Skip to main content

Posts

The Devil in the Details: Reflecting on Translating 1 John 4:8

  One of my favorite verses from the New Testament is from the First Epistle of John, chapter 4, verse 8, ever famous for equating God with Love or Agape: Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. (ESV) For many, including myself, this is the statement that is the core teaching of the Gospel. It encapsulates the most fundamental aspect of Christ’s teachings in a single, relatively simple statement, and the pungency of the final three words in both its brevity and weight has a profound effect.  As an exercise to keep my ancient Greek reading comprehension sharp, I decided to take a look at the original Greek of the epistle and see if there was anything peculiar. The text is so beautiful in English, I was curious to see whether the Greek had anything to offer. Of course, it did.  1 John 4:8 in its original Greek is:      ὁ μὴ ἀγαπῶν οὐκ ἔγνω τὸν θεόν, ὅτι ὁ θεὸς ἀγάπη ἐστίν. This is a fairly straight forward sentence. "ὁ μὴ ἀγαπῶν" di...
Recent posts

A Fucking Papercut

Cream colored pages, flipping and flapping,  Cutting the finger that fed it, the eyes That gave the deadless ink life, crying Silently, dreading its own black demise.   Red is the page that has cut the thumb, blood Rains down the hand, but pain makes prose sweeter; For what is prose but merely poesy, rud,  Swollen by left-brained minds and no meter.  So do I turn from poesy to fiction, much less At the hand of a book who I so care For as a child? My mind giving mindless Ink life? No, for it does not dare. I am no more prose than poesy, fiction; Let the book lie in silence’s diction. 

The Pumpkin Left on My Porch

How plump and orange is my love beside The porch chair, sitting slouch’d from august heat.  Bought too soon, she rots from the inside, So she will never hear, “trick or treat.” “You’re too far gone to roast and eat as pie,  And while your skin, though tough, is keeping taught,  There’s no amount of spice enough to lie About your age and keep you young,” I thought.  She bakes from the inside out, a Pumpkin Pie devoid of love and flavor, my vain Attempts at being festive, I jumped in  Too quickly onto the seasonal train.  You die in shame, in heat, in grief, and why When all I wanted was a piece of pie?  

To You, Lost

Where can I find you? Behind the telephone pole where you first kissed me.  How will I know you’re there? Because I told you so. Don’t you have faith? What if I have no more faith to give? Then to you I am lost. Even if I am always there,  your eyes will look elsewhere,  and in dashing your eyes,   you will know the meaning of  Invisibility.