Lucinda Williams and Bob Mesle
Theologians (of the Third Ultimate)
Two of my favorite theologians are the singer-songwriter Lucinda Williams and the philosopher Bob Mesle. Both are theologians of the third ultimate.
The third ultimate is this world itself: the finite things that compose it, the joys and sorrows of earthly life, and “the temporary nature of any precious thing.”
The other two ultimates, some say, are a cosmic mind who loves each and all, and an ultimate energy—Creativity itself—of which all things, even God, are expressions. They are ultimate, too.
But if theologians are concerned with questions of meaning, then they—we—best awaken to the poignancy of the things of this world. Whitehead writes in Adventures of Ideas:
“It is the business of philosophical theology to provide a rational understanding of the rise of civilization, and of the tenderness of mere life itself, in a world which superficially is founded upon the clashings of senseless compulsion.”
This is the vocation shared by Lucinda Williams and Bob Mesle. Both attend to “the tenderness of mere life itself”: to finite lives, fragile relationships, remembered places, persistent hopes, and inevitable losses. Their theology begins not by escaping the world but by becoming more deeply attentive to it.
Often it is the poets, musicians, novelists, and storytellers who help us awaken most fully—not to tenderness in the abstract, but to the many tendernesses of life: particular people, particular places, particular losses, and particular hopes.
We may or may not believe in the other two ultimates—God and Creativity. But if our eyes and hearts are open to the tendernesses of this world, and if we remain mindful of the temporary nature of every precious thing, we have found meaning. Lucinda Williams and Bob Mesle are theologians of these many tendernesses.
The third ultimate is this world itself: the finite things that compose it, the joys and sorrows of earthly life, and “the temporary nature of any precious thing.”
The other two ultimates, some say, are a cosmic mind who loves each and all, and an ultimate energy—Creativity itself—of which all things, even God, are expressions. They are ultimate, too.
But if theologians are concerned with questions of meaning, then they—we—best awaken to the poignancy of the things of this world. Whitehead writes in Adventures of Ideas:
“It is the business of philosophical theology to provide a rational understanding of the rise of civilization, and of the tenderness of mere life itself, in a world which superficially is founded upon the clashings of senseless compulsion.”
This is the vocation shared by Lucinda Williams and Bob Mesle. Both attend to “the tenderness of mere life itself”: to finite lives, fragile relationships, remembered places, persistent hopes, and inevitable losses. Their theology begins not by escaping the world but by becoming more deeply attentive to it.
Often it is the poets, musicians, novelists, and storytellers who help us awaken most fully—not to tenderness in the abstract, but to the many tendernesses of life: particular people, particular places, particular losses, and particular hopes.
We may or may not believe in the other two ultimates—God and Creativity. But if our eyes and hearts are open to the tendernesses of this world, and if we remain mindful of the temporary nature of every precious thing, we have found meaning. Lucinda Williams and Bob Mesle are theologians of these many tendernesses.
Sweet Old World
Bob Mesle Quotes
A Soul is not a Thing
"Since I am a philosopher, let me tell you a great secret of life—a soul is not a thing, it is not something which stands untouched by the events of your life. Your soul is the river of your life; it is the cumulative flow of your experience. But what do we experience? The world. Each other. So your soul is the cumulative flow of all of your relationships with everything and everyone around you. In a different image, we weave ourselves out of the threads of our relationships with everyone around us. But clearly, some people, some relationships, are the central threads of that weaving....Kate and Max, as you live together over time, remember that you will be creating your lives, your souls, out of your relationship with each other. Kate told me that Max knows that the path to happiness is paved with tiny pebbles as much as it is by the big stepping stones. And that is true. Whether we think of weaving our souls, or laying a path we will walk, the small things matter so much. So have a care what you give each other for your self-creativity. Each smile or frown, each touch, each kiss, each kind or angry word, becomes the material out of which you both create your own life and life together.”
We are Made of this World
I was converted to process thinking in a sudden flash of insight that the future does not exist. More on that another time. But it took a long time for me to fully appreciate the importance of the relational aspect of process-relational thinking. The process is inherently, inescapably, profoundly relational. You and I are made of stardust. We are made of all that has gone before. When our daughter, Sarah, was nursing her 3 month old son, the only food he’d ever had, she said with awe, “He’s made of me.” We are all made of others. We are made of the world.
My Grandson is Brahman
Whatever is, is Brahman, including you and me, and any God or Gods there may be. The traditions of India teach us that if we all understood fully our inter-relatedness in Brahman, the world would be a better place for children and other living creatures. I agree. Elliot Matters. He Matters because he is one face of the ultimate web of reality, Brahman
The Temporary Nature
(Of Any Precious Thing)
Afraid to love and afraid to give |
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