Grief

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

  The integrity of the supreme seat of Christendom was at stake. A prophetic function superior to the papacy Eugenius III. might recognize, when it was administered in the admonitions of a St. Bernard, but the Florentine prophet had engaged in denunciation even to personal invective. The prophet was losing his balance. On May 12,1497, for "his failure to obey our Apostolic admonitions and commands" and as "one suspected of heresy" Alexander declared him excommunicate. All were forbidden to listen to the condemned man or have converse with him.1191 In a letter addressed a month later "to all Christians, the elect of God," Savonarola again affirmed his readiness to yield to the Church’s authority, but denied that he was bound to submit to the commands of his superiors when these were in conflict with charity and God’s law. "Henceforth," exclaimed the Puritan contemporary, Landucci, "we were deprived of the Word of God." The signory wrote to Alexander in support of Savonarola, affirming his purity of character and soundness of doctrine, and friends, like Pico della Mirandola the younger, issued defences of his conduct. The elder Pico della Mirandola and Politian, both of whom had died a year or two before, showed their reverence for Savonarola by assuming the Dominican garb on their death-beds. At this time, Savonarola sent forth his Triumph of the Cross, in which were set forth the verity and reasonableness of the Catholic faith.1192 After proving from pure reason God’s existence and the soul’s immortality, the work proceeds to expound the Trinity, which is above man’s reason, and articles of the Apostles’ Creed, and to set forth the superior excellency of the lives of Christians, on which much stress is laid. It closes with a confutation of Mohammedanism and other false forms of religion. Savonarola kept silence in the pulpit and refrained from the celebration of the sacrament until Christmas day of 1497, when he celebrated the mass at St. Mark’s three times. On the 11th of February, he stood again in the pulpit of the duomo. To a vast concourse he represented the priest as merely an instrument of the Almighty and, when God withdraws His presence, prelate and pope are but as "a broken iron tool." "And, if a prelate commands what is contrary to godly living and charity, he is not only not to be obeyed but deserves to be anathema." On another occasion, he said that not only may the pope be led into error by false reports but also by his own badness, as was the case with Boniface VIII. who was a wicked pope, beginning his pontificate like a fox and ending it like a dog.1193 Many, through reverence for the Church, kept away from Savonarola’s preaching from this time on. Among these was the faithful Landucci, who says, "whether justly or unjustly, I was among those who did not go.

• From How to Read the Bible and Still Be a Christian (2015)

  The unequal struggle awaits you now. The skirmish from which there is no escape awaits you now. Even though the Gods consult together about him, review his heroic exploits, and ponder making him an exception, nothing can save Gilgamesh. The only human granted immortality is the flood hero, Ziudsura (Sumer’s Noah), because he had saved life on Earth in his great boat. There can be no other exceptions—not even for Gilgamesh. In the lament section, all of that is repeated but with emphasis on the contrast between even the most absolutely extraordinary life and an absolutely ordinary death: The great wild bull has lain down and is never to rise again. Lord Gilgamesh has lain down and is never to rise again. He who was unique in . . . has lain down and is never to rise again. The hero fitted out with a shoulder-belt has lain down and is never to rise again. He who was unique in strength has lain down and is never to rise again. He who diminished wickedness has lain down and is never to rise again. He who spoke most wisely has lain down and is never to rise again. The plunderer (?) of many countries has lain down and is never to rise again. He who knew how to climb the mountains has lain down and is never to rise again. The lord of Kulaba has lain down and is never to rise again. He has lain down on his death-bed and is never to rise again. He has lain down on a couch of sighs and is never to rise again. These motifs of dream and lament already contain the core problem of the later Epic of Gilgamesh: the challenge of human mortality, especially as personified in the hero who lives an extraordinary life but dies an ordinary death—just like everyone else. It is probable, by the way, that those various Sumerian stories were integrated into an overarching epic only as the non-Semitic Sumerian language gave way to the Semitic Akkadian language and its twin dialects of Babylonian and Assyrian. Be that as it may, and granted at least its Sumerian bases, I turn now to look at the Epic of Gilgamesh or, to name it more accurately, the Epic of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. That great epic, that base narrative for entertainment and education from the Persian Gulf to the Levantine coast, is my matrix in this chapter for correctly understanding Genesis 2–3. The epic is extant today in two major versions. The earlier Babylonian version dates to around 2000 BCE and derives from four tablets preserved in separate museums around the world.

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  “Maya, if you want to leave now, come on. I'll take care of you.” He didn't wait for an answer, but as quickly went back to speaking to his soul. “She won't miss me, and I sure as hell won't miss her. To hell with her and everybody else.” He had finished jamming his shoes on top of his shirts and ties, and socks were wadded into the pillowcase. He remembered me again. “Maya, you can have my books.” My tears were not for Bailey or Mother or even myself but for the helplessness of mortals who live on the sufferance of Life. In order to avoid this bitter end, we would all have to be born again, and born with the knowledge of alternatives. Even then? Bailey grabbed up the lumpy pillowcase and pushed by me for the stairs. As the front door slammed, the record player downstairs mastered the house and Nat King Cole warned the world to “straighten up and fly right.” As if they could, as if human beings could make a choice. Mother's eyes were red, and her face puffy, the next morning, but she smiled her “everything is everything” smile and turned in tight little moons, making breakfast, talking business and brightening the corner where she was. No one mentioned Bailey's absence as if things were as they should be and always were. The house was smudged with unspoken thoughts and it was necessary to go to my room to breathe. I believed I knew where he headed the night before, and made up my mind to find him and offer him my support. In the afternoon I went to a bay-windowed house which boasted ROOMS, in green and orange letters, through the glass. A woman of any age past thirty answered my ring and said Bailey Johnson was at the top of the stairs. His eyes were as red as Mother's had been, but his face had loosened a little from the tightness of the night before. In an almost formal manner I was invited into a room with a clean chenille-covered bed, an easy chair, a gas fireplace and a table. He began to talk, covering up the unusual situation that we found ourselves in. “Nice room, isn't it? You know it's very hard to find rooms now. The war and all ... Betty lives here [she was the white prostitute] and she got this place for me ... Maya, you know, it's better this way ... I mean, I'm a man, and I have to be on my own ...” I was furious that he didn't curse and abuse the Fates or Mother or at least act put upon. “Well”—I thought to start it—“If Mother was really a mother, she wouldn't have—” He stopped me, his little black hand held up as if I were to read his palm. “Wait, Maya, she was right.

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  Momma, always self-conscious at public displays of emotions not traceable to a religious source, told me to come with her and we'd bring the bread and bowls. She carried the food and I trailed after her, bringing the kerosene lamp. The new light set the room in an eerie, harsh perspective. Bailey still sat, doubled over his book, a Black hunchbacked gnome. A finger forerunning his eyes along the page. Uncle Willie and Mr. Taylor were frozen like people in a book on the history of the American Negro. “Now, come on, Brother Taylor.” Momma was pressing a bowl of soup on him. “You may not be hungry, but take this for nourishment.” Her voice had the tender concern of a healthy person speaking to an invalid, and her plain statement rang thrillingly true: “I'm thankful.” Bailey came out of his absorption and went to wash his hands. “Willie, say the blessing.” Momma set Bailey's bowl down and bowed her head. During grace, Bailey stood in the doorway, a figure of obedience, but I knew his mind was on Tom Sawyer and Jim as mine would have been on Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester, but for the glittering eyes of wizened old Mr. Taylor. Our guest dutifully took a few spoonfuls of soup and bit a semicircle in the bread, then put his bowl on the floor. Something in the fire held his attention as we ate noisily. Noticing his withdrawal, Momma said, “It don't do for you to take on so, I know you all was together a long time—” Uncle Willie said, “Forty years.” “-but it's been around six months since she's gone to her rest … and you got to keep faith. He never gives us more than we can bear.” The statement heartened Mr. Taylor. He picked up his bowl again and raked his spoon through the thick soup. Momma saw that she had made some contact, so she went on, “You had a whole lot of good years. Got to be grateful for them. Only thing is, it's a pity you all didn't have some children.” If my head had been down I would have missed Mr. Taylor's metamorphosis. It was not a change that came by steps but rather, it seemed to me, of a sudden. His bowl was on the floor with a thud, and his body leaned toward Momma from the hips. However, his face was the most striking feature of all. The brown expanse seemed to darken with life, as if an inner agitation played under his thin skin. The mouth, opened to show the long teeth, was a dark room furnished with a few white chairs. “Children.” He gum-balled the word around in his empty mouth. “Yes, sir, children.” Bailey (and I), used to be addressed so, looked at him expectantly. “That's what she want.” His eyes were vital, and straining to jump from the imprisoning sockets. “That's what she said. Children.” The air was weighted and thick.

• From The Letter to the Hebrews (The New Daily Study Bible) (2002)

  In fact, in the days when the letter to the Hebrews was written, this very argument would have been considered an exceedingly clever piece of exposition. (2) His second answer goes back to the Hebrew sacrificial system and to Leviticus 17:11: ‘For the life of the flesh is in the blood; and I have given it to you on the altar for making atonement for your lives; for, as life, it is the blood that makes atonement.’ ‘Without the shedding of blood there can be no atonement for sin,’ was actually a well-known Jewish principle. So, the writer to the Hebrews goes back to the inauguration of the first covenant under Moses, the occasion when the people accepted the law as the condition of their special relationship with God. We are told how sacrifice was made and how Moses ‘took half of the blood and put it in basins, and half of the blood he dashed against the altar’ (Exodus 24:6). After the book of the law had been read and the people had signified their acceptance of it, Moses ‘took the blood and dashed it on the people, and said, “See the blood of the covenant that the Lord has made with you in accordance with all these words”’ (Exodus 24:8). It is true that the memory of the writer to the Hebrews, in citing that passage, is not strictly accurate. He introduces calves and goats and scarlet and hyssop which come from the ritual of the Day of Atonement, and he talks about the sprinkling of the tabernacle, which at that time had not yet been built; but the reason is that these things are so much in his mind. His basic idea is that there can be no cleansing and no confirmation of any covenant without the shedding of blood. Why that should be so, he does not need to know. Scripture says it is so, and that is enough for him. The probable reason is that, for the Jews, blood is life, and life is the most precious thing in the world; and people must offer that most precious thing to God. All that goes back to a ritual which is only of historical interest. But, behind it, there is an eternal principle – forgiveness is a costly thing . Human forgiveness is costly. A son or a daughter may go wrong and a father or a mother may forgive; but that forgiveness brings tears, whiteness to the hair, lines to the face, a cutting anguish and then a long, dull ache to the heart. It does not cost nothing. Divine forgiveness is costly. God is love – but he is also holiness . He, least of all, can break the great moral laws on which the universe is built. Sin must have its punishment, or the very structure of life disintegrates.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Shyuzen's father was one of the Lord's hereditary courtiers. He was so outraged by the crime committed against his son that he swore to die by Hara-kiri on the same spot where his son had fallen. His mother also was a favourite of the Princess, the Lord's wife. She used to take part in the Princess's poetical gatherings. All night, with bare feet, she wept and mourned her son's death. She besought the Princess to Comrade-Love of the Samurai punish the murderer, saying: 'If the Lord pardons the murderer, there is no law or justice in the world.' Accordingly the Lord grudgingly resolved to condemn Ukyo to die by Hara-kiri. Shyusaï, who had carried the message to Shyuzen, contrived his own death also. Uneme had at that time received leave of absence from his master to visit his mother at Kanagawa, and did not know that Ukyo had been condemned to death. But Samanosuke wrote to him to say that Ukyo was to kill himself next morning at the Keiyoji temple at Asakusa. Uneme sent Samanosuke his thanks, and hastened at daybreak to the temple without even taking time to bid his mother farewell. As he Stood in the chief entrance to the temple, which was in the form of a low tower, several people Started talking noisily about Hara-kiri. They said: 'Early this morning a young samurai is coming here to kill himself. They say that he is very beautiful. Even an ugly son is dear to his parents; the father and mother of this young samurai will be smitten with despair at realising that so accomplished a son must die. Surely it is a pity to kill such a splendid young man.' Uneme could hardly restrain his tears on hearing these people. The temple quickly filled, and he hid himself behind a door and waited for the arrival of his darling Ukyo. Shortly after, a fine new litter was seen to approach, borne by several men, surrounded by guards. It Sopped opposite the door, and Ukyo descended from it with the utmost calmness. He was wearing a white silk garment embroidered with autumn flowers, having pale blue facings* and a skirt. He Stopped for a moment and looked about him. On the tombs were some thousands of wooden tablets bearing the names of those who were buried there. Among them rose a wild cherry tree with white blossom on the upper branches only. Ukyo looked at the pale, fading flowers, and softly murmured an old Chinese poem: The flowers wait for next Spring, Trusting that the same hands shall caress them. But men's hearts will no longer he the same, And you will only know that everything changes, 0 poor lovers.

• From Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity (2007)

  The untold story behind Gwen’s much-publicized death is that she is only the tip of the iceberg. Gwen’s murder took place in the San Francisco Bay Area, where there are thousands of people who identify as transgender. Keep that in mind every time you walk down the street or flirt with a stranger. A certain percentage of the people you meet either appear to be a sex different from the one they were assigned at birth or identify as a gender different from the one you assume they are. And if this makes you feel uneasy, it is only because you are choosing not to live in reality. It is time to move beyond pseudoliberal sound bites about how we all need to accept people who differ from us. Mere tolerance is insufficient. If we are to learn any lesson from Gwen Araujo’s death, it’s that we each need to take personal responsibility for our own presumptions. We should stop buying into the myth of deception, because the truth is that every day, each of us is guilty of committing countless acts of assumption. 14 Trans-Sexualization I NEVER FULLY APPRECIATED what it meant to be sexualized when I was male-bodied. Back then, I would sometimes overhear men shouting lewd comments at women, or deliberately turning their heads to ogle women as they walked by. At the time, I assumed that the men who committed such acts were simply expressing a form of sexual interest, albeit in a rude and adolescent manner. While other men may have experienced a similar attraction to the woman in question, I thought, most were apparently respectful enough not to vocalize such thoughts publicly. In this sense, catcalls reminded me of those bad teen sex comedies—undoubtedly crude and obnoxious, but relatively harmless. In retrospect, I now realize that this interpretation was largely enabled by the fact that I had not been on the receiving end of such acts before.

• From I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969)

  1 5 LB. CAN OF POWDERED MILK IS WORTH 50¢ IN TRADE 1 5 LB. CAN OF POWDERED EGGS IS WORTH $1.00 IN TRADE 10 #2 CANS OF MACKEREL IS WORTH $1.00 IN TRADE.” And so on. Momma kept her store going. Our customers didn't even have to take their slated provisions home. They'd pick them up from the welfare center downtown and drop them off at the Store. If they didn't want an exchange at the moment they'd put down in one of the big gray ledgers the amount of credit coming to them. We were among the few Negro families not on relief, but Bailey and I were the only children in the town proper that we knew who ate powdered eggs every day and drank the powdered milk. Our playmates' families exchanged their unwanted food for sugar, coal oil, spices, potted meat, Vienna sausage, peanut butter, soda crackers, toilet soap and even laundry soap. We were always given enough to eat, but we both hated the lumpy milk and mushy eggs, and sometimes we'd stop off at the house of one of the poorer families to get some peanut butter and crackers. Stamps was as slow coming out of the Depression as it had been getting into it. World War II was well along before there was a noticeable change in the economy of that near-forgotten hamlet. One Christmas we received gifts from our mother and father, who lived separately in a heaven called California, where we were told they could have all the oranges they could eat. And the sun shone all the time. I was sure that wasn't so. I couldn't believe that our mother would laugh and eat oranges in the sunshine without her children. Until that Christmas when we received the gifts I had been confident that they were both dead. I could cry anytime I wanted by picturing my mother (I didn't quite know what she looked like) lying in her coffin. Her hair, which was black, was spread out on a tiny little white pillow and her body was covered with a sheet. The face was brown, like a big O, and since I couldn't fill in the features I printed MOTHER across the O, and tears would fall down my cheeks like warm milk.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Toshikiyo came back with the incense and censer to Yoshimasa and told his master every detail of the Strange old man. The Shyôgun was greatly intrigued by the Stranger's refinement and had him sought through the whole of Kyoto; but no trace of the old man was found. The Shyôgun was grieved at this, and kept his gift with the utmost care. He named that incense 'The Plover,' and the Strange Story soon spread among his attendants. One of Yoshimasa's pages, the son of a samurai of an Eastern Province, had so beautiful a face that even the flowers of Kyoto grew pale before him. He was one of the Shyôgun's favourite lads. When he saw the censer his countenance changed suddenly, and he was seized with great distress. His name was Gorokitji Sakurai. His closest friend asked him why the sight of the censer had so moved him, but Gorokitji would not open his heart. Now this friend was his very dear lover. His distress finally made Gorokitji ill, and, on his bed, he confided at last in his friend, whose name was Muranosuke Higutji. Gorokitji's voice was weak and shook as he told of his past life and how it was concerned with the censer: 'The owner of this incense was my lover. We loved each other with unchangeable love. But he thought that our love might be harmful to my career, and therefore he left me in that Eastern land and came to Kyoto. But I could not forget him. I followed him here as a page of our master Yoshimasa, hoping and waiting for a blessing of Providence to let me meet him once again. But fortune was not with me. I have met only the censer; I have not met him to whom it belonged, him whom I love.' And Gorokitji wept many bitter tears. Muranosuke was very sorrowful. He was afraid of losing his friend and lover if Gorokitji should die. And yet Gorokitji grew weaker and weaker, until there was no more hope of his living. Then he called Muranosuke to his bedside and said: 'Dear Muranosuke, find that old man after my death and love him in my place. Because you have been my best friend I ask you this unpleasing and indelicate favour. I beg you to perform my last wish, for the love of my soul which is about to leave you. If you refuse it this favour, it will not be able to ascend into Heaven.' This prayer was truly unreasonable, but Gorokitji and Muranosuke were friends and lovers, and were bound to sacrifice their lives for each other. Therefore Muranosuke promised, and Gorokitji could die with a smile. He was mourned and regretted by all his friends, some of whom could not restrain their sobs on seeing his beautiful, lifeless face. His body was burned on the hill Toribe, and only his bones remained as witness to his earthly existence.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  At that time the Lord of the Province of Izumi had a page named Inosuke Murola who was most beautiful and very brave. He was as graceful and delicate as the cherry flower, but his soul was as fearless as the god of war. At first sight you would have taken him for a charming Princess of royal blood. The Lord preferred him to all his other pages. But another page was jealous of the favours shown to Inosuke, and made a completely false and outrageous accusation against him, which he wrote on paper and left in the hall of the palace. The overseer of the palace found the paper and took it to his master, since it was his duty to report even the most insignificant thing to him; and the Lord was furious at his favourite's scandalous behaviour. He was so angry that he dismissed Inosuke from his service, without inquiring whether the accusation were well founded, and banished him from Fushimi without giving him any reason for his disgrace. He ordered his courtiers to keep a Strict watch over him, and not to let him Stir one Step from his house, Inosuke, the victim of false testimony, was confined in a little cottage with his old mother, and was Strictly guarded. The doors were locked, and not even his relatives were allowed to come to see him. His mother and he were completely ignorant of the cause of their disgrace; therefore Inosuke could not commit Hara-kiri, which would otherwise have been the only expedient for a samurai reduced to such a pass. All the servants, anxious for their own interest, abandoned him one after another, fearing to place themselves in the wrong by remaining with a samurai disgraced. Then came times of great hardship for Inosuke and his mother. Grieving for her son's sorrow, she cooked his meals, a thing which she had never done. And her son was pained to see his mother compelled to such base and menial labour. He used to go and fetch water from a well in the garden, and help her in the kitchen. In this miserable manner they dragged on their lives. The days passed, and the months; even the years went by and the Spring seasons returned. Mother and son were astonished by the quick passage of time. Then their means of existence grew scant, and they sold their last possessions. At last they were at the end of their resources.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  O 3 He Followed his Friend into the Other World, after Torturing him to Death N THE SECOND DAY OF THE YEAR THE LORD of the Province Iga dreamed that it snowed, and on the next morning snow began to fall. He said to his attendants: 'It is snowing just as I dreamed last night.' One of the pages, named Sasanosuke Yamawaki, went into another room and brought from it a picture of Fuji Yama by the famous painter Tanyo, and hung it in the recess of the room. The Lord was delighted by this tactful and intelligent action; for to dream that one sees the snow upon Fuji is considered by every superstitious person as a sign of happiness. He compared Sasanosuke's action with that of Seishyônajon, an ancient and famous poetess of the Imperial Court. The Emperor Tjijo had one day asked: 'What will be the appearance of Mount Koro under morning snow?' Then Seishyônajon quickly unrolled the bamboo blind before the north door of the palace. For a great Chinese poet says in one of his poems: You may hear the bells of temple Taiji By raising your head from the pillow, But to see the snows of Mount Koro You must unroll the blind before the door. Sasanosuke had considerable tact and intelligence, and he gave his master great pleasure by imitating this famous lady. From that time he became one of the Lord's favourites. When the Lord departed for Yedo to pay his respects to the Shyôgun, Sasanosuke Stayed in the Province and was free to do as he pleased. One day he went with three other pages to hunt birds in the fields. They walked for a long time without finding even a sparrow for their trouble, and decided to return home. But behind a clump of bamboos there was a hut where the country folk used to shelter their melons from birds and thieves during the summer, and, as the young men passed this, a pheasant flew out from it. With the help of their bamboos the pages caught the bird; and then several more pheasants flew from the hut. The young men were delighted with such a stroke of luck. But one of them was surprised to see so many pheasants, and made his way into the hut. There he saw two men hiding with a big cage full of these birds. He rebuked the men severely.'You are committing a crime against the Lord's law. Do you not know that it is forbidden by edict for a man of the people to catch birds?' While he was questioning the men, one of them escaped, hiding his face with his big rush Straw hat. But the other was seized by the pages and Stood in some danger, for the youths were very angry. But Sasanosuke interceded for the wretched man, saying: 'Perhaps these poor fellows caught the birds for food.

• From How to Read the Bible and Still Be a Christian (2015)

  Remember that Mark is writing after the Temple’s destruction, Jerusalem’s devastation, and Israel’s desolation in the war of 66–74 CE . He imagines an earlier choice between two possible saviors. One is the violent freedom fighter called “Barabbas [who] was in prison with the rebels who had committed murder during the insurrection.” The other is the nonviolent Son-of-the-Father named Jesus. Oh, Jerusalem, mourns Mark, you chose the wrong option . As you can see, Barabbas’s followers are arrested with Barabbas, but as mentioned above, Jesus’s followers are not arrested with Jesus. The ultimate difference between Jesus and Barabbas is that between nonviolent resistance and violent rebellion. The second parable creates a conversation between Pilate and Jesus (John 18:36). It is often only half cited, like this: “My kingdom is not from this world.” If you stop there, it could mean that Jesus’s Kingdom is not about this world, but about the next world, the next life, or heaven; not about anything political, but about purely religious matters; not about the external world, but about only the internal spiritual life. But here is Jesus’s full parabolic statement: My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over. . . . But as it is, my Kingdom is not from here. Notice that very deliberate framing structure: “not from this world” and “not from here” mean that Jesus’s followers cannot use violence even to free Jesus from Pilate. The ultimate difference between Jesus and Pilate or between God’s Kingdom and Rome’s Empire is that between nonviolent resistance and violent oppression. Where Are We Now and What Comes Next?ONCE AGAIN, AS ALWAYS , so far on our biblical journey, that rhythm of assertion-and-subversion is very evident. In this chapter, we have seen it operative with regard to the Baptism movement of John. The assertion of the historical John about the imminent advent of God’s Kingdom as a nonviolent liberation akin to that of the return from Babylonian exile in Mark and John was subverted by the divine violence placed on John’s lips in the Q Gospel. How to read John involves seeing that change, accepting his assertion, refusing its subversion, and appreciating the honesty and integrity of a biblical tradition that holds on to both affirmation and negation for our discrimination. Having just seen what happened to John in this chapter, you can probably anticipate what will happen to Jesus in the next one. That will present the greatest challenge in How to Read the Bible and Still Be a Christian. The problem is emphatically not that the historical Jesus was proclaimed as Christ or Son of God by those earliest Christian Jews, but that the nonviolent Jesus became the violent Christ and the violent Son of a violent God.

• From The Letter to the Hebrews (The New Daily Study Bible) (2002)

  (1) He takes the last one first. Jesus did not choose his task; God chose him for it. At his baptism, there came to Jesus the voice which said: ‘You are my son; today I have begotten you’ (Psalm 2:7). (2) Jesus has gone through the most bitter human experiences and understands what it is to be human with all its strength and weakness. The writer to the Hebrews has four great thoughts about him. (a) He remembers Jesus in Gethsemane. That is what he is thinking of when he speaks of Jesus’ prayers and entreaties, his tears and his cry. The word he uses for cry (kraugē) is very significant. It is an involuntary sound, a cry that is uttered in the stress of some tremendous tension or searing pain. So, the writer to the Hebrews says that there is no agony of the human spirit through which Jesus has not come. The Rabbis had a saying: ‘There are three kinds of prayers, each loftier than the preceding – prayer, crying and tears. Prayer is made in silence; crying with raised voice; but tears overcome all things.’ Jesus knew even the desperate prayer of tears. (b) Jesus learned from all his experiences because he met them all with reverence. The Greek phrase for ‘He learned from what he suffered’ is a linguistic jingle – emathen aph’ hōn epathen. And this is an idea which keeps recurring in the Greek thinkers. They are always connecting mathein, to learn, and pathein, to suffer. Aeschylus, the earliest of the great Greek dramatists, had as a kind of continual text: ‘Learning comes from suffering’ (pathei mathos). He calls suffering a kind of savage grace from the gods. Herodotus declared that his sufferings were acharista mathēmata, ungracious ways of learning. A traditional Irish proverb says of the poets: We learn in suffering what we teach in song. God speaks to us in many experiences of life, and not least in those which try our hearts and souls. But we can hear his voice only when we accept in reverence what comes to us. If we accept it with resentment, the rebellious cries of our own hearts make us deaf to the voice of God. (c) By means of the experiences through which he passed, both the Authorized and the Revised Standard Versions say that Jesus was made perfect (teleioun). Teleioun is the verb of the adjective teleios. Teleios can quite correctly be translated as perfect as long as we remember what the Greeks understood by that perfection. In Greek thought, a thing was teleios if it perfectly carried out the purpose for which it was designed. When people used the word, they were not thinking in terms of abstract and metaphysical perfection; they were thinking in terms of function. What the writer to the Hebrews is saying is that all the experiences of suffering through which Jesus passed perfectly fitted him to become the Saviour of the world.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  The Lord at once cut that hand off. Then Korin turned his back to his master and said: 'My back is very beautiful. No other page was as attractive as I am. Look at my beauty before I die.'His voice was weak and low through the mortal pain he was enduring. Then the Lord cut off his head and, holding it in his hands, wept bitter tears for the death of his favourite. The body was buried in the cemetery of the temple Myofukuji. In this temple there was a little pool called' Glory of the Morning.'Korin's short life was like a morning glory. Everybody accused and blamed his cowardly lover, who had remained hidden after his friend's death. They despised him as we despise a Stray dog. But next year, on the fifteenth of January, Sohatjiro killed Shinroku, who had betrayed Korin to the Lord. He cut off his two hands, as the Lord had done to Korin, and finished him by piercing his throat with his sword. He sent Korin's mother into a safe place. Then he went to the cemetery, wrote a memoir in which he recounted his love for Korin and his vengeance against Shinroku, and killed himself by Hara-kiri on his lover's tomb. As he opened his belly, he traced with his knife the armorial bearings of his Korin there. For seven days after his death his friends and admirers loaded his tomb with flowers. Korin and Sohatjiro became an illustrious example of the love of comrades.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Celebrate your separation, but to-morrow without fail, O Shynosuke, avenge your father.' Then Shynosuke brought dishes and cups of wine, and the two rejoiced. The mother slept in the next room, and Senpatji and Shynosuke lay down together. When the woman woke in the morning, they were both silent, lying in the same bed. She called her son: 'Rise up, lazy boy! 'But there was no answer. She went into the room and turned back the blanket which covered them, and saw that Shynosuke had pierced Senpatji's heart with his sword passed through his own breast and out at his back. His mother Stood there for a long time overwhelmed at the sight of these two lovers' bodies, and then, in her sorrow and distress, killed herself in the same room. Surely a sad and a tragic tale.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Therefore Muranosuke promised, and Gorokitji could die with a smile. He was mourned and regretted by all his friends, some of whom could not restrain their sobs on seeing his beautiful, lifeless face. His body was burned on the hill Toribe, and only his bones remained as witness to his earthly existence. After a long and arduous search, Muranosuke at last found the old man, living in a hut with a broken roof and two doors which would hardly shut. It was girt by a low evergreen hedge. On a rainy evening Muranosuke visited him. It had been a dreary, desolate day, and the man had been thinking of Gorokitji; for his love of the youth was so deep that he could not forget him. Muranosuke told him of his friend's death, and the old man was seized with a great despair. He kept on sobbing: 'I would that this news were many times false.' When he was a little calmer, Muranosuke looked at him to tell him of the promise he had given to his dying friend. The old man's face was decomposed and wasted. He was more than sixty years old. To love such a man was very repulsive to Muranosuke. But he had sworn at Gorokitji's death-bed to love the creature in his friend's place, and he was bound by the honour of a samurai to fulfill his promise. So he said to the old man: 'Dear stranger, when our friend Gorokitji was dying, he prayed me to seek you out and love you in his stead. Love me, then, in place of my friend Gorokitji. Let us be lovers.' The old man was greatly surprised by this sudden proposal. He raised his tear-bathed face and answered: 'Your proposition is quite unexpected. I adore my poor Gorokitji, and cannot accept your love. Also I am too old to be your lover. I am touched by your attachment to Gorokitji; but excuse me from accepting this offer.' For a long time he refused, until Muranosuke said to him despairingly: 'I must fulfill my promise to my dead friend. If you refuse to perform his last wish, I have only one way to save my honour as a samurai. I must perform Hara-kiri, for I am not so base as to outlive the breach of a promise.' Then the old man regretfully agreed to accept Muranosuke's love. He was touched by such loyalty, and could not refuse to accomplish the last wish of their beloved Gorokitji, So they vowed a lifelong love and friendship to each other, and Muranosuke visited the old man every evening. When this Story became known, everyone praised Muranosuke's conduct and his loyal passion for the old man. He did not love him, but he kept him as his lover solely to fulfill his promise to Gorokitji.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  I was going to backtrack, to ask him what could be possible. Could I take him with me? Could he ever exist in a desert? But he put his hands over his face and began moaning. “Theo,” I said. He wouldn’t answer me and seemed to be in a trance. It was like he’d become a Siren. As Homer said, the Sirens had gorgeous, melodic voices, but they could also howl with pain and agony. It was not pain as I had romanticized it: him beautifully bereft with aching for me. It was not the Sirens as we humans imagined them, armed with divine power. This was vulnerability, a bit of madness even, and what it revealed was that he truly loved me, and that love could be grotesque. Dominic woke up in the other room and began barking along with Theo’s moaning. “Please calm down,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I told him that maybe I could work something out. Maybe I could stay after all. I hadn’t known how much he cared. But he said it was too late. “You lied to me,” he said. “I was going to keep coming to see you on land. I had even wanted to ask you to come join me under the water, seriously. And here you have been set to abandon me all along.” I didn’t know exactly what “under the water” meant. Was he more delusional than I was? Did he know I couldn’t live under there? “Theo, no, it isn’t like that. I really am in love with you. I want to stay with you forever.” “That you would think of leaving me,” he said. “That you would let me grow so close to you and never tell me it was finite. It breaks my heart. It’s humiliating too.” “I was afraid that if I told you there was an end date you would see me differently. I liked the way you saw me. I didn’t want anything to change. And then it was too late, you knew me the way you knew me. I thought of finding a way to stay in Venice, but I was scared that you would reject me,” I said. “Can you help load me back in the wagon?” he said. “I need to go back to the ocean.” “Wait, can’t you just stay and we will talk it through?” “Just help me. Take me back, please. I’m asking you, help me back to the water.” “I didn’t know you felt that way,” I said. “Didn’t know what? That I loved you? When you said ‘eternal love’ I thought you meant that you wouldn’t leave me ever.”

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

  The order of degradation was carried out by six bishops, who disrobed the condemned man of his vestments and destroyed his tonsure. They then put on his head a cap covered over with pictures of the devil and inscribed with the word, heresiarch, and committed his soul to the devil. With upturned eyes, Huss exclaimed, "and I commit myself to the most gracious Lord Jesus." The old motto that the Church does not want blood—ecclesia non sitit sanguinem — was in appearance observed, but the authorities knew perfectly well what was to be the last scene when they turned Huss over to Sigismund. "Go, take him and do to him as a heretic" were the words with which the king remanded the prisoner to the charge of Louis, the Count Palatine. A guard of a thousand armed men was at hand. The streets were thronged with people. As Huss passed on, he saw the flames on the public square which were consuming his books. For fear of the bridge’s breaking down, the greater part of the crowd was not allowed to cross over to the place of execution, called the Devil’s Place. Huss’ step had been firm, but now, with tears in his eyes, he knelt down and prayed. The paper cap falling from his head, the crowd shouted that it should be put on, wrong side front. It was midday. The prisoner’s hands were fastened behind his back, and big neck bound to the stake by a chain. On the same spot sometime before, so the chronicler notes, a cardinal’s worn-out mule had been buried. The straw and wood were heaped up around Huss’ body to the chin, and rosin sprinkled upon them. The offer of life was renewed if he would recant. He refused and said, "I shall die with joy to-day in the faith of the gospel which I have preached." When Richental, who was standing by, suggested a confessor, he replied, "There is no need of one. I have no mortal sin." At the call of bystanders, they turned his face away from the East, and as the flames arose, he sang twice, Christ, thou Son of the living God, have mercy upon me. The wind blew the fire into the martyr’s face, and his voice was hushed. He died, praying and singing. To remove, if possible, all chance of preserving relics from the scene, Huss’ clothes and shoes were thrown into the merciless flames. The ashes were gathered up and cast into the Rhine. While this scene was being enacted, the council was going on with the transaction of business as if the burning without the gates were only a common event. Three weeks later, it announced that it had done nothing more pleasing to God than to punish the Bohemian heretic. For this act it has been chiefly remembered by after generations.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  The place seemed full of an articulate silence that leapt out shouting from every corner—a jibing, grimacing, vindictive silence. She brushed it aside with a sweep of her hand, as though it were some sort of physical presence. But who was it who brushed that silence aside? Not Stephen Gordon . . . oh, no, surely not . . . Stephen Gordon was dead; she had died last night: ‘A l’heure de notre mort . . .’ Many people had spoken those prophetic words quite a short time ago—perhaps they had been thinking of Stephen Gordon. Yet now some one was slowly climbing the stairs, then pausing upon the landing to listen, then opening the door of Mary’s bedroom, then standing quite still and staring at Mary. It was some one whom David knew and loved well; he sprang forward with a sharp little bark of welcome. But Mary shrank back as though she had been struck—Mary pale and red-eyed from sleeplessness—or was it because of excessive weeping? When she spoke her voice sounded unfamiliar: ‘Where were you last night?’ ‘With Valérie Seymour. I thought you’d know somehow . . . It’s better to be frank . . . we both hate lies . . .’ Came that queer voice again: ‘Good God—and I’ve tried so hard not to believe it! Tell me you’re lying to me now; say it, Stephen!’ Stephen—then she wasn’t dead after all; or was she? But now Mary was clinging—clinging. ‘Stephen, I can’t believe this thing—Valérie! Is that why you always repulse me . . . why you never want to come near me these days? Stephen, answer me; are you her lover? Say something, for Christ’s sake! Don’t stand there dumb . . .’ A mist closing down, a thick black mist. Some one pushing the girl away, without speaking. Mary’s queer voice coming out of the gloom, muffled by the folds of that thick black mist, only a word here and there getting through: ‘All my life I’ve given . . . you’ve killed . . . I loved you . . . Cruel, oh, cruel! You’re unspeakably cruel . . .’ Then the sound of rough and pitiful sobbing. No, assuredly this was not Stephen Gordon who stood there unmoved by such pitiful sobbing. But what was the figure doing in the mist? It was moving about, distractedly, wildly. All the while it sobbed it was moving about: ‘I’m going . . .’ Going? But where could it go? Somewhere out of the mist, somewhere into the light? Who was it that had said . . . wait, what were the words? ‘To give light to them that sit in darkness . . .’ No one was moving about any more—there was only a dog, a dog called David.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  I put my arms around his neck and cried into his fur. Then I ran up the stairs and Dominic, still loyal in spite of everything, followed me up. From upstairs I could see that Theo had made it only halfway to the ocean. I called to him, but he didn’t turn around. When he finally got to the tide, he didn’t climb up onto the rocks, but simply dragged himself into the sea, never once pausing or looking back. Pulling himself across the sand he looked so helpless and pathetic, but as he crawled into the ocean and disappeared, he suddenly seemed so in control of himself. I thought, He is the laws of nature, though I didn’t know what that meant. I ran back down the stairs and over the sand to the water’s edge—Dominic racing behind me. I sat down in the sand and waited. I waited there all night with no blanket, just me in my sundress. I huddled against the dog to keep warm. Once in a while I would call out Theo’s name, but he never came back. 46.By morning I was very sick: in the spirit, the mind, and the body. I couldn’t stay in Venice any longer. Clearly something had gone very wrong, and I was getting worse. Group therapy had only led me to a merman with severe abandonment issues. Fuck this whole situation. I had come here to get away from Jamie, in the hope that the distance would help me recover. Now he was pursuing me and I didn’t even want him anymore. Didn’t that mean my mission was accomplished? Hadn’t I won? It was time to return to Phoenix and claim my prize. I decided to call and tell him the good news. “It’s me,” I said. “I know.” He laughed. “How are you?” “I’m okay. I haven’t heard from you. I’ve been worried.” “I’m sorry. I needed some time to do some thinking.” “Oh yes?” “Yes.” “And what are your thoughts?” “Well, I was wondering first if you are still with—Megan. Or has that already burned out?” “Well, there’s been some complications with that situation, actually.” I knew he would fall out of love fast, but this had ended quicker than I thought. “Oh really?” I said. This was going to be good. “Yes, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this. But I didn’t want to text it to you. And when I wasn’t hearing back I figured I would talk to you in person when you returned.” This was it. He wanted me back. He was leaving Megan for me, he just needed to be sure I still wanted to be with him too before he ended things. Men are cowardly. But I could understand that and had sympathy for him. Five minutes before, I had been lovesick over Theo. The heart contains multitudes. We all need someone in our lives, because ultimately, humans are weak.