talking w/ Charlie Rose on 11/23/2016, Jon Stewart said about the challenge of developing his long-running Daily Show, which I'm comparing to the art of blogging:

“Would we be able to develop a process, within the inherent juxtaposition of a creative pursuit; which is to say, can we build a machine that is redundant enough, and rigid enough that it can sustain inspiration, improvisation, and creativity?” (end quote)

Dark Doubt
Like a dark enveloping cloud of dense fog, doubt seeps into a writer’s brain, and we tell ourselves there is just no use! No one will read this crap. Who has the time to go to your blog? Aren’t you glad you don’t feed your family doing this? Why would anyone believe anything you put down in writing, who do you think you are?… And so on. Since I’m not trying to leverage my website into advertising income, I don't fight the anxiety of caring (or needing to care) if anyone really visits. If writing posts is my "business", then I’ve lost the love of the work, giving up amateur-status (from Latin amator ‘lover,’ from amare ‘to love.’). Blogging is in some ways about Love. Without being critical of professionals, amateur-status for me, is like the force that makes the sailboat move across the ocean. From tracking site statistics, it is apparent that the more one writes, the more people visit, and the more passionate the topic, the more clicks the post receives. The love of the work, the frequency and passion with which it is done are important, and data has proven this at the New Rostra.

Obstacles
Allow me to admit that sometimes I don't know whether I'm lost or found; I lose the power to write, adrift without creativity (but this is not a investigation into the paradox of "writer's block"). So many topics and issues are on my mind, often I can't sort them out - the cup overflows. With the freedom to sail anywhere across the vast ocean, the writer must not veer off course; but instead, making tacks and turns throughout the plot, one must chart a course and find their destination. Along the way the cutter loses power, “in-irons” as the "doldrums" are called out on the sea. These doldrums, where doubt steals the usefulness of the sails, can only last awhile; soon the writer is back on her way, inspired and moving along with the winds, as if catching one’s breath. As in life, writing is a process, a task, a habit, which must be supported and practiced on a regular basis or it gets atrophied, slow, or even stilled. Doldrums can mean the loss of momentum: even though this blog is a priority, sometimes I can't summon the passion or motivation to write. It's OK to wait, and let curiosity build.

Tomorrow's Sunset
So, as the sun sets on another year of blogging, I'm looking forward to what next year brings?! I'm counting on numerous topics to power the canvas sails. Thank you to the reader, and a salute to all bloggers who think, feel, and post. Keep up the good work... Sail on!

Keeping my tradition of posting a music video to accompany my blog post:

Ben Rector -- "Sailboat"  https://youtu.be/rRyXY4oo21A

This song illustrates the writer's plight, we often feel like a sailboat... 

benrectormusic.com

The New Rostra©Mark H. Pillsbury

Gingrich Is Inspiring—and Disturbing - WSJ.com

Gingrich Is Inspiring—and Disturbing - WSJ.com:

'via Blog this'

Penetrating, sobering, incisive, thoughtful, fascinating, creative, leading-edge, stimulating, charming, and talented political prose about the rise of GOP candidate Newt Gingrich by Wall Street Journal columnist Peggy Noonan.

She continually writes opinions that make me think long and hard about a topic. Thank you Peggy!

Fictional account for Father's Day (or what Hamp and me talk about)

“Daddy, what’s a world-view?”

“What do you mean, Hamp?” he replied, as the wispy hot breeze blew through the car windows.

They idled at a stoplight on Westheimer, Houston’s version of the Sunset Strip, but with more car alarm/stereo shops than tattoo parlors. The weather was actually gorgeous for the wintertime, the week or two every year where is was just as nice here as in LA. Mark looked around the five-lane stoplight crowd and noticed they were the only Anglos waiting for green, in this multi-ethnic melting pot of opportunity fueled by the energy business and supported by massive immigration; Houston stood as an oasis of economic hope in an ocean of recessional despair--many of these commuters were here for one thing only and it wasn’t the weather.

“What that man just said on the radio, about his world-view?”

Hamp added, “Was he talking about what the astronauts see from space?”

“No, son, a world view is how somebody looks at life, sort of like your perspective from your car seat, or how I can see green through these sunglasses.” “Except a world view is deeper than that, really.”

“It means how somebody makes sense of the things that happen to them in their life, and when life goes on almost a hundred years, like say your mommy’s grandmother, Dean; humans see a lot, Hamp, and some of it makes no sense. Like when bad guys do well and there is no Spidey to take them down.”

“Kind of like whether they believe in the Force or not?!” Hampton questioned.

The light turned, but he went on, “You’re right, son, but the Force is in the movies, and a world view is in somebody’s heart.” “You know how the skeleton holds the body together and the muscles and flesh hold onto that?” he asked. “Well, a world view is deeply held inside, and different people grow up into their worldviews, just like a body grows bigger and taller, a lot of it is affected by how they are raised.”

After a quarter mile of silent driving eastbound toward the bright buildings of the Galleria, Hampton finally adjusted in his car seat and blurted out, “but do I choose the worldview, or does the worldview choose me?”

Mark almost hit the brakes to pull over. His son often made profound statements without prompting and it caused dad to feel almost reverent, even fearful, “Man that is a great question!” “Where do you come up with such great ideas son, I want to read what you’re reading?!”

Remember that Mexican hat I showed you from the big telescope picture of the Virgo galaxy, the one that is something like 55 million light years away from earth? How beautiful and majestic it is, and all we can compare it to is a lousy sombrero? [see photo above credit: Barthel/eso.org]

“I thought that was funny!” Hampton giggled.

“People say there is no use in studying what it is like to exist. Some only see what we have on the earth; they feel that we can make telescopes made out of glass that can see things far away, but all there is is the here and now: what we are walking upon, or this car, or the food we ate for breakfast; and when you die it all ends: the world just goes black.”

“What are those people called?” “You know son, forget about memorizing labels or calling people by –isms, just focus on what they think, who they are, and how they look at things, you will be able to keep it all straight when you get to college.”

“There's a world view where people think the human race is all there is; and some people believe that what we see and hear and are taught is only given to us at a particular time, like you did not choose to go to ROE; those folks think that all the stuff we learn is able to change based on time and place.”

He went on, “and some people hold that what is good for you Hampton, is good for you and just because you say it doesn’t mean a thing. What’s good for you is OK for you and what I think is good for me.” “That is said to be relative: like your relatives are yours and my cousins are mine!” Daddy was getting as tangled up as this traffic jam. “Hampton, I feel like you choose your world view. It doesn’t grab you.” “What do you think?”

"I think that sombrero galaxy is out there in space. We can see it! It wasn’t like a drawing in a book. But I can’t touch it, how do I know it is there 55 gillion light years away?" (This was an important intersection).

“How far is a light year, Hampton?” “I don’t know, a long long long way away!” he said. “How long does daddy usually run, when he gets to?” “4 miles” Hampton quickly replied. Do you see the difference? “Could we ever get to that Mexican hat? Even on a spaceship?” daddy pressed. “Probably not.” Hampton replied. “But I still believe it is there…”

“That is called Faith, Hampy” and that is also a world view. “Faith is being sure of something you hope for, convinced of it even though you don’t see it!” Hampton smiled, like he'd heard that before.

Do you think even if you studied real hard at Rice you would be able to find out how that beautiful galaxy was made, Hampton? “Nope.” He replied. “It’s too big, too old, too amazing!” “I would just have to know it’s there.”

“Hampton, who do you think made the whole universe, including that big hat?” he asked.

“God did.” Hampton answered. “He made me too.” “Son, you are just as amazing as that cluster of stars, you are what God looks like to me.” (daddy was starting to grow salty tears in his eyes).

They were finally making their way onto the street of their home, about to turn into the driveway, when Mark continued: “Son, what makes you think God has been special to you?”

“He gave us Jesus,” Hampton responded with joy. “God sent his son;” daddy interrupted, “but I don’t think I could send you Hampy,” “but I’m not Jesus daddy, so I don’t have to!” "He did it."

“Jesus is the way we believe dad, God was so good to make a way for us to come home. Jesus came here; now we can go out towards the sombrero.”

“That makes all the difference, son, he is the way and the difference.” Daddy warmly agreed, and then threw the car into park. “It makes all the difference, Hampy.”

“So that’s a world view?” Hampton finished, and was jumping out of the car.

“Yessiree it is…” “Let’s get some lunch.” “Well done Einstein, you will make a good teacher someday”

Hampton ran up the drive yelling back: “Quarterback, dad!”

(fictional short story composed June 11, 2011)

copyright: Mark H. Pillsbury

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