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As she continue…

四月 8, 2012

As she continues to explore the possibilities for her poetry as a conduit

for the voices of history, especially of Asian women, Chin seeks

to further expand the capacity of the lyric I. In the title poem, “The

Phoenix Gone, The Terrace Empty,” different aspects of Chin’s poetics,

shaped by an ethical relation with the other as responsibility for

the other, converge. Combining articulation of the self as other with

social critique as responsibility for the other, Chin incorporates Chinese

history and culture in her autobiographical poem, which evokes,

but refuses to be identified with, the confessional mode of American

lyric. In this poem, Chin locates the female self in a nexus of family

history, Chinese patriarchy and feudalism and Chinese American

experience, to resolve her feelings of “deep pain and guilt” for her

mother, as a result of her father’s betrayal and her mother’s cultural

92 | | | Marilyn Chin

dislocation (Moyers 75). In dealing with her mother’s suffering, Chin

associates it with other Asian women’s experiences, while imagining

her mother’s life in China and locating it in the historical circumstances

of her father’s life in America. At the same time, Chin signifies

the cultural otherness of her characters and their cross-cultural experiences

through the form and imagery of her poem. The deliberately

other-sounding title of the poem is borrowed from a poem by Li

Bai/Li Po (701–62), a renowned poet of the Tang Dynasty (618–907).

This poem is in part inspired by Chin’s reading of some fragmentary

notes by an imperial gardener about the imperial consorts in the

Ming Dynasty (1368–1644), during her research at the Tai-Chung

University library in Taiwan where Chin studied classical Chinese.

While the title of the poem, “The Phoenix Gone, The Terrace

Empty,” evokes classical Chinese poetry, the poem’s images suggest

historical changes and irretrievable loss, resonating the theme and

mood of Li Bai’s poem to which it alludes. Under the title, Chin adds

an epigram in four Chinese characters with their English translation:

“The river flows without ceasing.” The sense of continuity implied in

this epigram counterpoises the feelings of loss and of the end of an

era implied in the title, thus creating ambivalence and tension, which

help Chin achieve a compactness and intensity despite the range of

historical references. At the same time, the poem’s short, irregular,

and measured lines seem to create a sense of flow that corresponds

with the epigram, as well as the action of walking that takes place in

the poem. These elements of multifaceted continuity and departure

also characterize Chin’s reinvention of the formulaic autobiographical

American lyric. Although the speaker is often apparently an autobiographical

I, Chin breaks away from the singularity and centrality

of the lyric I in traditional Western lyric poetry by including multiple

voices from different times and places.

The poem begins with an imperial consort speaking to herself,

walking down the stairs in a garden cautiously because of her bound

feet, thus calling attention to her body as an inscription of her gender

identity and social status:

Shallow river, shallow river,

these stairs are steep,

one foot, another,

I gather the hem

She Walks into Exile Vowing No Return | | | 93

94 | | | Marilyn Chin

of my terry-cloth robe.

Quietly,

gingerly,

. . . .

past the courtyard,

past the mulberries,

. . . . . . .

In the rock garden

the flagstones

caress my feet,

kiss them tenderly.

“Who in the netherworld walks on my soles

as I walk?

And opens her black mouth

when I cry?

Whose lutestrings

play my sorrow?

Whose silence

undulates

a millennium

of bells,

in which

all of history

shall wallow?” (Phoenix 46 –47)

The consort’s questions are actually the questions which Chin’s poem

raises and responds to through the voices of the consort and other

Chinese women. These questions are directly related to Chin’s poetry

which “has a strong social and political context,” and aims to be a

conduit for “[h]istorical voices, ancient voices, contemporary feminist

voices,” and mostly for the voices of Asian women, including her

mother, as Chin says in her interview with Moyers (Moyers 67, 75).

These questions also serve as a transition from the first passage to

the third, which begins with Chin’s persona walking in a garden at a

different time and place from those of the imperial consort, but

nonetheless connects the present to the past. Walking in the garden

of “plum blossoms,” Chin’s persona thinks of “love / or the warm

blur, / my mother,” and remembers “hate, / the hard shape, / my

father” (Phoenix 47). But both parents in her memory are “slow

moving,” like “water bison”—the beast of burden in the countryside

of southern China, an image that leads her memory to her grandparents

and their lives in a village in China, and then to her mother’s

past. As she shifts the focus of her poem from aristocracy to the

working class, and from an ancient history to a comparatively recent

past, Chin switches the location of her poem from the imperial court

to the village, where the grandmother weaves and sings a lullaby

about a girl who has run away from her mother, and where grandfather,

an “itinerant tinker, heaves / his massive bellows” (Phoenix 48).

At the center of this passage is the mother, whose youth and past happiness

Chin tries to recapture:

Do you remember

the shanty towns

on the hills of Wanchai,

tin roofs

crying into the sun?

Do you remember

mother’s first lover,

hurling

a kerosene

into a hovel?

Ooooh, I can smell

the charred sweetness

in his raven hair.

The hills ablaze

with mayflies

and night-blooming jasmine. (Phoenix 48)

In contrast to this impoverished and yet idyllic world of the mother’s

youth in China, the next passage focuses on the father’s world in the

United States, one obsessed with money:

Open the gate,

open,

the gilded facade

of restaurant “Double Happiness.”

The man crouched

on the dirty linoleum

fingering dice

She Walks into Exile Vowing No Return | | | 95

is my father.

He says:

“Mei Ling, child,

Mei Ling, don’t cry,

I can change our lives

with one strike.” (Phoenix 48–49)

The sense of urgency and determination in the speaker’s tone seems

to suggest that Chin’s persona is bracing herself to confront the

unpleasant sight of her father and all that is associated with him.

However, by giving voice to the father, Chin reveals a gentle side of

him and his American dream of striking it rich in order to change the

conditions of life for his family.

Refusing to reduce the other to the self-same, and in this case, the

father to the persona’s opinion of him, Chin introduces the aunt’s

voice to provide a different perspective on the father. In juxtaposition

to the aunt’s voice of sympathy, Chin brings in the ancestors’ chastising

voice, whose disapproval seems to be directed at both the father

and the daughter. These voicesmakeit impossible for either the father

or Chin’s persona to be judged within a single, totalizing value system.

These voices also introduce more Chinese history and culture into the

poem, and generate variations of tone and rhythm within the passage:

Do you know the stare

of a dead man?

My father the ox,

without his yoke,

sitting on a ridge

of the quay.

Auntie Jade

remembers:

“Hunger

had spooned

the flesh

from his cheeks.

His tuft

of black hair

was his only movement.

That Chinaman

96 | | | Marilyn Chin

She Walks into Exile Vowing No Return | | | 97

had no ideals,

no beliefs,

his dreams

were robbed

by the Japanese,

his fortune

was plundered

by the Nationalists,

the Communists

seared his home.

Misery had propped

him there.

When you pray

to your ancestors

you are praying

to his hollowness.”

Amaduofu, amaduofu

child, child

they cried,

“Ten thousand years of history and you have come to this.

Four thousand years of tutelage and you have come to

this!” (Phoenix 49–50)

With the question “Do you know the stare / of a dead man?” Chin

turns away from the father’s perspective to the daughter’s by replacing

his voice with hers. Her persona’s reference to “the stare of a dead

man” on the father’s face, and her comparison of her father to “the ox,

/ without his yoke, / sitting on a ridge / of the quay” emphasizes the

father’s despair and dislocation in America. At the same time, the image

of “the ox”—a beast of burden—again helps Chin highlight the

working-class experience. As she says, “Ox is my Chinese lexicon for

working class Chinese which is my people, my family” (qtd. in Tabios

298). By associating the father with the ox, Chin provides a social and

historical context for the father’s dislocation and unrealized American

dream. She also allows Auntie Jade’s voice to intervene in her persona’s

opinion of her father. The aunt’s voice provides a historical perspective

on the father’s situation, and explains sympathetically to the

resentful daughter: “Misery had propped / him there.” In response to

the aunt’s remarks about the father’s hollowness and about the

daughter’s prayer to her ancestors, Chin inserts a phrase of Buddhist

chanting: “Amaduofu, amaduofu,” which is followed by the ancestors’

chastising comments that seem to be directed at the failures of both

the daughter and the father. The couplet form of these comments,

with their long, incantatory rhythm, breaks down the swift tempo of

the poem, thus enhancing its function of summing up the father’s life,

with which Chin’s persona seems to have reached some sort of absolution.

By the end of this passage, the father is no longer simply a

hateful “hard shape” or a despicable gambler to the daughter.

Following the ancestors’ remarks of disappointment about the father

and the daughter, the poem moves to the daughter’s negotiation

with her family history and Chinese cultural heritage in “the new

world.” Again, Chin generates the transition with a question which simultaneously

connects to the preceding passage and looks to the next:

Shall I walk

into the new world

in last year’s pinafore?

Chanel says:

black, black

is our century’s color.

Proper and elegant,

slim silhouette,

. . . . (Phoenix 50)

References to the speaker’s walking “into the new world” in her “last

year’s pinafore” and “our century’s color” resonate with the imperial

consort’s walk and her “terry-cloth robe,” thus relating the daughter

to the past and other Chinese women’s lives. This short passage about

the daughter serves as a transition from the father to the mother,

whose voice is introduced in the following passage.

Insisting on responding to the other as a subject, an interlocutor in

a dialogue, Chin allows the mother to speak to the daughter in her

own voice. The mother’s speech, however, is not a complaint about

her life or about her husband’s betrayal of her, but is rather a response

to an other—the strange boyfriend of her daughter:

“So, you’ve come home

finally

with your new boyfriend.

98 | | | Marilyn Chin

What is his name?

Ezekiel!

Odd name for a boy.

Your mother can’t pronounce it.

And she doesn’t like

his demeanor.

Too thin, too sallow,

he does not eat beef

in a country

where beef is possible.

He cannot play the violin

in a country

where rapture is possible.

He beams a tawdry smile,

perhaps he is hiding

bad intentions.

And that Moon

which accompanied his arrival,

that Moon won’t drink

and is shaped naughtily

like a woman’s severed ear.” (Phoenix 50–51)

The mother’s remarks about the daughter’s boyfriend reveal her anxiety

about and suspicion of the other. By letting the mother articulate

her opinions and prejudice, Chin maintains an ethical relationship

with the otherbyrefusing to erase the differencesbetweenmotherand

daughter without casting their differences into a dichotomy of backwardness/

Chinese mothers versus progress/Americanized daughters.

Through her own voice, the mother emerges not as a mere victim

of sexism and racism, but as a subject with her own irreducible otherness,

her culturally and historically conditioned prejudice, and her

separateness and difference from the daughter.

This distance between the mother and daughter helps maintain an

ethical self-other relationship as an I-Thou relation of equal subject

positions. In response to the mother’s interpretation of the bad omen

of the moon as a warning against the daughter’s boyfriend, a subsequent

short passage evokes a traditional Chinese sign of the snake

biting her own tail, “meaning harmony at the year’s end.” But Chin

immediately inserts a different interpretation of the sign in the

She Walks into Exile Vowing No Return | | | 99

daughter’s voice: “Or does it mean / she is eating herself / into extinction?”

(Phoenix 51). The implication of female self-annihilation

in the sign helps Chin to refocus the poem on women’s suffering

and subjugation by referring to Chinese women’s bound feet again in

the next passage, while continuing to incorporate the otherness of

Chinese culture into the poem:

Oh dead prince, Oh hateful love,

shall we meet again

on the bridge of magpies?

Will you kiss me tenderly

where arch meets toe meets ankle,

where dried blood warbles? (Phoenix 51)

The “bridge of magpies” alludes to a Chinese myth about the forbidden

love between a cowherd and the youngest daughter of the Emperor

of Heaven, who are separated and kept apart by the Silver River

(the Milky Way). Once a year in July magpies flock together to make

a bridge over the river to help the star-crossed lovers meet. While alluding

to the forbidden love, Chin exposes the fact that women’s love,

body, and sexuality were regulated by patriarchal law that forced

Chinese women to bind their feet in order to please men. The lines

“Will you kiss me tenderly / where arch meets toe meets ankle, /

where dried blood warbles?” evoke again the imperial consort and

her complaint about the pain in her feet.

But the poem ends with a shift away from women’s suffering and

subjugation through the mother’s voice:

The phoenix gone, the terrace empty.

Look, Mei Ling,

yellow crowfoot in the pond,

not lotus, not lily. (Phoenix 51)

The mother cites the line from Li Bai’s poem to articulate her sense of

inevitable change with the passage of time. In directing her daughter’s

attention to “yellow crowfoot in the pond,” away from “lotus” or “lily,”

the mother seems to be reminding the daughter that she is at a different

time and place, where the pond has “yellow crowfoot” rather than

“lotus” and “lily,” which allude to metaphors for Chinese women’s

bound feet that meet the aesthetic standard size of female beauty. Or

100 | | | Marilyn Chin

the mother is simply articulating her own point of view, which differs

from the daughter’s. By ending the poem with the mother’s voice and

viewpoint, Chin raises questions about her attempts to speak for other

women. As she says, “It was a moment of questioning the poem’s role

as a conduit of other women’s voices” (qtd. in Tabios 307).

But this doubt does not prevent Chin from enacting her sense of

responsibility for the other in her poetry. In “The Gilded Cangue,”

subtitled “(Phoenix series #2/3),” Chin further explores the necessity

for giving voice to women’s lives through lyric poetry, and the

consequences of keeping silent about women’s subjugation and suffering.

For Chin, these questions concern the relations between art

and life, as the speaker in the poem asks: “What is poetry if it could

forget / the meaning of her life?” (Phoenix 56). In her conversation

with Eileen Tabios, Chin expresses her feelings about the limitation

of the centrality of the poet-self in mainstream American lyric poetry.

“The American lyric is dominated by self and that doesn’t satisfy

me,” she says. As minority poets, Chin adds, “We have to be

greater than self.” She believes that poetry “has to teach, to illuminate,

to make the world a better place” (qtd. in Tabios 281). In seeking

to fulfill the ethical responsibility of her poetry, Chin develops a

hybrid poetics of alterity whose historical and cultural otherness

challenges the Eurocentrism in Harold Bloom’s formulation of the

modern American lyric canon and in Marjorie Perloff’s definition of

postmodern American poetry which is characterized by the erasure

of the lyric I.

Although written in a style and voice different from Lee’s, Chin’s

poetry, like Lee’s, responds not only to the other’s alterity, but also to

the other’s suffering, oppression, and dislocation. The passion of

Chin’s lyric is characterized by the lyric I’s attention to the other as an

ethical responsibility materialized in the content, form, and language

of her poems. Chin develops her poetics of alterity by choosing exile

as her condition for reinventing the self and the lyric.

She Walks into Exile Vowing No Return | | | 101

THE PHOENIX GONE, THE TERRACE EMPTY

四月 5, 2012

川流不息

The river flows without ceasing

 

Shallow river, shallow river,

these stairs are steep,

one foot, another,

I gather the hem

of my terry-cloth robe.

Quietly,

gingerly,

if an inch could sing

I would sing

for miles–

past the courtyard,

past the mulberries,

past the Bodhi tree

fragrant with jossticks,

past the Buddha

whose laughter is unmerciful.

Saunter,

my pink horses,

my tiny soldiers.

Heartbeat, hoofbeat,

softly,

gingerly,

do not disturb

the nasturtium,

do not ruin the irises

they planted.

In the rock garden

the flagstones

caress my feet,

kiss them tenderly.

 

“Who in the netherworld

walks on my soles

as I walk?

And opens her black mouth

when I cry?

Whose lutestrings

play my sorrow?

Whose silence

undulates

a millennium

of bells,

in which

all of history

shall wallow?”

 

This banister

painted with red lacquer

where my grip turns white.

These plum blossoms,

stock signifiers,

mocking my own ripeness

I cannot taste.

Flesh remembers

what the mind resists.

I think of

love

or the warm blur,

my mother –

I remember hate,

the hard shape,

my father.

They, slow moving,

mugworts,

no, water bison,

discuss my future

in a fulcrum

of angry gestures.

They shall come,

they shall come,

for our tithes.

She, my grandmother,

oiling her shuttle,

sings a lullaby

in an ancient falsetto,

in the east, a pink sash,

a girl has run away

from her mother.

He, my grandfather,

itinerant tinker,

heaves

his massive bellows.

His ember of hope flickering

in the village’s

eternal sepulchre

Do you remember

the shanty towns

on the hills of Wanchai,

tin roofs

crying into the sun?

Do you remember

mother’s first lover,

hurling

a kerosene

into a hovel?

Ooooh, I can smell

the charred sweetness

in his raven hair.

The hills ablaze

with mayflies

and night-blooming jasmine.

 

Open the gate,

open,

the gilded facade

of restaurant “Double Happiness.”

The man crouched

on the dirty linoleum

fingering dice

is my father.

He says:

“Mei Ling, child,

Mei Ling, don’t cry,

I can change our lives

with one strike.”

 

Do you know the stare

of a dead man?

My father the ox,

without his yoke,

sitting on a ridge

of the quay.

Auntie Jade

remembers:

“Hunger

had spooned

the flesh

from his cheeks.

His tuft

of black hair

was his only movement.

That Chinaman

had no ideals,

no beliefs,

his dreams

were robbed

by the Japanese,

his fortune

was plundered

by the Nationalists,

the Communists

seared his home.

Misery had propped

him there.

When you pray

to your ancestors

you are praying

to his hollowness.”

Amaduofu, amaduofu —

child, child

they cried,

“Ten thousand years of history and you have come to this.

Four thousand years of tutelage and you have come to

this!”

 

Shall I walk

into the new world

in last year’s pinafore?

Chanel says:

black, black

is our century’s color.

Proper and elegant,

slim silhouette,

daywear and nightwear,

for parties and death,

and deep, deep regret.

 

“So, you’ve come home

finally

with your new boyfriend.

What is his name?

Ezekiel!

Odd name for a boy.

Your mother can’t pronounce it.

And she doesn’t like

his demeanor.

Too thin, too sallow,

he does not eat beef

in a country

where beef is possible.

He cannot play the violin

in a country

where rapture is possible.

He beams a tawdry smile,

perhaps he is hiding

bad intentions.

And that Moon

which accompanied his arrival,

that Moon won’t drink

and is shaped naughtily

like a woman’s severed ear.”

 

The snake bites her own tail,

meaning harmony at the year’s end.

Or does it mean

she is eating herself

into extinction?

 

Oh dead prince, Oh hateful love,

shall we meet again

on the bridge of magpies?

Will you kiss me tenderly

where arch meets toe meets ankle,

where dried blood warbles?

 

Little bird, little bird,

something escaping,

something escaping…

 

The phoenix gone, the terrace empty.

Look, Mei Ling,

yellow crowfoot in the pond,

not lotus, not lily.

母愛

八月 18, 2010

第一次參加家長會,幼稚園的老師說:「妳兒子的過動症,在板凳上連三分鐘都坐不了,妳最好帶他去醫院看一看。」回家的路上,兒子問媽媽,老師都說了些什 麼。她鼻子一酸,差點流下淚來。因為全班三十位小朋友,只有她的兒子表現最差;唯有對他,老師表現出不屑。然而她還是告訴他的兒子:「老師表揚你了,說寶寶原來在板凳上坐不了一分鐘,現在能坐三分鐘了。其他的媽媽都非常羡慕你的媽媽,因為全班只有寶寶進步了。」那天晚上,兒子破天荒吃了兩碗米飯,並且沒有 讓她餵。

兒子上小學了。家長會上,老師說:「全班五十名同學,這次數學考試,妳兒子排在第四十名,我們懷疑他的智力上有些障礙,妳最好能帶他去醫院查一查。」走出 教室,她流下了淚。然而,當她回到家裡,卻對坐在桌前的兒子說:「老師對你充滿了信心。她說了,你並不是笨孩子,只要能細心些,會超過你隔壁的同學,這次你隔壁的同學排在第二十一名。」說這話時,她發現,兒子黯淡的眼神一下子充滿了光亮,沮喪的臉也一下子舒展開來。她甚至發現,從這以後,兒子溫順得讓她吃驚,好像長大了許多。第二天上學時,去得比平時都要早。

孩子上了國中。又一次家長會,她坐在兒子的座位上,等著老師點她兒子的名字,因為每次家長會,她兒子的名字總是在不好的行列中被點到。然而,這次卻出乎她 的預料,直到家長會結束,都沒聽到他兒子的名字。她有些不習慣,臨別去問老師,老師告訴她:「按妳兒子現在的成績,考公立高中有點危險。」聽了這話,她驚 喜地走出校門,此時,她發現兒子在等她。走在路上,她扶著兒子的肩膀,心裡有一種說不出的甜蜜,她告訴兒子:「班導師對你非常滿意,他說了,只要你努力, 很有希望考上公立高中。

高中畢業了。第一批大學錄取通知書下達時,學校打電話讓她兒子到學校去一趟。她有一種預感,她兒子被第一批公立大學錄取了,因為在報考時,她對兒子說過, 相信他能考取公立大學。兒子從學校回來,把一封有清華大學招生辦公室的取錄專信交到她的手裡,突然,就轉身跑到自己的房間裡大哭起來,兒子邊哭邊說:「媽媽,我知道我不是個聰明的孩子,可時,這個世界上只有您能欣賞我……」聽了這話,媽媽悲喜交加,再也按捺不住十幾年來凝聚在心中的淚水,任它流下,打開手中的信封……

沒有一對朋友會在嘲諷中增進友誼;沒有一對情侶會在相互埋怨中增加彼此的愛意;同樣,沒有孩子會在指責聲中產生學習的興趣。一個母親,作為最為信賴的親人。由衷的讚賞和鼓勵,無疑是對他最大的肯定與支持。

母親是天底下最無私的人,母愛是天底下最無私的愛。因為母親的愛,是發自內心的關懷與鼓勵。

http://www.ziondaily.com/2.0/web/daily_life_wisdom_08a/view.php?id=10517

2012 榮耀盼望 vol. 13

三月 19, 2010

2012 榮耀盼望 vol. 13

今 天繼續分享這篇信息,關於聲頻創造的另一個層次。
這個世界有很多人雖然聲稱自己是理性,但他們從不看理據,
這就是為何在我這套信息裡,每 一篇都要將前所未有的理據揭示出來,
無論是藉著圖片、分享,或是資訊。

很 明顯的,大家藉著 2012 這套信息,已經感到了開始一個嶄新的旅程,
人生當中一個前所未有的經歷,知道現在這個世界所講的現實,
每一 處都證明了神的真實。

……

Continue Reading at:

http://www.ziondaily.com/2.0/web/word_of_god_02c/view.php?id=10012

大喜樂(六)因循守舊

二月 4, 2010
大喜樂(六)因循守舊


想要快樂,因循守舊是必須克服的第一個障礙,
不要指望未來某個不確切的時候「情況將會好轉」,
那就是它們永遠不會自我轉變。
靠一個精神上的「延期計劃」過活,總是空空期待和幻望,這是無益的,
將永遠不會把你帶達到某一個目的地。

現在就必須實踐真理,而不是等到明天或者下個星期,
立即手做你應做的事,放下你的憂慮和恐懼,
去晝夜思想神的話,
放下那一片送到嘴邊的餅乾,
開始你的飲食控制;
將安逸的心放下,
積極參與教會的事奉和工作

讓我們舉羅斯為例,
羅斯一直想成為一名心理學家。
她在讀高中時,便節省錢以備上大學時用。

高中畢業不久,她的父親得了重病,
而她父親的傷病補助費也是極有限的,
她必須放棄上大學的夢想。

羅斯好玩似地產生了讀夜大學的念頭,
但出於一個又一個的原因,她推遲了入學,
就這樣一學期又一學期她過去了。
她始終未能入學。

「我真不明白,貝特絲,」她對自己最好的朋友吐露心事
說:「我真的願意學習某些大學課程,
但我要想獲得心理學碩士學位,路途是如此遙遠。

首先,我得在大學文科熬四年,然後在研究生院再熬兩年多。
貝特絲,因為我只能在晚上去上課,
我要到八十歲才能取得碩士學位。」

你看,羅斯犯了一個錯誤,她眼前看到的是六年全日制學習,
並可能把六年看成十二年甚至十五年,
因為她只在晚間學習。
然而、如果羅斯把她的總目標分解成一些小的目標,
她最終將可提早實現到自己的願望。

把你的總目標分解成若干初級目標,
然後又把這些初級目標分解成一些易於實現的小段落
這時,你可以為實現你的初級目標採取第一個行動了。

一旦你形成了「實幹」的習慣,
你將會不斷地有所建樹,
把一個成功建立在另一個成功之上,
你將能比你所想像的要更快而又更容易地實現遙遠的、
似乎是可望不可及的、因而也是被不斷延誤了的願望。

~~Eddie~~

http://www.ziondaily.com/2.0/web/zion_bloggers_04b/view.php?id=9875

得勝的態度(二)

一月 23, 2010
得勝的態度(二)

腓立比書2:5
「你們當以基督耶穌的心為心。」

當保羅寫這卷《腓立比書》給腓立比教會時,他把一個態度放在他們面前,就是這節經文所提及。

主耶穌在《聖經》中列出一些很高的標準,給予人類一個完美的榜樣,當然祂並不是要使我們有挫敗感和罪疚感,亦不是故意令我們不能達到,而是要在我們生命當 中顯示一些問題、和錯誤,令我們可以不斷地改善,當我們研究《腓立比書‧2:3-8》的時候,我們就發現主耶穌有一種高品質的態度,是他的態度導致祂一生 100%的成功和榮耀神。

讓我們一起了解這些在主耶穌裏面,那些優質的人生態度:

 主耶穌是無我的
 腓立比書2:3-4
「凡事不可結黨,不可貪圖虛浮的榮耀;只要存心謙卑,各人看別人比自己強。 各人不要單顧自己的事,也要顧別人的事。」
 主耶穌是有安全感的
 腓立比書2:6-7
「他本有神的形像,不以自己與神同等為強奪的;反倒虛己,取了奴僕的形像,成為人的樣式;」
 主耶穌是順服的
 腓立比書2:8
「既有人的樣子,就自己卑微,存心順服,以至於死,且死在十字架上。」

得勝的態度:無我、有安全感和順服。

保羅在同一段經文(腓立比書2:5)當中講到,我們是能夠擁有主耶穌同樣的態度而活。其實這種基督徒的態度好像一幅圖片一樣顯示在我們面前,而這幅圖片鼓勵我們達到。

羅馬書12:2
「不要效法這個世界,只要心意更新而變化,叫你們察驗何為神的善良、純全、可喜悅的旨意。」

以上所提到的心意更新而變化,就是將我們的態度在內心當中不斷地轉化。思想的更新和態度的改變其實是同一件事,當我們這樣做的時候,就是遵行神的旨意,我們再看看另一個例子:《詩篇‧34篇》

這篇《詩篇》亦是提到我們的態度是決定了我們一生的表現。

這篇詩篇的題目是:「大衛怎樣面對恐懼」,當時大衛的處境和情況就是孤單、恐懼和煩躁,因為他躲在山洞裏面逃避他的敵人,當他寫這篇《詩篇》的時候,他就好像一隻小鳥在暴風雨當中,但他在唱歌。

這篇《詩篇》不但可以安慰他自己,並且亦能夠安慰千千萬萬的人,但最重要的就是我們看見大衛的態度,他的態度完全與主耶穌一樣,在逆境和死亡的邊緣當中能 夠有一個非常正確的態度,使身邊的環境都改變,大衛一生的成功,其實是被無數的問題環繞著,因為大衛心中成功,所以最後逆境變成光明和得勝,沙漠變成綠洲 和祝福。

~~傳威~~

SOURCE: http://www.ziondaily.com/2.0/web/zion_bloggers_04d/view.php?id=9837

詩篇 1 章 2 至 3 節

十二月 26, 2009
詩篇 1 章 2 至 3 節

詩篇 一篇二至三節:
「惟喜愛耶和華的律法、晝夜思想、這人便為有福。他要像一棵樹栽在溪水旁,按時候結果子,葉子也不枯乾。凡他所做的盡都順利。」

《聖經》教導我們怎樣辨別「假先知」,那就是看他的果子,因果子就是他的內涵、性格本質和立場。

若是只看他的「麥子」,即恩賜,一年半載的成功、偶爾一、兩次出色的聚會。
他們或會有一段時間做好事,但是,心田若變壞,便會長出荊棘,蒺藜和稗子。

而兩個比喻均讓我們看見一個重要特質:
《聖經》所提及「發光」的本質,與本質上的改變。

故此,在麥子的比喻,內裡記載的田地就好像《詩篇‧一篇》的樹一樣,代表發光的本質,即我們的內涵、生命的本質有沒有在過程中改變?

在這比喻中,麥子喻表活水。
即我們一次又一次撒出的種子,會有三十倍、六十倍、一百倍。

可是,在過程中,我們的心田會不會愈來愈乾枯?抑或,愈來愈豐富?
這代表了我們的選擇。

在我們生命中,就像樹一樣,每年都有許多的磨練、風雨、暴風、大水。

然而,一棵樹能夠屹立不倒,仍然不斷結果子,
代表在我們信仰中,懂得在人生中,找出自己的立場,建立自己的內涵、心緒、性格,使我們持守結出好的果子。

多年中,我相信弟兄姊妹經歷許多的磨練與衝擊。

可是,在衝擊中,我們怎樣持守?
當別人挑戰你的時候,其實,你的心田有沒有站穩,好像樹一樣?

那些愛世界的會說你過於沉迷信仰;
假宗教會說你是異端,好像當時人們攻擊主耶穌一樣;
那些不懂得愛人如己的,會說你尊重領袖、愛領袖多於愛神;
那些不愛神的,會說你標準高;
那些愛罪的,會說你教會嚴格,自命清高。

可見,在教會、人生中,確實會歷經許許多多的風雨、豺狠、野獸。

然而,在過程中,我們有沒有給他們影響,埋沒自己的良心、宗旨、立場?
在過程當中,我們有沒有鍛鍊饒恕、愛、喜樂?
最重要的是,在我們生命中是否充滿真理和熱情?

那些批評我們的人實在比我們更悲慘。
他們在世不單只得不到祝福、知識、沒有了喜樂,也希望別人失去喜樂,所以,才會諸多批評,將不開心加諸別人身上。

他們在世不是喜樂、開心、充滿熱情的人,在永恆中,他們也是最慘,受到神的審判。

在這情況下,我們不單只要看得開,更要懂得帶著這份熱誠、饒恕、愛和喜樂去成長。

換句話說,你在撒種比喻中,
除了起初看重三十倍、六十倍、一百倍,有沒有真正回本外;
在後期,你的發光程度、你這塊泥土如何?

你是否像《詩篇‧一篇》第一節至到第三節所說的樹,
在性情、性格、內涵,與及信仰中,真真正正結果子、發光的基督徒?

詩篇 一篇二至三節:
「惟喜愛耶和華的律法、晝夜思想、這人便為有福。他要像一棵樹栽在溪水旁,按時候結果子,葉子也不枯乾。凡他所做的盡都順利。」


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