the Imitation of Christ

This book is well-known as claiming to be the second most widely-read/translated book in our history after the Bible itself - I can't speak as to the veracity of this claim, but the pragmatic spiritual density of Jesuit monk Thomas á Kempis's text herein may merit such a reality were it so. It's broken down into short, digestible but highly potent chapters - and I've been reading it extremely slowly, giving each chunk time to permeate through reflection, prayer and other reading; there is so much in here that I found of immense help on my walk with God, and I would hopefully expect that it would likely be so for others too. A big thing I think I've learnt through the book and surrounding experience is that of the nature of Christian catholicity - that of course being the innately-designed one-ness of the Church established by Christ and maintained through the Holy Spirit's movement among his apostles ever since... it's not been entirely comfortable, you know? I've realised elements of the christian culture I've grown up in, and whether this is things deliberate or not but certainly latent to enough of an extent in the Protestant evangelical normativity I'd taken for granted as the "right" kind of Christianity - this just doesn't hold up to its own desire for hegemony of truth when properly and humbly compared to the realities of value found running deep through the "other" churches. Especially now having to have had to reconcile my upbringing with working at an Anglican charity, having met and learned from Anglicans, Catholics, and other kinds of christian that until recent times I'd kind of just presumed to be lost causes, or at least misled. I feel extremely convicted that a prolonged period of decolonization needs to be undertaken - this is already to real degrees something I've been trying to do with regards to racist & chauvinist attitudes, but I think the over-segregation of small ideological shades within Christian traditions is likely just as harmful and deep-set a prejudice of such kinds - perhaps not one directly linked to as many obvious social repressions or structures, but certainly things that less than fully glorify the God who calls us into his body, and so it is something of which I am trying, bit by bit - to repent. Even if that means venturing into territories whence my brothers and sisters might start considering me the same kind of heretic I'm trying to stop "seeing": I'm not sure where this path leads. But I know Jesus walks it with me; so I will try to step well and without anxiety.

A Philosophy of Walking

This book by Fréderic Gros is, as the title suggests, a philosophical stroll through the nature and psycho-biosocial mechanics of, and historically-significant figures associated with that simplest human means of locomotion. Or should I say perambulation? Probably. It deals in utter magnificently eloquent terms with the silences, solitudes, slownesses and strangely metaphysically inspiring spaces found when one walks: Nietzsche, Nerval, Rousseau, Kant, Rimbaud, Thoreau and Gandhi get their own chapters examining the purposes and uses of the "art" of pedestrian travel; I'm fairly sure the book was written as such that this shines through the text but it may be a facet of just my own over-egged poetic reading, that the book works even more fantastically than it presumably still does otherwise should one take the whole notional field of "walking" as the metaphor for the dogged, day-by-day, step-by-step human travel through their own life - I certainly found it yielded many insights personally that were not necessarily there in the text itself with a grasp of such in the halfway-back of my mind. I loved this book and you can very probably expect to see a second post on here about it in the years to come, on the inevitable re-read.

Markings

This book is compiled from the private spiritual journal of Dag Hammarskjöld, who was a devout disciple of Christ & the UN's general secretary from 1953 until his untimely* death in 1963. It became an instant classic, having been translated masterfully from the Swedish into English by Leif Sjöberg and poetically refined by W. H. Auden; indeed, the edition I've got boasts a foreword by Jimmy Carter (and if you don't think he's the greatest of all living ex-US-presidents what the hell are you doing on this blog!?).

   My lighthearted tone notwithstanding I am under no allusions that this is a potently holy and worthy book.** Dag writes of struggle, of joy, loss, hope, grief, God, Christ, the world and its fullnesses & emptinesses, justice, equality in the deepest sense, truth, peace - all mediated through a poetic but totally honest presentation of his own soul, bared in lonely prayerful discourses as he bears the gigantic blessings & burdens of his humanitarian role and seeks to undertake it in action as perfectly informed by his Christian contemplation as he can possibly manage, by the grace of God. I defy anyone to read this book and come away unchanged. It's been an incredibly humbling, emboldening, fortuitous vägmärk on my own road of think-reading my hazy way across a life of faith, and I will be returning to it for nourishment and encouragement many times more throughout my journey, I'm sure.

* And actually really quite suspicious, but that's a story for another whole documentary.

** It went onto my 'to-read' list some eleven or twelve years ago, my dad having been lent it by a man with whom he had had a long conversation about faith and life and stuff & on asking what book if any was indisputably the most powerful to change one's views on such my dad came home with this, and reading the blurb I remember thinking "wow this is too much for me but I'll flag it for when I really need the spiritual fuel" and I'm Glad I did.