Tenderness

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 Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  ATHANASIUS. (Orat. 2. cont. Arian.) He says this to explain to us the cause of the revelation made to the world, and of His taking upon Him the human nature. For as the Son, though He is the giver of the Spirit, does not refuse to confess as man that by the Spirit He casts out devils, so, inasmuch as He was made man, He does not refuse to say, The Spirit of the Lord is upon me. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. In like manner we confess Him to have been anointed, inasmuch as He took upon Him our flesh, as it follows, Because he hath anointed me. For the Divine nature is not anointed, but that which is cognate to us. So also when He says that He was sent, we must suppose Him speaking of His human nature. For it follows, He hath sent me to preach the gospel to the poor. AMBROSE. You see the Trinity coeternal and perfect. The Scripture speaks of Jesus as perfect God and perfect man. It speaks of the Father, and the Holy Spirit, who was shewn to be a cooperator, when in a bodily form as a dove He descended upon Christ. ORIGEN. By the poor He means the Gentile nations, for they were poor, possessing nothing at all, having neither God, nor Law, nor Prophets, nor justice, and the other virtues. AMBROSE. Or, He is anointed all over with spiritual oil, and heavenly virtue, that He might enrich the poverty of man’s condition with the everlasting treasure of His resurrection. BEDE. He is sent also to preach the Gospel to the poor, saying, Blessed are the poor, for yours is the kingdom of heaven. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. For perhaps to the poor in spirit He declares in these words, that among all the gifts which are obtained through Christ, upon them was bestowed a free gift. It follows, To heal the broken hearted. He calls those broken hearted, who are weak, of an infirm mind, and unable to resist the assaults of the passions, and to them He promises a healing remedy. BASIL. (non occ.) Or, He came to heal the broken hearted, i. e. to afford a remedy to those that have their heart broken by Satan through sin, because beyond all other things sin lays prostrate the human heart. BEDE. Or, because it is written, A broken and a contrite heart God will not despise. (Ps. 51:17.) He says therefore, that He is sent to heal the broken hearted, as it is written, Who heals the broken hearted. (Ps. 147:3.) It follows, And to preach deliverance to the captives.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  10. We read in decret. dist. xlii: “If any man contemn those who faithfully prepare the agapes, or banquets of the poor, and call the brethren together for the glory of God, and despises the work they do, let such an one be anathema.” It is, therefore, a crime worthy of excommunication, to condemn the practice of almsgiving. 11. We read in Prov. xxi. 13: “He who stops his ear against the cry of the poor shall also cry himself, and he shall not be heard.” The Gloss observes: “These words refer to the poor considered generally, not only to the sick or destitute. For he who prefers to judge his neighbour, rather than to pity his sinfulness, shows that he himself is not free from guilt, nor worthy to be beard by the Divine mercy.” Alms then are to be given to all who are poor, even though they are in robust health. 12. On the words of Ps. ciii: “Bringing forth grass for cattle, and herbs for the service of men,” the Gloss says: “The, earth, being fertile, was able to provide grass (i.e., material subsistence) for cattle (i.e., for Preachers), in order that they who preach the Gospel may live by the Gospel. If the earth does not bring forth this temporal support for preachers it is barren. If it produces these material good things it is bearing fruit.” And again: “Preachers have a right to material assistance, since they impart spiritual gifts. It is of these that it is written: ‘Blessed is he who anticipates the voice of him who asks.’ You should not act towards the ox that treads the grain as you act towards the beggar who passes by. You give to the one who asks, for you have read, ‘Give to him who asks of you!’ But you should likewise give to him who does not ask.” Again, the Gloss says: “Give to every one who asks, whoever he may be, recognising in his person Him to Whom you give. But, much more, give to the servant of God, the soldier of Christ, who does not ask.” Hence we see that if we are to bestow alms on all the poor, even on those who do not beg for them, preachers ought in an especial manner to be assisted by those who hear them. 13. In St. Luke xvi. 9 we read: “Make yourselves friends with the mammon of iniquity.” Here the Gloss remarks : “This text does not refer to the poor indiscriminately, but to those who can receive us unto everlasting dwellings.” Now the poor of Christ, beyond all others, can receive us into everlasting dwellings, for they, together with Christ, will be our judges. Therefore, it is especially to these that we should give alms. We must now reply to the objections of our opponents.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  6. It is a charitable office to deliver the oppressed from their oppressors. “I broke the jaws of the wicked man, and out of his teeth I took away the prey “ (Job xxix. 17). “Deliver those who are being led to death” (Prov. xxiv. 11). “Rescue the poor, and deliver the needy out of the hand of the sinner” (Ps. lxxxi. 4). Now we are bound to perform charitable offices, primarily towards those most closely connected with us. Hence, as religious are most closely bound to their religious brethren, they ought in charity to oppose those who oppress their order. By this and by all the preceding arguments, we learn that religious not only may, but ought to resist the violence and artifices of their enemies. We must remember that the assailants of religious orders attack them, sometimes in spiritual and sometimes in temporal matters. When religious are oppressed in what concerns their spiritual rights, they ought to resist their oppressors with all their might, especially when the questions involved affect not only themselves, but others. For religious embrace the religious life solely in order to be free to devote themselves to spiritual interests. If their spiritual liberty is curtailed, their object in becoming religious is frustrated. Consequently, as it is a point of perfection for them to carry out their object, it is likewise a point of perfection for them to resist all the obstacles which may be placed in the way of its attainment. If religious are attacked as to their material interests, perfection demands that so long as their injury be of a private and personal nature, they should bear it patiently, as St. Gregory reminds us, lest by resistance they incite their enemies to violence. If, however, the damage inflicted on them affects not only their own, but the common welfare (even in temporal matters), they ought, as far as possible, to resist their oppressors. It is not perfection but indolence and cowardice to endure such oppression when it might be resisted. For, as we have just said, everyone is bound in charity to defend his neighbour from injury as far as he is able to do so, according to the words of the Book of Proverbs (xxiv. 11): “Deliver those who are being led to death” etc. We will now proceed to examine the objections brought against our proposition.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  I watched him moving about, doing a little tidying, neatly stacking up Charles’s tumbled notebooks. For all his compact, self-contained ordinariness he was a shape-changer. He was exercising his ability to make himself bigger, stronger, and more beautiful. I could still summon up one image of him when he first came to the Corry—standard material, a bit overweight, uncommunicative. Now he grew better week by week. His whole gait was changing as his thighs became more massive, rubbing together as he walked and so pushing his knees apart and turning his toes slightly in. As a result his ass, even more than before, seemed to be proffered, thrust out ingenuously towards the admiring hand. Whilst I was Impotens he was a great consolation just to hold and touch—like those exhibitions of sculpture that are put on for the handicapped. Instead of the normal brutal rush our lovemaking was tentative and respectful—it was as if we were both of us afflicted by some cruel, slowing illness that made us think everything out from scratch. ‘Still reading those books?’ he said, with a hint of reserve, as he came and sat on the floor by my chair and activated the remote control of the TV. I don’t think he really knew what the books were, and looked on them as some tiresome academic pursuit to which I was snobbishly attached. ‘There’s no tennis,’ I said, as the still of the court welled up in the screen, accompanied by optimistic light music. ‘Do you fancy any of the tennis players?’ he asked. ‘I think tennis the least erotic of all sports,’ I lied firmly, ‘marbles and pigeon-fancying not excluded. Please turn it off.’ He fairly jabbed down the button, and I could see him forcing back a reasonable riposte and remembering to be tolerant of me. He sat with his head bowed, until I reached down and stroked the side of his neck, pulling his chin back, and running my fingers over his face. When my palm covered his mouth, he kissed it slightly, and I was perhaps forgiven. ‘No telly today,’ I said. ‘I’m going to read to you. Please excuse my temporary lisp. Our hero is just arriving at Port Said, with him three rather keen young men, Harrap, Fryer and, um, Stearn; all are wearing panama hats and too many clothes. The date, September 12, 1923.’

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  (v) Sōtēria is salvation from ‘sin’. Jesus was called Jesus because he was to save his people from their sins (Matt. 1.21). By himself man is the slave of sin. He cannot liberate himself from it. He can diagnose his situation easily enough, but he cannot cure his disease. The saving power of Christ alone can do that. ‘He breaks the power of cancelled sin. He sets sin’s prisoner free.’ (vi) Sōtēria is salvation from ‘wrath’ (Rom. 5.9). The NT cannot be emptied of the conception of judgment. That conception is fundamental to it. Jesus Christ did something, God did something, which freed men from the wrath of injured holiness and transgressed justice. In Jesus Christ something happened which put a man into a new relationship with God. (vii) One last thing we may note. Sōtēria is eschatological. That is to say, we can begin to enjoy it here and now, but its full impact and its full wonder will only come to us in the day when Jesus Christ is enthroned King of all the world (Rom. 13.11; I Cor. 5.5; II Tim. 4.18; Heb. 9.28; I Pet. 1.5; Rev. 12.10). It is quite true that the Second Coming of Christ is not a popular doctrine. But it does conserve the tremendous truth that this world is going somewhere, and when the world reaches its final consummation so will sōtēria be finally perfected. Sōtēria is that which saves a man from all that would ruin his soul in this life and in the life to come. SPLAGCHNIZESTHAI THE DIVINE COMPASSION There are some words which bear within themselves the evidence of a kind of revolution in the realm of thought: and splagchnizesthai is such a word. It means to be moved with compassion. It is not a classical word, but it does contain a classical way of thought. Splagchnizesthai is the verb which comes from the noun splagchna, which means what are known as the nobler viscera, that is, the heart, the lungs, the liver and the intestines. The Greeks held these to be the seat of the emotions, especially of anger, of anxiety, of fear, and even of love. When Hercules is expressing his complaint to Admetus, he says: ‘Unto a friend behoveth speech outspoken, Admetus, not to hide within the splagchna (the breast, as we would say in English) murmurs unvoiced’ (Euripides, Alcestis 1008-1010). When the Chorus are listening to Electra’s lamentation, they say: ‘My splagchna are overcast with gloom at thy speech’ (Aeschylus, Choephori 413). So then in classical Greek the splagchna mean the inner parts of man, which are the seat of the deepest emotions. It is from that idea that the verb splagchnizesthai was formed in later Greek. It means to be moved with compassion, and, from its very derivation, it can be seen that it describes no ordinary pity or compassion, but an emotion which moves a man to the very depths of his being.

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  On the other hand, the young woman found an attentive listener in Mamsell Jungmann, who was now 35 years old and could boast of having turned gray in the service of the first circles. »Need don't be afraid, little Tony,' she said; "You're still young, you'll marry again." Incidentally, with love and loyalty she dedicated herself to raising little Erika and told her the same memories and stories that the Consul's children had listened to fifteen years ago: about an uncle in particular, who had died of hiccups in Marienwerder because he had "pushed his heart off." But what Tony liked best and spent the longest time chatting with her father was after lunch or at breakfast in the morning. Her relationship to him suddenly became much more intimate than it had been before. Hitherto, given his position of power in the city, given his industrious, solid, strict, and pious efficiency, she had felt more anxious reverence than tenderness for him; but during that argument in her salon he had approached her as a human being, and it had filled her with pride and emotion that he had honored her with an intimate and serious conversation about this matter, that he had left the decision up to her and that he was the untouchable, confessed to her almost humbly that he didn't feel innocent towards her. It is certain that Tony himself would never have thought of it; but since he said it she believed it, and her feelings for him became softer and more tender as a result. As for the Consul himself, he did not change his views and felt that he had to repay his daughter for her difficult fate with redoubled love. Johann Buddenbrook had not taken any personal action against his cheating son-in-law. It is true that Tony and her mother had learned from the course of some conversations what dishonest means Herr Grünlich had resorted to in order to obtain 80,000 marks; but the consul was careful not to hand over the matter to the public or even to the judiciary. He felt bitterly offended in his pride as a businessman and silently confessed the disgrace of having been so clumsily cheated. In any case, as soon as the bankruptcy of the house of B. Grünlich took place, he was strict - the various companies in Hamburg, by the way, were not inconsiderable losses-, with determination preparing the divorce process... and it was this process mostly, the thought that she, herself, was the center of a real process that filled Tony with an indescribable sense of dignity. "Father," she said; for in such conversations she never called the Consul "Papa." “Father, how is our cause going? You think everything will be fine, don't you? The paragraph is perfectly clear; I studied it carefully! 'Man's inability to support his family...'

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  It is the strongest word in Greek for the feeling of compassion. In the NT the word never occurs outside the Synoptic Gospels; and except for three occurrences in the parables it is always used of Jesus. In the parables it is used of the master who had compassion on the servant who was unable to pay his debt (Matt. 18.33); of the compassion which made the father welcome home the prodigal son (Luke 15.20); and of the compassion which made the Samaritan go to the help of the wounded traveller on the Jericho road (Luke 10.33). In all other cases it is used of Jesus himself. Jesus was moved with compassion when he saw the crowd like sheep without a shepherd (Matt. 9.36; cp. Mark 6.34). He was moved with compassion when he saw their hunger and their need when they had followed him out to the desert place (Matt. 14.14; 15.32; Mark 8.2). It is used of Jesus’ compassion on the leper (Mark 1.41; it is possible that another reading should be preferred in this passage); of his compassion on the two blind men (Matt. 20.34); of his compassion on the widow at Nain who was going to bury her only son (Luke 7.13); and the appeal of the man with the epileptic son is that Jesus should have compassion on him (Mark 9.22). There are two interesting things about the use of this word. First, it shows us the things in the human situation which moved the heart of Jesus. (i) Jesus was moved by the spiritual lostness of the crowd. They were as sheep without a shepherd. He was not annoyed with their foolishness; he was not angry at their shiftlessness; he was sorry for them. He saw them as a harvest waiting to be gathered for God (Matt. 9.37, 38). The Pharisees said: ‘The man who does not know the law is accursed.’ They were able to say: ‘There is joy in heaven over one sinner who is destroyed.’ But in face of man’s lostness, even when that lostness was his own fault, Jesus felt nothing but pity. He did not see man as a criminal to be condemned; he saw man as a lost wanderer to be found and brought home. He did not see men as chaff to be burned; he saw them as a harvest to be reaped for God. (ii) Jesus was moved by the hunger and the pain of men. The sight of a crowd of hungry, tired people, the appeal of a blind or a leprous man, moved him to compassion. He never regarded people as a nuisance, but always as people whom he must help. Eusebius (Ecclesiastical History 10.4.11) writes of Jesus in words which are either an unconscious or a deliberate quotation from Hippocrates, the founder of Greek medicine. ‘He was like some excellent physician, who, in order to cure the sick, examines what is repulsive, handles sores, and reaps pain himself from the sufferings of others.’

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  I thought of him with such tenderness in the shower and the changing-room that I was hardly aware of the bustle around me. I had not been good enough to him. I had often been sarcastic, and used him as a kind of beautiful pneumatic toy. He was the only true, pure, simple thing I could see in my life at the moment, and I wished I was with him, and wanted to thank him, and say I was sorry. I decided I would go up to the Queensberry and hope to catch him before he went out. Then I would go to James, who was true and pure too of course in his way, and worrying about his looming court appearance. I went through the deeply familiar streets and squares, through the equally intimate cooling and soft-fingered evening. Then there were the high plane trees and the bold splashing fountains—my mood escaping all the while from its bleak morning pacings and ambling into a more romantic melancholy. I became somehow picturesque to myself, prone as ever to the aesthetic solution. I was about to go round to the side of the hotel, where I was well enough known now, but I was suddenly tired of my laundryman’s-eye view of life, and swung up the main shrub-flanked steps and into the hall. I had become so used to the back stairs that I was quite surprised to see svelte couples coming down for pre-dinner drinks, others checking in, their anxieties melting as uniformed boys magicked their monogrammed luggage away. One or two people, waiting to meet friends, half-concentrated on the lit showcases where scarves, watches, perfumes and china figurines were displayed, or revolved the squeaking postcard racks, soothed by the customary London views. I loitered too for a minute, charmed—or at least amazed—by all this bought pleasantness. And then I saw a wonderful young man, perhaps about my age, and with just that air of bland international luxury about him, come from the lift and saunter towards the cocktail bar. He was tall and graceful but gave the impression of weighing a great deal; as he approached I was startled by his deep-set brown eyes, long nose and curling lips and his trotting, swept-back hair; as he walked away I took in his maroon mocassins, his immaculate pale cotton trousers, through which the shadow of his briefs could be seen, the cashmere slip cast around his shoulders. I felt he must belong to some notable Latin American family. It hardly required thought to follow him, though I gave him a second or two to get settled. I feared he might have gone to sit at a table or have joined his diplomat father and ragging, adoring younger brothers and sisters. But no, he was perched at the marble curve of the bar, and I was able to greet Simon—all in braid and tumbling his cocktail-shaker—as I took up a convenient high stool.

• From Love & Sex: A Christian Guide to Healthy Intimacy (2018)

  Still standing, both thought for a few minutes, until Trevor said, “Maybe it’s okay for me to desire closeness with men, but maybe I don’t need to make it about sex. Sex isn’t love. I thought it was, but it isn’t. Maybe the sexual abuse from you, Brian, felt like it was meeting a need for me: It was affectionate. It was physically close. I liked your body close to mine and to see your muscles ripple—I liked that. But maybe my real need was for love. Nothing sexual about it all. Just a human desire to be loved,” Trevor pondered aloud. Ted asked, “Son, can I give you one of those man hugs I gave James earlier today?” Trevor sort of fell into Ted’s arms and Ted just held him like a father with a toddler. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. Man to man. Not a hint of anything sexual. The years of tears released like a flood from the depths of Trevor’s being. Ted just held him and whispered, “That’s it. Let it out. Let all of that hurt out, all of that hate for the failures of your dad, the confusion of what Brian ignited in your life. You are not bad, son. You are loveable. You are worthy. You are a delightful son. You are wanted. You are valuable. It’s okay to let yourself feel and to have longings. You have longed for a father since before you were born. Father God loves you with all His heart. He wants you for His own. He has been calling your name and seeking your face. He wants a close relationship with you. He wants to be the father you never had. And Trevor, I want to be here for you too.” With that, Ted took Trevor’s shoulders in his two wrinkled hands and said face to face, eye to eye, “I love you, son.” Trevor couldn’t really contain himself. He had never felt such love, but had always hungered for it. James got up from the chair, where he had been playing the role of these two young boys’ sexual abuser, and put his arms around Trevor. “I’m not Brian. I’m James. And I love you too, buddy, and you are no longer alone.” Then Jason did the same thing, as did Kevin and lastly Jeff. “Trevor,” Jeff said. “I have felt so much guilt toward you. I knew your home life was hard. I should have told Brian to go to hell and leave us alone. I was such a coward.” “Man, I have felt the same way toward you, Jeff. You were always so innocent and such a good kid. You were everything I wanted to be and so was your family. I always believed, if you hadn’t been hanging around me, nothing bad would have happened to you. I thought it was all my fault,” Trevor confessed.

• From Little Women (1868)

  sugared it well, and had a pitcher of rich cream to eat with it. Her hot cheeks cooled a trifle, and she drew a long breath as the pretty glass plates went round, and everyone looked graciously at the little rosy islands floating in a sea of cream. Miss Crocker tasted first, made a wry face, and drank some water hastily. Jo, who refused, thinking there might not be enough, for they dwindled sadly after the picking over, glanced at Laurie, but he was eating away manfully, though there was a slight pucker about his mouth and he kept his eye fixed on his plate. Amy, who was fond of delicate fare, took a heaping spoonful, choked, hid her face in her napkin, and left the table precipitately. "Oh, what is it?" exclaimed Jo, trembling. "Salt instead of sugar, and the cream is sour," replied Meg with a tragic gesture. Jo uttered a groan and fell back in her chair, remembering that she had given a last hasty powdering to the berries out of one of the two boxes on the kitchen table, and had neglected to put the milk in the refrigerator. She turned scarlet and was on the verge of crying, when she met Laurie's eyes, which would look merry in spite of his heroic efforts. The comical side of the affair suddenly struck her, and she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. So did everyone else, even 'Croaker' as the girls called the old lady, and the unfortunate dinner ended gaily, with bread and butter, olives and fun. "I haven't strength of mind enough to clear up now, so we will sober ourselves with a funeral," said Jo, as they rose, and Miss Crocker made ready to go, being eager to tell the new story at another friend's dinner table. They did sober themselves for Beth's sake. Laurie dug a grave under the ferns in the grove, little Pip was laid in, with many tears by his tender-hearted mistress, and covered with moss, while a wreath of violets and chickweed was hung on the stone which bore his epitaph, composed by Jo while she struggled with the dinner. Here lies Pip March, Who died the 7th of June; Loved and lamented sore, And not forgotten soon. At the conclusion of the ceremonies, Beth retired to her room, overcome with emotion and lobster, but there was no place of repose, for the beds were not made, and she found her grief much assuaged by beating up the pillows and

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among robbers, who also stripped him, and having wounded him went away, leaving him half dead. And it chanced that a certain priest went down the same way; and seeing him passed by. In like manner also a Levite, when he was near the place and saw him, passed by. But a certain Samaritan, being on his journey, came near him; and seeing him was moved with compassion. And going up to him bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine; and setting him on his own beast brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two pence and gave to the host, and said, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou shalt spend over and above, I at my return will repay thee. Which of these three, in thy opinion, was neighbour to him that fell among the robbers? But he said, He that showed mercy to him. And Jesus said to him, Go, and do thou in like manner. St. Luke 10:30–37. Prayer

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  In Acts 18.26 proslambanesthai is used of Aquila and Priscilla ‘taking Apollos to themselves’ in order to explain the Christian way more fully to him. In Rom. 14.1 Paul uses it of ‘receiving’ into the fellowship of the Church the brother who is weak in the faith; and in Rom. 14.3 Paul says that God has ‘received’ us. In Rom. 15.7 Paul uses it when he says that all Christians ought ‘to receive’ one another. And in Philem. 17 he uses it when he urges Philemon ‘to receive’ the runaway slave Onesimus as he would have received Paul himself. From these usages we see that proslambanesthai is an almost technical word for ‘receiving someone into the Christian Church and fellowship and faith’. Let us see the flavour of the word so that we can perhaps understand a little more fully what that Christian reception ought to mean. (i) In the Septuagint proslambanesthai is often used of the way in which God receives his people. In Ps. 27.10 the Psalmist says that when his father and mother abandon him the Lord ‘will take him up’. In Ps. 65.4 the Psalmist sings of the happiness of the man whom God chooses and ‘takes to himself. In I Sam. 12.22 it is used when Samuel says that the Lord has graciously ‘taken Israel to himself’ for a people. Here, then, is the first thing this word tells us. When we receive others we should receive them as God receives them. The same word is used for God’s reception of his people and the Christian’s reception of his fellow-man. In our welcome to others there must be all the generosity, the forgiveness, the sheer kindness of God. (ii) In classical Greek it is used widely and regularly of ‘taking someone to oneself as a helper’. It is used by Xenophon of a leader who receives as his helpers a new force of cavalry and infantry. He uses it of a leader who brings cities into alliance with himself either with or against their will. It is particularly used with three Greek words. It is used with summachos, which means ‘an ally’, with sunergos, which means a ‘fellow-labourer’, and with koinōnos, which means ‘a partner in a business’. When we receive someone into the Church and the Christian fellowship we receive him as ‘an ally’ and a ‘helper’. That means two things, (a) For us, it means that we must never receive anyone into the Christian fellowship without an honest attempt to see how his gifts may best be used for the good of the fellowship.

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  The picture was taken on the porch. We were all smoking pipes. I was wearing a black stocking cap, like a beat poet or a bank robber. Andrew the Protester, the tall good-looking one with dark hair and the beard, the one who looks like a young Fidel Castro, was the activist in our bachelor family. He is the guy I told you about with whom I go to protests. He works with the homeless downtown and is studying at Portland State to become a social worker. He is always talking about how outrageous the Republicans are or how wrong it is to eat beef. I honestly don’t know how Andrew got so tall without eating beef. Jeremy, the guy in the Wranglers with the marine haircut, is the cowboy in the family. He always carries a gun. You’d think Andrew and Jeremy would hate each other because Andrew opposes the right to bear arms, but they get along okay, good-natured guys and all. It is a shame because that would be a great fight. Jeremy wants to be a cop, and he went to college on a wrestling scholarship, and Andrew is a communist. I would try to get them to fight, but they liked each other. Mike Tucker, whom we all refer to as Tuck, was the older brother in the clan, the responsible one. He is the one with the spiked red hair, like Richie Cunningham fused with a rock star. Mike was a trucker for years but always dreamed of a career in advertising. He moved to Portland and started his own advertising agency with just a cell phone and a Web site. He posed nude on his brochure, which got him gigs with Doc Martens and a local fashion agency. He freelances every other day and drives trucks the rest of the time. Mike is one of my best friends in the world. Mike is one of the greatest guys I know. Simon, the short good-looking guy with the black hair and sly grin, was the leprechaun of our tribe. He’s a deeply spiritual Irishman here for the year from Dublin. Simon is a womanizer, always heading down to Kell’s for a pint with the lads or to the church to pray and ask God’s forgiveness for his detestable sins and temper. Simon came to America on a J-1 visa. He came to Portland, specifically, to study our church. He wants to go back to the homeland and start a Christian revival, returning the country to its faith in Jesus, the living God. After that, he wants to unite men and take England captive, forcing them to be slaves to the Irish, the greatest of all peoples, the people who invented honor, integrity, Western civilization, Guinness and, apparently, peanut butter and the light bulb.

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  SPLAGCHNIZESTHAITHE DIVINE COMPASSIONThere are some words which bear within themselves the evidence of a kind of revolution in the realm of thought: and splagchnizesthai is such a word. It means to be moved with compassion. It is not a classical word, but it does contain a classical way of thought. Splagchnizesthai is the verb which comes from the noun splagchna, which means what are known as the nobler viscera, that is, the heart, the lungs, the liver and the intestines. The Greeks held these to be the seat of the emotions, especially of anger, of anxiety, of fear, and even of love. When Hercules is expressing his complaint to Admetus, he says: ‘Unto a friend behoveth speech outspoken, Admetus, not to hide within the splagchna (the breast, as we would say in English) murmurs unvoiced’ (Euripides, Alcestis 1008-1010). When the Chorus are listening to Electra’s lamentation, they say: ‘My splagchna are overcast with gloom at thy speech’ (Aeschylus, Choephori 413). So then in classical Greek the splagchna mean the inner parts of man, which are the seat of the deepest emotions. It is from that idea that the verb splagchnizesthai was formed in later Greek. It means to be moved with compassion, and, from its very derivation, it can be seen that it describes no ordinary pity or compassion, but an emotion which moves a man to the very depths of his being. It is the strongest word in Greek for the feeling of compassion. In the NT the word never occurs outside the Synoptic Gospels; and except for three occurrences in the parables it is always used of Jesus. In the parables it is used of the master who had compassion on the servant who was unable to pay his debt (Matt. 18.33); of the compassion which made the father welcome home the prodigal son (Luke 15.20); and of the compassion which made the Samaritan go to the help of the wounded traveller on the Jericho road (Luke 10.33). In all other cases it is used of Jesus himself. Jesus was moved with compassion when he saw the crowd like sheep without a shepherd (Matt. 9.36; cp. Mark 6.34). He was moved with compassion when he saw their hunger and their need when they had followed him out to the desert place (Matt. 14.14; 15.32; Mark 8.2). It is used of Jesus’ compassion on the leper (Mark 1.41; it is possible that another reading should be preferred in this passage); of his compassion on the two blind men (Matt. 20.34); of his compassion on the widow at Nain who was going to bury her only son (Luke 7.13); and the appeal of the man with the epileptic son is that Jesus should have compassion on him (Mark 9.22). There are two interesting things about the use of this word. First, it shows us the things in the human situation which moved the heart of Jesus.

• From Four Days to Glory: Wrestling with the Soul of the American Heartland (2005)

  CHAPTER 3The Family BusinessIn the dead nighttime quiet of the farmhouse out in the open land beyond tiny Coggon, Dan pulls a blanket around him as he curls in tight against one corner of the couch in the TV room, and you are reminded what a compact person he is. He wrestles at 140 pounds as a senior, and he wrestled at 119 pounds as a freshman. He has been the same size throughout high school, basically. He long ago mastered the art of maintaining his optimal weight. He knows the difference between a pound of meat and a pound of chips, put it that way. On this night, he makes do with a small bowl of chili and, for a treat, a miniature Tupperware cup of Froot Loops. It’s a cup you might normally see used to keep Cheerios on hand for a toddler—enough for a taste but not really an experience. Doug LeClere sweeps into the house through the back door, having made his rounds on the farm and changed the cattle’s water, testing to be sure it wasn’t frozen solid. Although “farmer” is just one of at least four jobs Doug carries, it is easily the one with the most insistent and immediate demands. As he puts it, “It’s not the kind of thing you can ignore for very long at a time.” Inside the house, Mary LeClere, Dan’s mother, having cleared the table and washed the dishes, pads off quietly to another room, carrying a little dessert with her. Mary long ago learned that if she wanted to enjoy something sweet, she needed to do it out of the sight of her wrestler children. As Dan and his younger brothers, Nick and Chris, lounge on the couch, putting off homework, Doug reaches for a tape and pops it into the VCR. He is looking for some old video of Dan to show, something from when he was a mite wrestling in little-kid competitions, but what appears on the screen instead is relatively new footage, taken within a year or so—and it is not of one of the LeClere boys. It’s the dad. “Where’d that come from?” Doug asks, but it’s clear he is not bothered. He is seldom embarrassed by anything, least of all something to do with wrestling, even if it’s a video of a 40-something adult scrapping around in a weekend all-comers competition. Wrestling is Doug’s identity, more so than farming. Wrestling is his family’s calling card. He was good enough at it in high school to earn a ticket to State, and when you’re a true wrestler, the season never ends. At least that’s what the tape suggests. As Doug describes the location and the opponent, Dan slowly takes notice. At first he appears bemused, maybe even slightly annoyed, that his dad has dragged out one of his own matches; but as the moments pass, Dan’s eyes never leave the television screen.

• From New Testament Words (1964)

  (i) Jesus was moved by the spiritual lostness of the crowd. They were as sheep without a shepherd. He was not annoyed with their foolishness; he was not angry at their shiftlessness; he was sorry for them. He saw them as a harvest waiting to be gathered for God (Matt. 9.37, 38). The Pharisees said: ‘The man who does not know the law is accursed.’ They were able to say: ‘There is joy in heaven over one sinner who is destroyed.’ But in face of man’s lostness, even when that lostness was his own fault, Jesus felt nothing but pity. He did not see man as a criminal to be condemned; he saw man as a lost wanderer to be found and brought home. He did not see men as chaff to be burned; he saw them as a harvest to be reaped for God. (ii) Jesus was moved by the hunger and the pain of men. The sight of a crowd of hungry, tired people, the appeal of a blind or a leprous man, moved him to compassion. He never regarded people as a nuisance, but always as people whom he must help. Eusebius (Ecclesiastical History 10.4.11) writes of Jesus in words which are either an unconscious or a deliberate quotation from Hippocrates, the founder of Greek medicine. ‘He was like some excellent physician, who, in order to cure the sick, examines what is repulsive, handles sores, and reaps pain himself from the sufferings of others.’ Jesus never regarded the sufferer with indifference, still less with loathing and disgust. He regarded the sufferer and the needy with a pity which issued in help. (iii) Jesus was moved by the sorrow of others. When he met the funeral procession of the son of the widow of Nain, he was moved by the pathos of the human situation. He was not detached and he was not indifferent; the sorrow of the widow was his own sorrow. In Sentimental Tommy Barrie wrote of his hero, who is himself: ‘The most conspicuous of his traits was the faculty of stepping into other people’s shoes and remaining in them until he became someone else.’ The greatness of Jesus was his willingness to enter into the human situation, and to be moved by its poignancy to that compassion which compelled him to help and to heal. But this word splagchnizesthai has a far greater significance than simply the indication that Jesus was moved to the depths of his being by the human situation. The notable thing about this word is that to a Greek its use about anyone who was divine would seem completely and utterly and totally incredible.

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  He was still wearing a suit of an indefinite color, missing a button here and there, and a large patch on the buttocks. His hands were still not entirely clean, but they were slender and extraordinarily noble, with long, slender fingers and pointed nails. And still his reddish-yellow hair, briefly parted in the middle, fell into an alabaster-white and flawless forehead, under which, deep and sharp at the same time, the light blue Eyes gleamed... The contrast between his badly neglected toilet and the racial purity of this delicate-boned face with the very slightly curved nose and the slightly pursed upper lip was even more obvious than before. "No, Kai," said Hanno with a twisted mouth and moving his hand around his heart, "how can you frighten me like that! Why are you up here? why were you hiding Were you late too?” "Save," answered Kai. 'I've been here for a long time... Can't wait to get back to the asylum on Monday morning, as you know best, dear... No, I just stayed up here for fun. The profound chief teacher was in charge and did not consider it robbery to drive the people down to worship. So I made it so that I was always close behind his back... No matter how he turned and peeked around, the mystic, I was always close behind his back until he went away, and that's how I was able to stay up... But you «, he said compassionately and sat down next to Hanno on the bench with a tender movement... »You had to run, didn’t you? Poor! You look very harried. Your hair is sticking to your temples..." And he took a ruler from the table and loosened it, seriously and carefully, little John's hair. "So you slept through the time? By the way, I'm sitting here in Adolf Todtenhaupt's place," he interrupted himself and looked around, "in the place dedicated to Primus! Well, I guess it doesn't matter for this time... So you slept through it?" Hanno had laid his face back on his crossed arms. "I was at the theater last night," he said after a heavy sigh. "Oh, right, I forgot!... Was it that nice?" Kai got no answer. "You're lucky," he continued persuasively, "you should consider that, Hanno. You see, I've never been to the theatre, and there's not the slightest chance I'll ever get into it for many years to come...' "If only it weren't for the hangover," said Hanno tightly. "Yes, I know the condition anyway." And Kai bent down for his friend's hat and overcoat that were lying on the floor next to the bench, took the things and carried them quietly out into the corridor. "Then you don't have the Metamorphosis verses in your head very well, then?" he asked, coming in again. "No," said Hanno. "Or are you perhaps primed for the geography extemporal?" "I'm nothing and I can't do anything," said Hanno. “So not chemistry and English either!

• From Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family (1901)

  Madame Kethelsen obeyed her younger sister, she let her scold her like a child, and the thing was that Sesemi heartily despised her. Therese Weichbrodt was a well-read, almost scholarly girl, and she had had to maintain her childhood faith, her positive religiosity and the confidence that one day she would be compensated for her difficult and lackluster life over there in serious little struggles. Madame Kethelsen, on the other hand, was unlearned, innocent, and simple-minded. "The good Nelly!" said Sesemi. "My God, she's a child, she's never had a doubt, she's never had a fight, she's happy..." There was as much disdain as envy in such words, and it was a weak if forgivable trait sememis. The high ground floor of the red-brick suburban cottage, surrounded by a nicely kept garden, was occupied by the classrooms and the dining room, while the bedrooms were on the upper floor and also in the attic. Fräulein Weichbrodt's pupils were not numerous, for the boarding house only took older girls and had only the first three school classes, even for external students; Sesemi was also very strict about the fact that only daughters from no doubt noble families came into her house... Tony Buddenbrook, as indicated, was received with tenderness; yes, for supper Therese had made "Bischof", a red and sweet punch that was drunk cold, and which she knew perfectly... "A little more shopping?" she asked, shaking her head heartily... and it sounded so appetizing, that no one resisted. Fraulein Weichbrodt sat on two sofa cushions at the upper end of the table and managed the meal with energy and prudence; she straightened her deformed little body very taut, pounded warily on the table, called "Nally!" and "Babby!" and humiliated Mlle. Popinet with a look when she was about to eat all the jelly from the cold roast veal. Tony had been given her seat surrounded by two other retirees. Between Armgard von Schilling, a blond and stocky landowner's daughter from Mecklenburg, and Gerda Arnoldsen, who was at home in Amsterdam, an elegant and strange appearance with heavy, dark red hair, brown eyes set close together and a white, beautiful, somewhat haughty face . Opposite her the Frenchwoman chattered, who looked like a Negress and wore enormous gold earrings. At the bottom of the table, with a sour smile, sat the gaunt Englishwoman Miss Brown, who also lived in the house. They quickly became friends with the help of Sesemi's bishop. Mlle. Popinet had had nightmares again last night, she said... Ah, quelle horreur! She then used »Ülfen, Ülfen! Thieves, thieves!' so that everyone jumped out of bed. It also turned out that Gerda Arnoldsen didn't play the piano like the others, but the violin, and that papa - her mother was no longer alive - had promised her a real Stradivarius. Tony was unmusical; most of the Buddenbrooks and all of the Krogers were.

• From The Swimming-Pool Library (1988)

  We were so close that I was disturbed every time he span off into his own world: the sudden detachment, a spell broken, a faint fear of losing him altogether. On occasion he would laugh very loudly at something mildly funny, and keep on laughing as he slapped himself and pointed at my puzzled, cross expression. I couldn’t understand where this laughter came from; it seemed to me some new nihilistic teen thing I was already too old for. I had seen kids in Oxford Street or on Tottenham Court Road laughing in the same cold, painful, helpless way. In the end I would go out of the room and after a few moments he would follow me, suddenly silent. He would approach me intently, licking whatever part of me he came to first. Then he was no longer the dead soul from the amusement arcade or the windswept corner, and I had the infinitely touching sense of him quite apart from the crowd, slipping off to clubs and bars in pursuit of his own romantic destiny. I was moved by his singleness, and then wanted to smother it in sex and possessiveness. He was most out of hand when we drank. Before he met me he had got through his evenings on a few Cokes and cans of beer, or whatever the men—terrible, he made them sound, as he nostalgically described them—bought for him as they chatted him up. Now he was exposed daily to my raw intake of wine, whisky and champagne. Whisky he sipped at suspiciously, and still had not got an adult taste for; but wine he loved, and he put back champagne as if it were lager, with awful belches and chuckles after each glass. Then his priority was to keep me informed of his condition: ‘I’m a wee bit tipsy, William,’ he would say almost at once. Then, ‘Will? Will? You could call me pissed.’ And a glass or two later, ‘Man, I am wrecked, man.’ It was when he grew quiet and gazed into the air, muttering ‘Drunk again’ as if in recollection of a mother chiding a father, that he was liable to change. As we hugged and nosed around each other, he would push me to arm’s length and look me in the eye while he repeated something I had said. Odd words seemed to amuse or offend him, and he gave urchin imitations of my speech. ‘Arse-hale,’ he would drawl. ‘Get orf my arse-hale.’ Or if we were nattering in the kitchen as I woozily knocked up some supper, he would interrupt what I was saying and dance about shouting ‘No, no, no—listen, no—“cunt-stabulareh,” ’ and double up with laughter. Sometimes I laughed graciously too, and did even posher imitations of his mimicry, knowing no one was listening. Sometimes I caught him and gave him what he was asking for.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  BEDE. For not then were the heavens opened to Him whose eyes scanned the innermost parts of the heaven, but therein is shewn the virtue of baptism, that when a man comes forth from it the gates of the heavenly kingdom are opened to him, and while his flesh is bathed unharmed in the cold waters, which formerly dreaded their hurtful touch, the flaming sword is extinguished. CHRYSOSTOM. The Holy Spirit descended also upon Christ as upon the Founder of our race, that He might be in Christ first of all who received Him not for Himself, but rather for us. Hence it follows: And the Holy Spirit descended. Let not any one imagine that He received Him because He had Him not. For He as God sent Him from above, and as man received Him below. Therefore from Him the Spirit fled down to Him, i. e. from His deity to His humanity. AUGUSTINE. But it is most strange that He should receive the Spirit when He was thirty years old. But as without sin He came to baptism, so not without the Holy Spirit. For if it was written of John, He shall be filled with the Spirit from his mother’s womb, (Luke 1:15.) what must we believe of the man Christ, the very conception of whose flesh was not carnal but spiritual. Therefore He condescended now to prefigure His body, i. e. the Church, in which the baptized especially receive the Holy Spirit. CHRYSOSTOM. That baptism savoured partly of antiquity, partly of novelty. For that He should receive baptism from a Prophet shewed antiquity, but the Spirit’s descent denoted something new. AMBROSE. Now the Spirit rightly shewed Himself in the form of a dove, for He is not seen in His divine substance. Let us consider the mystery why like a dove? Because the grace of baptism requires innocence, that we should be innocent as doves. The grace of baptism requires peace, which under the emblem of an olive branch the dove once brought to that ark which alone escaped the deluge. CHRYSOSTOM. Or to shew the meekness of the Lord, the Spirit now appears in the form of a dove, but at Pentecost like fire, to signify punishment. For when He was about to pardon offences, gentleness was necessary; but having obtained grace, there remaineth for us the time of trial and judgment. CYPRIAN. (De unit. Eccles.) the dove is a harmless and pleasant creature, with no bitterness of gall, no fierceness of bite, no violence of rending talons; they love the abodes of men, consort within one home, when they have young nurturing them together, when they fly abroad, hanging side by side upon the wing, leading their life in mutual intercourse, giving with their bills a sign of their peaceful harmony, and fulfilling a law of unanimity in every way.