Good Friday Reflections...

“…I painted swiftly in a strange nerveless frenzy of energy.  For all the pain you suffered, mama.  For all the anguish this picture of pain will cause you.  For the unspeakable mystery that brings good fathers and sons into the world and lets a mother watch them tear at each other’s throats.  For the Master of the Universe, whose suffering world I do not comprehend.  For dreams of horror, for nights of waiting, for memories of death, for the love I have for you, for all the things I remember, and for all the things I should remember but have forgotten, for all these I created this paining—an observant Jew working on an crucifixion because there was no aesthetic mold in his own religious tradition into which he could pour a painting of ultimate anguish and torment.” – My Name Is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok

 

The wounded surgeon plies the steel

That questions the distempered part;

Beneath the bleeding hands we feel

The sharp compassion of the healer’s art

Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

Our only health is the disease

If we obey the dying nurse

Whose constant care is not to please

But to remind of our, and Adam’s curse

And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

The whole earth is our hospital

Endowed by the ruined millionaire,

Wherein, if we do well, we shall

Die of the absolute paternal care

That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.

The chill ascends from feet to knees,

The fever sings in mental wires.

If to be warmed, then I must freeze

And quake in frigid purgatorial fires

Of which the flam is roses, and the smoke is briars.

The dripping blood our only drink,

The bloody flesh our only food:

In spite of which we like to think

That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood—

Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good. – Four Quartets [East Cocker], T.S. Eliot