Contentment

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The City of God

  This Sabbath shall appear still more clearly if we count the ages as days, in accordance with the periods of time defined in Scripture, for that period will be found to be the seventh. The first age, as the first day, extends from Adam to the deluge; the second from the deluge to Abraham, equalling the first, not in length of time, but in the number of generations, there being ten in each. From Abraham to the advent of Christ there are, as the evangelist Matthew calculates, three periods, in each of which are fourteen generations,--one period from Abraham to David, a second from David to the captivity, a third from the captivity to the birth of Christ in the flesh. There are thus five ages in all. The sixth is now passing, and cannot be measured by any number of generations, as it has been said, "It is not for you to know the times, which the Father hath put in His own power. " [1700]After this period God shall rest as on the seventh day, when He shall give us (who shall be the seventh day) rest in Himself. [1701]But there is not now space to treat of these ages; suffice it to say that the seventh shall be our Sabbath, which shall be brought to a close, not by an evening, but by the Lord's day, as an eighth and eternal day, consecrated by the resurrection of Christ, and prefiguring the eternal repose not only of the spirit, but also of the body. There we shall rest and see, see and love, love and praise. This is what shall be in the end without end. For what other end do we propose to ourselves than to attain to the kingdom of which there is no end? I think I have now, by God's help, discharged my obligation in writing this large work. Let those who think I have said too little, or those who think I have said too much, forgive me; and let those who think I have said just enough join me in giving thanks to God. Amen. [1690] Ps. lxxxiv. 4. [1691] Numbers. [1692] Lev. xxvi. 12. [1693] 1 Cor. xv. 28. [1694] Or, the former to a state of probation, the latter to a state of reward. [1695] Ps. xlvi. 10. [1696] Gen. ii. 2, 3. [1697] Gen. iii. 5. [1698] Deut. v. 14. [1699] Ezek. xx. 12. [1700] Acts. i. 7. [1701] [On Augustin's view of the millennium and the first resurrection, see Bk. xx. 6-10. --P. S. ]

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Although, as the omnipresent Spirit, God may be worshipped in all places of the universe, which is his temple,684 yet our finite, sensuous nature, and the need of united devotion, require special localities or sanctuaries consecrated to his worship. The first Christians, after the example of the Lord, frequented the temple at Jerusalem and the synagogues, so long as their relation to the Mosaic economy allowed. But besides this, they assembled also from the first in private houses, especially for the communion and the love feast. The church itself was founded, on the day of Pentecost, in the upper room of an humble dwelling. The prominent members and first converts, as Mary, the mother of John Mark in Jerusalem, Cornelius in Caesarea, Lydia in Philippi, Jason in Thessalonica, Justus in Corinth, Priscilla in Ephesus, Philemon in Colosse, gladly opened their houses for social worship. In larger cities, as in Rome, the Christian community divided itself into several such assemblies at private houses,685 which, however, are always addressed in the epistles as a unit. That the Christians in the apostolic age erected special houses of worship is out of the question, even on account of their persecution by Jews and Gentiles, to say nothing of their general poverty; and the transition of a whole synagogue to the new faith was no doubt very rare. As the Saviour of the world was born in a stable, and ascended to heaven from a mountain, so his apostles and their successors down to the third century, preached in the streets, the markets, on mountains, in ships, sepulchres, eaves, and deserts, and in the homes of their converts. But how many thousands of costly churches and chapels have since been built and are constantly being built in all parts of the world to the honor of the crucified Redeemer, who in the days of his humiliation had no place of his own to rest his head!686 § 57. Sacred Times—The Lord’s Day. Literature. George Holden: The Christian Sabbath. London, 1825. (See ch. V.) W. Henstenberg: The Lord’s Day. Transl. from the German by James Martin, London, 1853. (Purely exegetical; defends the continental view, but advocates a better practical observance.) John T. Baylee: History of the Sabbath. London, 1857. (See chs. X. XIII.) James Aug. Hessey: Sunday: Its Origin, History, and Present Obligation. Bampton Lectures, preached before the University of Oxford, London, 1860. (Defends the Dominican and moderate Anglican, as distinct both from the Continental latitudinarian, and from the Puritanic Sabbatarian, view of Sunday, with proofs from the church fathers.) James Gilfillan: The Sabbath viewed in the Light of Reason, Revelation, and History, with Sketches of its Literature. Edinb. 1861, republished and widely circulated by the Am. Tract Society and the "New York Sabbath Committee," New York, 1862. (The fullest and ablest defence of the Puritan and Scotch Presbyterian theory of the Christian Sabbath, especially in its practical aspects.)

• From American Religious History (2001)

  Scope: This course has shown that religion has played a central theme in the development of American society and in shaping its distinctive characteristics. Pluralistic from the first, it became steadily more so, with its original Protestant bodies embracing first Catholics, then Jews, and more recently an array of Asian religions and new forms of spirituality. At the same time, it has tended steadily to become less doctrinal and more ethical and emotional in content. Most striking in comparative perspective is the fact that American religious involvement and commitment did not decline at a time when such declines were the experience of the other Western industrial nations. It proved able to overcome intellectual objections, the growing distractions of a materialistic society, and an intricate dalliance with the political system (never too close, never too remote). Numerous other themes in American religion could be addressed to further enrich this survey given sufficient additional time. Outline I. Many more issues could be examined with unlimited time. A. Sights: America has many ma jestic churches, including the National Cathedral in Washington, DC; Princeton Chapel; St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York; and the National Basilica in Washington, DC, among others. Some very humble places, such as Quaker meeting houses, can also have a significant impact on religious emotions. B. Clothing: Americans dress up out of respect for their religion. The American Easter parade is an example of this. C. Social life: American churches are often places where flirting and courtship take place. D. The unusual: American churches are often forums for unusual events, the study of which can be revealing and rewarding. The Baptist and Mormon baptismal ceremonies are examples. ©2001 The Teaching Company. 99

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Yet his worldly career came to an end, as we shall soon see, and when it did, he did as most others would do: he went home to make the best of things. Even with a worldly career of the sort we have just imagined, it’s likely that he would still have ended, sooner or later, back where he started. In 388, he settled on his family property and lived there without visible hopes or plans for three years. Here is how his first biographer, Possidius, described his intention: And it pleased him, after he had been baptized, to take his friends and neighbors who had joined him in serving god, and go back to Africa, to his own house and lands. When he got there and settled down, for about three years he put aside worldly cares and with those who stayed with him he lived for god, with fasting, prayer, and good works, meditating on the law of god day and night. And whatever god revealed to him as he thought and prayed, he taught to others; with conversation and with books he taught one and all, near and far.14 Many writers have spoken of the Augustine of 388–91 as a monk, or at least a monk-in-all-but-name. That is an anachronism.15 His retirement to the family property was entirely in character and entirely typical. That he chose philosophy over philandering would have puzzled only a few of his neighbors or relatives. In Tagaste, after his time in Italy, he was an oddity, to be sure. No one we can see in Africa of that time at all resembles the gentlemanly Augustine.16 The closest contemporary comparison that presents itself is an unflattering one—to the fractious and obtuse Consentius of Minorca: amateur of theology, self-absorbed, and not much inclined to hear what anybody was saying to him. (We’ll meet him later.) Consentius is in many ways the classical “idiot,” the man living too much on his own and with his own ideas. If Augustine had really succeeded in finding isolation and retirement in Tagaste, he might very well have developed his own quirks and eccentricities. (As though there were not plenty of people to say that the Augustine of Hippo had his share of eccentricities!) But this Augustine is an easy one to imagine—beginning to age, obsessive, not quite in touch with the ideas and issues of his world, but ready to offer an opinion all the same. Instead, he found himself back in the public eye.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  The amphibious quality of the Confessions makes sense in just that context. The book has three main forces running through it: first, the will to affirm the idealized, spiritual religion that he had discovered a decade earlier; second, the need to confront the ambiguities and frustrations of his episcopal position; third, his longing for an appropriate literary and spiritual agenda, for a personal life to accompany his public one. So the book presents different faces: the Plotinian narrative of the ascent of the soul to god from the first page to the middle of the tenth book, a jarringly melancholy assessment of his present status (in the tenth book and the beginning of the eleventh), and then a contemplative effort in books 11, 12, and 13. The result has often baffled scholars seeking a literary unity in it, and though a surface structure can be outlined (as I have done above), the underlying tensions must be recognized and dealt with. One Augustine who emerged, then, was a man who thought he had succeeded in giving order to his life with the writing of his great book. He felt a new literary energy and he had a program. Polemical books flowed easily in the years after 397 against both Manichees and Donatists. First there was a plodding, literal refutation of the doctrines of his old Manichee teacher Faustus, the one who had disappointed him years before. Against the Donatists he produced an equally heavy-footed attempt (Baptism [De baptismo]) to prove the unprovable, that the great martyr bishop Cyprian’s teaching about baptism was more in line with Augustinian than with Donatist teaching. Two ambitious projects carried forward specific lines of meditation opened by the Confessions. The scriptural exegesis of books 11 through 13 turned into an extended meditation on Genesis (Taking Genesis Literally) and the trinitarian images that had preoccupied his quest for his god turned into the project to write an extended work of dogmatic theology (The Trinity).

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  What begins as a history lesson becomes a mystery and then becomes again a reassuring construction of the main messages of Augustine’s church. Fall and redemption, the mixing of the good people and the bad people in this world, and hope of better things to come: the real magic of sermons like this came in three movements. The lector performed the biblical text itself, intoned with power in a solemn and sacred place, rendering homage to its mysteriousness, remoteness, and opacity. Then, by the virtuoso performance of the preacher the text was brought down to earth, given a meaning for the here and now. The sermon ended as reassuringly as an old-fashioned murder mystery, with the good news the audience already knew confirmed once again. Augustine knew how to find his endings with just the right tone, and so he did that day with this one. Here are the last paragraphs of the sermon, typical of Augustine in his church: “And I shall look out for your name, because you are delightful” [Psalms 51.11]. The world is bitter, but your name is delightful. And if there are some sweet things in the world, they are mixed up with the bitter. Your name is preferred not only for its greatness, but for its delightfulness. Unjust men have told me of their delights, but they are not like your law, Master.238 If there weren’t such sweetness, the martyrs wouldn’t have endured such bitter tribulations so calmly. Their bitterness was felt by everybody, but not everyone can easily taste the sweetness. So the name of god is delightful to those who love god above all other delights. Then Augustine echoes the psalm verse again, for effect: “I shall look out for your name, because it is delightful.” And to whom will you show its delights? Give me the palate to sense its delicacy. Praise honey as much as you like, overstate its sweetness with what words you can: a man who doesn’t know what honey is doesn’t know what you’re saying unless he tastes it. So what does the psalm say when it invites you to try it? “Taste and see how sweet is the master.”239 You don’t want to taste it and you say: “It’s delightful? How is it delightful?” If you tasted it, you would find it in your own pleasure, not just in words, no more than you would find it in sprouting leaves—you could deserve to be shriveled up by the master’s curse like that fig tree.240 “Taste,” he says, “and see how sweet is the master.” Taste and see: you’ll see, if you taste. But how will you prove it to a man who doesn’t taste it? By praising the delightfulness of the name of god. Whatever you say, it’s just words: taste is something else. The impious hear the words of his praise, but they don’t taste how sweet he is—only the blessed do that.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Each of the last three books shows us Augustine the bishop, now reformed in the image and likeness of god and well on his way into the boring interim stage of his life, fending off alienation and temptation, with hope of the world to come, contemplating in turns both the divine nature (one mask at a time) and human nature (that is, his own nature in its triple reflection of the divine). And the two draw closer together. The last pages of the text reach the seventh day of Genesis, which is (in Augustine’s interpretation) a figure for the eternal rest of the blessed, the time when all alienation and temptation pass away, all separation is erased, and humankind is reunited with god. That’s the story. We’ve followed it as Augustine wrote it, with the main lines of its theological preoccupations, and it turns out to be what I said: not about Augustine, who keeps fading away like the Cheshire cat (leaving behind not his smile but his preacherly voice), but about god. The human story is gradually erased, with all its confusion and mystery and perplexities and contradictions; and the divine story, serene and bland and bright, emerges behind it. Every story, in this way of reading, turns out to be the same story. Most likely that’s how Augustine wanted his book to be read; and if that were how it had been read for all the centuries since, I dare say it would have few readers, mainly obsessive ones. How has the book survived and thrived, especially in modern times? Let’s go back to the garden scene in the eighth book. No book about Augustine’s life is complete without the author taking the liberty of telling that story again. When Augustine’s best biographer, for example, gets to that point in his narrative of Augustine’s life, he just steps aside and gives us a little over two solid pages of quotation, slightly abridged but otherwise uncommented on, giving the story exactly as Augustine told it.129 Let me try to describe it a little differently, in order to show how the scene works.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  So far, what Nectarius says differs very little from what Augustine will say a few years later in City of God. He continues: This city is to be sought and loved above all, but I still do not think we should abandon the one in which we were begotten and born: the city that first bestowed the gift of light upon us, that nurtured us, that educated us. To come to the point, if we have done well by it, done well by the city of our birth, the most learned men will argue that a home will be prepared for us in heaven after the death of the body as an elevation to higher things. The people who will live with god are those who have made their homeland thrive by their counsel or by their deeds. As for your whimsical remark about how our city is troubled not by weapons but by fire and flame, and produces thorns more than flowers—that’s not the worst criticism to make, for we know that flowers often grow from thorns. It’s true of roses and of heads of grain, that the sweet is often mixed in with the sharp. The last thing you said in your letter was that the church demanded in punishment not heads or blood but the things that people most feared would be stripped from them. In my opinion, if I’m not mistaken, it’s worse to be stripped of your property than to be killed. As you know very well from your reading, the death of bad men takes away their sense entirely, but an impoverished life leads to eternal ruin. For it is worse to live badly than to end with a bad death. You prove this by your own efforts to support the poor, to cure the sick, to take medicine to afflicted bodies: you do this in every way so that the afflicted will not feel the endlessness of their ruin….

• From The City of God

  [1282] John viii. 44. Chapter 14. --Of the Order and Law Which Obtain in Heaven and Earth, Whereby It Comes to Pass that Human Society Is Served by Those Who Rule It. The whole use, then, of things temporal has a reference to this result of earthly peace in the earthly community, while in the city of God it is connected with eternal peace. And therefore, if we were irrational animals, we should desire nothing beyond the proper arrangement of the parts of the body and the satisfaction of the appetites,--nothing, therefore, but bodily comfort and abundance of pleasures, that the peace of the body might contribute to the peace of the soul. For if bodily peace be awanting, a bar is put to the peace even of the irrational soul, since it cannot obtain the gratification of its appetites. And these two together help out the mutual peace of soul and body, the peace of harmonious life and health. For as animals, by shunning pain, show that they love bodily peace, and, by pursuing pleasure to gratify their appetites, show that they love peace of soul, so their shrinking from death is a sufficient indication of their intense love of that peace which binds soul and body in close alliance. But, as man has a rational soul, he subordinates all this which he has in common with the beasts to the peace of his rational soul, that his intellect may have free play and may regulate his actions, and that he may thus enjoy the well-ordered harmony of knowledge and action which constitutes, as we have said, the peace of the rational soul. And for this purpose he must desire to be neither molested by pain, nor disturbed by desire, nor extinguished by death, that he may arrive at some useful knowledge by which he may regulate his life and manners. But, owing to the liability of the human mind to fall into mistakes, this very pursuit of knowledge may be a snare to him unless he has a divine Master, whom he may obey without misgiving, and who may at the same time give him such help as to preserve his own freedom. And because, so long as he is in this mortal body, he is a stranger to God, he walks by faith, not by sight; and he therefore refers all peace, bodily or spiritual or both, to that peace which mortal man has with the immortal God, so that he exhibits the well-ordered obedience of faith to eternal law. But as this divine Master inculcates two precepts,--the love of God and the love of our neighbor,--and as in these precepts a man finds three things he has to love,--God, himself, and his neighbor,--and that he who loves God loves himself thereby, it follows that he must endeavor to get his neighbor to love God, since he is ordered to love his neighbor as himself. He ought to make this endeavor in behalf of his wife, his children, his household, all within his reach, even as he would wish his neighbor to do the same for him if he needed it; and consequently he will be at peace, or in well-ordered concord, with all men, as far as in him lies. And this is the order of this concord, that a man, in the first place, injure no one, and, in the second, do good to every one he can reach. Primarily, therefore, his own household are his care, for the law of nature and of society gives him readier access to them and greater opportunity of serving them. And hence the apostle says, "Now, if any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel. " [1283]This is the origin of domestic peace, or the well-ordered concord of those in the family who rule and those who obey. For they who care for the rest rule,--the husband the wife, the parents the children, the masters the servants; and they who are cared for obey,--the women their husbands, the children their parents, the servants their masters. But in the family of the just man who lives by faith and is as yet a pilgrim journeying on to the celestial city, even those who rule serve those whom they seem to command; for they rule not from a love of power, but from a sense of the duty they owe to others--not because they are proud of authority, but because they love mercy.

• From The City of God

  [1666] VideBook xviii. c. 53. Chapter 26. --That the Opinion of Porphyry, that the Soul, in Order to Be Blessed, Must Be Separated from Every Kind of Body, is Demolished by Plato, Who Says that the Supreme God Promised the Gods that They Should Never Be Ousted from Their Bodies. But, say they, Porphyry tells us that the soul, in order to be blessed, must escape connection with every kind of body. It does not avail, therefore, to say that the future body shall be incorruptible, if the soul cannot be blessed till delivered from every kind of body. But in the book above mentioned I have already sufficiently discussed this. This one thing only will I repeat,--let Plato, their master, correct his writings, and say that their gods, in order to be blessed, must quit their bodies, or, in other words, die; for he said that they were shut up in celestial bodies, and that, nevertheless, the God who made them promised them immortality,--that is to say, an eternal tenure of these same bodies, such as was not provided for them naturally, but only by the further intervention of His will, that thus they might be assured of felicity. In this he obviously overturns their assertion that the resurrection of the body cannot be believed because it is impossible; for, according to him, when the uncreated God promised immortality to the created gods, He expressly said that He would do what was impossible. For Plato tells us that He said, "As ye have had a beginning, so you cannot be immortal and incorruptible; yet ye shall not decay, nor shall any fate destroy you or prove stronger than my will, which more effectually binds you to immortality than the bond of your nature keeps you from it. "If they who hear these words have, we do not say understanding, but ears, they cannot doubt that Plato believed that God promised to the gods He had made that He would effect an impossibility. For He who says, "Ye cannot be immortal, but by my will ye shall be immortal," what else does He say than this, "I shall make you what ye cannot be? "The body, therefore, shall be raised incorruptible, immortal, spiritual, by Him who, according to Plato, has promised to do that which is impossible. Why then do they still exclaim that this which God has promised, which the world has believed on God's promise as was predicted, is an impossibility? For what we say is, that the God who, even according to Plato, does impossible things, will do this. It is not, then, necessary to the blessedness of the soul that it be detached from a body of any kind whatever, but that it receive an incorruptible body. And in what incorruptible body will they more suitably rejoice than in that in which they groaned when it was corruptible? For thus they shall not feel that dire craving which Virgil, in imitation of Plato, has ascribed to them when he says that they wish to return again to their bodies. [1667]They shall not, I say, feel this desire to return to their bodies, since they shall have those bodies to which a return was desired, and shall, indeed, be in such thorough possession of them, that they shall never lose them even for the briefest moment, nor ever lay them down in death.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  We fed the chickens and collected the eggs. We were too late to milk the cow, but we were in time to eat some fresh cream on our breakfast strawberries, which we picked, along with carrots, onions, tomatoes, green beans, corn, and peas. We also dug some spuds and boxed up a few jars of jam and a couple jars of the honey Lola trades eggs to a neighbor for. We mowed the lawn and trimmed it. We cut wood and stacked it. Carla touched me a lot and that reassured me and settled me down. I had gotten pretty excited and nervous thinking about how I could make some moves on her. She was and is more sexually sophisticated than I am. We held hands and walked through the alfalfa to the pond my dad and uncle and cousins had stocked when they were kids. They caught the fish in Gold Creek and ran them down to the pond in buckets. Eastern brook and rainbow grow big in the pond because there’s so much food and no kids to catch them anymore. We sat on the bank and watched the fish and frogs and watersnakes and turtles go on about their business. The pond has grown so green with life I always about half expect to haul in a couple coelacanths or see a trilobite or two squint up at me from the mud. But we didn’t fish. We just talked. We left Lola’s at twilight, promising to come back the next day to drive her to Colville so she could do her shopping. I drove and Carla sat on her side of the seat and looked for deer. She’d seen a DEER CROSSING sign and was determined to spot some. She wasn’t totally ignoring me, though. As I talked about how the deer come out of the woods in the evenings to feed in the fields, every so often Carla would reach over and let her hand rest on my thigh. She didn’t turn to look; she just touched me on the thigh where my jeans were worn thinnest. Sometimes she ran her fingertips along the inseam. Naturally, I had a raging boner. We crossed the bridge over Lake Roosevelt and I looked down, but it had gotten too dark to see the level of the water. We drove south and turned off on the road to the Trout Lake campground. I stopped to wire a big can of beef stew to the exhaust manifold so it would be warm for our dinner. We took off for the campground, and rounding the first curve, we hit a little doe. She must have been standing just on the shoulder of the road, because she jumped square into our right fender. If she’d been very far off the road, she’d have jumped clean over us. It scared Carla because it happened so fast and about two feet from her nose.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  I take the stairs one at a time, clinging to the rail with one hand and to my boots and rucksack and sweats and teeth with the other. My T-shirt sticks so tight it’s epidermal. Sweat drips from my jock and dots the tile. “Look!” Carla points to the kitten. It’s snuggled up to a little teddy bear I won for Carla arm wrestling at the Whitworth College carnival. And it’s nursing, sucking loudly at the fur on the bear’s foot. “It’s nursing!” I exclaim with tired astonishment. “A surrogate mother,” Carla informs me as the kitten slurps away in contented ignorance. Seems to me like pretty aberrant behavior. But “wow” is all I have energy enough to say on the subject for now. “The DeSoto looks beautiful!” I yell from the shower. The old blue-and-gray couldn’t have looked better when it was new over thirty years ago. “Katzen helped me!” I relax against the shower wall, devouring the applesauce that was waiting for me on the scales. It’s cold and good and the water is hot and good. I weigh 148. My teeth are beginning to emerge from the block of ice in the soap dish. I’m glad to be out of school and off work for a while. I try like hell to fill my life with things to do, but sometimes they get to be too much. I smile at Carla’s name for the kitten. To Carla every cat is Katzen and every dog is Doggels-Doggels. She named the teddy bear Bilbo. Carla’s in bed. She’s pillowed up against the headboard, looking awfully comfortable and cozy in her floppy flannel nightgown, reading a little booklet entitled Your New Kitten . Naked, I bend my knees for the vault into bed. “Eeeeeeh!” Carla gives a little scream, tempered by her consideration for Dad sleeping above us. “The Katzen!” she says, lifting kitten and bear from my intended ground zero and placing them at the foot of the bed. I settle in. Carla turns off the light. We cuddle. “We’re going to have a guest for breakfast,” Carla whispers, pointing to the ceiling. “Is she decent?” I ask. “I didn’t see her. Katzen and I were waxing,” she replies. “Thanks for the applesauce,” I say. “It was good.” “You’re welcome,” Carla says. I tug clumsily at Carla’s nightgown. She pulls it off and flings it. The kitten squeaks. I always get a rush at the sight of Carla naked, even when it’s dark and I can’t really see her. I tremble. We make slow love, lying on our sides, tummy to tummy, like old people probably do. We touch and kiss lightly, practicing our tenderness. I hold her bottom so she doesn’t fall away. It’s just a handful. Once, when we’d only made love a few times, just after I’d come Carla asked me what I was thinking.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  I let down the tailgate and shoved the dead deer in with her head hanging out so she wouldn’t drip blood on our stuff when we went downhill. At the campground we gave her to the ranger and I washed Carla’s arm and found out the nearest doctor was back in Kettle. The ranger couldn’t do any more for the cut than I could, but he did promise to hold a camp spot for us if we wanted to come back. Carla said we did and we took off, barreling down the gravel road to the highway. I wanted to get there fast so maybe the doctor could stich the skin back on. It turned out the cut wasn’t very bad after all. The lady doctor just called it a “scrape” and snipped off the flap of skin, cleaned the grit out, and gave Carla a tetanus shot. We talked a little and she gave us Rocky Mountain spotted fever shots for free. We just had to pay for the tetanus toxoid, and it was only $3.50. The ride back to Trout Lake was beautiful. The night was warm and clear. We drove real slow and there were lots of falling stars. When we crossed over to the west side of the river we saw lots of deer and a couple porcupines. When we got to the campground the ranger had the doe dressed out and hanging from a hook at the side of his house. Carla couldn’t use her arm much, so I set up the tent alone. She went right to sleep after we ate the stew, but I talked to some of the folks camping around us, and to the ranger to see if he’d seen anything of my grandpa. I crawled into the tent then and lay for a few minutes on top of my sleeping bag looking at the dark silhouette of Carla lying on her side in her sleeping bag. I reached up and traced along her hip lightly with my finger; then I pulled off my T-shirt and jeans and crawled into the bag, where I fought the desire to beat off until the birds began to sing. Carla got up early and watched some Canadians fish off the bank for a while, she said, before she woke me. I took down the tent, stowed it, fired up the Ford, and headed us for the highway. We were silent for a while, just looking out through the big Ponderosa pines at Trout Lake sparkling in the clear morning. Then I asked, “Carla, did you smell that beautiful smell this morning? I’ve never smelled anything like that in the woods before.” She turned from the window and looked at me, then turned back. “Dip,” she said. “You were sleeping with your nose in my panties. You drooled on them.” “Sorry” was all I could think to say, and we rode in silence to Barney’s Junction for breakfast.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ἤρεμί [Π, Ady. for ἠρέμα, Ar. Ran. 315; cf. ἀτρεμί. ἠρεμία, ἡ, stillness, rest, opp. to κίνησις, -- ἀκινησία, Arist. Phys. 3. 2, 4, cf. 8: 6, 1, Metaph. 1. 7, 4, al. 2. of the mind, rest, quietude, 7p. ψυχῆς Def. Plat. 412 A, cf. Arist. de An. 1. 3, 6; ἐπὶ πολλῆς ἦρ. ὑμῶν leaving you entirely at rest, Dem, 168. 15.—V. sub ἡμερία. ἠρεμίζω, to make still :—Pass. to be still, be at rest, Arist. An. Post. ts B10}, 2 2. to make quiet, ἵππον Xen. Eq. 7, 15, cf. Arist. Eth. E. 2.859: —Pass. to be quiet and calm, Id. Phys. 7. 3, 15, al. τὰ intr. τε ἠρεμέω, Xen. Lac. 1, 3. ἤρεμος, ov, v. ἠρέμα. ἠρεμότηϑ, τος, ἡ, τεἠρεμία, Eucl. Intr. Harm. p. 21 Meib. ἠρεσίδες, ai, priestesses of Hera at Argos, E. M. 436. 49; cf. Miiller Archiol. 4, Kunst. ὃ 69. ἥρευν, Ion. impf. of αἱρέω, Hes. Sc. 302. Ἥρη, lon. for Ἥρα, Hom. ἠρήρει, v. sub ἀραρίσκω 8. ἠρήρειστο, v. sub ἐρείδω. τἥρης, an Adj. termin., 1. from 4/AP (ἀραρ-εῖν, ἀραρ- ioxw) as in é ἐρι-ήρ- nS, θυμαρής. 2. from 4/EP (ἐρέσσω). as in ἀμφ-ήρης, ἁλι-ήρης :---τρι-ήρης, TeTp-Np-ns, etc., are commonly referred to this Root, but Curt. considers these words also to belong to 4/AP, cf. διήρης, Gr. Et. no. 492. ἦρι, Ep. Adv. early, Hom., who j joins it with μάλα, pe μάλ᾽ Il. 9. 360; μάλ᾽ ἦρι Od. 20. 156; Gey δὲ μάλ᾽ ἦρι το. 320. (Curt. regards it as belonging to the Root of ἠώς, ἠέριος, not as dat. of Ap, spring; cf. ἠριγένεια. ) ἦρι- γένεια, ἡ, (pt, γενέσθαι) early-born, child of morn, in Hom. always epith. οὔ “Has; also absol., -- Ἠώς, Morn, Od.22.197., 23. 3473 καθαρᾶς ἅπερ ἠριγεν elas as at clear morn, Theocr. 24. 39; γενέθλιον ἠριγένειαν ἃ birthday morning, Anth. P. 9. 353. 2. in later Ep. a day, Nonn. D. 38. 271, Ὁ. Sm. Io. 478. 11. (jp) bearing in spring λέαινα Aesch. ΕῚ. 357. ἠρι-γενής, € és, = foreg., "Has, Ap. Rh. 2. 450., 3. 1224, etc. ἠρι-γέρων, οντος, 6, early-old, name of groundsel, from its hoary down, Lat. senecio, Theophr. lel Jen 7. 7. τ, Diosc. 4. 97. Ἠρϊδᾶνός, 6, Eridanus, a river famous in the old legends, first in Hes. Th. 338; said to flow into Ocean in the extreme West of Europe, Hadt. 3: 115. Later authors mostly took it for tke Po, as first in Eur. Hipp. 737; others also for the Rhone or the Rhine, and some have even tried to identify it with the Radaune near Danzig, ν. Interpp.ad Hdt. |.c. Ir a river in Attica, Strabo 397, Paus. 655 ἠρι-εργής, 6, a grave-digger, Hesych. ἠριεύς, ews, 6, (ἠρίον) a corpse, Hesych. Ἠρικἄπαϊος or Ἤρικετ--, 6, mystic epith. of Bacchus or Priapus, Orph. Hymn. 6. 4; v. Bentl. Corresp. 1. pp. 14-18, Lob. Agl. p. 479. Hpike, v. sub ἐρείκω. ἠρινο-λόγος, ov, talking in spring, τέττιξ Hesych.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  εὐδοκέω: impf. εὐδόκουν or nvddKour: fut. qow. To be well pleased or content, to acquiesce in a thing, τινὶ Polyb. 2. 38,7; Te LXx; also, with a person, τινι Diod. 17. 47; ἔν τινι 2 Ep. Cor. 12. 10, cf. Ev. Matth. 3. 17; also c. part. to be glad of doing, Polyb. 2. 38, 43 c. inf. to consent to do, Id. 5. 93, 73; ὃ: acc. et inf., to consent that.., 1.8, 4., 7.4, 5. 2. so also in Med, or Pass., εὐδοκεῖσθαι ἐπί τινι 1. ὃ, 4: τινι 3. 31, 6., 27. 3, 5:—absol., εὐδοκήθη prospered, LxX (1 Paral. 29. 23). II. of things, to be well-pleasing or acceptable, τινι to one, Polyb. 20. 5, 10:—also in Med. or Pass. to be approved or accepted, τινι by one, Id. 1. 6, 3, etc.; absol., 1. 71, 3. εὐδόκησις, ews, 4, satisfaction, approval, Diod. 15. 6, etc. εὐδοκητός, 4, dv, well-pleasing, acceptable, Diog. L. 2. 87. εὐδοκία, ἡ, -- εὐδόκησις, C. 1. 5960, often in Lxx and N. T. evSoxipéew: impf. ηὐδοκίμουν Plat. Gorg. 515 E: aor. ηὐδοκίμησα Xen. Cyr. 7. 1, 46, Dem. 7. 20: pf. ηὐδοκίμηκα Ar. Nub. 1031: the augm. is omitted Ion., Hdt. 3. 131., 7. 227, and often in Mss, of Att. writers, as Ar. 1. c., Xen. Hell. 6. 1, 2, etc. To be εὐδόκιμος, to be of good repute, to be held in esteem, to be honoured, famous, popular, Theogn. 587, Eur. Fr.550, Ar.l.c., Lysias173. 40, εἴς. :---εὐδ. ἔν τινι to be distinguished in a thing, Hdt. 1.59, Thuc. 2.37; ἐπὶ copia ἐν πᾶσι τοῖς “EAAnow Plat. Hipp. Ma. 291 A; ἐπί τινος Dem. 1425.53 τι Dio C. 60. 8; περί τι Plat. Rep. 368 A, etc.; ἔς or ἀπό. τινος. Plut. Dio 34, Anth. P. 11. 157, Dio Ὁ. :---εὐδ. μάλιστα τῶν μαθητῶν Plat. Prot. 315 A; so, vd. διὰ πάντων τῶν βασιλέων Hdt. 6. 63 :---εὐδ. παρὰ τῷ βασιλέϊ to have influence with him, Id. 8. 87, cf. 88., 9. 20; παρά τισι εὐδοκιμῶν νόμος Dem. 530. 16 :—later also in Med., Com. Anon, 50 (Diod. 12. 14), Plut. Galb. 16. 2. of wine, meats, etc., to be highly esteemed, εὐδ. σφόδρα Alex. Incert.14; σκῶπες σφόδρα εὐδ., i.e. their flesh, Arist. H.A. 9. 28 :—so of things generally, of εὐδοκιμοῦντες τῶν νόμων Id. Eth. N. 10. 9, 20; of popular arguments, Id. Rhet. 2. 23, 30, al. ΠῈΣ ἡ Med. also, to hold in honour, Diod. 4. 24. εὐδοκίμησις, ews, 7, good repute, reputation, credit, mostly in pl., Plat. Rep. 358 A, 363 A, Luc. Pisc. 25; sing. in Themist. 347 Ὁ. evdonipia, 7,=foreg., Plat. Phileb. 58 Ὁ. εὐδόκἴμος, ov, in good repute, honoured, famous, glorious, στρατιά Aesch. Pers. 857; θάνατος Eur. Heracl. 621; εὐδ. εἴς τι, πρός τι Plat. Apol. 29 Ὁ, Legg. 878 A; ἐπί τινι Plut. Lysand. 22; ἐν πᾶσιν Plat. Legg. 631 B; ἐν τῇ Ἑλλάδι Xen. Mem. 3. 7, I. εὐδοκουμένως, Ady. part. pres. med. of εὐδοκέω, satisfactorily, c. dat., Polyb. 18. 34, Io.

• From Shunned (2018)

  Dad disappeared into his room for a nap, and Ove went out to play golf. The women hung out on the deck, reading whatever books and magazines we’d brought, whiling away the hours until dinner. Mom talked about her work in the insurance agency, and Lory described a recent trip to Denmark to visit Ove’s relatives. Eventually we fell quiet and gazed up to the sky. Lory dozed off. Mom and I went back to reading. As night approached, everyone naturally gathered inside, near the kitchen, drinking wine or beer, laughing, joking as the meal came together. Dad sat at the head of the table; Mom and I were side by side, across from Lory and Ove. Dad asked Ove to say the prayer, and then we reveled in a simple feast of grilled salmon and vegetables. The wine and sun and exercise had finally gotten to me. I was happy, content, noticing everything that was right with that moment. I began to see that Randy’s absence was for the best. Having him, Marlene, and the kids there would have complicated everything. Mom and Dad were less distracted. I was able to have more of their attention. Yes, this was the right group and the right time. We cleared the dishes, then got out the decks of playing cards. “What should we play?” Dad asked, shuffling the first deck. “Hearts,” Lory and I said in unison. Dad had taught us how to play the game when we were little kids, on a family camping trip. Satisfied with the shuffling, he dealt the first hand and then led with a two of clubs. “Smoking out the queen, are we?” I asked. “Maybe, maybe not.” He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. The rest of us were organizing the cards we’d been dealt, reviewing our hands. How auspicious, I thought, that I’d been dealt nothing but hearts and thus had no choice but to lead with one, known in the game as “breaking hearts.” Once you paint a trick like that, you might as well go for it, and after many tense moments, I was able to pull off a slam. “That was too easy,” I said, gathering all the cards to shuffle before the next hand. “What’s wrong with you people?” “Hey, hey,” Dad said, “we’re just getting warmed up. Subtract your points and deal.” By the end of the night, Dad came out the clear winner, with the lowest score. All our boisterous laughter during the game had shaken my tension away. That night I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. I was the first to rise Sunday morning. Don’t chicken out, I thought. I got up and slipped into the quiet kitchen to brew the coffee.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  φάτνη, ἡ, a manger, crib, feeding-trough for horses, ἵππους ἀτίταλλ᾽ ἐπὶ φάτνῃ 1]. 15. 271; [ἵππος] ἀκοστήσας ἐπὶ φ. 6. 506., 15. 263; ἵππους μὲν κατέδησαν... φάτνῃ ἐπ᾽ ἱππείῃ 10. 568; φ. ἐὐξέστῳ 24. 280; ἡ φ. τῶν ἵππων Hdt. 9. 70; so also in Pind. and Att. :—also of oxen, ws τίς τε κατέκτανε βοῦν ἐπὶ φ. Od. 4. 535., 11. 411; hence, 2 βοῦς ἐπὶ ¢., proverb. of ease and comfort, Philostr. 828; also, πλουσίαν φ. ἔχειν Eur. Fr. 379, cf. Strab. 151; ἡ ἐν τῇ φ. κύων ‘the dog in the manger,’ Luc. Tim. 14, cf. Anth. P. 12. 236; θεραπεύειν τὴν φ. τινός to court one who feeds you, Ael. ap. Suid.; τὴν αὐτὴν φ. ζητεῖν to return to their old haunts, Eubul. Incert. 17; ἐμ τῆς αὐτῆς φ. ἐδη- δοκέναι Ib.; for ὄνων φάτνη, v. sub ὄνος V. II. in pl., -- φατνώ- para 1, Diod. 1. 66 :—cf. φάτνιον. (The Hellenist. form was πάθνη, which points to 4/IIAT, πατέομαι, the aspirate being transposed, v. Curt. p. 493.) φατνίζομαι, Pass. to be kept at rack and manger, ἵππος φατνιζόμενος Heliod. 7. 29: for which φατνιστός occurs in Byz. :—also φατνιάξομαι, Aquila V. Τ᾿. φάτνιον, τό, Dim. of φάτνη. II. a socket of a tooth, Galen. : a gum, τὸ ἀνωτέρω φ. (vulg. ἐνδοτέρω) Philo 2. 238: cf. Poll. 2. 93, and φάτνωμα. φατνόω, (φάτνη) to roof or ceil, LXX (3 Regg. 7. 3):—Pass., Ib. (Ezek. 41.15). gatvepa, τό, panelled work in a ceiling, Lat. lacunar, Aesch. Fr. 72; in pl. the panels or compartments in a ceiling, Lat. laquearia, Polyb. 10. 27, 10, Callix. ap. Ath. 196C; φ. ξύλινα C. I. (add.) 3847 m. 11. portholes of a ship, Moschio ap. Ath. 208 B. TIL. -- φάτνιον τι, Eust. 547.4. Cf. Wyttenb. Plut. 2. 227 Ο. φατνωματικός, 7, dv, panelled, Plut. 2.227 Ὁ. φάτνωσι, ews, 9, a ceiling in panels, Symm. V. 'T., Eus. V. Const. 3. 49. Φατνωτός, 7, ov, verb. Adj. panelled, Hesych., Phot. φᾶτός, 7, dv, verb. Adj. of φημί, spoken or that may be spoken, mostly with a negat., οὐ φατός un-speakable, un-utterable, in-effable, Hes. Sc. 230, Pind. O. 6. 62,1. 7 (6): 51; τὸ μὴ φατὸν μηδὲ ῥητόν Plut. 2. 383 A; pleon., κάλλος οὐ φατὸν λέγειν Ar. Av. 1713 ; cf. patevds.—So Adv., ov φάτως, =aparws, Hesych. 2. metaph. zamed, famous, notable, Hes. Op. 3. dares, 4, dv, (4/PA, *pevw) slain, dead, Hesych. φατρία, φατρι-άρχης, v. sub φρατρ-. φάττα, 7, Att. for φάσσα. φαττάγης, ov, 6, supposed to be the pangolin or scaly ant-ealer, manis, Ael. N. A. 16. 6. φάττιον, τό, Dim. of φάττα, Ar. Pl. 1011, Ephipp. “Ov. 1; v. ὑποκορί- Copan 1. 1. φαύζω, acc. to Phot. an Att. form of φώζω, pwyw: hence φαῦσιγξ. φαυλ-επί-φαυλος, ov, bad upon bad, bad as bad can be, Auth. P. τι. 238 :—cf. λεπτεπίλεπτος, παππεπίπαππος. Φαυλία, 7, v. sub φαύλιος. k

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  It’s been a pretty slow night in the dining room. “Merry Christmas, Elmo,” I say, shaking his hand. I’m off for the next week and a half. I arranged it way back when I decided I’d wrestle Shute. “Merry Christmas to you,” Elmo says. I give Sally a peck. “Merry Christmas, Sal!” “Good luck, Louden,” Sally says. XIIIThe asphalt alleys are glazed with ice and shine like new black nylon wrestling shoes. I fall on my ass occasionally. The snow melted from the heat of all the stores and signs and people and cars downtown, but now after the stores are closed it’s freezing again. Riverside and Monroe are both still slushy, though, because of all the kids cruising. But the alleys I run are iced up. Crossing the Monroe Street bridge is a pain. Creeps of all sorts honk and leer and fling ice balls at me. I recognize some David Thompson kids, so I wave. As I run along I wonder where Shute might be now. I know where Shute is: he’s out running up some mountain through heavy snow, ready to pound Christmas out of Santa Claus. I feel good when I cross the bridge. Now I can run down side streets. I crunch crisply through the snowy streets. Peripherally, I see the little chunks of snow fling from my boots. Everywhere the night is brightened by the clean snow. Under the streetlights it sparkles. Colored Christmas lights are a muted glow beneath the snow in hedges and firs. They remind me of Harmoniums—happy glowing little creatures living within the planet Mercury in a Kurt Vonnegut book, The Sirens of Titan . I feel good. The air tastes good. I roll my arms in wide circles from the shoulders and watch the running angel shadow. But there are two. Running footsteps crunch behind me. I stop and turn. Bundled and panting, cap hanging elflike, the Sausage Man stands in a cloud of vapor. He hands me something. It’s a frozen plastic bag. I gape. “Your teeth,” Sausage says. “I’m sorry they froze. I put them in some water like my grandfather does and they froze solid.” Sure enough, there’s my partial plate embedded in a block of ice. “Thanks, Sausage,” I say. “Hope you didn’t get cold or in trouble or anything running out of the locker room that way.” “No sweat,” says the Sausage Man, starting to jog. “The Russian hockey team does that shit all the time.” * * * “How was your run?” Carla asks from the bottom of the basement stairs. “Okay,” I say. “Sausage caught me down by the bridge and gave me back my teeth.” I hold up the plastic bag. “Frozen shrimp?” Carla guesses. “Teeth,” I reply. “He put them in water and they froze. He ran with me up to the park and we meet Kuch and ran three through the snow on the track. I hope Mash doesn’t do him permanent harm.” I’m beat by this time.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  With delicious irony, Luther wrote it at the same time as a letter of “apology” to Pope Leo, and presented the essay as a gift to the Pope along with the letter. Although the treatise is divided into thirty points—the numerals are usually omitted from modern editions in English—it is not so much a sermon as a comforting devotional tract. 52 There is no polemic or aggression. It is deeply musical, and one can almost hear Luther’s voice conversing with the reader. He begins by stating a paradox: “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.” 53 32. Martin Luther, Von der freyheyt eynes Christenmenschen, 1520. How can this be? Luther argues that we have a spiritual and a physical nature, but he does not make this distinction in order to denigrate the flesh. Rather, he argues that the inner man should have faith in God, and we cannot arrive at faith through works of the outer man. What clothes we wear, what regulations we observe—none of it matters and it cannot make us acceptable to God. We are free from doing works. Faith concerns the inner man and—using the simile he had employed to explain the Real Presence—just as the iron becomes red hot, uniting with the flame, so our inner self becomes united with faith and with God. As he continues to describe faith, Luther makes a uniquely sixteenth-century comparison. To believe someone is to consider them to be a pious, truthful person, whose word will always be pious and truthful, “which is the greatest honor which one man can do another.” In the kind of honor society in which Luther lived, and in which one’s word was binding and contracts depended on trust, honor was a fundamental value, an economic as well as a moral quality. The biblical law teaches the outer man just how sinful he is, and this recognition is essential before we can arrive at faith. Nothing, no human act, can be free of what Luther calls sin; we cannot, for example, avoid “evil desires.” This is why good deeds cannot make us pleasing to God. As externals, they cannot enter into the realm of “faith.” Luther’s gloomy assessment of human nature actually leads to an uplifting conclusion: If everything we do is tainted with sin, then it also doesn’t matter; that is just how we are, and we cannot make ourselves godly by trying to pile up good deeds. 54 Throughout the tract Luther uses seemingly simple but powerful words—freedom, faith, honor. The directness of the language allows them to resonate, but they could be understood in a variety of different ways.

• From The Battle for God (2000)

  Liberals and conservatives in the early years of the century were both involved in the social programs of this so-called Progressive Age (1900–20), which attempted to deal with the problems arising from the rapid and unregulated development of industry and city life. Despite their doctrinal quarrels, Protestants in all the denominations were committed to the progressive ideal, and cooperated together in foreign missions and campaigns for Prohibition or improved education. 3 Despite the immense difficulties they faced, most felt confident. America had been “Christianized,” wrote the liberal theologian Walter Rauschenbusch in 1912; it only remained now for business and industry to be transformed by “the thought and spirit of Christ.” 4 Protestants developed what they called the “Social Gospel” to sacralize the Godless cities and factories. It was an attempt to return to what they saw as the basic teachings of the Hebrew prophets and of Christ himself, who had taught his followers to visit prisoners, clothe the naked, and feed the hungry. Social Gospelers set up what they called “institutional churches” to provide services and recreational facilities for the poor and for new immigrants. Liberal Protestants, such as Charles Stelzle, who founded the New York Labor Temple in 1911 in one of the most crowded and desperate neighborhoods in the city, tried to baptize socialism: Christians should study urban and labor problems rather than the minutiae of Bible history, and fight such abuses as child labor. 5 In the early years of the century, conservative Christians were just as involved in social programs as the liberal Protestants; however, their ideology was different. They might see their social crusades as a war against Satan or as a spiritual challenge to the prevailing materialism, but they were just as concerned about low wages, child labor, and poor working conditions as such liberals as Stelzle. 6 Conservatives would later become very critical of the Social Gospel, and would argue that it was pointless to try to save a world that was doomed. Yet in the early years of the century, even such an arch- conservative as William B. Riley, who had founded the Northwestern Bible College in 1902, was willing to work with social reformers to clean up Minneapolis. He could not approve of the methods of such Social Gospelers as Stelzle, who invited Leon Trotsky and Emma Goldman to lecture in his Temple, but conservatives had not yet moved over to the right of the political spectrum, and led their own welfare campaigns throughout the United States. But in 1909, Charles Eliot, professor emeritus of Harvard University, delivered an address entitled “The Future of Religion” which struck dismay into the hearts of the more conservative. This was another attempt to return to a simple core value.