in murren (iii)

in murren (ii)

in murren (i)

absolutely no comment!

on lake thun (iii)

on lake thun (ii)

on lake thun (i)

from the schilthorn (iii)

from the schilthorn (ii)

from the schilthorn (i)

taking in the view from the campsite

the great albums (xi) - the pleasure principle

I can't say I expected this to figure on here, either, but recent listens have convinced me it ought to see the light of day.

Almost a concept album (Numan was virtually a concept per se), it took aspects of Kraftwerk and Bowie (to my ears, at least) and melded them into a pop approach that worked for a few short years. There was always more going on than people gave him credit for - but disaffection, isolation and fear hardly endear themselves to the populace.


The singing isn't accomplished, nor even all that pleasurable, but it didn't need to be. That wasn't the point.

And Cars is one of the all-time great songs - you know you agree.

kindle in the uk (soon)

And, equally as soon (like, end of August) in my grasp - I've pre-ordered a wi-fi only version (see here for details).

If I get cold feet over the next few weeks I can always cancel the order I guess.

Better make sure I wear some warm socks then...

if two walk together...

...they must be agreed on their posture!

(Photo supplied by Albert)

is that email a tiger?

“Always on” may not be the most productive way to work. One of the reasons for this will become clearer in the chapter on staying cool under pressure; however, in summary, the brain is being forced to be on “alert” far too much. This increases what is known as your allostatic load, which is a reading of stress hormones and other factors relating to a sense of threat. The wear and tear has an impact. As Stone says, “This always on, anywhere, anytime, anyplace era has created an artificial sense of constant crisis. What happens to mammals in a state of constant crisis is the adrenalized fight-or-flight mechanism kicks in. It’s great when tigers are chasing us. How many of those five hundred emails a day is a tiger?”

(from Your Brain At Work by David Rock, quoted by Matt Perman)

Church Going (Philip Larkin)

Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut
For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff
Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;
And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,
Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off
My cycle-clips in awkward reverence,

Move forward, run my hand around the font.
From where I stand, the roof looks almost new-
Cleaned or restored? Someone would know: I don't.
Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few
Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce
'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.
The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door
I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,
Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,
And always end much at a loss like this,
Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,
When churches fall completely out of use
What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep
A few cathedrals chronically on show,
Their parchment, plate, and pyx in locked cases,
And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.
Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Or, after dark, will dubious women come
To make their children touch a particular stone;
Pick simples for a cancer; or on some
Advised night see walking a dead one?
Power of some sort or other will go on
In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;
But superstition, like belief, must die,
And what remains when disbelief has gone?
Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

A shape less recognizable each week,
A purpose more obscure. I wonder who
Will be the last, the very last, to seek
This place for what it was; one of the crew
That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?
Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,
Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff
Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?
Or will he be my representative,

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt
Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground
Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt
So long and equably what since is found
Only in separation - marriage, and birth,
And death, and thoughts of these - for whom was built
This special shell? For, though I've no idea
What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,
It pleases me to stand in silence here;

A serious house on serious earth it is,
In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,
Are recognised, and robed as destinies.
And that much never can be obsolete,
Since someone will forever be surprising
A hunger in himself to be more serious,
And gravitating with it to this ground,
Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,
If only that so many dead lie round.

on the church, active & passive

As we let Paul form our understanding of what goes on in church, what strikes us is that the church is primarily the action of God in Christ through the Spirit. God and Jesus are the subject of nine active verbs that tell us what is going on in church: Jesus is our peace (Eph. 2:14), he made us one (v.14), he broke down the dividing wall of hostility (v.14), he abolished the law (v.15), he created one new humanity (v.15), he made peace (v.15), he reconciled (v.16), he put to death (v.16), he proclaimed peace (v.17).

And insofar as we are included in the action, the action is not something that we do but something done to us. Paul uses five passive verbs to tell us how we get included in the action: we are brought near (v.13), the Spirit gives us access (v.18), we are built upon the foundation (v.20), we are joined together (v.21), we are built together (v.22). Simple copulas name the identities that we acquire by God's action, We are identified as citizens and members of the church. When we are pulled into the action, it is God who pulls us in. We acquire our identity not by what we do but by what is done to us.

Eugene H. Peterson, Practise Resurrection, p.117

the great albums (x) - pet sounds

It's a brilliantly sunny summer's day, with just the faintest breeze, cooling you enough to stay on the beach. All is relaxed and life is as good as you'd ever hoped it could be. But, slowly, and almost without being noticed, the clouds begin to gather, away on the horizon and slowly invade what was unbroken blue above you. The faint breeze strengthens and the clouds darken; the threat of rain is not empty words. And you know that life will never be so simple again.


The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds is everything you ever heard it was. And probably more.

a fresh translation

Actually, the NRSV isn't all that fresh now, in the sense of being newly-done. But its handling of 'that we may walk in them' (good works) in Ephesians 2:10 struck me in a fresh way:

"For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life."

on acquired passivity

Grace originates in an act of God that is absolutely without precedent, the generous, sacrificial self-giving of Jesus that makes it possible for us to participate in resurrection maturity. It is not what we do; it is what we participate in. But we cannot participate apart from a willed passivity, entering into and giving ourselves up to what is previous to us, the presence and action of God in Christ that is other than us. Such passivity does not come easy to us. It must be acquired.

Eugene H. Peterson, Practise Resurrection, p.95