A physical revelation...

I spent most of yesterday recovering from moving the books around.  That was some fearsome work for me to do.  A bit in the morning and then today, I finished culling my books.

That third row in the front was the result of my final effort.  While it is not quite as impressive as the first two rows of books, the pile on the right represents a third go-through of all the bookshelves to see if I could let go a few more.  I decided I only needed one Curious George book and I could live without that copy of Hasel and Gretel on top, along with 11 other picture books.  I did have a thought about the Aesop's fables, though:  What if I dig out all the copies and then leave one on the guest suite pillow (in lieu of chocolates) when a visitor comes??

I did check to see if Craigslist had a book section.  It does.  So, I thought I might try to sell my complete set of Harry Potter books and my complete set of Narnia books.  Both are hardcover editions.  Both are still on my bookshelves.

Anyway, the first step is finished.  Now, I need to find me some boxes.  Preferably, I would like to find me some free boxes for all of these books.  The third step will be to find a donation location.  The fourth to ferry the books there.  I do not relish getting the books out to my Highlander.  I am contemplating paying Firewood Man to do that, but funds are so very, very, very tight right now.

Just now, I am recovering from tackling the kitchen floor.  Now, before I started, it looked just fine to me.  However, deep in my heart I know just how neglected the floor has been.  So, first I swept it.  Then I vacuumed it.  Then I Swiffered it.  Then I wet-Swiffered it.  Then I steam-mopped it.  I formerly declare my kitchen floor clean.

During that labor, I had a strange thought, one not inspired by my labors, but by all this Gospel commentary I have been reading and watching the series Bones from the beginning, which I have been doing with all the resting carting books around my domicile requires of me.

Have you ever pondered the fact that hearing is a physical act?  I hadn't.  But it is.  We hear because of sound vibrations acting upon on the bones in our ears, a physical act.  We hear when someone speaks, which is also a physical act, the movement of breath across vocal cords, the tongue within the mouth, and the mouth and lips themselves, all working in concert to form and send sound waves.

I had never thought about how hearing is a physical act until I was scrubbing the kitchen floor.  That, too, is rather physical, for me at least, so perhaps that's where the inspiration came.  But I think not.  I think that it came because I have been pondering how all of Jesus' miracles are physical acts.  Michael Card does emphasize the unmiraculous miracles that Jesus does and that many are merely from the spoken word.  But His speaking is a physical act as much as laying hands upon someone.  And the one who hears the Word of God hears in a physical act as much as if he had been touched.

Yes, all of our senses are different.  And hearing is different from touch.  Yet hearing is also the same in its physical nature.

In the Large Catechism, Luther emphasizes the importance of the physical elements of the Sacraments because we are physical beings.  The interaction of those physical elements with our bodies brings comfort in and of itself, because we are acted upon by God.  Our skin feels the water.  Our lips, teeth, tongue, mouths, throats, and stomaches feel the bread and the wine.  The forgiveness and healing and sustenance of faith given physically to us is the comfort of the Gospel, is Christ crucified for us in a way our bodies (and then minds) can grasp, something tangible to which we can cling.

I guess, really, this line of thought began last night.  I heard a song on an episode of Bones and loved the sound of it.  Since I have some Amazon credits from opting to have slower shipping, I bought it.  The words really don't make sense to me, but one line I like:  "I'm not that photo on my father's mantle...."

I do that.  I will like (and buy now that we can get singles so easily) a song simply because of its sound.  Is that strange?

Last night, I was listening to my "comfort" play list and just after that song ("Good as Gold") is another that I like because of the sound:  "Yellow."  Incidentally, it is another song I learned from television, since I do not listen to the radio or stream radio or that sort of thing.  [Music technology is far beyond me now.]  I hit repeat on "Yellow" so many times that I lost count.  There are notes in that song that are beautiful to me.

And, then, there is this very weird thing that I do.  Sometimes lyrics that are suppose to be about a lover are lyrics I imagine God using to speak about love.  Seriously, I just know that Coldplay was not writing about the depth of God's love, but think about the lyrics from that perspective:


Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And everything you do
Yeah they were all yellow

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow

So then I took my turn
Oh what a thing to have done
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
You know you know I love you so
You know I love you so

I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh what a thing to do
Cause you were all yellow
I drew a line

I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
And you know

For you I'd bleed myself dry
For you I'd bleed myself dry

It's true
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for
Look how…

God did create the stars.  God wrote songs for us, especially Psalm 139.  Jesus did take His turn at being human for us.  Jesus did bleed Himself for us.  And He will turn our skin and bones into beauty when we are bodily raised.  God does love us.

Okay, I'm a Nutter.  But you already knew that.  Anyway, now you know one of my secrets.  When others write words to explain love, when I hear them, I sometimes think they are God trying to explain love to me. And I try to listen, to take them in.

Anyway, maybe it was that snippets of the melody of "Yellow" were running through my mind as I scrubbed the kitchen floor and it struck me that sound can be an incredible comfort to me.  Amos' snores make my entire being smile and I am comforted.  Some of the symphony performances have stilled and comforted me beyond words.  The special play list I have lures me away from whatever else is going on in my mind and I am comforted by both the lyrics and sounds that I incorporated into the list.

Sound is physical.
Listening is a physical act.
Hearing the Living Word is a physical act.

That last thought made me drop the mop.  The fact that hearing the Living Word is a physical act that engages our bodies and comforts our souls is why reading the Living Word aloud in our homes and in our churches is so very important.  The sweet, sweet Gospel magnified and manifested in the rattling of the malleus, incus, and stapes bones, tempered by two tiny muscles in our ears, the tensor tempani and the stapedius, that we might be forgiven, healed, and sustained in faith.

If I were a better metaphorical writer, I would craft some genius thought to quote about the work of the Gospel that we receive through our ears using the common names of the ear bones:  hammer, anvil, and stirrup.  Something about how the Holy Spirit can use the Living Word to crush our foe or help us to flee him.  But I am not that clever.

What I am pondering, whilst the cleaning chemicals waft their way from the kitchen to the living room, is that I believe it is just as important for us to focus on the physical comfort of hearing the Living Word as we focus on the physical comfort of the Sacraments.  And I wonder why that is not something I hear others teach or emphasize when it comes to the Living Word.

It is, now, no wonder that the single most comforting moment for me in the Divine Service is the first note of the chanted Words of Institution ... and all the sounds and words that follow, of course.  Those sounds and words join together and physically comfort my entire being with the Good News, with the Gospel, for me.

I miss hearing them.