Thoughts On You, With A Glad Heart

This is a note of thanks to my readers. Obviously I am grateful that I have even one reader at all. And I am overwhelmed by the enthusiasm and cheerfulness with which many of you have emailed me. Really, thank you.

But what I am most grateful for is the quality of the comments posted here, or sent to my email box. What especially gladdens this heart is the kindness which pervades them. There is hardly a nasty comment here; and though I am sure the big blogs have far more readers and commenters, I will gladly keep my diminutive blog if it means ensuring that I receive such bright, kind and loving comments. I mean this: the quality of the comments here is a rarity in the blogosphere. And I note that the comments left at the links in my blogroll (in righthand column), are also civil and utterly decent. It seems that there is a revolution afoot.

I have used the dinner party analogy before. I'd like to think of Contratimes as a great dinner party, where differing viewpoints are greeted with a potent civility, and a potently rational response mixed with humor, frivolity and, in the best sense of the word, gaiety. I like to imagine an atheist and theist in one corner of a verandah, swirling glasses (by the stems) of cabernet sauvignon, laughing heartily with each other as they rip out one another's prejudices and mistakes, with their bruises covered not with bandages but hearty badinage; and then to see them sit at table together, breaking bread. And the same goes for the Republican and Democrat, conservative and liberal: Let us all disagree, please, but let us all do so with love.

As I wrote in the comment section the other day (and this speaks to more than Christianity), orthodoxy without love is dead; in fact, orthodoxy without love is not orthodoxy. The New Testament tells us not to speak truth, nor does it tell us to proclaim love. It tell us to "speak the truth in love." Speaking truth without love is often a form of abuse; I was with a wonderful woman at a reunion years ago when her uncle, upon seeing her after years of absence, pronounced, "You've gotten fat!" Indeed, she had gotten fat. But the fact, the truth, was not spoken in love and thus was a form of hate. And this is something tough to even consider, but it is true: speaking truth can be hate speech. Similarly, loving without truth is equally damnable and dangerous: telling a man injecting himself with heroin that anything he does is fine -- that I love you just the way you are and, after all, who am I to speak? -- is not one whit loving because it deforms truth (and people) into something other than the real; it deforms it into a sentiment-laden status quo, a celebration of a harmony that is chaos.

Think of it this way. There is to me, in America, no more awful event to have to attend than an opening at an art gallery. Wine by the flagon is not enough to make such an event wonderful, for the wine cannot conceal the fact that an invitation to an opening is an invitation to a festival of lies. For no one can speak the truth there, namely, that the artist stinks. And, let's face it, most art does stink. But yet there are countless artists filling countless galleries that drip with wine sprayed from upturned noses. No one takes the artist aside, or walks the gallery with him or her, saying, "You know, the best thing about these paintings is the framery." But even fewer times do we hear people speak the truth to artists with love. In fact, we seem to create, like openings in galleries, situations where speaking truth, even lovingly, is impossible. I mean, who wants to be put on the spot like that, especially when the free merlot and tapénade are so scrumptious? (I know the wine is supposed to loosen the tongue and the purse strings, but surely artists should know that too much wine only crosses the eyes, making patrons see twice as much really bad stuff.)

Forgive me if I seem rather petty. But I am all too aware of my own mediocrity in artistic matters, and in my efforts at lovingly telling the truth. What I see here at Contratimes, however, is something approaching the wonderful: people speaking to each other with grace. And for that I am grateful. Besides, I am beholden to that standard: My last name is Gnade, the German word for grace, for mercy. I have to live up to my name. Please forgive me when I fall short.

Thank you for making this a great dinner party. I hope you all enjoy yourselves.

Peace to you,

BG

(BTW: For those of you who care about your contributions here, you have all made Contratimes tumble -- in the good way -- in the Technorati blog ratings. It was only a few months ago this blog was rated in the top 345,000. Today, it is listed around the top 76,000. That's quite a fall/leap. And considering Technorati rates over 44 million blogs, Contratimes thus falls in the top .16 percent of blogs. You all have helped this tremendously; and I hope that I can continue to reciprocate your kindness with like kindness of my own.)

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.