the world turned upside down...

   Andrew Preston Peabody is rapidly becoming indispensable to me-more from several of his works as the summer goes on.  Today, another anecdote...

"He (Peabody) was able to read when he was three years old, and he learned his letters from a book which inadvertently was placed before him upside down, so that it was always a matter of indifference to him how a book was put before his eyes. On one occasion, when he was riding in a stage-coach, and was turning the leaves of a volume printed in German characters, one of the passengers remarked that this young man pretended to have a knowledge of German, but he could know nothing about it, for he was holding his book upside down. The ancient languages he could read in the same manner; and when a pupil stood before him with a copy of Homer or Virgil, he could from his seat overlook the top of the page and follow the lesson as readily as if he had the copy in his own hand. For a considerable time he preferred this way of reading; but when he saw that it attracted attention, he discontinued it, although he retained his power of so doing as long as he lived."

perfectly clear to us...

Looking for something else this morning, I came across this reminiscence of Andrew Preston Peabody and was quite taken with it.  It comes from the book, "Certain American Faces: Sketches From Life", by Lewis Slattery

"ANDREW PRESTON PEABODY

THERE are faces so familiar to one's memory that it seems impossible to believe that one has never spoken to their owners. When I was an undergraduate at Harvard College I suppose the most revered figure who passed in and out of the college yard was Andrew Preston Peabody. I fancy that the first time we saw him we knew instinctively who he was. The smiling face in which shone rare goodness as well as benevolence, was a stay against freshman pessimism, and I suspect it held many a youth, inclined to be wild, from his sin. He was very old. He had ceased to teach, and a sermon or lecture was an infrequent task. He continued to live in the house near the Library which was one of the perquisites of the Plummer Professor, and so was seldom absent from the college precincts. The merest stroll brought him face to face with the successive generations of students of the University. He was, in a way, to all kinds of men, the embodiment of Harvard College. And yet few of us had ever spoken to him.

Only a year or two before my day, "compulsory chapel" had ceased, and the voluntary system (largely under the inspiration of Phillips Brooks) had begun. All sorts of anecdotes clustered around the head of our ancient hero. It was said that in the old days of compulsory prayers, if the Plummer Professor (who was the Chaplain and who regularly conducted Prayers and preached) was caught preaching beyond a certain fixed time, the Chapel was filled with gentle tappings, which came from hundreds of feet, accidentally touching the wood of the pews in front of them. There was also a rumour that once in a prayer he had said, "Paradoxical as it may seem to thee, O Lord, it is nevertheless perfectly clear to us. . . .

There were lingering tales of the older days of Cambridge. On a very hot day Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was making his way across the Cambridge Common. With hat in hand he was drying his wet forehead with his handkerchief. And so he met Dr. Peabody, who, in his chronic absent-mindedness, did not recognize his friend; but he saw the hat, and, assuming a beggar, with notions of charity not then outworn, he dropped a few small coins into it, and passed on. At another time, when cows were wont to ramble on Cambridge streets, he one day awoke from his absent-minded dreaming to recognize that he had just passed a lady to whom he had neglected to bow. "I must not be so rude again," he said to himself. In a few minutes some students saw the genial man wave his hat gallantly to a passing cow. Very absurd and trifling tales were these; but they served as pegs on which young men could hang their affection for the venerable saint. I can remember only one time when I heard him preach. The old vigour for which he had been known was gone, but the sweetness was as winning as ever. I cannot remember a word he said that evening in the forlorn old Appleton Chapel, but I can remember the kind eyes looking out through the square gold spectacles. I can even remember that he had added something to his manuscript on a certain page. I felt sure that it was a page preached many times, with many notes, between lines, in margins, and on the back. In any case he was evidently looking for a sentence which viciously eluded his search. Without the least embarrassment he held the leaf up to his dear old eyes, turned the paper first to one side, then to the other, and finally upside down; there he found the straying sentence, and joyfully read it, with slow emphasis, to a waiting congregation. I dare say that, even at ten o'clock that night, we could not have told much about the sermon; but we all knew that it had done us good."

Blessings

transfigured...

The state that James Freeman Clarke describes in today's "Message of Faith, Hope and Love" (also posted  at "Wonderful Epoch." is indeed a blessed one.  It also sometimes seems far away...

"AND so, sometimes, Christ becomes transfigured to us, as he once was to Peter and John. Sometimes we see him and understand him far better than at other times. Our hearts burn within us as he talks with us. He opens to us the Scriptures. Technicalities fall away. We do not ask any theological questions about Jesus, whether he was Son of God or of man, natural or supernatural. But we seem to see our Master and Friend as Stephen saw him, a dear human face, a look of compassionate tenderness to us, a pity for our temptations and sins, a divine heart, full of God, yet a human heart, all manhood, too. And the Scriptures grow clear in such moments, grow intensely interesting. Whereas they were before dull, now every word is filled with fresh life. The Bible becomes transfigured: it is like earth in this springtime, every part swelling into leaves and blossoms, every part instinct with life. We study the words of the Bible, always expecting to find something new in them."

Have a Blessed Sabbath

we are as we pray...

John Emery Abbot and Ralph Waldo Emerson could be said to represent the theological extremes of "Boston Unitarianism."  Yet both knew that we are as we pray... Emerson's Poem, "Prayer"

"When success exalts thy lot
God for thy virtue lays a plot.
And all thy life is for thy own,
Then for mankind's instruction shown;
And though thy knees were never bent,
To Heaven thy hourly prayers are sent,
And whether formed for good or ill
Are registered and answered still."

Blessings

hearts undisguised...

What do you pray for?  Here is John Emery Abbot's take...

"THE PROPER OBJECTS OF PRAYER.
What are the blessings which we may ask from God, with most propriety and with most frequency? In regard to temporal goods, we are evidently permitted to pray for those things which are necessary for our protection, support, and comfort, and to deprecate those evils which would render life wretched. " Give us our daily bread, and deliver us from evil," form part of the prayer which our Saviour himself has taught us. When we go beyond this, it is doubtless best not to pray with particularity for temporal gifts. We know not what earthly circumstances would be best for us. The apparent good we desire, may bring with it a burden of misery, and the seeming evil we would deprecate, may prove to us the greatest of mercies; or we might supplicate for gifts, which it would be inconsistent with the designs of providence and with the wisdom and mercy of God to bestow. We ought then to pray, that God would grant his temporal blessings to us, not according to the measure of our ignorant desires, but according to our necessities, and his own wisdom and goodness. Our usual prayers for the goods of this life ought to be in general language, and to be offered with entire submission and cheerful acquiescence. We should ask them to be granted only so far as God shall see best for us; and then our prayers will surely find acceptance and meet their reward. If what we seek would be injurious, our very petition is that they should be withheld; and if the grant of them would, indeed, be a blessing to us, we may rest in the assurance that they will be bestowed. This evidently should be the usual mode of offering our prayers in respect to the good things of this life.

But there are blessings which we may and ought to pray for, with particularity, with earnestness, with importunity. These are blessings all important for us to receive, proper at all times to be sought, and most consistent with the merciful designs and worthy the perfect character of God to bestow. Spiritual blessings, the forgiveness of our sins, the aid of God's grace, his wisdom to direct, his power to restrain and guard, his assistance to further, his consolations to comfort, and his favor to bless us; we are exhorted constantly to solicit, and he has promised them to our prayers. These should form the great subjects of our supplications. In comparison of t these, all other benefits are too trifling, too transient, to be named before him. Here, no minuteness is improper, no urgency misplaced. We should on these subjects open before him our hearts undisguised and unrestrained. We should acknowledge our unworthiness, not merely in general phrases, but number before him our particular transgressions and neglects, that his forgiveness may blot them out. We should remember not only the temptations which are common to us and to others, but our own peculiar occasions of offending, and pray to be guarded against them. We should dwell not merely on our general want of holy principles and sanctified affections, but on those single principles we need to establish, those peculiar feelings we need to cherish, and those particular dispositions of piety we ought to form; and fervently solicit God's grace to create or confirm them, and to render their influence effectual on our lives. We should remember not only our general duties as men and as Christians, but those private and peculiar duties which arise from our own stations in society, our circumstances in the world, and our own connexions with others; and ask of God that light and strength which shall enable us to perform them with faithfulness and acceptance."

Blessings
(illustration:  "The Prayer" by van Gogh)

strive with vigilant earnestness...

The pious Unitarian, John Emery Abbot continues the theme with this excerpt from the sermon:

PRACTICAL INFLUENCE OF PRAYER.

"Prayer not only gives fervency to devotion, and elevation to the feelings ; it operates on the conscience. It is prayer which, more than anything, makes us realize the constant and immediate inspection of God. When we address ourselves directly to him, we cannot but remember that he ever hears our words, and witnesses our actions; we feel that we are in his presence, and that no darkness nor solitude can conceal us from his view; and we cannot go away and at once feel that we are removed from his observation, or cease to remember that his eye yet watches our steps. Who can be conscious of this without some deep sense of the solemnity of his situation, and of the obligations he is under ever to order his actions as seeing Him who is invisible ?

Besides, in prayer we continually and solemnly acknowledge before God our obligations and our duties. And no human soul can be so fearfully presumptuous as thus habitually to bring to his conscience the deep conviction of his duties, and solemnly acknowledge them to God, profess his unaffected purposes of obedience, and seek from him the strength and mercy which he needs, and then return with indifference to a course of wilful transgression. We must at least strive to relinquish our sins, or the voice of prayer would be to us a tremendous warning we could not hear, and a burden of remorse and misery too heavy for us to endure.

Besides, we cannot in sincerity acknowledge our obligations before God, and not feel some sense of our deficiencies, some need of forgiveness and amendment. When we recount before God the duties we pray to be enabled to practise, shall we not remember wherein we have failed ? When we pray to be made pure, can we forget the disorders of our hearts, and the irregularities of our appetites and passions ? When we supplicate for feelings of charity, can we then forget our unkindnesses, injuries, or cold neglect of others ? When we ask for the gift of a heart grateful for mercy, and filled with pious and obedient affections, can we avoid being conscious of our poor offerings of thankfulness, our weak and wavering devotion, and our ungrateful returns to him who giveth all ? And who can be so presumptuous as solemnly to confess before God his own particular sins, and earnestly to pray for forgiveness, without deep and solemn purposes to avoid the occasions of sin, to resist future temptations with fortitude, and to strive with vigilant earnestness to amend all that has been amiss ? Unaffected prayer thus teaches us to know ourselves, awakens us to watchfulness, is a perpetual exercise of repentance, gives vigor and effectiveness to good resolutions, and furnishes a constant motive to resistance of sin, and to amendment and holiness of life."

Blessings
(painting is "Young Man at Prayer" by Hans Memling)

a devotional spirit...

More John Emery Abbot on prayer. this from the sermon:

"Private Prayer A Preparation For. Social Worship."
We need private prayer as a preparation for that which is social. If we desire that God should hear and accept us, our prayers must be offered with fervor and earnestness. A devotional spirit must warm our hearts, and hallow the petitions that rise from our lips. But a devotional spirit can be nourished best, if not only, in private. It must be made habitual too, if we would have it pervade our prayers. It cannot be assumed at will, like the consecrated garments of the priest, but must at all times array us. And this habitual feeling of devotion can only be sustained by the frequent excitement, and often renewed expressions of it, in our solitary prayers. Without this private preparation, we may indeed bow with our families when the day rises or the shadows of night descend, but our prayers will be generally distracted and formal. We may gather at the temple and listen to the voice of others, but our minds will be wandering and our hearts be unaffected. The altar may be spread and the sacrifice may be prepared, but the fire will be wanting, and no accepted offering will rise.

Without this private preparation, we cannot enter into the spirit of social prayer. Public prayer must necessarily be general; and general expressions are unaffecting. But when we go from the solitude in which we have held communion with God, have acknowledged his goodness, and implored his mercy and support particularly to ourselves, then the voice of public prayer will awaken the remembrance of thoughts and feelings we have been indulging in private. When the public confession of sin is made, we shall think of our own deficiencies of character, neglect of duty, and acts of sin. And when all around us are rendering their common praise to God for his universal goodness, our praises will be quickened by the recollection of the private mercies he has bestowed on us. In this way we shall apply to ourselves all the general praises of the public devotion, and join in it with sincerity and with feeling. It is in a great degree the want of this private preparation which renders public prayers so uninteresting, and causes us often to wait on them with so much careless inattention or lifeless formality."

Blessings