Love

Passages

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

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• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  When she had finished her writing for the day, she frequently read it aloud in the evening. And although Mary knew that the writing was fine, yet her thoughts would stray from the book to Stephen. The deep, husky voice would read on and on, having in it something urgent, appealing, so that Mary must suddenly kiss Stephen’s hand, or the scar on her cheek, because of that voice far more than because of what it was reading. And now there were times when, serving two masters, her passion for this girl and her will to protect her, Stephen would be torn by conflicting desires, by opposing mental and physical emotions. She would want to save herself for her work; she would want to give herself wholly to Mary. Yet quite often she would work far into the night. ‘I’m going to be late—you go to bed, sweetheart.’ And when she herself had at last toiled upstairs, she would steal like a thief past Mary’s bedroom, although Mary would nearly always hear her. ‘Is that you, Stephen?’ ‘Yes. Why aren’t you asleep? Do you realize that it’s three in the morning?’ ‘Is it? You’re not angry, are you, darling? I kept thinking of you alone in the study. Come here and say you’re not angry with me, even if it is three o’clock in the morning!’ Then Stephen would slip off her old tweed coat and would fling herself down on the bed beside Mary, too exhausted to do more than take the girl in her arms, and let her lie there with her head on her shoulder. But Mary would be thinking of all those things which she found so deeply appealing in Stephen—the scar on her cheek, the expression in her eyes, the strength and the queer, shy gentleness of her—the strength which at moments could not be gentle. And as they lay there Stephen might sleep, worn out by the strain of those long hours of writing. But Mary would not sleep, or if she slept it would be when the dawn was paling the windows. 4One morning Stephen looked at Mary intently. ‘Come here. You’re not well! What’s the matter? Tell me.’ For she thought that the girl was unusually pale, thought too that her lips drooped a little at the corners; and a sudden fear contracted her heart. ‘Tell me at once what’s the matter with you!’ Her voice was rough with anxiety, and she laid an imperative hand over Mary’s. Mary protested. ‘Don’t be absurd; there’s nothing the matter, I’m perfectly well—you’re imagining things.’ For what could be the matter? Was she not here in Paris with Stephen? But her eyes filled with tears, and she turned away quickly to hide them, ashamed of her own unreason.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  I must have been mad; you just took me out of pity; you thought that I was ill and you felt sorry for me. Well, now I’m not ill and not mad any more, and I’m going. Every time I come near you you shrink or push me away as though I repelled you. But I want us to part quickly because. . . .’ Her voice broke: ‘because it torments me to be always with you and to feel that you’ve literally grown to hate me. I can’t stand it; I’d rather not see you, Stephen.’ Stephen stared at her, white and aghast. Then all in a moment the restraint of years was shattered as though by some mighty convulsion. She remembered nothing, was conscious of nothing except that the creature she loved was going. ‘You child,’ she gasped, ‘you don’t understand, you can’t understand—God help me, I love you!’ And now she had the girl in her arms and was kissing her eyes and her mouth: ‘Mary . . . Mary. . . .’ They stood there lost to all sense of time, to all sense of reason, to all things save each other, in the grip of what can be one of the most relentless of all the human emotions. Then Stephen’s arms suddenly fell to her sides: ‘Stop, stop for God’s sake—you’ve got to listen.’ Oh, but now she must pay to the uttermost farthing for the madness that had left those words unspoken—even as her father had paid before her. With Mary’s kisses still hot on her lips, she must pay and pay unto the uttermost farthing. And because of an anguish that seemed past endurance, she spoke roughly; the words when they came were cruel. She spared neither the girl who must listen to them, nor herself who must force her to stand there and listen. ‘Have you understood? Do you realize now what it’s going to mean if you give yourself to me?’ Then she stopped abruptly . . . Mary was crying. Stephen said, and her voice had grown quite toneless: ‘It’s too much to ask—you’re right, it’s too much. I had to tell you—forgive me, Mary.’ But Mary turned on her with very bright eyes: ‘You can say that—you, who talk about loving! What do I care for all you’ve told me? What do I care for the world’s opinion? What do I care for anything but you, and you just as you are—as you are, I love you! Do you think I’m crying because of what you’ve told me? I’m crying because of your dear, scarred face . . . the misery on it. . . .

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

  What happened on Calvary was not a matter of prescribed ritual, mechanically carried out; it was a matter of Jesus obeying the will of God for the sake of men and women. Behind it, there was not the mechanism of law but the choice of love. THE ONLY WAY IN WHICH SINS CAN BE FORGIVEN Hebrews 9:15–22 It is through him that there emerges a new covenant between God and man; and the purpose behind this new covenant is that those who have been called might receive the eternal inheritance which has been promised to them; but this could happen only after a death had taken place, the purpose of which was to rescue them from the consequences of the transgressions which had been committed under the conditions of the old covenant. For where there is a will, it is necessary that there should be evidence of the death of the testator before the will is valid. It is in the case of dead people that a will is confirmed, since surely it cannot be operative when the testator is still alive. That is why even the first covenant was not inaugurated without blood. For, after every commandment which the law lays down had been announced by Moses to all the people, he took the blood of calves and goats, together with water and scarlet and hyssop, and sprinkled the book itself and all the people. And as he did so, he said: ‘This is the blood of the covenant whose conditions God commanded you to observe.’ In like manner, he sprinkled with blood the tabernacle also and all the instruments used in its worship. Under the conditions which the law lays down, it is true to say that almost everything is cleansed by blood. Without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness. THIS is one of the most difficult passages in the whole letter, although it would not be difficult to those who were first to read the letter, for its methods of argument and expression and categories of thought would be familiar to them. As we have seen, the idea of the covenant is basic to the thought of the writer, by which he meant a relationship between God and human beings. The first covenant was dependent on people keeping the law; as soon as they broke the law, the covenant became ineffective. Let us remember that, to our writer, religion means access to God. Therefore, the basic meaning of the new covenant, which Jesus inaugurated, is that men and women should have access to God or, to put it another way, have fellowship with him.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Jutaro, the druggist's son, had seen Itjikuro and fallen in love with him. He thought: 'My fair youth cannot last for ever, and I shall soon be a grown man. Many men love and admire me for my beauty, and I have received more than a hundred love letters; but I have not read a single one of them. People say that I have no heart. But none of these men had any allure for me. Only this elegant male has troubled me. If he could but return my love, I should love him all my life long. In truth I love him desperately. His manly beauty has made me lose my head. He has fascinated me.'His too ardent and youthful blood so inflamed him that his passion threw him to the ground. His eyes became set, and he seemed like a mad.'man. He rushed about, holding his long-cherished spaniel in his right hand, while he brandished a sword with the other. No one could go near him. At last, at the risk of her own life, his nurse managed to seize him. She consoled and cheered him: 'My dear young master, calm yourself! We can recall this traveller and arrange your love. I beg you to take command of yourself, dear master.'The young man then became a little calmer. His parents engaged a travelling priest to pray for his recovery. Hiusuke, the young man's father, had, when thirty-five years of age, married a rich merchant's daughter; but he had reached the age of sixty without having a child. Then he and his wife prayed Tenjin to grant them a child, and remained in prayer for seven days before the shrine of the god. On the evening of the seventh day they dreamed that a blossom fell from a plum tree into the wife's mouth, and that she became with child. They were very happy and grateful to the god Tenjin. Then Jutaro was born. He was hardly five years old when he began to write Chinese letters without ever having learned them. At thirteen he wrote a Story about a meeting between two young lovers who had to separate after a short time on a summer evening. He called the book: The Love of a Short Summer Evening. Such was his genius. Therefore his sudden illness caused great sorrow to his parents and friends. The priest's prayer had no great effect. Jutaro was in a continuous delirium, and grew weaker every day. His pulse became so faint that all hope of saving him was lost. His parents wove a fair white shroud and made ready a beautiful coffin for his burial; for they expected his death at any moment. But one day, suddenly, the young man raised his weary head and said in a weak voice to his relations: 'I am happy, for this man whom I love will pass along the stree tomorrow evening. Stop him, and bring him to me.'

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Senzayemon blushed with pleasure: 'My heart cannot express itself in words. I pray you to go and see it. It is in the shrine of the god Hatjiman, who is the god of war and of soldiers. I consecrated it there, my lover.' Tamanosuke went to the shrine, and asked the priest what was there. The priest said: 'Senzayemon gave me a box which contained his daily prayer for his friend's recovery.' Tamanosuke, with leave, opened the box and found in it a dagger of Sadamune and a fervent prayer for his recovery in a letter addressed to the god. In this manner he discovered that he owed his recovery to Senzayemon's prayer. Then he and Senzayemon became faithful lovers. Little by little this Story spread, and came to the ears of the Lord, who sentenced the two lovers to be confined in their own houses. They were both ready to die for their love, and did not at all fear death. They calmly awaited their severe punishment, and succeeded in finding a secret means of corresponding with each other. A year passed in this way. Then, on the ninth of March, they sent a petition to the Lord, in which they begged to be allowed an honourable death by Hara-kiri. They awaited their condemnation from moment to moment. But one day a messenger came from the Lord to Tamanosuke and ordered him to become a samurai instead of the page that he had been. Senzayemon was also pardoned. They were very grateful to this Lord, and decided to forgo their meetings until Tamanosuke should have reached the age of twenty-five. They no longer even spoke to each other when they met in the Street. They but continued to serve their Lord faithfully. [image file=image_rsrc1KW.jpg] NOTESPage numbers correspond to the print edition. PAGEThe AuthorAll these tales are the work of Saïkaku Ihara, who lived in Japan during the seventeenth century, being born in 1642 and dying in 1693. They are mainly chosen from his Glorious Tales of Pederasty, though some are from Tales of the Samurai Spirit and Tales of the Duty of a Samurai, and one from Stories in Letters. I have translated them from the recently published and quite unique French version of Ken Sato. The significance of the tales is discussed in my terminal essay, where further information about their author will also be found.3shyogunRegent, governor in general.17facingsThe samurai wore a kind of reversed collar, shaped as two triangles, falling like wings on each shoulder. The clothes worn by Ukyo are those prescribed for Hara-kiri.30great badgerIn old Japanese belief the badger had supernatural powers, and pursued men in some horrible shape.73Yukihiraand Narihira were brothers of noble family, each famous for his beauty and poetic talent.89JinkoThe name both of a tree and the incense which it furnishes.Songs of the Geishas

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  And Stephen answered: ‘I know that I love you, and that nothing else matters in the world.’ Then, perhaps because of that glamorous evening, with its spirit of queer, unearthly adventure, with its urge to strange, unendurable sweetness, Angela moved a step nearer to Stephen, then another, until their hands were touching. And all that she was, and all that she had been and would be again, perhaps even to-morrow, was fused at that moment into one mighty impulse, one imperative need, and that need was Stephen. Stephen’s need was now hers, by sheer force of its blind and uncomprehending will to appeasement. Then Stephen took Angela into her arms, and she kissed her full on the lips, as a lover. CHAPTER 19 1 T hrough the long years of life that followed after, bringing with them their dreams and disillusions, their joys and sorrows, their fulfilments and frustrations, Stephen was never to forget this summer when she fell quite simply and naturally in love, in accordance with the dictates of her nature. To her there seemed nothing strange or unholy in the love that she felt for Angela Crossby. To her it seemed an inevitable thing, as much a part of herself as her breathing; and yet it appeared transcendent of self, and she looked up and onward towards her love—for the eyes of the young are drawn to the stars, and the spirit of youth is seldom earth-bound. She loved deeply, far more deeply than many a one who could fearlessly proclaim himself a lover. Since this is a hard and sad truth for the telling; those whom nature has sacrificed to her ends—her mysterious ends that often lie hidden—are sometimes endowed with a vast will to loving, with an endless capacity for suffering also, which must go hand in hand with their love. But at first Stephen’s eyes were drawn to the stars, and she saw only gleam upon gleam of glory. Her physical passion for Angela Crossby had aroused a strange response in her spirit, so that side by side with every hot impulse that led her at times beyond her own understanding, there would come an impulse not of the body; a fine, selfless thing of great beauty and courage—she would gladly have given her body over to torment, have laid down her life if need be, for the sake of this woman whom she loved.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  4 He Died to Save his Lover T HE SEA SUDDENLY BEGAN TO RAGE , AND the waves hurled themselves angrily upon the coast. The sky was covered with big black clouds, and the Storm rushed down from Mount Muko. A violent rain began to fall, and people walking were seized with panic. Among these was a certain samurai, the ambassador of the Lord of Akashi to another Lord of a neighbouring Province. He took shelter with his servant under a big tree, and a boy, about thirteen years old, passed by them carrying a paper umbrella. Seeing the samurai under the tree, the lad gave his umbrella to the servant. The samurai, whose name was Sakon Horikoshi, said: 'Thank you, dear child, for your kindness; but tell me, do you not need the umbrella yourself? 'The boy's only answer was to Start weeping. Sakon asked him the reason of his grief, and, drying his tears, the other replied: 'I am the son of Sluyuzen Magasaka, and my name is Korin. My father left his Lord of the Province of Kai, and we came to the Province of Buzen; but he died suddenly on the boat, and my mother and I buried him in this village. Since then we have lived here in a little house which we built with the help of the obliging villagers, and we make umbrellas for a living. But I cannot use this poor umbrella to protect myself from the rain without sorrowfully thinking that my mother made it with her unfortunate, delicate hands.' Sakon was greatly touched by this sad Story, and went to the village and learned from the mother that the boy's tale was true. When he gave his message to the Governor of the Province, he spoke to him also of Korin. The Lord was moved and commanded Sakon to bring the lad before him; so Sakon very joyfully presented the boy and his mother to that Lord. Korin was very beautiful: his young, untroubled face was like a serene moon in the autumn sky: his black hair was a lotus, and his voice had the love-murmuring of the nightingale amid young peach blossom. The Lord made Korin his page and loved him greatly. Time passed and, one evening when Korin was on guard, the Lord tenderly caressed him and whispered: 'Dear sweet Korin, I would even give you my life if you desired it.'But Korin answered: 'Your flatteries give me little pleasure, my Lord, since it is no true love for a samurai to have an affair with a Lord who is all-powerful. It is even a dishonour for one who esteems a selfless and sincere male love. I would rather have a man of some class for my lover, it is true, but he would have to be devoted and utterly true; a man whom I could love all my life. That would be my greatest pleasure.' The Lord said to him: 'Come, you are not serious!

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  ‘There now!’ exclaimed Collins, ‘See that dent? That’s the water!’ And she added: ‘It’s so painful it fair makes me sick. It all comes from polishing them floors, Miss Stephen; I didn’t ought to polish them floors.’ Stephen said gravely: ‘I do wish I’d got it—I wish I’d got your housemaid’s knee, Collins, ’cause that way I could bear it instead of you. I’d like to be awfully hurt for you, Collins, the way that Jesus was hurt for sinners. Suppose I pray hard, don’t you think I might catch it? Or supposing I rub my knee against yours?’ ‘Lord bless you!’ laughed Collins, ‘it’s not like the measles; no, Miss Stephen, it’s caught from them floors.’ That evening Stephen became rather pensive, and she turned to the Child’s Book of Scripture Stories and she studied the picture of the Lord on His Cross, and she felt that she understood Him. She had often been rather puzzled about Him, since she herself was fearful of pain—when she barked her shins on the gravel in the garden, it was not always easy to keep back her tears—and yet Jesus had chosen to bear pain for sinners, when He might have called up all those angels! Oh, yes, she had wondered a great deal about Him, but now she no longer wondered. At bedtime, when her mother came to hear her say her prayers—as custom demanded—Stephen’s prayers lacked conviction. But when Anna had kissed her and had turned out the light, then it was that Stephen prayed in good earnest—with such fervour, indeed, that she dripped perspiration in a veritable orgy of prayer. ‘Please, Jesus, give me a housemaid’s knee instead of Collins—do, do, Lord Jesus. Please, Jesus, I would like to bear all Collins’ pain the way You did, and I don’t want any angels! I would like to wash Collins in my blood, Lord Jesus—I would like very much to be a Saviour to Collins—I love her, and I want to be hurt like You were; please, dear Lord Jesus, do let me. Please give me a knee that’s all full of water, so that I can have Collins’ operation. I want to have it instead of her, ’cause she’s frightened—I’m not a bit frightened!’ This petition she repeated until she fell asleep, to dream that in some queer way she was Jesus, and that Collins was kneeling and kissing her hand, because she, Stephen, had managed to cure her by cutting off her knee with a bone paper-knife and grafting it on to her own. The dream was a mixture of rapture and discomfort, and it stayed quite a long time with Stephen.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  I am only twenty-one years old, 'although he was really twenty-two. A samurai ought never to dissemble, but Inosuke must be excused for his lie, since he was truly in love with his former admirer and could not tell the truth about his age. Even a brave and valiant samurai grows weak when he loves; for love is the greatest power of all and governs this world. [image file=image_rsrc1KT.jpg] 12 He Rids himself of his Foes with the Help of his hoverEVERY YEAR THE TREES ARE COVERED WITH blossom as in the years before; but man cannot keep the blossom of his youth. The beauty of boys will vanish when they become men, and when the lock of hair is cut from their foreheads, and they are clothed in short-sleeved robes. The love of boys is, therefore, but a passing dream. Jinnosuke Kasuda, the second son of a courtier of the Lord of the Province of Lzumo, was a beautiful boy. He was an excellent swordsman and had a profound knowledge of classical literature; many men were attracted by his beauty. When they assembled round the shrine of Ooyashiro they spoke of him, and were agreed that there was no more beautiful boy in all the Provinces of Japan. But Jinnosuke had already plighted his troth to one of the Lord's courtiers, and his lover's name was Gonkuro Moriwaki, an excellent samurai of some twenty-eight years of age. He had fallen in love with Jinnosuke when the latter was only thirteen years old. He had first made the acquaintance of Dengoro, Jinnosuke's servant, and, to prevent people talking, had put his love-letter into the mouth of a great fish, and sent it thus to Dengoro. Next morning, when Dengoro was doing his master's hair and Jinnosuke seemed to be in a good humour, Dengoro gave him the letter and told him how much Gonkuro suffered for love of him. [image file=image_rsrc1KU.jpg] Without opening the letter, Jinnosuke rapidly wrote an answer to Gonkuro and said to his servant: 'It is very hard to wait when one is in love; take this letter at once to Gonkuro.''You are indeed worthy to be adored, master, 'said the servant, and ran to Gonkuro's house, to give him the letter, telling him that his master wished him well. Gonkuro, with tears of joy, read the letter, which said: 'Your sincere love fills me with gratitude. My servant has told me this morning that you are suffering because of me. I also am amorous of you. Let us be lovers from this day forth, without caring what people think.'That is how the two samurai began to be in love with each other, in the summer of Jinnosuke's fourteenth year.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Shyume looked at his pale, haggard face, and asked: 'Are you really willing to make me this present of your life?' The beggar Stretched out his neck to receive the mortal wound, saying: 'I am quite ready, Lord. Cut off my head.'Shyume raised his skirt, so as to be more free in his movement, and went up to the other, brandishing his sword. He Struck him with it, but it did not wound him at all; for it was quite without an edge. The beggar and the servant were astonished at this. But Shyume dismissed all his attendants and shut the gate of the garden. He was now alone with Guzayemon, whom he led into his apartment, saying: 'I recognise your face: you must have been a samurai.'But the beggar denied it. Shyume insisted: 'You are lying. I know that you love me passionately. Open your heart to me, and do not hide your thought. If you keep your secret now, when will you tell it; and to whom, if not to me? Or am I mistaken in thinking that you love me?' [image file=image_rsrc1KN.jpg] The beggar drew from his bosom a little packet wrapped in bamboo bark, and opened it. From it he took a purse of gold silk which he offered to Shyume, saying with tears: 'My heart is locked in that.'Shyume unfastened the purse, and took out sixty leaves of thin paper on which Guzayemon had written the Story of his love, from the first day that he saw Shyume near the shrine of the god Tudo, up to that last day when he had waited before the door. Shyume read five of the leaves, and then replaced them in the purse, putting the latter in his pocket. He summoned his servants and ordered them to guard Guzayemon. Next morning he went to the Lord and said: 'Lord, a man is madly in love with me, and I cannot find the cruelty to reject: him. But if I accept his love, I disobey you, Lord, and show myself ungrateful towards you. I do not know what to do. I have no idea. Lord, I pray you to kill me with your sword and free me from my dilemma.' The Lord asked him for the details of this Story, and Shyume gave him the papers written by Guzayemon, which the Lord read secretly in his room. Then he summoned Shyume and told him to return home and await his orders, until he should have weighed his decision. Shyume answered: 'My lover is in my house, and if you send me back I shall love him. Let me die here by Hara-kiri.'

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  There was a certain samurai named Senzayemon Sasamura, a junior officer charged with the defence of the frontiers of the Province. No one took much notice of him. However, he loved Tamanosuke, though he had no means of sending him a message of love. He was waiting a favourable opportunity to declare his passion to him. When he learned of Tamanosuke's serious illness, he felt that he would not survive him if he should die. Every morning he went to Tamanosuke's house and wrote his name on the register in the vestibule, like all the other samurai. He came again in the afternoon and in the evening after his supper to inquire after him. In this way he made three visits every day for six months. Tamanosuke recovered. He washed himself in a bath and carefully shaved himself. After a meticulous toilet he went to the Lord to announce his recovery, and to thank him for the kindness he had shown to him while he was ill. Then he visited all those who had been good to him, and, after his round of visits, returned home. Finally, he told Kakubel to bring him the register of visitors, and there he saw the name of Senzayemon Sasamura, and noticed that he had been three times a day from the beginning of his illness. He asked Kakubel who this Senzayemon might be, and Kakubel answered: 'He is not very well known. He must be an inferior samurai. He seemed to be really anxious about you. When I told him that my master was better, his face quite brightened; but when I told him that the illness was getting worse, he grew pale and was overcome with distress. He was different from the ordinary visitors.' Tamanosuke said: 'He is a very faithful individual, although I have never seen him.' And he went at once to Senzayemon's house, although it was far enough away, and said to the servant: 'I have come to thank Senzayemon for his kindness during my illness.' Senzayemon ran joyfully to him and said: 'How good you are to have come so far to thank me for my insignificant actions. I am quite confused by your visit, Lord. But your health is not yet Strong, and the evening air is fresh. I beg you to return to your house and take care of yourself.' Tamanosuke answered: 'The world is so vain and uncertain, and man is like the momentary gleam of a light. In the morning we do not know surely if we shall live till the evening. I beg you to let me come in; I have a private matter to discuss with you.' Senzayemon led him to his room, and then Tamanosuke said to him: 'I am truly grateful for your devotion during my long illness. Forgive me for saying it frankly, but if you love me, humble as I am, I have come to be loved by you this evening, Senzayemon.'

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  When she felt sad she used to play on the harp to distract herself and her dear son. In this manner they lived in their secluded hut. The destiny of man is surely inconstant and full of surprise. Senpatji Akanashi was banished by his master for some trifling offence; and, after travelling through several Provinces, he settled in a town near the hut in which the mother and son were living. They never met each other, and had no suspicion that they existed at such proximity. But one day Senpatji was invited by his friend Kurobatji Toriyama to hunt birds. On their way back they chanced to pass the widow's cottage, and heard the sound of the Corean harp which the mother was playing. They were charmed by this music and stopped to listen. Slipping through a hole in the hedge, they even peeped through a crack in the bamboo wall. A very beautiful woman of about thirty-five was playing the harp. She seemed to belong to some famous family of the high nobility, and to have disguised herself to live in this wretched hovel. Sitting by her side was her son Shynosuke, Studying the writing in a book which his mother had written herself. He was extremely handsome. The interested spectators were surprised to find such distinguished persons in this lonely village. They caused the door to be opened, and Stood for some minutes at the entrance to apologise for their intrusion. After a short visit they went away. Senpatji was Struck by the beauty of the young boy; he returned to the hut and became the intimate friend of its inhabitants. Little by little Senpatji and Shynosuke conceived a deep love for each other, and Senpatji took both mother and son with him to his town and there maintained them. In this way a year went peacefully. Then the mother noticed that Senpatji was very like the man who had killed her husband. One day she questioned him concerning his family and past life; then she became certain that he was the assassin of her husband, the father of her son. Next day she said to the boy: 'Senpatji killed your father before you were born. He was compelled to do so by the command of his master, who was also your father's master; but he is none the less your father's murderer. Kill him, and avenge your father.' Her son was at first dumb with astonishment. Then he reasoned with his mother: 'Senpatji did not kill my father out of personal enmity. He bore my father no hatred. He could not ad otherwise, since the Lord commanded it. He is not really my father's enemy. If you wish to avenge him, it is the Lord Jibudayu whom I ought to kill, not my friend Senpatji. We owe him much gratitude for his kindness. Think, mother: I cannot kill him.

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

  He died, not as an ignorant victim caught up in circumstances over which he had no control and did not understand, but with eyes wide open. (4) The sacrifice of Jesus was moral . Animal sacrifice was mechanical; but Jesus’ sacrifice was made through the eternal Spirit . What happened on Calvary was not a matter of prescribed ritual, mechanically carried out; it was a matter of Jesus obeying the will of God for the sake of men and women. Behind it, there was not the mechanism of law but the choice of love. THE ONLY WAY IN WHICH SINS CAN BE FORGIVEN Hebrews 9:15–22 It is through him that there emerges a new covenant between God and man; and the purpose behind this new covenant is that those who have been called might receive the eternal inheritance which has been promised to them; but this could happen only after a death had taken place, the purpose of which was to rescue them from the consequences of the transgressions which had been committed under the conditions of the old covenant. For where there is a will, it is necessary that there should be evidence of the death of the testator before the will is valid. It is in the case of dead people that a will is confirmed, since surely it cannot be operative when the testator is still alive. That is why even the first covenant was not inaugurated without blood. For, after every commandment which the law lays down had been announced by Moses to all the people, he took the blood of calves and goats, together with water and scarlet and hyssop, and sprinkled the book itself and all the people. And as he did so, he said: ‘This is the blood of the covenant whose conditions God commanded you to observe.’ In like manner, he sprinkled with blood the tabernacle also and all the instruments used in its worship. Under the conditions which the law lays down, it is true to say that almost everything is cleansed by blood. Without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness. T HIS is one of the most difficult passages in the whole letter, although it would not be difficult to those who were first to read the letter, for its methods of argument and expression and categories of thought would be familiar to them. As we have seen, the idea of the covenant is basic to the thought of the writer, by which he meant a relationship between God and human beings. The first covenant was dependent on people keeping the law; as soon as they broke the law, the covenant became ineffective. Let us remember that, to our writer, religion means access to God . Therefore, the basic meaning of the new covenant , which Jesus inaugurated, is that men and women should have access to God or, to put it another way, have fellowship with him. But here is the difficulty.

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

  The life of the believer does not descend through the channels of fallen nature, but requires a creative act of the Holy Spirit through the preaching of the gospel. The life of the regenerate is free from the principle and power of sin. "Whosoever is begotten of God doeth no sin, because his seed abideth in him; and he cannot sin because he is begotten of God."850 Over him the devil has no power.851 The new life is the life of Christ in the soul. It is eternal intrinsically and as to duration. Eternal life in man consists in the knowledge of the only true God and of Jesus Christ—a knowledge which implies full sympathy and communion of love.852 It begins here in faith; hence the oft-repeated declaration that he who believes in Christ has (e[cei) eternal life.853 But it will not appear in its full development till the time of his glorious manifestation, when we shall be like him and see him even as he is.854 Faith is the medium of communication, the bond of union with Christ. Faith is the victory over the world, already here in principle.855 John’s idea of life eternal takes the place of Paul’s idea of righteousness, but both agree in the high conception of faith as the one indispensable condition of securing it by uniting us to Christ, who is both righteousness and life eternal.856 The life of the Christian, moreover, is a communion with Christ and with the Father in the Holy Spirit. Our Lord prayed before his passion that the believers of that and all future ages might be one with him, even as he is one with the Father, and that they may enjoy his glory. John writes his first Epistle for the purpose that his readers may have "fellowship with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ, and that thus their joy may be made full."857 This fellowship is only another word for love, and love to God is inseparable from love to the brethren. "If God so loved us, we also ought to love one another." "God is love; and he that abideth in love abideth in God and God abideth in him." Love to the brethren is the true test of practical Christianity.858 This brotherly fellowship is the true essence of the Church, which is nowhere even mentioned in John’s Gospel and First Epistle.859 Love to God and to the brethren is no mere sentiment, but an active power, and manifests itself in the keeping of God’s commandments.860 Here again John and Paul meet in the idea of love, as the highest of the Christian graces which abides forever when faith shall have passed into sight, and hope into fruition.861 Notes. The incarnation is expressed by John briefly and tersely in the phrase "The Word became flesh" (John 1:14). I. The meaning of savrx.

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

  A person might feel able to enter the tabernacle and yet at the same time be far away from the presence of God. The sacrifice of Jesus takes the load of guilt from people’s consciences . The animal sacrifices of the old covenant might well leave them estranged from God; the sacrifice of Jesus shows us a God whose arms are always outstretched and in whose heart is only love . (2) The sacrifice of Jesus brought eternal redemption. The idea was that human beings were under the dominion of sin; and, just as the purchase price had to be paid to free individuals from slavery, so the purchase price had to be paid to free us from sin. (3) The sacrifice of Christ enabled people to leave the deeds of death and to become the servants of the living God. That is to say, he did not only win forgiveness for past sin, he enabled men and women in the future to live godly lives. The sacrifice of Jesus was not only the paying of a debt; it was the giving of a victory. What Jesus did puts us right with God, and what he does enables us to stay right with God. The act of the cross brings the love of God to us in a way that takes our terror of him away; the presence of the living Christ brings the power of God to us so that we can win a daily victory over sin. The New Testament scholar B. F. Westcott outlines four ways in which Jesus’ sacrifice of himself differs from the animal sacrifices of the old covenant. (1) The sacrifice of Jesus was voluntary . The animal’s life was taken from it; Jesus gave his life. He willingly laid it down for his friends. (2) The sacrifice of Jesus was spontaneous . Animal sacrifice was entirely the product of law ; the sacrifice of Jesus was entirely the product of love . We pay our debts in business dealings because we have to; we give gifts to our loved ones because we want to. It was not law but love that lay behind the sacrifice of Christ. (3) The sacrifice of Jesus was rational . The animal victim did not know what was happening; Jesus all the time knew what he was doing. He died, not as an ignorant victim caught up in circumstances over which he had no control and did not understand, but with eyes wide open . (4) The sacrifice of Jesus was moral .

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Korin smiled at him: 'I thank my Lord for wishing to take my life with his own hands, in memory of our past time. I am quite ready.'And he Stood up. Then the Lord cut off his left hand, and asked: 'How do you feel, Korin? 'Korin held out his right hand to be cut off also, and said: 'With this hand I caressed and loved my lover. You should hate this hand a great deal also.' 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)

  'But Korin insisted: 'My Lord, I mean what I say, and it is the vow of my heart. I swear it on my love as a samurai and before all the gods of Japan.' The Lord was astonished at the bold frankness of this boy. One evening the Lord arranged a feast in a summer-house, at which his numerous and beautiful pages were present. Suddenly a suffocating breath filled the garden and caused the trees to shudder. A very great monster came down from the roof, thrusting out its horrible head to look at the company. It Stretched its mighty paws and began to maul the noses of the terrified onlookers, who at once surrounded their Lord and hurried back into the palace. Then a loud noise was heard in the garden, as if a mountain had fallen. After midnight a slave came and told the Lord that an immense badger had been found with its head cut off in the tea-house in the garden. The beast was Still crooking its claws when it was found, although it was dead. Certainly, 'said the Lord, 'this evening's monster, when we were in the tea-house, was that great badger.* And the loud noise was made by the beast to frighten us. I wonder who was the brave man who dared to kill this portent.'And he questioned all his courtiers, but none of them had killed the badger. Seven days after this incident, at about two o'clock in the morning, a maiden was heard crying on the roof of the great hall of the palace: 'Korin has killed my father the badger. He will soon die. He will fulfill his destiny.'The voice repeated this threat three times, and was silent. It was then known that Korin was the hero who had killed the badger. Everyone praised his courage, his modesty, and his heroic deed. One of the courtiers, who had charge of the maintenance of the palace, begged the Lord to have the roof which the badger had damaged put into repair. But the Lord refused, saying: * There was once a great Chinese Prince who was full of pride, and boasted, saying: "All my words are true, and let no one dare to ad against my orders." Then one of his courtiers, called Sihkyo, who was truly loyal and devoted, struck him with a harp to rebuke him for his unconsidered words. And the Prince was grateful to him for his loyalty. He left the wall, which the harp had injured in Striking him, just as it was, without any reparation. And I desire to leave the damaged roof, that all may remember and admire Korin's courage for ever.' This adventure only served to increase the ardour of the Lord's love for Korin, Now the second son of Gyobu-Kamo, one of the Lord's courtiers, greatly admired Korin. His name was Sohatjiro; and his admiration grew to love. He sent many amorous letters to Korin, and Korin was touched by them.

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

  Contents. When Paul took leave of the Ephesian Elders at Miletus, in the spring of the year 58, he earnestly and affectionately exhorted them, in view of threatening disturbances from within, to take heed unto themselves and to feed "the church of the Lord, which he acquired with his own blood."1160 This strikes the key-note of the Epistle to the Ephesians. It is a doctrinal and practical exposition of the idea of the church, as the house of God (Eph. 2:20– 22), the spotless bride of Christ (5:25–27), the mystical body of Christ (4:12–16), "the fulness of Him that filleth all in all" (1:23). The pleroma of the Godhead resides in Christ corporeally; so the pleroma of Christ, the plenitude of his graces and energies, resides in the church, as his body. Christ’s fulness is God’s fulness; the church’s fulness is Christ’s fulness. God is reflected in Christ, Christ is reflected in the church. This is an ideal conception, a celestial vision, as it were, of the church in its future state of perfection. Paul himself represents the present church militant as a gradual growth unto the complete stature of Christ’s fulness (4:13–16). We look in vain for an actual church which is free from spot or wrinkle or blemish (5:27). Even the apostolic church was full of defects, as we may learn from every Epistle of the New Testament. The church consists of individual Christians, and cannot be complete till they are complete. The body grows and matures with its several members. "It is not yet made manifest what we shall be" (1 John 3:2). Nevertheless, Paul’s church is not a speculation or fiction, like Plato’s Republic or Sir Thomas More’s Utopia. It is a reality in Christ, who is absolutely holy, and is spiritually and dynamically present in his church always, as the soul is present in the members of the body. And it sets before us the high standard and aim to be kept constantly in view; as Christ exhorts every one individually to be perfect, even as our heavenly Father is perfect (Matt. 5:48). With this conception of the church is closely connected Paul’s profound and most fruitful idea of the family. He calls the relation of Christ to his church a great mystery (Eph. 5:32), and represents it as the archetype of the marriage relation, whereby one man and one woman become one flesh. He therefore bases the family on new and holy ground, and makes it a miniature of the church, or the household of God. Accordingly, husbands are to love their wives even as Christ loved the church, his bride, and gave himself up for her; wives are to obey their husbands as the church is subject to Christ, the head; parents are to love their children as Christ and the church love the individual Christians; children are to love their parents as individual Christians are to love Christ and the church.

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

  “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.” This is a great mystery, and I am applying it to Christ and the church. Each of you, however, should love his wife as himself, and a wife should respect her husband. (Eph. 5:22–33) You can see that, while wives now get three verses, husbands get nine. They apparently have even greater or harder responsibilities. There is obviously a similar hierarchy in that wives are to “be subject” while husbands are to “love,” but there is, I think, almost an attempt to overcome that hierarchy on a more profound level. For example, the citation of Genesis 2:24 in which a husband leaves his ancestral home for that of his wife is not how patriarchy normally worked in the biblical tradition. It is certainly much better for the wife—who would be married around first menses at about thirteen years of age—to have the husband move into her extended family than for her to enter his family system. (Some stories in the book of Judges reflect the bloody transition as culture changed from the wife’s home to the husband’s home at marriage.) Furthermore, that “great mystery” of husband/wife and Christ/church provides space for thought. Christians as “members of his body,” that is, the body of Christ, accurately reflects the radical Paul: “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Should I therefore take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute? Never! . . . Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Cor. 6:15; 12:27). That is sometimes called the “mystical body of Christ,” but it is an enfeebled phrase. Paul imagines actual, factual, living Christians as the physical eyes and ears, hands and feet, hearts and minds of Christ, still and always operational on earth, still and always transformational of the earth. Better to term Christians as communally and corporately the physical body on earth of the mystical Christ in heaven. Be that as it may, any possible ambiguity with the conservative anti-Paul in Ephesians on women in the family disappears completely with the reactionary anti-Paul on women in the apostolate: Let a woman learn in silence with full submission. I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep silent. For Adam was formed first, then Eve; and Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor. Yet she will be saved through childbearing, provided they continue in faith and love and holiness, with modesty. (1 Tim. 2:11–15) This is clearly reactionary, as one would hardly forbid what had never happened. And we saw, of course, with the radical Paul (in Chapter 13) that both women and men were equal inside the community as ministers (1 Cor. 11:5) and outside it as apostles (Rom. 16:7).

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Sir Philip was a tall man and exceedingly well-favoured, but his charm lay less in feature than in a certain wide expression, a tolerant expression that might almost be called noble, and in something sad yet gallant in his deep-set hazel eyes. His chin, which was firm, was very slightly cleft, his forehead intellectual, his hair tinged with auburn. His wide-nostrilled nose was indicative of temper, but his lips were well-modelled and sensitive and ardent—they revealed him as a dreamer and a lover. Twenty-nine when they had married, he had sown no few wild oats, yet Anna’s true instinct made her trust him completely. Her guardian had disliked him, opposing the engagement, but in the end she had had her own way. And as things turned out her choice had been happy, for seldom had two people loved more than they did; they loved with an ardour undiminished by time; as they ripened, so their love ripened with them. Sir Philip never knew how much he longed for a son until, some ten years after marriage, his wife conceived a child; then he knew that this thing meant complete fulfilment, the fulfilment for which they had both been waiting. When she told him, he could not find words for expression, and must just turn and weep on her shoulder. It never seemed to cross his mind for a moment that Anna might very well give him a daughter; he saw her only as a mother of sons, nor could her warnings disturb him. He christened the unborn infant Stephen, because he admired the pluck of that Saint. He was not a religious man by instinct, being perhaps too much of a student, but he read the Bible for its fine literature, and Stephen had gripped his imagination. Thus he often discussed the future of their child: ‘I think I shall put Stephen down for Harrow,’ or: ‘I’d rather like Stephen to finish off abroad, it widens one’s outlook on life.’ And listening to him, Anna also grew convinced; his certainty wore down her vague misgivings, and she saw herself playing with this little Stephen, in the nursery, in the garden, in the sweet-smelling meadows. ‘And himself the lovely young man,’ she would say, thinking of the soft Irish speech of her peasants: ‘And himself with the light of the stars in his eyes, and the courage of a lion in his heart!’