The Word Kept: a reflection on John 1:1


The Latin for “in the beginning was the Word” is inscribed on the gates of my college at St. Andrew’s. Each day, I was reminded as I walked beneath them why I was studying, why I am a writer, and why I was in that particular place. After all, what is my vocation of writing and reading if not to better contemplate and communicate the Word Himself?

Now, far from the gates of St. Mary’s College, these words call out to me with a stronger voice. Even here, far from the libraries and authors I loved, the Word remains my companion and guide. Even in this dark season, the Word continues to illuminate my path, to be present in my thinking and my speaking. The darkness can not overcome Him, nor the noise drown Him out.

Amidst a continuous newsfeed of conflicting perspectives, in the heartbroken lines of my journal, and in the straining sentences of papers I no longer want to write, the Word endures as He has from the beginning and ever shall.

More beautiful yet, this Word is not separate from our confusion and suffering; He is not some divine-yet-impractical platitude nor a hollow prayer. Instead, He became flesh, entering into the world of noise and broken trusts to recreate it through proclamation and compassion, to suffer alongside us as assurance made action.

He is the first and final Word, the eloquence I cannot achieve and the work I cannot perform. Best of all, He is a promise of love fulfilled.

Two Poems for St. Andrew’s

When I moved to St. Andrew’s, Scotland to pursue my master’s degree, I was convinced that I would love that little town of stone and sea with my whole being. I was sure that falling in love with its historic ruins, its adorable streets, and its rain-purified air would be simple. Yet I found myself struggling to feel that the town loved me in return; I felt that it was too old and beautiful and historic to care much about insignificant little me and so I composed this lament in the darkness of its second winter:

Under your fast-burning, crystallised veil
I was convinced for a moment
That I was—
I am
—the only one you’ve ever loved.
But you sucked premature kisses
From my chapped lips
In cold plumes which vanished all-too-fast.
Ah. So you’ve been loved before.
All who came before and beside me
Have felt the same,
And you have been too-oft beloved
To love me alone

And yet, one morning, the voice of the sea called me to the crumbling altar of the cathedral and forced me to my knees. In an instant, I fell into a long-sought love. In a sudden sunburst, St. Andrew’s sang its love to me in the dawning of a longed-for spring:

I followed a gentle roaring east
And, warmed by the first true morn in months,
I slowed my walk from its rushing stride
To the timid tread of a spring-time bride.

For this one moment,
Wind-rocked and still,
I felt the touch of an unseen warmth
And the strengthening sun
Burned bright my veil away…
And an untied shoelace brought me low
And made me a muddy homage pay.


Schumann’s Arabeske: A Musical Love Letter

(video performance at link below article)

It is my conviction that one must fall in love to play Schumann well. I did not at first enjoy practicing his Arabeske, Op. 18; while I understood the piece theoretically, I did not truly understand it emotionally or spiritually until I, like the composer, fell in love. Then, all at once, its nuances and imagery became obvious, for I was better able to empathize with its composer and his situation.

This piece, it became apparent, was born of sweet affection. The story of Robert and Clara Schumann is a familiar one: he was a brooding, poetic soul with a passion for literature and composition and she the prodigious daughter of his piano teacher. Their love was one that overcame distance, disapproval, and even disease as Robert gradually declined due to mental illness.

The Arabeske, Op. 18 was composed during the couple’s three-year engagement while Clara was touring abroad. One of his experiments in small-form writing, the Arabeske is an exquisite example of Schumann’s ability to compact immense ideas into concise creations.  In this seemingly-simple piece, reflections of the composer can be discovered. Always torn between his two loves — music and literature — Schumann put elements of both into his work. In the notes of the central motif, we can hear the outline of his beloved’s name: the main theme hangs upon the notes “C” and “A” and might be interpreted as the spelling of “Clara” using the musical alphabet.

Also apparent are the two sides of the composer. In his literary works, Schumann presents himself as both the introspective “Eusebius” and the more extroverted “Florestan.” The opening theme and the first minor passage are reminiscent of the character of Eusebius as they gently flow along but build like an obsession. The more demanding nature of the second minor passage might be considered a Florestian outburst; here the composer is filled with determination! A third character, however, is also present; “Raro,” a name created by combining the last letters of “Clara” and the first letters of “Robert,” is a personification of the balance found in their marriage. This third character resounds in the gentle, bittersweet transition passages and, at last, in the heartfelt conclusion.

There is much more that could be said of this piece. For instance, the ending, comprised of suspensions, sounds like a goodbye across a great distance and the recurring theme carries different connotations with each repetition as the composer considers the same thought with different inflections and emotions. Indeed, I discover something new and lovely with each practice session, but perhaps it is best to let the Arabeske speak for itself, a small love letter from both composer and performer.


While reading the theological works of Martin Luther, I was enthralled not only by his wisdom but by his beautiful writing. As a hymn writer, he obviously possessed poetic skill, but his prose likewise exhibited wonderful phrasing and ideas such as that of God’s love making someone lovable, rather than being merited by someone who was already attractive. Similarly, as Christians, we are called to treat all with love, regardless of how “lovable” they might seem. I was inspired to write this little scribbling after pondering this idea that to be lovable, one must first be loved. I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear your thoughts! 


Love is drawn by brush and pen

Born of beauty, free from sin.

And all the wise of ages old

Know that to love, eyes must behold 

And see the shining of the fair-

Charming face and gleaming hair.

To be beloved, one must be,

In the first place, Lovely.

So to despair, Hell of the mind,

Are driven we who cannot find

A flake of gold or ounce of good

In this dark world, whoever could?

In sorrow then, lost mankind must

Find in ourselves nothing but dust.

Our blinded eyes, though made for sight

Only despise their helper, light.

Downcast they stay and fall for lies.

Told to us by the so-called “wise.”

Yearning ever for bright beauty,

We stumble, groping inwardly. 

And searching with shadowy eyes,

Are satisfied by dull disguise. 

Still, light through darkness penetrates,

As by truth’s sword love recreates

The Image of our fallen face,

Made to share in glorious grace. 

He gives our souls a glowing dawn 

That we ourselves could ne’er put on. 

Unearned love then is all that wrought 

The beauty that we ever sought.

From seeking worth but being worst,

We rest in the love that moved us first. 

And now as His saved beloved, we 

Can finally grow lovely. 

Affirming Ourselves to Death

Selfishness is nothing new, but it has grown to such enormous proportions that this generation is actually known as the “Entitlement Generation.” The saddest part is that we, the members of this generation, have been deceived into believing that there is nothing wrong with this and even seem to have redefined morality as personal happiness.

From birth, we have been spoon-fed on praise, sheltered from criticism, educated in self-love, and ultimately told that we deserve to be happy above all else. We become, over the course of our lives, convinced that we deserve our desires simply because we exist. Because we were told every day of our childhoods to “follow our hearts.” Because we continue to be conditioned to consider our feelings as the ultimate moral compass. We are brainwashed into believing that our personal happiness is equivalent to universal correctness.

In the wise words of Dwight Schrute: “FALSE.”

I cannot expect to convince anyone coming from a secular basis that we are wrong to continue this pursuit of our individual desires over (or, indeed, in place of) common morality; to anyone coming from a worldly foundation, there is not a solid case against such selfishness. From a secular perspective, selfishness is self-preservation and a higher law cannot be easily found. However, it is essential that this call is heard by those who claim a biblical worldview. It is vital that those of the Christian faith recognize this grave truth: total affirmation paves the way to hell.

I was raised in a Christian home and from my earliest days, was taught to follow Jesus. Only was I to follow my heart when my heart was resting on Christ. No amount of Disney songs, no matter how catchy, could overthrow this message and I was by grace restrained from an early age of trusting my heart to provide moral guidance. After all, “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure” (Jeremiah 17:9).

I was not, of course, raised without encouragement. However, it was always tempered with truth. In a generation whose self-image was and continues to be falsely bolstered by participation ribbons and gold stars, truth-based encouragement is exceptionally rare and  all the more vital. When I expressed an interest in being a ballerina, my parents gently but honestly reminded me of my not-so-successful years in dance as a toddler. However, when I demonstrated a passion for music, there was no bound to their encouragement because I showed a strong inclination to excel in this area.

In the same way, when I acted upon wrongful desires, my parents were swift to correct me, rather than applaud and say they would support whatever path I chose. Had they done that, it would have been proof that they didn’t love me just as, had they falsely encouraged my dance career and I had gone on to embarrass myself by auditioning for “So You Think You Can Dance,” it would have been cruel on their part. For example, I used to struggle with some eating issues and, when confronted, I remember protesting that it was my choice and that I was happy with my situation. Clearly, it would have been unloving for my parents to have affirmed me in this and, though I was initially angry and uncomfortable, guiding me back to health and safety was the loving response. In correcting my wrong choices, they saved me from a fate much worse than public humiliation and their love for me, though tough, was more apparent. Only he who hates his son spares the rod and only he who hates someone affirms him in what is unwise and sinful (Proverbs 13:24).

Why does it matter if a father spares the rod? What does it matter if someone fails to correct sin or folly or, less directly, stand up for righteousness? In short,  that person runs the risk of affirming the other to death. Ezekiel 33:6 reads: “But if a watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet to warn the people and the sword comes in and takes someone’s life, that person’s life will be taken because of their sin, but I will hold the watchman accountable for their blood.”

If we, Christians, fail to correct the sin of others, especially those who claim to be our brothers and sisters in the faith, fellow citizens of the City of God, we are failing as watchmen. We are allowing the danger of sin to sneak in, perhaps even to become accepted, and to corrupt our souls undetected. Not only does this kill others spiritually, it makes us guilty for having failed to fulfill our role as watchmen for Christ and righteousness. Could this be considered loving? Tell me, can anyone point to this example and say, in all honesty, “Yes, that watchman was loving. He did not make anyone within the city uncomfortable by shouting warnings. He was a nice chap.”

Of course not. The man who could say that without lying would be obviously insane. Not warning the people of encroaching danger from the outside is possibly the least-loving thing that the watchman could have done. How much worse would it be for the watchman to know of a danger within the city and neglect to warn people for fear of disturbing their  slumber, offending the lurking enemy, or of losing his reputation as a quiet and amiable guard?

No. The loving thing to do would be to shout. To spread a warning without caring whether it makes people uncomfortable or offends them. Their lives are more important than their feelings. Nobody would say it is wrong to shout a warning at a man in the way of a speeding bus simply because it might startle him. There is a greater cost at stake. His life, any life, is worth  more than the individual feeling of ease.

While it would be selfish of me to pursue sinful or foolish choices, it would have been equally if not more selfish for my loved ones to affirm me in these choices. As St. Augustine says in The City of God, “They are reluctant to [rebuke others], even though their rebukes might correct others, lest…their own wellbeing and reputation should encounter peril or destruction…It is, in short, because of certain ties of selfishness, and not the offices of love” (Augustine, 15).

To wrap this up, I will simply conclude that affirmation does not equal love and love does not require total affirmation. It is possible to correct or disagree with someone while continuing to show them genuine love. I have many friends who hold to different beliefs than I do, but I have never doubted that they love me and that I love them. At the same time, we never have pretended to agree in all things and I think our openness about this is evidence of a deeper affection, for it stems from a companionship that can work through issues. What kind of a deep relationship can exist when total affirmation is required? As soon as one party questions the other’s actions, their relationship will crumble because it was built on the facade of comfort. If we constantly are tip-toeing around each other, afraid to speak truth, the friendship is fragile and will shatter at the tiniest disruption.

Aristotle speaks of this in Nicomachean Ethics. He defines “pleasure friendships” as those built on comfort; each party is friends with the other because he or she derives good feelings from the other’s company. As soon as that other individual does something the one deems offensive, the friendship falls apart, proving it was not genuine. The same concept is true of “utility friendships”; as soon as one party fails to be useful- in this instance, affirming- the other abandons ship.

But then there is the third category: “complete friendship.” This is the friendship between equals; they are not with each other for the sake of pleasure or utility, but to balance each other. Affirmation is not withheld where it is due, but it is not necessary to this sort of relationship because it is built on something greater than surface-level selfishness. Yes, this friendship often leads to pleasure and usefulness, thus benefitting each person’s sense of self. However, these are results, not the foundation. Complete friends love without having to fear any disagreement; in fact, being able to challenge and correct each other is perhaps the most beautiful part of this type of loving relationship. And yes, I mean loving. Correction can be loving and disagreement can be loving.

Just as Aristotle explains, relationships built on pleasure and utility are fast to form and fast to fade because they are not built to withstand any trial. They are erected on a foundation of selfishness and, in this generation, these relationships are thus all the more rampant. We are so convinced that our happiness (pleasure) and plans (utility) are the ultimate good and standard that we are seduced into forming shallow relationships because they offer the affirmation we have equated to love. And I am begging you, reader, to stop this.

The more I love someone, the more hesitant I will be to affirm them in their selfishness. If I did not care, I would let them continue along their dangerous path. Granted, this would be wrong of me for as a Christian I am called to be a watchman even for those I do not consider friends. A Christian is called to love. This is one of the most commonly known facts of the faith. A Christian who fails to love, is failing as a follower of Christ, just as a watchman who fails to warn the city of danger is failing in his post. But we need to stop perverting love to mean affirmation. Rather, we need to recognize that, like complete friendship, complete love cannot be built on total affirmation or it is not love at all but hate, for it supports only shallow relationships and enduring selfishness. 

So my call to you, reader, is the same as you have heard many times before: love. But love truly, acting as watchman for each other and fearing the abandonment of truth and righteousness more than you fear loss of reputation, personal happiness, or the comfort of selfish living. Let us no longer pave the way to moral depravity by continuing to seek total affirmation in order to elevate our selfishness and expand the influence of the Entitlement Generation, but rather let us reform ourselves and our generation by seeking truth as our foundation, which we can only do if we set aside our worries and disagree respectfully but boldly. 

Joy of Morning


God’s love is like a morning,

Arising in my soul. 

A perfect, constant dawning,

So warm and wonderful.


Though the earthly night surrounds,

It cannot pierce within.

Dark of death no more is found,

Nor cold of pain and sin.


Day seems a bright beginning,

Yet noontide is past.

In Him it’s never-ending,

Forever, first and last.


Shades of fear are put to flight,

Far from the horizon,

Where breaks forth the radiant light

Of one and only Son.


Awaken and uplift your eyes,

To peer into the blaze.

Join in singing with the skies,

Their morning hymn of praise.

Romeo is not Romance


I was perusing Pinterest this afternoon and came across this nifty picture. Seeing that it included classic books, I stopped my mindless scrolling, looked through it, and nearly shouted aloud.



No!!! No. No. NO. N.O. No.

What was so frustrating about this pin? Well, first of all is the fact that it lists Nicholas Sparks alongside Shakespeare, which is like creating a playlist of music that includes Miley Cyrus and Beethoven; it is not okay. (Nobody wants to be interrupted by “Wrecking Ball” between movements of “Sonata Pathetique”!)

Secondly, many of these books are not love stories! Aside from Nicholas Sparks and several others which I have not read, these books, although they center on romantic relationships, were not written to be advertised as “The Greatest Love Stories of All Time”! Rather, their authors used romantic relationships, usually FAILED romantic relationships at that, to communicate other concepts. I have serious doubts as to whether the creator of this pin read anything beyond the synopsis paragraphs, and if he/she did, I am begging him/her to reread them with a little more mental effort. Please, for the sake of literature nerds everywhere and for the authors who are turning over in their graves as I write. Sure, these novels may appear to be love stories, but…

(warning, spoilers)

Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell: Failed loved triangle, lust wins over love, the only true love comes from a dying woman whose husband is nearly unfaithful to her. Also romantic gold.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy: Anna commits adultery, abandons her husband and child, and ultimately throws herself under a train in a realization of her guilt. Practically flowers and chocolate.

Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare: Two angsty teenagers kill themselves after a forbidden

Pretty sure this is what Shakespeare was thinking... :P
Pretty sure this is what Shakespeare was thinking… 😛

marriage. I don’t even have a snarky comment. This is tragedy, pure and simple.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald: Gatsby’s love for Daisy is a representation of his desire for acceptance by the “Old Money” of society, so if wealth and envy are synonymous with love, then certainly this is a love story. Who cares if the lovers actually end up together, right?

Okay, so now that I have relieved myself through sarcasm, I will admit that this list is not completely wrong. Some of these books are quite adorable and “loverly.” Jane Eyre had a warm, fuzzy resolution, The Princess Bride is a romantic romp, and I can’t deny that Pride and Prejudice is delightful. (Who doesn’t love Mr. Darcy?) However, I wish that readers would exercise more discernment; a pair (or triangle) of lovers does not imply a romance, just as a death does not mean a tragedy. Books are much more than an “adventure” or “mystery” or, in this case, a “love story” and we have a duty as readers to study the masterpieces of these authors with a mind that can see beyond the surface and ponder the deeper implications of the seemingly straight-forward plots.

Granted, even if it isn’t a love story, I’d venture to say that it’s still a better love story than Twilight.

Apologies if you liked Twilight. I haven’t read it, but it was such a fitting end to this post! 😉