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 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 The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  And now life was full of new interest for Stephen, an interest that centred entirely in her body. She discovered her body for a thing to be cherished, a thing of real value since its strength could rejoice her; and young though she was she cared for her body with great diligence, bathing it night and morning in dull, tepid water—cold baths were forbidden, and hot baths, she had heard, sometimes weakened the muscles. For gymnastics she wore her hair in a pigtail, and somehow that pigtail began to intrude on other occasions. In spite of protests, she always forgot and came down to breakfast with a neat, shining plait, so that Anna gave in in the end and said, sighing: ‘Have your pigtail do, child, if you feel that you must—but I can’t say it suits you, Stephen.’ And Mademoiselle Duphot was foolishly loving. Stephen would stop in the middle of lessons to roll back her sleeves and examine her muscles; then Mademoiselle Duphot, instead of protesting, would laugh and admire her absurd little biceps. Stephen’s craze for physical culture increased, and now it began to invade the schoolroom. Dumb-bells appeared in the schoolroom bookcases, while half worn-out gym shoes skulked in the corners. Everything went by the board but this passion of the child’s for training her body. And what must Sir Philip elect to do next, but to write out to Ireland and purchase a hunter for his daughter to ride—a real, thoroughbred hunter. And what must he say but: ‘That’s one for young Roger!’ So that Stephen found herself comfortably laughing at the thought of young Roger; and that laugh went a long way towards healing the wound that had rankled within her—perhaps this was why Sir Philip had written out to Ireland for that thoroughbred hunter. The hunter, when he came, was grey-coated and slender, and his eyes were as soft as an Irish morning, and his courage was as bright as an Irish sunrise, and his heart was as young as the wild heart of Ireland, but devoted and loyal and eager for service, and his name was sweet on the tongue as you spoke it—being Raftery, after the poet. Stephen loved Raftery and Raftery loved Stephen. It was love at first sight, and they talked to each other for hours in his loose box—not in Irish or English, but in a quiet language having very few words but many small sounds and many small movements, which to both of them meant more than words. And Raftery said: ‘I will carry you bravely, I will serve you all the days of my life.’ And she answered: ‘I will care for you night and day, Raftery—all the days of your life.’ Thus Stephen and Raftery pledged their devotion, alone in his fragrant, hay-scented stable. And Raftery was five and Stephen was twelve when they solemnly pledged their devotion.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  ‘Well, Stephen?’ And after a pause: ‘What on earth made you send that absurd telegram? Ralph got hold of the thing and began to ask questions. You are such an almighty fool sometimes—you knew perfectly well that I couldn’t come back. Why will you behave as though you were six, have you no common sense? What’s it all about? Your methods are not only infantile—they’re dangerous.’ Then taking Angela firmly by the shoulders, Stephen turned her so that she faced the light. She put her question with youthful crudeness; ‘Do you find Roger Antrim physically attractive—do you find that he attracts you that way more than I do?’ She waited calmly, it seemed, for her answer. And because of that distinctly ominous calm, Angela was scared, so she blustered a little: ‘Of course I don’t! I resent such questions; I won’t allow them even from you, Stephen. God knows where you get your fantastic ideas! Have you been discussing me with that girl Violet? If you have, I think it’s simply outrageous! She’s quite the most evil-minded prig in the county. It was not very gentlemanly of you, my dear, to discuss my affairs with our neighbours, was it?’ ‘I refused to discuss you with Violet Antrim,’ Stephen told her, still speaking quite calmly. But she clung to her point: ‘Was it all a mistake? Is there no one between us except your husband? Angela, look at me—I will have the truth.’ For answer Angela kissed her. Stephen’s strong but unhappy arms went round her, and suddenly stretching out her hand, she switched off the little lamp on the table, so that the room was lit only by firelight. They could not see each other’s faces very clearly any more, because there was only firelight. And Stephen spoke such words as a lover will speak when his heart is burdened to breaking; when his doubts must bow down and be swept away before the unruly flood of his passion. There in that shadowy, firelit room, she spoke such words as lovers have spoken ever since the divine, sweet madness of God flung the thought of love into Creation. But Angela suddenly pushed her away: ‘Don’t, don’t—I can’t bear it—it’s too much, Stephen. It hurts me—I can’t bear this thing—for you. It’s all wrong, I’m not worth it, anyhow it’s all wrong. Stephen, it’s making me—can’t you understand? It’s too much—’ She could not, she dared not explain. ‘If you were a man—’ She stopped abruptly, and burst into uncontrollable weeping. And somehow this weeping was different from any that had gone before, so that Stephen trembled. There was something frightened and desolate about it; it was like the sobbing of a terrified child. The girl forgot her own desolation in her pity and the need that she felt to comfort. More strongly than ever before she felt the need to protect this woman, and to comfort.

• From An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness (1995)

  Richard and I moved into a house in Georgetown and quickly confirmed what our common sense should have told us: we could not have been more different. He was low-key, I was intense; things that cut me to the quick he was able to sail by with scarcely a notice; he was slow to anger, I quick; the world registered gently upon him, sometimes not at all, whereas I was fast to feel both pleasure and pain. He was, indeed, in most ways and at most times, a man of moderation; I was quicker to slight, quicker to sense, and perhaps quicker to reach out and attempt to heal hurts we inevitably caused one another. Concerts and opera, mainstays of my existence, were torture to him, as were long, extended talks or vacations lasting more than three days. We were a complete mismatch. I was filled with a thousand enthusiasms or black despair; Richard, who for the most part maintained an even emotional course, found it difficult to handle—or, worse yet, take seriously—my intensely mercurial moods. He had no idea what to do with me. If I asked him what he was thinking, it was never about death, the human condition, relationships, or us; it was, instead, almost always about a scientific problem or, occasionally, about a patient. He pursued his science and the practice of medicine with the same romantic intensity that was integral to the way I pursued the rest of life. He was not, it was clear, going to gaze meaningfully into my eyes over long dinners and fine wines, nor discuss literature and music over late-night coffee and port. He, in fact, couldn’t sit still very long, had a scarcely measurable attention span, didn’t drink much, never touched coffee, and wasn’t particularly interested in the complexities of relationships or the affirmations of art. He couldn’t abide poetry and was genuinely amazed that I seemed to spend so much of my day just wandering around, rather aimlessly, going to the zoo, visiting art galleries, walking my dog—a sweet, wholly independent, morbidly shy basset hound named Pumpkin—or meeting friends for lunch and breakfast. Yet not once in the years we have been together have I doubted Richard’s love for me, nor mine for him. Love, like life, is much stranger and far more complicated than one is brought up to believe. Our common intellectual interests—medicine, science, and psychiatry—are very strong ones, and our differences in both substance and style have allowed each of us a great deal of independence, which has been essential and which, ultimately, has bound us very close to one another over the years. My life with Richard has become a safe harbor: an extremely interesting place, filled with love and warmth and always a bit open to the outer sea. But like all safe harbors that manage to retain fascination as well as safety, it was less than smooth sailing to reach.

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

  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. Animal sacrifice was mechanical; but Jesus’ sacrifice was made through the eternal Spirit.

• 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 Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Shall I be noisy cricket Or firefly burning in silence, Dumb grief or tearful parting? And when I think we might Never have met, Been utter Strangers. 83. Spring Branches.Spring flowers at the branch end Over the water. Love is very deep, Their reflection is very deep. I had to wet my sleeves To gather them, And I want to go on Wetting, wetting, wetting my sleeves. 84. First Snow.This first snow Is very white Like first love. My maid asks from the doorstep: 'Where shall I throw The tea-leaves?' 85. Bed.Under the unnecessarily large Mosquito curtain My little heart Is fiercer than a nightlight. 86. Then.The flowers come to blossom, then We look at the flowers, then They wither, then [image file=image_rsrc1KZ.jpg] [image file=image_rsrc1M0.jpg]

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Nightingale Sings to Plum Tree. How the nightingales sing to the plum trees And the frogs splash in the water. That is love. The call of people and of things Is everywhere. Dark clouds, Fishing boats, At the will of the tide, At the will of the wind. They seem to move their own sails. The ropes are woven in the old way Like woman's hair. Deep down in green reflections. Ah, back her to the port of love! 47. Life. To the passing dawn? To a boat passing? To the wake the boat leaves? To the froth the wake leaves? 48. Hiding Place. No more grieving. I hide myself in my happiness As a firefly Hides in a moon ray. 49. Rupture. Steps die on the brittle leaves, I think of very much. Evening, a perched crow On a bare branch. The end of Autumn. 50. Plum Tree Under Snow. The plum tree Still lives, Even Still blossoms Under the snow; my heart, My most unfortunate heart Also. 51. Rose Chrysanthemum. Three butterflies On a rose chrysanthemum. The white flies away, The red flies away, The black lights on my garment. Meaning? 52. Firefly. This evening I caught a firefly To light my waiting soul And for amusement. My right hand covers the firefly in my left And both are transparent and rosy Because of it. How funny! 53. In the Spring Rain. The nightingale is quite wet In the Spring rain. The scent of the flowers of the plum tree Rises at every beating Of the wet wing. Nightingales that play with flowers, How charming that is. Some birds do not know Where they may nest at evening, But I am a nightingale And my master is a plum tree. Soon I shall be free of my body, Free to love. Is not that so? And nothing else matters. 54. 0 Dreams. O dreams, do not bring me The face of my girl in sleep. My waking and my pain Would quite unman me. 55. Flakes of Flowers. It is snowing, Winter, It is snowing. But the flakes Are flowers also. See, it is already Spring By the cloud way. 56. Surugi Lake. Dew from the lotuses Of Surugi Lake Goes up in a light fume. My hope becomes lighter than air And disappears. Yet a voice is saying: 'Who knows? Soon he may marry you.' 57. Maples Leaves. Do you know why the Autumn moon Spreads her desirable brightness On the hill? It is so that we two may count the leaves of the maple Falling One by one. 58. Deep Light. I have no wish for A frivolous or coquettish existence, I want the deep life of love. have set up the double screen Against a wind balmed with the plum trees. Come to me and I will love you In the tender light of a veiled moon, I will love you, far from the plum trees.

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

  The new relationship is based entirely on his love. Under the old covenant, people could keep this relationship to God only by obeying the law; that is, by their own efforts. Now everything is dependent not on human efforts but solely on the grace of God. The new covenant puts men and women into relationship with a God who is still a God of justice but whose justice has been swallowed up in his love. The most tremendous thing about the new covenant is that it makes our relationship to God no longer dependent on our obedience but entirely dependent on God’s love. There is one thing left to say. In Jeremiah’s words about the new covenant, there is no mention of sacrifice. It would seem that Jeremiah believed that, in the new age, sacrifice would be abolished as irrelevant; but the writer to the Hebrews can only think in terms of the sacrificial system, and very shortly he will go on to speak of Jesus as the perfect sacrifice, whose death alone made the new covenant possible. THE GLORY OF THE TABERNACLE Hebrews 9:1–5 So, then, the first tabernacle, too, had its ordinances of worship and its holy place, which was an earthly symbol of the divine realities. For the first tabernacle was constructed and in it there was the lamp stand and the table with the shewbread, and it was called the holy place. Behind the second curtain, there was that part of the tabernacle which was called the Holy of Holies. It was approached by means of the golden altar of incense, and it had in it the ark of the covenant, which was covered all over with gold. In the ark, there was the golden pot with the manna and Aaron’s rod which budded and the tables of the covenant. Above it, there were the cherubim of glory, overshadowing the mercy seat; but this is not the place to speak about all these things in detail. T HE writer to the Hebrews has just been thinking of Jesus as the one who leads us into reality. He has been using the idea that in this world we have only pale copies of what is truly real. The worship that we can offer is just a ghost-like shadow of the real worship which only Jesus, the real high priest, can offer. But even as he thinks of that, his mind goes back to the tabernacle (the tabernacle, remember, not the Temple). Lovingly he remembers its beauty; lovingly he lingers on its priceless possessions. And the thought in his mind is this: if earthly worship was as beautiful as this, what must the true worship be like?

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  There was a page named Ukyo-Itami, who served a Lord at Yedo. He was cultured and elegant, and so extremely beautiful that he troubled the eyes of those who looked at him. His master had another page named Uneme Mokawa, eighteen years of age, who also had great beauty and a countenance full of graces. Ukyo was so smitten with this other as almost to lose his senses, so moved was he by his virile loveliness. He suffered to such an extent from his love that he fell ill and had to take to his bed, where he sighed and moaned his unheard love in solitude. But he was very popular, and many people had pity on him and came to see him in his illness, to care for him and console him. One day his fellow-pages came to visit him, and among them was his beloved Uneme. At sight of him, Ukyo betrayed by his expression the sentiments which he felt for him, and the pages then guessed the secret of his illness. Samano suke Shiga, another page who was Uneme's lover, was also present, and was much moved at seeing the suffering of poor Ukyo. He Stayed with the invalid when the others went away, knelt down beside him and whispered: 'I am sure, dear Ukyo, that there is a grief in your soul. Open your heart to me who am your friend and love you very much. Do not keep any secret from me: you only torture yourself by keeping it. If you love any of the pages who were here just now, tell me frankly. I shall do my best to help you, Ukyo.' But the bashful Ukyo could not open his sick heart to him. He simply said: 'You are wrong, my Samanosuke, you are mistaken about me,' and, since Samanosuke insisted, he pretended to be asleep. Samanosuke went away. They caused two High Priests to pray for Ukyo's recovery, and after they had prayed without ceasing for two days and two nights Ukyo seemed better. Then Samanosuke again went secretly to Ukyo and said: 'Dear friend, write him a love-letter. I will give it to him without fail, and he shall at once send you a kind answer. I know whom you love so desperately, and you need not consider me in your passion. He and I are lovers, but I am quite ready to satisfy your desire, because of our long and sincere friendship, Ukyo.'

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  It was the custom to give the palace a thorough cleaning on the thirteenth of December, and for the courtiers to change their old clothes for new and spotless garments. On that day, following a plan conceived by Korin's servant, Sohatjiro was introduced into the palace in a big bamboo basket, in which Korin had already sent some new soft robes to his mother. They succeeded in carrying Sohatjiro into the room adjoining the Lord's bedroom. Korin pretended that he had pains in the stomach, and kept the screen doors well oiled so as to be able to open them easily in the night. The first time Korin went out of the room, the Lord complained of the noise he made; but, as the night advanced, the latter fell into a deep sleep and started to snore very loudly. Then Korin, thinking that the moment had come when he might join his love, crept into the next room. The two lovers embraced and swore a faithful and changeless love until their deaths. They spoke very quietly, in a whisper, of their amorous pleasures; but by ill luck it happened that the Lord was wakened by their voices. He shouted: 'There is someone in the next room, and he shall not escape.'He grasped a spear, which was renting against his pillow, and rushed upon Sohatjiro as he turned to run away. But Korin seized him by the sleeve and said: 'It is not worthy of you, Lord, to agitate yourself in this way. Be caI beg you. There was no one here but I. I was only uttering certain complaints because of my pain. Forgive me, Lord, for having disturbed your sleep.' At that moment Sohatjiro Started to climb over the wall by the help of a large branch, and the Lord saw him. He Sternly questioned Korin; but the other denied everything. Then, since he had great love for Korin, the Lord thought that this was perhaps another evil badger haunting the garden, and he calmed himself. But one of the sentinels, Shinroku Kanai, came and said to the Lord: 'I saw the track of a man in this room, and himself with my own eyes in the garden. His hair was disordered and his actions were Strange. It must be Korin's secret lover. I advise the Lord to watch Korin.'But Korin answered bravely: 'My dear one has given me his life. He is my faithful lover. Even if I must die, I will not tell his name. I have already said this many times to my Lord.'He was calm and serene.

• 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!’

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

  In any fellowship where there is division, it is because people have forgotten God, and only remembering his presence can bring back the lost peace. When our minds and hearts are distracted and we are torn in two between the two sides of our own nature, it is only by giving our lives into the control of God that we can know peace. It is only the God of peace who can make us at peace with ourselves, at peace with each other and at peace with him. (2) God is the God of life. It was God who brought Jesus again from the dead. His love and power are the only things that can bring us peace in life and triumph in death. It was to obey the will of God that Jesus died; and that same will brought him again from the dead. For those who obey the will of God, there is no such thing as final disaster; even death itself is conquered. (3) God is the God who both shows us his will and equips us to do it. He never gives us a task without also giving us the power to accomplish it. When God sends us out, he sends us equipped with everything we need. The picture of Jesus is also threefold. (1) Jesus is the great shepherd of his sheep. The picture of Jesus as the good shepherd is very precious to us; but, strangely enough, it is one that Paul never uses and that the writer to the Hebrews uses only here. There is a lovely legend of Moses which tells of something he did when he had fled from Egypt and was keeping the flocks of Jethro in the desert. A kid wandered far away from the flock. Moses patiently followed it and found it drinking at a mountain stream. He came up to it and put it on his shoulder. ‘So it was because you were thirsty that you wandered away,’ said Moses gently; and, without any anger at the toil the young goat had caused him, he carried it home. When God saw it, he said: ‘If Moses is so compassionate to a straying kid, he is the very man I want to be the leader of my people.’ A shepherd is one who is ready to give his life for his sheep; he puts up with their foolishness and never stops loving them. That is what Jesus does for us. (2) Jesus is the one who established the new covenant and made possible the new relationship between God and all people. It was he who took away the terror and showed us the love of God. (3) Jesus is the one who died. To show us what God is like and to open the way to him, it cost the life of Jesus. Our new relationship to God cost his blood. The letter finishes with some personal greetings. The writer to the Hebrews half-apologises for its length.

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

  For Paul, the issue is not, and never was, that unreal disjunction of faith versus works, but the real one of faith with works versus works without faith. For Paul, you could never have faith without works, but you could, all too often, have works without faith. Paul must, paradoxically, command Philemon to free Onesimus freely. Philemon must do it because he believes in it (faith with works) and not just because Paul commands it (works without faith): “I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced” (v. 14). It is clear, then, that the baptismal commitment of “no longer slave or free” is neither hyperbole nor hypocrisy but program and platform. It means that Christians cannot own Christians. Hierarchy: “There Is No Longer Jew or Greek”IT IS IMPORTANT THAT the phrase “there is no longer Jew or Greek” (Gal. 3:28) never be quoted except within its Christian frame. It does not deny the ongoing existence of Judaism by rhetorical holocaust or supersessionist delusion. It states that whether you come into the Christian community from Jewish monotheism or Greco-Roman polytheism, you are now equal in Christ. There is no superiority of either over the other. Jews and Greeks now “drink of one Spirit” (1 Cor. 12:13). This touches on the oft-made accusation that Paul was anti-Semitic and thereby betrayed both Jesus and Judaism. Paul believed, of course, that Jesus was the Messiah/Christ and wanted all Jews to become Messianic/Christian Jews, but that made him, from his point of view, pro-Semitic, not anti-Semitic. First, Paul insisted again and again that he himself was a devout Jew and, indeed, a fervent Pharisee. He describes himself as “circumcised on the eighth day, a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee . . . as to righteousness under the law, blameless” (Phil. 3:5–6). And hear him again, in this medley, especially with its climactic statement of his love for his own people: I advanced in Judaism beyond many among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors. (Gal. 1:14) Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I. Are they descendants of Abraham? So am I. (2 Cor. 11:22) I myself am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, a member of the tribe of Benjamin. (Rom. 11:1) I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience confirms it by the Holy Spirit—I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my own people, my kindred according to the flesh.

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

  If a lady teacher took company, or didn't receive any mail or cried alone in her room at night, by the weeks' end even the children discussed her morality, her loneliness and her other failings generally. It would have been near impossible to maintain formality under a small town's invasions of privacy. St. Louis teachers, on the other hand, tended to act very siditty, and talked down to their students from the lofty heights of education and whitefolks' enunciation. They, women as well as men, all sounded like my father with their ers and errers . They walked with their knees together and talked through tight lips as if they were as afraid to let the sound out as they were to inhale the dirty air that the listener gave off. We walked to school around walls of bricks and breathed the coal dust for one discouraging winter. We learned to say “Yes” and “No” rather than “Yes, ma'am,” and “No, ma'am.” Occasionally Mother, whom we seldom saw in the house, had us meet her at Louie's. It was a long dark tavern at the end of the bridge near our school, and was owned by two Syrian brothers. We used to come in the back door, and the sawdust, stale beer, steam and boiling meat made me feel as if I'd been eating mothballs. Mother had cut my hair in a bob like hers and straightened it, so my head felt skinned and the back of my neck so bare that I was ashamed to have anyone walk up behind me. Naturally, this kept me turning quickly as if I expected something to happen. At Louie's we were greeted by Mother's friends as “Bibbie's darling babies” and were given soft drinks and boiled shrimp. While we sat on the stiff wooden booths, Mother would dance alone in front of us to music from the See-burg. I loved her most at those times. She was like a pretty kite that floated just above my head. If I liked, I could pull it in to me by saying I had to go to the toilet or by starting a fight with Bailey. I never did either, but the power made me tender to her. The Syrian brothers vied for her attention as she sang the heavy blues that Bailey and I almost understood. They watched her, even when directing their conversation to other customers, and I knew they too were hypnotized by this beautiful lady who talked with her whole body and snapped her fingers louder than anyone in the whole world. We learned the Time Step at Louie's. It is from this basic step that most American Black dances are born. It is a series of taps, jumps and rests, and demands careful listening, feeling and coordination. We were brought before Mother's friends, there in the heavy saloon air, to show our artistry. Bailey learned easily, and has always been the better dancer. But I learned too.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  He was jealous of the two friends' love, and contrived all sorts of devices to calumniate them, and tried to separate them by the agency of treacherous persons. But one dark night the two lovers met and killed these persons. Then they fled in a boat and hid themselves for a long time, and finally came to Yedo. There they lived as Guards, concealing their true condition. Mondo was now sixty-three years old, and Hayemon sixty-six; and through all these years their hearts had not changed. They had never taken any interest in a woman. They had been genuine pederasts. Hayemon continued to consider Mondo as his young lover. He arranged his thin hair with his own hands in the Style of a page's hair, using much perfumed oil. Mondo's brow was like that of a woman, and he took great care of his person; he polished his nails with aromatic wood, and shaved himself carefully. There is no doubt that these two old men continued their amorous encounters up to an advanced age. Male love is essentially different from the ordinary love of a man and a woman; and that is why a Prince, even when he has married a beautiful Princess, cannot forget his pages. Woman is a creature of absolutely no importance; but sincere pederastic love is true love. Both of these men detested woman as a vile garden worm. They never associated with their neighbours, and when a near-by husband and wife quarrelled and Started breaking the crockery and the doors, these two old men did not try to reconcile them: on the contrary, they encouraged the husband, crying: 'Be brave, O man, and Strong! Kill her, beat her to death! Drive her from your house, and take a handsome man instead of her! 'They used to shake their fists at the woman, and thought the man feeble and lacking in courage. In the spring Mount Uyeno is thronged with visitors who come to see the cherry trees loaded with blossom, and at such time people drink excellent wines, and many get drunk. As the folk passed Hayemon's house, he used to distinguish the women's voices from the men's. When he heard men's voices, he ran out in the hope of seeing some beautiful youth: but when he heard women's voices, he shut his door and remained perfectly indifferent. One day it Started to rain, and several women who were making a pleasure party were caught in the shower. They all ran for shelter beneath the eaves of Hayemon's house, and chattered together: 'If we knew who lived here, we could get ourselves invited to tea and rest till the evening; and perhaps they would lend us umbrellas. They might even invite us to an agreeable supper. It is a great pity that we are not their friends.'One of them, who was older, bolder and less scrupulous than the rest, dared to open the door a little and cast a glance into the house.

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

  THE Isaac story, told in Genesis 22:1–18, is that most dramatic account of how Abraham met the supreme test of the demand for the life of his own son. To some extent, this story has fallen into disrepute. Some people argue that it presents an unacceptable view of God. Or it is held that the point of the story is that it was in this way that Abraham learned that God did not desire human sacrifice. No doubt that is true; but, if we want to see this story at its greatest and as the writer to the Hebrews saw it, we must take it at its face value. It shows the response of a man who was asked to offer his own son to God. (1) This story teaches us that we must be ready to sacrifice what is dearest to us for the sake of loyalty to God. There have been many who have sacrificed their careers to what they took to be the will of God. J. P. Struthers was the minister of the Reformed Presbyterian Church in Greenock, a little congregation which, it is neither false nor unkind to say, had a great past but no future. Had he been willing to forsake this church, any pulpit in the land was open to him and the most dazzling ecclesiastical rewards were his; but he sacrificed them all for the sake of what he considered to be loyalty to God’s will. Sometimes, people may have to sacrifice personal relationships. They may feel called by God to a task in a sphere which is difficult and in a place that is unattractive, and it may be that the person they hoped to marry will not face it with them. They must choose between the will of God and the relationship which means so much to them. When John Bunyan was in prison, he was thinking of what would happen to his family if he was executed. In particular, the thought of his little blind daughter, who was so dear to him, haunted him: ‘O,’ he said, ‘I saw in this condition I was a man who was pulling down his house upon the head of his wife and children; yet, thought I, I must do it, I must do it.’ In words from William Cowper’s hymn ‘O for a closer walk with God’: The dearest idol I have known, Whate’er that idol be, Help me to tear it from thy throne, And worship only thee. Abraham was the man who would sacrifice even the dearest thing in life for God. Time after time in the early Church, it happened. In a home, one partner became a Christian and the other did not; the children became Christians and the parents did not. The sword came down upon that home; and, unless there had been men and women who counted Christ dearer than all else, there would be no Christianity today.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  T 2 All Comrade-Lovers die by Hara-kiri HE FAIREST PLANTS AND TREES MEET THEIR death because of the marvel of their flowers. And it is the same with humanity: any men perish because they are too beautiful. There was a page named Ukyo-Itami, who served a Lord at Yedo. He was cultured and elegant, and so extremely beautiful that he troubled the eyes of those who looked at him. His master had another page named Uneme Mokawa, eighteen years of age, who also had great beauty and a countenance full of graces. Ukyo was so smitten with this other as almost to lose his senses, so moved was he by his virile loveliness. He suffered to such an extent from his love that he fell ill and had to take to his bed, where he sighed and moaned his unheard love in solitude. But he was very popular, and many people had pity on him and came to see him in his illness, to care for him and console him. One day his fellow-pages came to visit him, and among them was his beloved Uneme. At sight of him, Ukyo betrayed by his expression the sentiments which he felt for him, and the pages then guessed the secret of his illness. Samano suke Shiga, another page who was Uneme's lover, was also present, and was much moved at seeing the suffering of poor Ukyo. He Stayed with the invalid when the others went away, knelt down beside him and whispered: 'I am sure, dear Ukyo, that there is a grief in your soul. Open your heart to me who am your friend and love you very much. Do not keep any secret from me: you only torture yourself by keeping it. If you love any of the pages who were here just now, tell me frankly. I shall do my best to help you, Ukyo.' But the bashful Ukyo could not open his sick heart to him. He simply said: 'You are wrong, my Samanosuke, you are mistaken about me,' and, since Samanosuke insisted, he pretended to be asleep. Samanosuke went away. They caused two High Priests to pray for Ukyo's recovery, and after they had prayed without ceasing for two days and two nights Ukyo seemed better. Then Samanosuke again went secretly to Ukyo and said: 'Dear friend, write him a love-letter. I will give it to him without fail, and he shall at once send you a kind answer. I know whom you love so desperately, and you need not consider me in your passion. He and I are lovers, but I am quite ready to satisfy your desire, because of our long and sincere friendship, Ukyo.' Then Ukyo took courage and wrote a letter with trembling hand, and entrusted it to Samanosuke. When Samanosuke reached the palace he met Uneme, who was looking in silence at the flowers in the garden.