something i noticed in the book of John

I was browsing through the book of John yesterday when I noticed that he mentions water or some activity pertaining to water in almost every chapter...I was curious if this meant something...
1. John the baptist baptizing with water
2.water into wine at cana--Christ's first "sign"
3.Jesus' disciples start baptizing, and mentions rebirth/Holy Spirit to Nicodemus
4.Jesus at the well with the Samaritan woman
5. Healing pool, Jesus heals the lame man
6. crosses the Galilee/walks on water
7. Jesus says he is the "living water"
8.NONE though he preaches and says he is the IAM
9.Jesus heals the blind man with his spit
10. goes back to John the Baptist at the Jordan--he says he is the good shepherd, says "I and the father are one"
11. Jesus WEPT
12.Not Really--but mary anoints jesus feet with perfume--jesus triumphal entry
13.Jesus washes the disciples' feet
14. No but there is no change of scene--he is still talking about "way truth life" and promises Holy Spirit
15.No but he is still talking about being the "true vine"
16.No but he says "you will WEEP but your sorrow will turn to joy as a woman in labor..." repeat of birthing--blood and water and tears...
17. No He is praying to the Father...
18.Not really but he speaks of "drinking the cup" (hmmm....no mention of pilate washing his hands or jesus being spat upon...)
19.Jesus drinks sour wine, and when pierced bursts blood and Water...
20. The woman weeps in the garden, but Jesus promises his Holy Spirit...
21. Jesus appears to the disciples on the shore and gives them breakfast
hmmm...I am looking for patterns, is that too mathematical an approach for theology? I am sure it is primitive but I was just curious since John seems to emphasize the acts of water with importance, though of course the other gospels mention them as well.

"why the novel matters" critique #1

At first I noticed several ironies that I thought were humorous:

1. After disagreeing with the Bible text about the flower withering and the word standing forever, he proceeded to show us that though he is dead, his word outlasted him. (and the fact that he perfectly summed up his novels--boring, stale, and stupid. and trashy ones at that.)

2. his statement that "we turn a deaf ear to it and it ceases to exist"--his view of truth or words...(especially his importance)

3.his "youth like the eagles" comment which appeared to be for G-d's people for "them that wait for the Lord" and paired with "blades of grass" which was also mentioned in the Bible for "the lives of men" made, in an odd way, a support for redemption & resurrection. Whereas, he was trying to support nature vs. spirit.

4. his little illogical, but very postmodern, statements like "there is nothing absolutely right" (about his statements?) and making imperialistic and absolutist statements about abolishing absolutes, as well as change not being absolute. huh? (though surely he knew this--"illogic" is very popular now)

5.His disdain for Philosophers,&scientists, theologians, etc.-though I cut it out)
whilst he makes philosophical statements. and his disdain for thoughts. --Yet again, my juvenile humour.(--and the "pills" comment--a perfect comment of his literature.--why do authors always say the best things about themselves but never realize it?

6. Outmoded use of "ether" to promote materialism, when QM has proved him wrong, and using Platean comments about how novels are only a representation of the real thing--whilst saying Plato didn't get it--kinda weird. (and yes, I did read this a couple times to make sure he wasn't dead-panning)

However unfortunate, D. H. Lawrence's "why the novel matters" seems to sum up a lot in today's postmodern thinking. Hmm...I am still thinking about it.

"why the novel matters" by D. H. Lawrence

"I don't believe in any dazzling revelation, or in any supreme Word. 'The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the Word of the Lord shall stand for ever.' That's the kind of stuff we've drugged ourselves with. As a matter of fact, the grass withereth, but comes up all the greener for that reason, after the rains. The flower fadeth, and therefore the bud opens. But the Word of the Lord, being man-uttered and a mere vibration on the ether, becomes staler and staler, more and more boring, till at last we turn a deaf ear and it ceases to exist, far more finally than any withered grass. It is grass that renews its youth like the eagle, not any Word.
We should ask for no absolutes, or absolute. Once and for all and for ever, let us have done with the ugly imperialism of any absolute. There is no absolute good, there is nothing absolutely right. All things flow and change, and even change is not absolute. The whole is a strange assembly of apparently incongruous parts, slipping past one another."
"The philosopher, on the other hand, because he can think, decides that nothing but thoughts matter. It is as if a rabbit, because he can make little pills, should decide that nothing but little pills matter...the novel is the one bright book of life. Books are not life. They are only tremulations on the ether... Plato makes the perfect ideal being tremble in me. But that's only a bit of me..."
---1936 (bold imprinted where I found irony...or humor)

more excerpts from Tennyson

In Memoriam A.H.H.

from no. 55
..."I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the world's altar-stairs
That slope through darkness up to God,

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope"

from no. 56
..."O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.

a 19th century response to malthus & modernism

In Memoriam A.H.H. no. 54

O, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shriveled in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream; but what am I?
An infant crying in the night;
An infant crying for the light,
And with no language but a cry.

--Alfred, Lord Tennyson

To Congress

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we,
Light half-believers of our casual creeds,
Who never deeply felt, nor clearly willed,
Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds,
Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled;
For whom each year we see
Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new;
Who hesitate and falter life away,
And lose tomorrow the ground won today--

(from "Scholar Gypsy" by Matthew Arnold)

atheist excerpt

The room is cloud of smoke
Of smell of sweet, incense
Of song and voice, of prayer
The priest lifts his hand across
Four children kneel beside
And heads are bent in prayer

I do not speak.
My throat is tightly closed
And mouth is drooped and old.
I stand alone, the heathen
In black boot and bare head
University coat.
I have not the faith, nor hope.
There is only dead
And that is all, and on a bed.

They huddle around with
Eyes closed and hands clasped
lips moving in prayer.

(To the ceiling boards and windows shut
To the plaster coated peeling wallpaper.)
I stare down
Bare, alone, forsaken, free.
I was a boy once
And believed tales and rime
Father used to take me there
And hold my pilgrim hand.

How different it is now!
Now, I understand.
Perhaps. That there is really nothing more
Nothing less.
And all is false but pen and knife.
(and vodka pot, and dirt.)
They shall all die poor
And heedless cries to god
Yes, in the street and begging bread.
(That is too my fate, no doubt)
Unless men can end this sty
And overthrowing, breaking all that held
Yes, destroying those petty kings
And conquering all those castles
Adored, and worshiping.
Blood, and breaking glass.

excerpt

With naked hands and small

That have swollen eyes

And can cry out to breathe.

How we long to be a babe born.

Because we are not, and cannot

till we mourn.

Hello

The Heavens declare the glory of G-d, The Skies above proclaim His handiwork.
Day after day they pour forth speech, night after night they declare knowledge.
There is no place where their voices are not heard...going to the ends of the world.