Joy

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.

Page 184 of 299 · 20 per page

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  The General Prologue Here bygynneth the Book of the Tales of Caunterbury When the soft sweet showers of April reach the roots of all things, refreshing the parched earth, nourishing every sapling and every seedling, then humankind rises up in joy and expectation. The west wind blows away the stench of the city, and the crops flourish in the fields beyond the walls. After the waste of winter it is delightful to hear birdsong once more in the streets. The trees themselves are bathed in song. It is a time of renewal, of general restoration. The sun has passed midway through the sign of the Ram, a good time for the sinews and the heart. This is the best season of the year for travellers. That is why good folk then long to go on pilgrimage. They journey to strange shores and cities, seeking solace among the shrines of the saints. Here in England many make their way to Canterbury, and to the tomb of the holy blissful martyr Thomas. They come from every shire to find a cure for infirmity and care. It so happened that in April I was lodging at Southwark. I was staying at the Tabard Inn, ready to take the way to Canterbury and to venerate the saint. There arrived one evening at the inn twenty-nine other travellers and, much to my delight, I discovered that they were all Canterbury pilgrims. They came from various places, and from various walks of life, but they all had the same destination. The inn was spacious and comfortable enough to accommodate us all, and we were soon at ease one with another. We shared some ale and wine, and agreed among ourselves that we would ride together. It would be a diversion, a merry journey made in good fellowship. Before the sun had gone down, we had determined to meet at dawn on the following day to make our way along the pilgrims’ road. Before we begin our travels, however, I want to introduce you to the men and women who made up our company. If I describe their rank, and their appearance, you may also acquire some inkling of their character. Dress, and degree, can be tokens of inward worth. I will begin with the Knight. The KNIGHT, as you might expect, was a man of substance and of valour. From the start of his career as a warrior he had fought for truth and honour, for freedom and for dignity. He had proved himself in warfare in many lands; he had ridden through the territories of the Christians and the countries of the infidel, and had been universally praised for his military virtues. He had been present when Alexandria was won from the Turks; he had taken the palm of valour from all the knights of Prussia; he had mounted expeditions in Russia and Lithuania. He had proved himself in Granada and Morocco and Turkey.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  “That’s right,” I said. “Collar got to match the cuffs.” It was a line I’d heard Dinitia use. She smiled at it, and the women all shrieked with laughter. One of the dancers bumped her hip up against me. I felt welcome enough to give a saucy bump back. Dinitia and I stayed in the pool all morning, splashing, practicing the backstroke and the butterfly. She flailed around in the water almost as much as I did. We stood on our hands and stuck our legs out of the water, did underwater twists, and played Marco Polo and chicken with the other kids. We climbed out to do cannonballs and watermelons off the side, making big geyserlike splashes intended to drench as many people sitting poolside as possible. The blue water sparkled and churned white with foam. By the time the free swim was over, my fingers and toes were completely wrinkled, and my eyes were red and stinging from the chlorine, which was so strong it wafted up from the pool in a vapor you could practically see. I’d never felt cleaner. THAT AFTERNOON I WAS alone in the house, still enjoying the itchy, dry feeling of my chlorine-scoured skin and the wobbly-bone feeling you get from a lot of exercise, when I heard a knock on the door. The noise startled me. Almost no one ever visited us at 93 Little Hobart Street. I opened the door a few inches and peered out. A balding man carrying a file folder under his arm stood on the porch. Something about him said government—a species Dad had trained us to avoid. “Is the head of the household in?” he asked. “Who wants to know?” I said. The man smiled the way you do to sugarcoat bad news. “I’m with child welfare, and I’m looking for either Rex or Rose Mary Walls,” he said. “They’re not here,” I said. “How old are you?” he asked. “Twelve.” “Can I come in?” I could see he was trying to peer behind me into the house. I pulled the door all the way closed except for a crack. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t want me to let you in,” I said. “Until they talk to their attorney,” I added to impress him. “Just tell me what it is you’re after, and I’ll pass on the message.” The man said that someone whose name he was not at liberty to disclose had called his office recommending an inquiry into conditions at 93 Little Hobart Street, where it was possible that dependent children might be living in a state of neglect. “No one’s neglecting us,” I said. “You sure?” “I’m sure, mister.” “Dad work?” “Of course,” I said. “He does odd jobs. And he’s an entrepreneur. He’s developing a technology to burn low-grade bituminous coal safely and efficiently.” “And your mother?” “She’s an artist,” I said. “And a writer and a teacher.” “Really?” The man made a note on a pad.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  It has been said that Maurice was chosen to deliver the message to the emperor. I don’t believe it. Aella would not have been so disrespectful as to send a mere child into the presence of the great ruler who has sovereign authority over all Christendom. It is better to suppose that the king himself visited the emperor’s palace. Nevertheless I have read that Maurice was indeed the ambassador. According to the story the emperor graciously accepted the invitation, while all the time studying Maurice intently. The child reminded him of his daughter. Aella, in the meantime, went back to his residence and prepared everything for the banquet in as magnificent a manner as he could. He spared no expense. The day came for the feast. Aella and his dear wife prepared to meet their royal guest, and in joy and festivity rode out together. When Constance saw her father in the street she alighted from her horse and fell to her knees. ‘Father,’ she said, ‘perhaps you have forgotten about your child, Constance. But I am here before you. I am the girl you sent to Syria. I am the one who was dispatched to die alone upon the wide ocean. Now, dear Father, have mercy upon me. Do not banish me to any more pagan lands. But thank my husband for his kindness to me.’ Who could portray the mingled joy and sorrow that now filled the hearts of Constance, Aella and the emperor? I cannot. In any case I must draw to a close. The day is fading fast. I won’t delay. They sat down to dinner. That is all I will say. I won’t begin to describe their happiness, which was hundreds and hundreds of times more joyous than I can possibly relate. In later years the pope crowned Maurice as Holy Roman Emperor in succession to his grandfather. Maurice was a good and devout churchman, and ruled in Christian fashion. I will not tell you his story. I am more concerned with his mother. If you want to learn more about him, then consult the old Roman historians. They will enlighten you further. I am not so well informed. When Aella realized that the time had come, he left Rome and with his beloved wife sailed back to England. In our nation they lived in bliss and comfort. But their happiness lasted for only a short time. The joys of this world do not endure. Life changes, like the tide. After the brightness of the day comes the darkness of the night. Who can be happy even for one day without being moved by anger or by jealousy? Who has not been touched continually by guilt or ill will or resentment? Think about your own life. I tell you this only to reach my conclusion - that the happiness of Aella and Constance could not last for ever.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  I wondered if the welfare agency had found some millionaires to be our foster parents and they had arrived to take us away, but Dad was inside the house, twirling a set of keys on his finger. He explained that the Cadillac was the new official Walls family vehicle. Mom was carrying on about how it was one thing to live in a three-room shack with no electricity, since there was a certain dignity in poverty, but to live in a three-room shack and own a gold Cadillac meant you were bona fide poor white trash. “How’d you get it?” I asked Dad. “One helluva good poker hand,” he said, “and an even better bluff.” We’d owned a couple of cars since we’d been in Welch, but they were true buckets of bolts, with shuddering engines and cracked windshields, and as we drove along, we could see the blur of the asphalt through the rusted-out floor panels. Those cars never lasted more than a couple of months, and like the Oldsmobile we’d driven from Phoenix, we never named them, much less got them registered and inspected. The Coupe DeVille actually had an unexpired inspection sticker. It was such a beauty that Dad declared the time had come to revive the tradition of naming our cars. “That there Caddy,” he said, “strikes me as Elvis.” It crossed my mind that Dad ought to sell Elvis and use the money to install an indoor toilet and buy us all new clothes. The black leather shoes I had bought for fifty cents at the Dollar General Store were held together with safety pins, which I’d tried to blacken with a Magic Marker so you wouldn’t notice them. I’d also used Magic Markers to make colored blotches on my legs that I hoped would camouflage the holes in my pants. I figured that was less noticeable than if I sewed on patches. I had one blue pair and one green pair, so my legs, when I took my pants off, were covered with blue and green spots. But Dad loved Elvis too dearly to consider selling it. And the truth was, I loved Elvis almost as much. Elvis was as long and sleek as a racing yacht. It had air-conditioning, gold shag upholstery, windows that went up and down with the push of a button, and a working turn signal, so Dad didn’t have to stick his arm out. Every time we drove through town in Elvis, I’d nod graciously and smile at the people on the sidewalk, feeling like an heiress. “You’ve got true noblesse oblige, Mountain Goat,” Dad would say. Mom grew to love Elvis, too. She hadn’t gone back to teaching and instead spent her time painting, and on the weekends we began to drive to craft fairs all throughout West Virginia: shows where bearded men in overalls played dulcimers and women in granny dresses sold corncob back scratchers and coal sculptures of black bears and miners.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘You may believe what you like,’ May replied. ‘But a man that is suddenly woken from sleep may not grasp a situation straight away. He has to be perfectly awake before he sees things clearly. You were asleep, in one sense. You were blind. Do you expect to see perfectly the very moment your eyes are opened? You have to wait a day or two. Until your eyesight has settled down, I am sure you will be deceived by other illusions. Be careful, dear husband. Men are fooled by their visions, or their fantasies, every day. He who misunderstands, misjudges.’ And with these words she leaped down from the tree into his arms. Who could be happier than January? He clasped her tight and kissed her all over. He ran his hand against her belly. Then, rejoicing, he walked with her back to the palace. Now, good pilgrims, I hope that you are also content. So ends my story of May and January. God bless you all. Heere is ended the Marchantes Tale of Januarie. The Merchant’s Epilogue ‘God in heaven!’ Harry Bailey exclaimed. ‘Keep me away from a wife like that! Do you realize how many tricks and deceits a woman can use? They are busy as bees, morning and night, trying to fool us. The last thing they want is the truth. The Merchant’s tale proves it. I will tell you plainly. My own wife is faithful to me. I know that. But she is a shrew. She may be poor, but she is rich in insults. She has plenty of other vices, too. Well, I can’t do much about it now, can I? Forgive and forget. But do you know what? Between you and me, I wish that I were not wed to her. Of course I would be a fool to repeat all of her faults. Do you know why? It would get back to her. There would be gossip by one or two members of this company. I do not need to name names. You all know who I mean. Women have a way about them. They know the market for their wares. I haven’t got the wit to carry on with a long story, in any case. Farewell to all that.’ Then he turned in his saddle and addressed another pilgrim. The Squire’s Prologue ‘Squire, come nearer to me. Come. Do us a favour. Tell us a love story. I am sure you are an expert in that field.’ ‘I don’t think so, sir,’ the Squire replied. ‘But I will do my best. I will not disobey your order. I will tell you a story. But don’t think any the worse of me if I mess up. My intentions are good, in any case. Well. Here goes.’ The Squire’s Tale Here bigynneth the Squieres Tale PART ONE

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  Kids from the Tracks came knocking at the door, and when I answered, they asked, “Can your dad come out and play?” Lori, Brian, and I, and even Maureen, could go pretty much anywhere and do just about anything we wanted. Mom believed that children shouldn’t be burdened with a lot of rules and restrictions. Dad whipped us with his belt, but never out of anger, and only if we back-talked or disobeyed a direct order, which was rare. The only rule was that we had to come home when the streetlights went on. “And use your common sense,” Mom said. She felt it was good for kids to do what they wanted because they learned a lot from their mistakes. Mom was not one of those fussy mothers who got upset when you came home dirty or played in the mud or fell and cut yourself. She said people should get things like that out of their systems when they were young. Once an old nail ripped my thigh while I was climbing over a fence at my friend Carla’s house. Carla’s mother thought I should go to the hospital for stitches and a tetanus shot. “Nothing but a minor flesh wound,” Mom declared after studying the deep gash. “People these days run to the hospital every time they skin their knees,” she added. “We’re becoming a nation of sissies.” With that, she sent me back out to play. • • • Some of the rocks I found while I was exploring out in the desert were so beautiful that I could not bear the idea of leaving them there. So I started a collection. Brian helped me with it, and together we found garnets and granite and obsidian and Mexican crazy lace, and more and more turquoise. Dad made necklaces for Mom out of all that turquoise. We discovered large sheets of mica that you could pound into powder and then rub all over your body so you’d shimmer under the Nevada sun as if you were coated with diamonds. Lots of times Brian and I thought we’d found gold, and we’d stagger home with an entire bucketful of sparkling nuggets, but it was always iron pyrite—fool’s gold. Some of it Dad said we should keep because it was especially good-quality for fool’s gold. My favorite rocks to find were geodes, which Mom said came from the volcanoes that had erupted to form the Tuscarora Mountains millions of years ago, during the Miocene period. From the outside, geodes looked like boring round rocks, but when you broke them open with a chisel and hammer, the insides were hollow, like a cave, and the walls were covered with glittering white quartz crystals or sparkling purple amethysts. I kept my rock collection behind the house, next to Mom’s piano, which was getting a little weathered.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  Then all three climbed the stairs to one of the hotel rooms. It was a suite, with a small front room and a bedroom. Dad and Ginger went into the bedroom while Brian stayed in the front room and read his new comic book. Later, when Dad and Ginger came out, she sat down next to Brian. He didn’t look up. He kept staring at the comic book, even though he’d already read it all the way through twice. Ginger declared that she loved Sad Sack. So Dad made Brian give Ginger the comic book, telling him it was the gentlemanly thing to do. “It was mine!” Brian said. “And she kept asking me to read the bigger words. She’s a grown-up, and she can’t even read a comic book.” Brian had taken such a powerful dislike to Ginger that I realized she must have done something more than shanghai his comic book. I wondered if he had figured out something about Ginger and the other ladies at the Green Lantern. Maybe he knew why Mom said they were bad. Maybe that was why he was mad. “Did you learn what they do inside the Green Lantern?” I asked. Brian stared off ahead. I tried to see what he was looking at, but there was nothing there except for the Tuscarora Mountains rising up to meet the darkening sky. Then he shook his head. “She makes a lot of money,” he said, “and she should buy her own darn comic book.” SOME PEOPLE LIKED to make fun of Battle Mountain. A big newspaper out east once held a contest to find the ugliest, most forlorn, most godforsaken town in the whole country, and it declared Battle Mountain the winner. The people who lived there didn’t hold it in much regard, either. They’d point to the big yellow-and-red sign way up on a pole at the Shell station—the one with the burned-out S—and say with a sort of perverse pride, “Yep, that’s where we live: hell!” But I was happy in Battle Mountain. We’d been there for nearly a year, and I considered it home—the first real home I could remember. Dad was on the verge of perfecting his cyanide gold process, Brian and I had the desert, Lori and Mom painted and read together, and Maureen, who had silky white-blond hair and a whole gang of imaginary friends, was happy running around with no diaper on. I thought our days of packing up and driving off in the middle of the night were over. • • • Just after my eighth birthday, Billy Deel and his dad moved into the Tracks. Billy was three years older than me, tall and skinny with a sandy crew cut and blue eyes. But he wasn’t handsome. The thing about Billy was that he had a lopsided head.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  The knight thought about this and could not make up his mind. He sighed, and shook his head, and sighed again. Finally he said, ‘Dear wife, my lady and my love, I put myself in your hands. Choose whichever fate most pleases you. And choose the one most honourable to both of us. I don’t care which way you decide. As long as you want it.’ ‘So am I in control?’ she asked him. ‘May I decide what is best for our marriage?’ ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘That suits me.’ ‘Then kiss me. We no longer need to quarrel. By my oath I will now be both women for you. I will be beautiful and faithful, too. May I die a mad woman rather than let you down! I will be as good and true to you as any wife ever was or ever will be. And that’s not all. In the morning I will be as fair as any lady, empress or queen in the whole world. Do with me what you will. But now just lift up the curtain and look at me.’ The knight was amazed to find her as young and as beautiful as she had promised. He took her up in his arms joyfully, and kissed her a thousand times. True to her word, she obeyed him in everything. She never once displeased him. And so they lived together in peace and harmony for the rest of their lives. God send us all gentle husbands - especially if they are young and good in bed. Pray to God, too, that we women outlive them. Cursed be the men who will not obey their wives. And double curses to mean husbands! That is all I have to say. Heere endeth the Wyves Tale of Bathe [image file=images/ackr_9781101155639_oeb_007_r1.jpg] The Friar’s Prologue The Prologe of the Freres Tale

• From The Case for God (2009)

  The rabbis continued to use terms such as the Glory (kavod), Shekhinah, and Spirit (ruach) to distinguish their inherently limited, earthly experience of God from the ineffable reality itself. Their new spiritual exercises made the divine a vibrant and immanent presence. Exegesis would do for them what yoga did for Buddhists and Hindus. The truth they sought was not abstract or theoretical but derived from the practice of spiritual exercises. To put themselves into a different state of consciousness, they would fast before they approached the sacred text, lay their heads between their knees, and whisper God’s praises like a mantra. They found that when two or three of them studied the Torah together, they became aware of the Shekhinah in their midst.12 One day, when Rabbi Yohanan was studying the Torah with his pupils, the Holy Spirit seemed to descend upon them in the form of fire and a rushing wind.13 On another occasion, Rabbi Akiva heard that his student Ben Azzai was expounding the Torah surrounded by a nimbus of flashing fire. He hurried off to investigate. Was Ben Azzai attempting a dangerous mystical flight to the throne of God? “No,” Ben Azzai replied. “I was only linking up the words of the Torah with one another, and then with the words of the prophets and the prophets with the Writings, and the words rejoiced, as when they were delivered from Sinai, and they were sweet as at their original utterance.”14 As Ezra had indicated so long ago, scripture was not a closed book and revelation was not a distant historical event. It was renewed every time a Jew confronted the text, opened himself to it, and applied it to his own situation. The rabbis called scripture miqra: it was a “summons to action.” No exegesis was complete until the interpreter had found a practical new ruling that would answer the immediate needs of his community. This dynamic vision could set the world aflame. Anybody who imagines that revealed religion requires a craven clinging to a fixed, unalterable, and self-evident truth should read the rabbis. Midrash required them to “investigate” and “go in search” of fresh insight. The rabbis used the old scriptures not to retreat into the past but to propel them into the uncertainties of the post-temple world. Like the Hellenistic philosophers, Jews had started to build an intellectual “bricolage,” creatively reinterpreting the available authoritative texts to carry the tradition forward. But already they had moved instinctively toward some of the great principles that had inspired the other major traditions to find a transcendent meaning amid life’s tragedy. They too now stressed the centrality of compassion and were developing a more interior spirituality.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  Yahweh had brought forth all the birds and animals from the ground to be his companions; there were two sacred trees marking the center of the world—the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil—and there was even a talking snake to initiate him into the secret lore of the garden. But Adam was lonely. So while he was asleep, Yahweh extracted one of his ribs and constructed a female. Adam was delighted: “This-time, she-is-it! Bone from my bones, flesh from my flesh! She shall be called Woman [Isha] , for from Man [Ish] she was taken!” 1 Adam named her Havva (Eve), the “Life-giver.” This immediately recalls the Upanishadic story of the lonely human person who splits in two to become male and female, but it is obviously a Middle Eastern tale and full of traditional motifs: the crafting of adam from clay, the river irrigating the four corners of the earth, the sacred trees and the talking animal. It is a typical lost-paradise myth. Yahweh forbids Adam and Eve to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, the snake persuades them to disobey, and they are cast out of the garden forever. Henceforth they must toil painfully to scratch a living from the hostile earth and bring forth their children in sorrow. Like any myth, its purpose is to help us to contemplate the human predicament. Why is human life filled with suffering, back-breaking agricultural labor, agonizing childbirth, and death? Why do men and women feel so estranged from the divine? Some Western Christians read the story as a factual account of the Original Sin that condemned the human race to everlasting perdition. But this is a peculiarly Western Christian interpretation and was introduced controversially by Saint Augustine of Hippo only in the early fifth century. The Eden story has never been understood in this way in either the Jewish or the Orthodox Christian traditions. However, we all tend to see these ancient tales through the filter of subsequent history and project current beliefs onto texts that originally meant something quite different. Today, because the modern West is a society of logos , some people read the Bible literally, assuming that its intention is to give us the kind of accurate information that we expect from any other supposedly historical text and that this is the way these stories have always been understood. In fact, as we shall see in subsequent chapters, until well into the modern period, Jews and Christians both insisted that it was neither possible nor desirable to read the Bible in this way, that it gives us no single, orthodox message and demands constant reinterpretation.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  increase with their tears. Will you excuse me from saying any more about their sorrow? It would take me until tomorrow to do full justice to it. And I am weary of describing nothing but pain. Finally, when Constance understood that Aella had no part in her exile, the tears gave way to smiles. They must have kissed each other a hundred times. There was such bliss between them that no couple in the world have ever been, or could ever be, so happy. Only the joy of heaven is superior. Then Constance begged of him one favour, to recompense for her life of woe. She asked him to send an invitation in the most gracious terms to her father, the emperor, and entreat him to attend a royal banquet. But she urged her husband not to say one word about her. It has been said that Maurice was chosen to deliver the message to the emperor. I don’t believe it. Aella would not have been so disrespectful as to send a mere child into the presence of the great ruler who has sovereign authority over all Christendom. It is better to suppose that the king himself visited the emperor’s palace. Nevertheless I have read that Maurice was indeed the ambassador. According to the story the emperor graciously accepted the invitation, while all the time studying Maurice intently. The child reminded him of his daughter. Aella, in the meantime, went back to his residence and prepared everything for the banquet in as magnificent a manner as he could. He spared no expense. The day came for the feast. Aella and his dear wife prepared to meet their royal guest, and in joy and festivity rode out together. When Constance saw her father in the street she alighted from her horse and fell to her knees. ‘Father,’ she said, ‘perhaps you have forgotten about your child, Constance. But I am here before you. I am the girl you sent to Syria. I am the one who was dispatched to die alone upon the wide ocean. Now, dear Father, have mercy upon me. Do not banish me to any more pagan lands. But thank my husband for his kindness to me.’ Who could portray the mingled joy and sorrow that now filled the hearts of Constance, Aella and the emperor? I cannot. In any case I must draw to a close. The day is fading fast. I won’t delay. They sat down to dinner. That is all I will say. I won’t begin to describe their happiness, which was hundreds and hundreds of times more joyous than I can possibly relate. In later years the pope crowned Maurice as Holy Roman Emperor in succession to his grandfather. Maurice was a good and devout churchman, and ruled in Christian fashion. I will not tell you his story. I am more concerned with his mother. If you want to learn more about him, then consult the old Roman historians. They will enlighten you further. I am not so well informed. When Aella realized that the time had come, he left Rome and with his beloved wife sailed back to England. In our nation they lived in bliss and comfort. But their happiness lasted for only a short time. The joys of this world do not endure. Life changes, like the tide. After the brightness of the day comes the darkness of the night. Who can be happy even for one day without being moved by anger or by jealousy? Who has not been touched continually by guilt or ill will or resentment? Think about your own life. I tell you this only to reach my conclusion - that the happiness of Aella and Constance could not last for ever. Death, who collects his tithes from high and low alike, could not be thwarted. Within a year of their return to England Aella was taken out of this world. Constance mourned him bitterly, of course. May God keep his soul safe! Then, after his burial she decided to go back to Rome. On her return she found her friends and family safe and in good health. Now, at last, she felt that her adventures had come to an end. When she came into the presence of her father she kneeled before him and wept. Constance, of tender heart, sent up her orisons of praise to God a hundred thousand times. And so they lived in virtue and in charity. They were never parted, except by death itself. And so farewell to you all. My story has come to an end. May Jesus Christ bring us joy after woe, and save us all on the last day. God preserve you, my fellow pilgrims. Heere endeth the tale of the Man of Lawe

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  and earth. He has given reason to mortals. God the Holy Ghost has, through grace, imparted to us the soul. God the Son, when He took on human form in the world, declared that there was another life to be won elsewhere.’ ‘Dear sister,’ Tiburce said, ‘I don’t understand. You have told me just now that there is only one living God. Now you speak to me of three.’ ‘I will explain it to you now,’ she replied. ‘You know that man has three faculties of the mind, namely, memory, imagination and judgement. So in the divine being there are three persons distinct and equal.’ Then she began to preach to Tiburce about the coming of Christ and told him of his passion and crucifixion. She explained that Christ came to earth in order to save mankind, and to lift the burden of sin and woe derived from the original fault of Eve. When she had explained these things to her brother in faith, Tiburce was happy to accompany Valerian into the presence of Pope Urban. Urban gave thanks to God for their conversion, and gladly taught Tiburce the principles of the Christian faith before baptizing him. He had become a knight of God. He was filled with such grace that he saw the angel, too, each day. Whatever he prayed for, he was granted. It would be impossible to say how many miracles Christ wrought for them. Yet there came a day when the bailiff of Rome found them and arrested them. Then he brought them before the prefect of the city, Almachius, who was well known to be an enemy of all Christians. He soon divined their faith, and ordered them to go and worship at the temple of Jupiter. He turned to his officers. ‘I order you,’ he said, ‘to take off the head of anyone who does not bow down before the image of the god.’ One of these officers, Maximus, bound the two martyrs and then, weeping with pity, he led them through the city of Rome. Maximus heard the teaching of Valerian and Tiburce, and was moved by it. He was given leave by the other officers to take them to his own house, where the two saints preached to him and to his family. All the officers were present, too, and all were converted to the true faith by the holy words of the gospel. Cecilia herself came to the house late that night, accompanied by priests who baptized all those assembled there. Afterwards, at break of day, she spoke to them in a clear calm voice. ‘You are all now warriors of Christ Jesus our Saviour. Renounce the works of darkness. Put on the bright armour of righteousness. You have fought a battle against the devil, and you have won it. Your course is almost done, and you have preserved your faith. Now take up the crown of eternal life.

• From How God Became King (2012)

  (1 Thess. 3:2–4) In fact, because of the Messiah I’ve suffered the loss of everything, and I now calculate it as trash, so that my profit may be the Messiah, and that I may be discovered in him, not having my own covenant status defined by Torah, but the status which comes through the Messiah’s faithfulness: the covenant status from God which is given to faith. This means knowing him, knowing the power of his resurrection, and knowing the partnership of his sufferings. It means sharing the form and pattern of his death, so that somehow I may arrive at the final resurrection from the dead. (Phil. 3:8–11) We have this treasure in earthenware pots, so that the extraordinary quality of the power may belong to God, not to us. We are under all kinds of pressure, but we are not crushed completely; we are at a loss, but not at our wits’ end; we are persecuted, but not abandoned; we are cast down, but not destroyed. We always carry the deadness of Jesus about in the body, so that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our body. Although we are still alive, you see, we are always being given over to death because of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our mortal humanity. So this is how it is: death is at work in us—but life in you! (2 Cor. 4:7–12) Right now I’m having a celebration—a celebration of my sufferings, which are for your benefit! And I’m steadily completing, in my own flesh, what is presently lacking in the king’s afflictions on behalf of his body, which is the church. (Col. 1:24) Yes, it may well be necessary that, for a while, you may have to suffer trials and tests of all sorts. But this is so that the true value of your faith may be discovered. It is worth more than gold, which is tested by fire even though it can be destroyed. The result will be praise, glory, and honor when Jesus the Messiah is revealed. (1 Pet. 1:6–7) Beloved, don’t be surprised at the fiery ordeal which is coming upon you to test you, as though this were some strange thing that was happening to you. Rather, celebrate! You are sharing the sufferings of the Messiah. Then, when his glory is revealed, you will celebrate with real, exuberant joy. (1 Pet. 4:12–13) Now at last has come salvation and power: the kingdom of our God and the authority of his Messiah! The accuser of our family has been thrown down, the one who accuses them before God day and night. They conquered him by the blood of the lamb and by the word of their testimony, because they did not love their lives unto death. (Rev.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  He may have had a point, especially when the husband is old and infirm. Then a young wife is a regular treasure. She is a fruit to be plucked. He can enjoy her youth, and at the same time engender an heir. He can have a good time, while an old bachelor can only moan and groan. Confirmed bachelors always suffer for their calling. They are building on shifting ground. They think they have found stability, but it falls apart in their hands. They live like animals, without care or restraint. Married men, on the other hand, are happy and secure in the blissful state of matrimony. They have everything they could possibly need. Who could be so obedient as a wife? Who could be more true? Who could be more attentive, in sickness or in health? A wife will never leave her husband. She will never tire of caring for him, even if he became bedridden and close to death. Especially not then, of course. Yet there are some wise men who beg to disagree with this. Take Theophrastus, for example, who wrote The Golden Book on Marriage. Marriage was not golden for him. But I suspect him of lying. ‘Do not take a wife,’ he said, ‘for the sake of household economy. It is a false saving. A good servant will spare you expense, and will also look after you better than any wife. A wife will always demand her half share in everything. If you are sick you will be happier in the hands of your friends, or even of a serving-boy. Your wife, as always, will be thinking of your goods and chattels. I will tell you something else. If you marry, you are sure to be cuckolded. A woman is unfaithful by nature.’ No, no, Theophrastus! May God curse you for these words! You are telling nothing but lies and more lies! Pay no attention to him. Listen to me instead. A wife is a gift from God. All other gifts are as nothing. Think of them. Lands. Rents. Pastures. Household goods. They are the gifts of Fortune, mutable and transitory. They are shadows on the wall. But be sure of this. A wife is for life. A wife can last a long time - longer, perhaps, than you might like.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  In Israel, the temple was a symbol of the harmonious, pristine cosmos as originally designed by Yahweh. Hence the description of life in Eden before the “fall” is an expression of shalom, the sense of “peace,” “wholeness,” and “completion” that pilgrims experienced when they took part in these rites and felt that their separation from the divine had been momentarily healed. The Eden story is not a historical account; it is rather a description of a ritual experience. It expresses what scholars have called the coincidentia oppositorum in which, during a heightened encounter with the sacred, things that normally seem opposed coincide to reveal an underlying unity. In Eden, the divine and the human are not estranged but are in the same “place”: we see Yahweh “walking about in the garden at the breezy-time of the day”; 7 there is no opposition between “natural” and “supernatural,” since Adam is animated by the breath of God himself. Adam and Eve seem unaware of gender distinction or the difference between good and evil. This is the way that life was supposed to be. Because of their lapse, however, Adam and Eve fell into the fragmentation of our current existence and the gates of Eden were barred by cherubim brandishing a “flashing, ever-turning sword.” 8 But Israelites could have intimations of this primal wholeness whenever they visited their temple and took part in its rites. Solomon’s temple was apparently designed as a replica of Eden, its walls decorated with carved cherubim, palm trees, and open flowers. 9 Its massive seven-branched candlesticks, decorated with almonds and blossoms, were like stylized trees and there was even a bronze serpent. 10 As once in Eden, Yahweh dwelled in the temple among his people. The temple was, therefore, a haven of shalom. 11 When the pilgrim throngs climbed the slopes of Mount Zion to enter Yahweh’s house, there were exultant cries of joy and praise; 12 they yearned and pined for Yahweh’s courts. Arrival in the temple was like a homecoming; as they took part in its rituals, they experienced a spiritual ascent “from height to height” and life seemed richer and more intense: “A single day in your courts is worth more than a thousand elsewhere.” 13 In the eighth century BCE, the Israelites had not yet begun to interiorize their religion and still relied on external rites.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  Yahweh had brought forth all the birds and animals from the ground to be his companions; there were two sacred trees marking the center of the world—the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil—and there was even a talking snake to initiate him into the secret lore of the garden. But Adam was lonely. So while he was asleep, Yahweh extracted one of his ribs and constructed a female. Adam was delighted: “This-time, she-is-it! Bone from my bones, flesh from my flesh! She shall be called Woman [Isha], for from Man [Ish] she was taken!” 1 Adam named her Havva (Eve), the “Life- giver.” This immediately recalls the Upanishadic story of the lonely human person who splits in two to become male and female, but it is obviously a Middle Eastern tale and full of traditional motifs: the crafting of adam from clay, the river irrigating the four corners of the earth, the sacred trees and the talking animal. It is a typical lost-paradise myth. Yahweh forbids Adam and Eve to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, the snake persuades them to disobey, and they are cast out of the garden forever. Henceforth they must toil painfully to scratch a living from the hostile earth and bring forth their children in sorrow. Like any myth, its purpose is to help us to contemplate the human predicament. Why is human life filled with suffering, back-breaking agricultural labor, agonizing childbirth, and death? Why do men and women feel so estranged from the divine? Some Western Christians read the story as a factual account of the Original Sin that condemned the human race to everlasting perdition. But this is a peculiarly Western Christian interpretation and was introduced controversially by Saint Augustine of Hippo only in the early fifth century. The Eden story has never been understood in this way in either the Jewish or the Orthodox Christian traditions. However, we all tend to see these ancient tales through the filter of subsequent history and project current beliefs onto texts that originally meant something quite different. Today, because the modern West is a society of logos, some people read the Bible literally, assuming that its intention is to give us the kind of accurate information that we expect from any other supposedly historical text and that this is the way these stories have always been understood. In fact, as we shall see in subsequent chapters, until well into the modern period, Jews and Christians both insisted that it was neither possible nor desirable to read the Bible in this way, that it gives us no single, orthodox message and demands constant reinterpretation.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘I will say one thing, however, if I may. I would beg you not to test and torment this poor girl, as you once tested me. She has been brought up more tenderly. She is more delicate than me, I believe. She could not endure adversity in the same way as a girl born and brought up in poverty. You know who I mean.’ When Walter looked upon her cheerful face, when he saw that there was no malice in her heart towards him, he recalled the number of times he had grievously offended her. She was still as steady and as constant as a stone wall. So he began to take pity on her - yes, pity for her loyalty to him. ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘You have suffered enough, Griselda. Fear no more. All things shall be well. I have tested your faith and kindness to the utmost. I have tested you in wealth and in poverty. No other woman in the world could have endured so much. Now I know, dear wife, the full measure of your truth and constancy.’ With that he took her in his arms and kissed her. She was so amazed that she did not know what was happening to her. She did not understand a word he said to her. It was as if she were walking in her sleep. Then suddenly she was wide awake. ‘Griselda,’ he said, ‘I swear to God you have always been my true and faithful wife. I will have no other, as long as I live. ‘This is your daughter. You believed her to be my new bride. But you yourself gave birth to her. This young man is your son. One day he will be my heir. They have been brought up secretly in Bologna, by my orders. Take them back again. You will never be able to say that you have lost your children. ‘I know that the people think the worst of me. But I swear that I did not test you out of anger or out of cruelty. I merely wished to assay your patience and your womanly fidelity. I did not kill my children. God forbid! I merely wanted to keep them out of the way while I watched over you.’ When Griselda heard this, she almost fainted for joy. Then she called her two young children to her, and embraced them. She wept as she kissed them, her tears falling upon their cheeks and upon their hair. All those around her were crying, too, as she spoke softly to her son and daughter. ‘I give thanks to God,’ she said, ‘for saving my dear children. I give thanks to my lord and master, too. If I were to die now, I would know at least that I have found favour in your eyes. Now that I am restored to grace, I do not fear death. I do not fear anything.

• From The Case for God (2009)

  A myth was never intended as an accurate account of a historical event; it was something that had in some sense happened once but that also happens all the time. But a myth would not be effective if people simply “believed” in it. It was essentially a program of action. It could put you in the correct spiritual or psychological posture, but it was up to you to take the next step and make the “truth” of the myth a reality in your own life. The only way to assess the value and truth of any myth was to act upon it. The myth of the hero, for example, which takes the same form in nearly all cultural traditions, taught people how to unlock their own heroic potential. 4 Later the stories of historical figures such as the Buddha, Jesus, or Muhammad were made to conform to this paradigm so that their followers could imitate them in the same way. Put into practice, a myth could tell us something profoundly true about our humanity. It showed us how to live more richly and intensely, how to cope with our mortality, and how creatively to endure the suffering that flesh is heir to. But if we failed to apply it to our situation, a myth would remain abstract and incredible. From a very early date, people reenacted their myths in stylized ceremonies that worked aesthetically upon participants and, like any work of art, introduced them to a deeper dimension of existence. Myth and ritual were thus inseparable, so much so that it is often a matter of scholarly debate which came first: the mythical story or the rites attached to it. 5 Without ritual, myths made no sense and would remain as opaque as a musical score, which is impenetrable to most of us until interpreted instrumentally. Religion, therefore, was not primarily something that people thought but something they did. Its truth was acquired by practical action. It is no use imagining that you will be able to drive a car if you simply read the manual or study the rules of the road. You cannot learn to dance, paint, or cook by perusing texts or recipes. The rules of a board game sound obscure, unnecessarily complicated, and dull until you start to play, when everything falls into place. There are some things that can be learned only by constant, dedicated practice, but if you persevere, you find that you achieve something that seemed initially impossible. Instead of sinking to the bottom of the pool, you can float. You may learn to jump higher and with more grace than seems humanly possible or sing with unearthly beauty. You do not always understand how you achieve these feats, because your mind directs your body in a way that bypasses conscious, logical deliberation. But somehow you learn to transcend your original capabilities. Some of these activities bring indescribable joy.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  This merchant was as careful as he was astute. He raised the money and handed the two thousand sovereigns to some Lombard bankers, who gave him a bond in recognition of full payment. Then he rode back as cheerful as a chaffinch. He knew that he had made a profit of a thousand francs on the deal. No wonder he sang and whistled as he returned home. His wife met him at the gate, as was her custom, and all that night they celebrated their good fortune with some amorous turns in bed. The merchant was out of debt. The merchant was rich. At break of day he embraced her, and began kissing her again. At the same time he fucked her hard. ‘No more,’ she pleaded with him. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’ Still she played with him for a little longer. The merchant turned on his side after she had pleased him, and whispered to her. ‘Well, wife,’ he said, ‘I am a bit annoyed with you. I don’t want to be, but I am. Do you know why? You have come between myself and my dear cousin. You have sown a little seed of division between me and John.’ ‘How? Tell me.’ ‘You never mentioned to me that he had paid back the money I lent to him. He gave you cash in hand, I believe. But he feels aggrieved that I did not know about it. As soon as I started talking about loans and repayments, I realized that there was something wrong. Yet I swear to God that I wasn’t referring to him. Do me a favour, dear wife. Always tell me, in future, if I have been repaid in my absence. Otherwise I might start asking debtors for money that they have already given me. Do not be remiss in this.’

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Subo el escalón, a punto de entrar en la camioneta, pero tira de mí y me vuelve contra él. Caigo contra su pecho desnudo, mis pies todavía plantados en el escalón, y rodeo su cuello con mis brazos. —Como que sí me preocupo por eso —admite, encogiéndose un poco como si se disculpara—. Nunca he estado casado antes, ¿sabes? Me encantaría verte en un vestido. Ahora, ¿cómo puedo decir que no a eso? Asiento, besándolo de nuevo. En realidad, podría ser divertido. ¿Fotos de compromiso en el barro? Sí, por favor. —Estaba pensando en México —me dice, mirándome—. ¿Una playa en el mar de Cortés y solo tú, yo y nuestras personas cercanas? Sonrío. —Diablos, sí. Suena a lo que nos gusta. Tranquilo, privado y perfecto. Y no mentiría si dijera que me entusiasma ir a algún lugar que nunca he visto. Apenas he estado fuera de esta ciudad, y la idea de tener que conseguir un pasaporte me emociona tanto como tener que comprar ese vestido por el que Pike va a morir cuando me vea con él. Ya estoy burbujeando con excitación ante la mirada que espero ver en su rostro. Me mira, guardando silencio y sus ojos serios. —¿Vas a querer hijos? —pregunta. Mi corazón late con fuera, sabiendo que esto es potencialmente un tema sensible. —¿Uno, al menos? —menciono, tímida—. ¿Eso está bien? Entiendo que empezar de nuevo es un mucho que pedirle, pero me encantaría tener a su bebé. Con el tiempo. Para mi sorpresa, apenas duda antes de asentir. —Estoy bien con ello —responde—. Aunque, no puedo esperar demasiado, o recibiré el descuento por persona mayor en la cena de graduación del niño. Estallo en risas. —Sin embargo, después que te gradúes —me dice—, está en marcha, ¿de acuerdo? —De acuerdo.