This post will be another ramble. Be warned. I would define the claim to theory in the humanities as impatience systematized. Out of Judaism grown impatient at the everlasting delay of the messianic came strange fruit. Today, this impatience has
Some weeks ago, a friend of mine was invited to an advanced screening of Martin McDonagh’s Seven Psychopaths. As he described it, the whole audience loved the film, but he realized in retrospect that this audience, by virtue of who
Hans Urs Von Balthasar is a thinker who has, more than any other, given me a language with which I can begin understand the artistic vocation and the larger, more general vocation of love. Tonight I have begun revisiting his
And suddenly, one day, he realizes that a Christian life ought to have a unity: not talent here and piety there, for God is in fact the giver of both and both ought to be brought to perfection in God.
But the moment he begins to enter into his work and to be an artist, the moment he catches sight of a task, the moment it becomes clear to him what it intends, what he wants, what he plans, he
Love alone is credible; nothing else can be believed. This is the achievement, the “work” of faith: to recognize this absolute prius, which nothing else can surpass; to believe that there is such a thing as love, absolute love, and
I finally made it up the mountain, and would like to start to tell the tale. But I’m winded, and not sure where to begin. I know I should begin at the beginning, but I will begin at the end.