Christ's Wounds and Ours

Isn't it strange that when Jesus appears to Thomas and the other apostles, he still bears the marks of the crucifixion? You would think a bodily resurrection might have some cosmetic effect, might erase those unsightly gashes that mar Christ's body. But the resurrection doesn't erase wounds, rather it glorifies them, turns them into signs and trophies of mercy triumphant. This is good news. It suggests that not just my virtues but even my sins and woundedness are the openings God uses to work his redemption. When I yield to God's mercy, then even my experiences of shame and failure will become a cause for celebration, for in the end I will see that each prodigal fall will have been a step closer to the divine embrace.

What's with the haikus?

Haikus invite us to pay attention to the world around us, to focus on details one would normally dismiss. In a way, the haiku writer is like a photographer who simultaneously captures some aspect of the visible world but also presents it to others in a way that invites deeper insight and appreciation of that reality.  This kind of attention is spiritually valuable.

The temptation in much spirituality is to, well. . . spiritualize, to get caught up in what is abstract, theoretical, and disembodied; to dismiss what is sensuous, affective and particular as if such were unworthy of our regard. Such an approach is wrongheaded.  One's experience of the divine is mediated through our experience of created reality. God is not encountered directly but "in and through" our engagement with particular events, persons and objects through which we sense an unexpected depth and richness.  Ignoring the reality of this mediation leads to a pernicious "angelism",  a sterile intellectualism, a profound disengagement from the stuff of  life. Haiku-writing is an antidote to this "angelism" precisely because it celebrates what is sensuous and particular. It forces one to attend to the things of this world with something like love. In the process, we may discover that God is in the details.

Haiku-writing involves capturing the amalgam of insight and sense experience in the fewest possible words. This compression means that a lot of deliberation goes into choosing the appropriate words to communicate an experience. Words used carelessly and excessively convey nothing significant--they become facile and opaque. Haiku-writing challenges us to make not just words, but even the silences between our words, speak.

To my mind, the aformentioned  reasons constitute the virtues of this particular discipline. For "heady" people like me, haiku is a way of cultivating an attentiveness to human experience that contributes to the appreciation of life's richness.