Empathy, Lamps (or, Other Peoples Shoes)

I recently downloaded a "freebie" Ebook, "Empathy" by Raoul Martinez. It was an excellent little read. Quite a lot of detail of how our World Economy "works", based as it is upon "realism" and how the world is considered to work. 

Apparently we just cannot afford empathy - that is, according to the politicians and economists. Another way of saying it is that we must always look after Number One.

We are far here from the verse found in the Buddhist Scriptures:-

Protecting ourselves, we protect others.

Protecting others, we protect ourselves.

Well, possibly there is realism and then there is realism. Does our world actually work the way it is?

There is a story in the Buddhist texts of the Buddha descending into Hell. He carries a lamp. By its light for the first time those there recognise that they are not alone. "Ah, there are others here besides myself!" Such a recognition is the beginning of ethics, morality, empathy. 

What shall we see when we live in the light?

Raoul Martinez, in his book, says that empathy trumps forgiveness. He quotes Jo Berry, who lost her father to the Brighton Bomb. Jo later met with the man who planted the bomb, Patrick Magee, who had been released from prison as part of the Good Friday Agreement. Jo says:- "I don't talk about 'forgiveness'. To say 'I forgive you' is almost condescending - it locks you into an 'us' and 'them' scenario keeping me right and you wrong. That attitude won't change anything . But I can experience empathy.........."

Patrick Magee and Jo Berry

Time again for William Blake's "mutual forgiveness of each vice opens the gates of paradise", which gives the context of forgiveness as mutual and thus not of "us" and "them". 

Compassion - a relationship between equals. An American soldier feeds an orphan kitten during the Korean War.

And Pema Chodren again:- 

Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. 

For interest, a video of Jo and Patrick:- 

Thank you

Mu, Perfection and Jung Again

My last ramble ended with us all having Buddha nature and the subsequent question:- does a dog have Buddha nature?

Mu

An encircled Mu

The answer, according to a zen master ( Joshu ) is "mu", which freely translated is "nothingness". At mention of nothingness the average mind will think of nihilism and perhaps find confirmation of the opinion that the "east" is a place of empty contemplation, of the Buddha in the lotus position, eyes closed, seeking inward resolution of the world's problems by not moving a muscle.

Maybe not. But at this point my own mind has remembered a poem by Billy Collins, one I have always loved. Here it is:-

Shoveling Snow With Buddha

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word
for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.
In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?
Is this not implied by his serene expression,
that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,
one shovelful at a time.
We toss the light powder into the clear air.
We feel the cold mist on our faces.
And with every heave we disappear
and become lost to each other
in these sudden clouds of our own making,
these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,
I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.
This is the true religion, the religion of snow,
and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,
I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were the purpose of existence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,
me with my commentary
and he inside his generous pocket of silence,
until the hour is nearly noon
and the snow is piled high all around us;
then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,
can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk
and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table
while you shuffle the deck.
and our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes
and leaning for a moment on his shovel
before he drives the thin blade again
deep into the glittering white snow.

Shovelling snow, or "chop wood, carry water"

Where was I? Perfection - no, actually I wasn't but I started the blog with that word in mind so I will move on from hot chocolate and shovelling snow. The autobiography of Jung I mentioned in my previous blog was called "Wounded Healer of the Soul". The title suggests support for the words of Pema Chodron:- 

Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognise our shared humanity.

But relating this to perfection, my own thought is that "perfection" can prove an awful idea. Often involved with the pursuit of perfection is judgement ( of other and oneself ), self hate, and obstructions to appreciating what actually is now and thus stifling gratitude. For me the heart of Reality is Mercy and Grace; how can that heart know itself within the demand for perfection? 

Striving for perfection

"A clearly enlightened person falls into the well. How is that so?"

So, "Your not OK, I'm not OK, but that's OK", or as William Blake said, "Mutual forgiveness of each vice opens the gates of paradise". I think now that seeking the "meaning of it all" is a red herring.

"Love has no why" ( Eckhart )

Love also has no colour, labels, border or religion

Getting back to Jung, he said at one point that "nothing worse can happen to one than to be completely understood"

And.....

" The core of the individual is a mystery of life that is snuffed out when it is 'grasped' " ( a biographer of Jung ) 

Jung and All Things West

I recently read a biography of the psychologist Carl Jung.

Carl Gustav Jung

Jung, possibly looking for his spectacles

Really, I'm not actually looking for a new path ( if "path" is even the correct word to use for my stumbling approach to what is called "life" ) The last thing I need is another set of buzz words - in this case "anima", "archetypes", "individuation", "synchronity" and a few more. All a bit of a jigsaw puzzle needing to be put together to try to sort out the mysterious "self" we appear to experience ourselves as being.  Myself, I like biographies, life stories, and actually find the actual meaning of the buzz words easier to grasp when put into the context of a life as lived and experienced. Letters to friends by the subject of the biography are often another source of insight and illumination. 

An early quote  from Jung's letters caught my eyes so I'll copy it here.....

The journey from cloud cuckoo land to reality lasted a long time. In my case Pilgrim's Progress consisted in my having to climb down a thousand ladders until I could reach out my hand to the little clod of earth that I am.

What will grow from our own little clod?

"The little clod of earth that I am" seems pretty disparaging and in certain contexts could be seen as an expression of low self-esteem. But it IS all in the context. I think that everything must be known and seen in context to be seen at all. Just a case of getting the context right, which can be pretty tricky at times, given our own predilection of thinking ourselves more the diamond in the batch rather than a clod of earth. 

Seen in context, just the once, there, then.

"We all have Buddha nature". I have heard that one a few times. To think so could become a source of pride. But the context is in the "all". All living beings have the same real essential nature. Our personality, culture, our beliefs, are not inherent parts of us; more guests. Alas, we can take great pride in them and see some collections of often accidental conditions as better than others.

"Does a dog have Buddha nature?" is the great question which I will leave with my non-existent readers.

Thank you.

My Fertile Period

Rather encouraged by the fact that virtually no one actually reads this, I have the confidence to express myself more. Way back in the past I would attempt to write poetry. However, my "muse" eventually dried up (if it ever had any juice in it at all) and so I just have a small back catalogue. I will blog a few of my efforts here. 

The first is/was my one and only "success", having been read out at the "Old Court" theatre in my home town as one of the top ten in a local competition. Just to add that the reader got it all wrong, reciting the words with a deep serious pomposity that was far from my own rather ironical and ambiguous attitude towards the words. No matter, here is my opus, titled "Before Bacon: An Ode to Despair":-

Oh! I wish I'd been born before Bacon
When the sun still moved in the sky,
When hope was in more than a daydream
And beauty in more than the eye.

When the Great Chain of Being had God at the top
And Old Nic down below in his lair,
When people were burnt for love of their souls
And not just because they were there.

Back in those days before Auschwitz
When there was till trust to betray,
Before Symbol and Myth became Number
And the Cross became DNA.

Oh! I wish I'd been born before Bacon
When Saints trod the Pilgrim's Path,
When people still jumped at a bump in the night
And not at a bump in a graph.

When Crusades were fought for Truths believed
And Faith was the Devils hammer,
Nothingness only the clay God used,
The Absurd a Bishop's stammer!

When Man was seen as something more
Than atoms swirling in air,
Before the face of the Risen Christ
Became the face of despair.

Yes, I wish I'd been born before Bacon
Though there's not much to choose in the end;
But I might have had serfs and a castle
And I might have had Christ as a friend.

The "absurd" - unless, of course, "the journey is home"

Well, on to another, a poem about a young severely handicapped boy who once lived next door to us. His name was George. One day when I left the house his mother was standing beside his pushchair. She was chatting to another lady, who just as I passed reached down and patted the child's head and I heard her say:- "he's a little angel". I remember a feeling of rage at her words which I never understood at the time. But anyway, I wrote this - intentionally naive - little verse:-

see no wings on georgie

else he would be bound

set no seal upon him

place no fences round

see him not for what he could be

what he should or what he would be

see him as he is before you

love the living truth, see georgie

hope for guidance, hold no answers

in the mornings when you wake him

as he casts his eyes upon you

your response can make or break him

I think that the reason I eventually stopped attempting to write poetry was that I discovered the "real" stuff. Which is sad in certain ways. Even though our own attempts are often no more than doggerel they are ours and often seek to express emotions, viewpoints and human empathy. That such is expressed in what in a literary sense is poor is in many ways beside the point. Knowing ourselves and expressing ourselves has a value beyond literary merit as such.

Anyway, as I say I discovered the "real" stuff. Partly due to a guy called Malcolm Muggeridge who had a way with words. He would often quote a couplet or two from William Blake which touched a chord in me. Up until then, and from my experience at school (where the only poems we were introduced to were awful pompous celebrations of the British fighting spirit), the poetry I knew was boring. Blake I found was not boring, and I eventually bought a "Portable Blake" and his "Songs of Innocence and Experience" were genuinely life changing. I moved on from there.

The British Fighting Spirit

While my muse was active (I am joking) I kept a little note book, so my efforts must have meant something at the time. What was strange as I read through them many years later was that I could hardly remember writing some of them. One in particular seemed to come up out of nowhere and was particularly striking in a very emotional way; this because eventually my own mother declined with dementia, and her last three or so years were particularly stressful in many ways. So my words, written before this happened, made me think of those who may have just passed my own mother by as she must sometimes have stood, bewildered and lost.

And When She Had Gone, Pity Came

She seemed to have no yesterdays

And very little else

As she stood alone in the passing crowds

Staring, talking to herself.

I approached her with a numbing dread

Would she turn to me and speak

And isolate me from a kinship made

With all others on that street?

But I had no need to worry -

Her mouth gaped and trembled wide;

So I passed her without a sideways glance

And left her far behind

Yet looked back. She had moved at last

To the pavements edge, still lost -

(I remember thinking how strange it seemed

That she looked before she crossed)

As said above, with my own mother declining with dementia well after I wrote this, it now has more resonance with me. During her decline, mum went out and got herself knocked down by a car. So yes. Makes me think.

Another few of "me poems" and then I will call it a day. The next is called "Palm Sunday", which can mean many things. For me, at the moment, I think of the wars of religion and the inquisitions, the sheer pageantry and might of the so called "ages of faith", and I wonder what it was all about compared to, say, a mothers love for her child. Each to their own.

I was standing on some low ground

Near the road from Bethany

When suddenly the distant sound

Of cheering came to me.

I looked up, saw a distant crowd

Where rocks and roadside met

But what was causing cries so loud

I could not see as yet.

Within my heart a wonder flowed -

A longing to draw near,

Yet as I reached the winding road

I found the way was clear

The cheering crowds had moved away,

Left nothing to be found

But dust upon the beaten clay

And palm leaves scattered round.

What price a cup of tea?

Here we have a ditty written after actually hearing the words "Oh! What an exquisite desk!" in the High Street while feeling, myself, just a little pissed off with life.

"Oh! What an exquisite desk!" she said,
Gushing away from her husband's hand.
Then "Oh! what a lovely four-poster bed!"
(Later the Ming vase on its stand).

So she continued, voice rising shrill,
Straining to wrench life and death apart,
Using American Express to fill
The empty mansions of the heart.

And finally, we all know the programmes where the experts and the analysers all earn their wages summing up the latest "situation".

Those programmes are always the same;
Those Current Affairs programmes are always the same.
The editions that deal with some new war,
Those programmes are always the same.
First the historical background is given;
How historically the conflict arose,
How the crisis began - such information is given.
Then the World Perspective is given;
Everything is put into context.
The conflict is put into focus.
The Superpowers - all are placed in perspective.
The relevant politicians are referred to;
The words and attitudes of the relevant politicians are referred to;
A relevant speech of a relevant politician is referred to.
There is some in-depth analysis.
Then some film is shown of the actual battle area;
The areas actually touched by the conflict are shown.
Where the bombs have fallen - some film is shown.
Then come the women and children screaming.
Then come the women and children screaming.
Then come the women and children screaming.
Then come the women and children screaming.
Then various solutions to the crisis are discussed;
Various proposals for resolving the conflict are discussed.
The various experts discuss the various proposals.
Those programmes are always the same.

No one need be screaming

Protecting oneself, one protects others.

Protecting others, one protects oneself

(Buddhist text)

Labels and the Beauty of Difference

The idea of "labels", their uses, abuses and limits, seems to me to point to the fundamental uses of language and the limit of words. 

Labels have there uses

Is the word the thing? Let's mention something like sexuality, just to catch everyone's attention! In a very real sense there is in nature an unbroken line of continuity between the world's most macho male and the world's most effeminate female, physically, psychologically. Each of us finds ourself somewhere on that line, each of us unique, valueable, irreplaceable. Yet our minds love to label and classify. We create fences, lines and divisions. Judgement follows. Often we even seem to like labeling ourselves and take great pride in doing so. And so our "becoming" and our possibilities can grind to a stop and we congeal.

When we look at and meet another, and we have heard they are "gay", or "Christian" - or whatever - we can easily see only our own experience and understanding of such words. Possibly our label meets theirs! We can miss the actual person altogether, including ourselves! All chance of genuine empathy and mutual understanding can just wither and die.

Don't mistake the finger that points for the moon itself

It seems to me that "reality" lies beyond words. Words have their uses, but also their limits.

 

Expanding on this a bit, it seems to me that "labels" always have their own context, and when the context is lost then things get out of focus. Our minds act like a microscope. Looking at Christianity, for instance, there is Catholocism, the Eastern Orthodox, the various Protestant varieties; adjusting the microscope, within Catholocism, "liberals" and "moderns" and "traditionalists"; Cistercians, Benedictines, Trappists; and mystics, ancient and modern. Then onto the individual hearts and minds experiencing the reality of their faith according to their own lives as lived and experienced themselves, as it has unfolded uniquely for them. It just seems that if we lose the context our minds can get out of focus, and we throw words and labels over something or somebody, losing empathy and communion with them, divided by assumed judgements.

And I would like to repeat that we can miss the actual person altogether, including ourselves. Giving a label to ourselves can create false parameters that eventually stifle all potential for empathy.

There is a relevant passage from the Journals of Thomas Merton regarding "labels" and whatnot. Merton tells of how he was visited by a good friend, Mark Van Doren, and they were watching the flight and activities of some birds together. Mark Van Doren remarked:- "The birds don't know they have names." Merton went on to write in his journal:-

.....no name and no word to identify the beauty and reality of those birds today is a gift of God to me in letting me see them. And that name - God - is not a name! It is like a letter X or Y. Yahweh is a better name - it finally means Nameless One.

Do the birds  know they have names?

All this involves for me what has been called the "beauty of difference". Often it seems that a different haircut, a lifestyle that varies from our own, a different type of clothing, leads not to rejoicing in the sheer diversity of our humanity, but instead can make us close up in a defensive ball, even a knot of fear. Which seems sad, and worse than sad when the fear evolves into persecution - and on a larger scale, wars, killing and Inquisitions.

The beauty of difference

For me, reality is non-dual; truth is One. This One is "The Hidden Ground of Love" that can have no explanation, that cannot be possessed, defined, but can only be shared in communion with others. As has been said in the east:- The Tao can be shared but not divided.

My own Pure Land path has its own symbolism, that of gold for the undifferentiated nature of ultimate reality, and the lotus flower for the individuality of each and every one of us, in fact of each and every "thing". So in depictions of the Pure Land there are fields of golden lotus flowers dancing in the breeze.

Difference need not divide

Thank you

The Harlequinade

In a previous blog I mentioned Wei Wu Wei, AKA Terence Gray. One of my favourite pieces of his writings is "The Harlequinade" which I have also posted on various discussion forums. 

Open at your peril

The Harlequinade is the opening chapter of the little book I have also mentioned before, "Ask the Awakened", a book I often dipped into with various levels of bemusement. 

The wizened sage Wei Wu Wei masquerading as Terence Gray

Here is the full chapter........

Perhaps our most serious handicap is that we start on the wrong foot. In the end this is likely to be fatal, and, I fear, generally is. We have a basic conditioning, probably in some form of Christian religion, of which little remains today but its ethical content, or in one of the modern psychologies, that of Freud, Adler, or Jung, or in some scientific discipline, all of which are fundamentally and implacably dualist. Then the urge manifests, and we start reading.


Every time we happen on a statement or sentiment that fits in with our conditioned notions we adopt it, perhaps with enthusiasm, at the same time ignoring, as though they did not exist, the statements or sentiments which either we did not like or did not understand. And every time we re-read the Masters or the sutras we seize upon further chosen morsels, as our own jig-saw puzzle builds up within us, until we have a personal patchwork that corresponds with nothing on Earth that could matter in the least. Not in a thousand million kalpas could such a process produce the essential understanding that the urge is obliging us to seek. 

We are required to do exactly the opposite of all that. We are required to 'lay down' absolutely everything that is 'ours', and which is known as 'ignorance' - even though we regard it as knowledge. It is like stripping off clothes that have become personal. Then naked, but in a nakedness that does not recognise itself as such, we should go to the Masters, who will clothe us in the garments of the knowledge or understanding that we really need. It is their jig-saw we must complete, not 'ours', for their 'doctrine', what they have to reveal to us, is one whole and indivisible, and the statements and sentiments that we do not at once understand, rather than those that we think we do, are the ones that matter. One by one as we re-read, and finally all at once, their meaning will become manifest, and we shall at last understand what the Masters have to tell us. Then, and only then, can we acquire their understanding, which is the fulfilment of the urge. 

As busy little bees, gathering honey here and there, and adding it to their stock in their hive, we are wasting our time, and worse, for we are building up that very persona whose illusory existence stands between our phenomenal selves and the truth of what we are, and which is what the urge in us is seeking. That 'laying down' of everything that is 'ours' has always been insisted upon by the Masters, but we affect to ignore it, precisely because that very notion of 'self' which is the centre of what we have to 'lay down' seeks to take charge of the operation, and generally succeeds in doing so, thereby frustrating from the start any hope of fulfilling the urge. Is there any wonder that we so rarely get anywhere at all? 

It is interesting to note that in the recently discovered collection of sayings of Jesus there is one in which he formally adjured His disciples to divest themselves of all their 'garments'. It is understandable that such a statement should have been omitted by those later compilers who had no idea what such a requirement could mean. But to us it should be a commonplace. As far back as Chuang-tse we find the story of the old monk who, in despair of knowing enlightenment before he died, went to see Lao-tse. On arrival Lao-tse came out to meet him, welcomed him, but told him to leave his followers and his baggage outside the gate, for otherwise he would not be admitted. The old man had no followers, and no baggage, but he understood, went in and found his fulfilment.

A Harlequinade

Anyway, my posting of this on one Forum drew a condemnation from a Christian, who took exception to the reference to "divesting themselves of their garments" and its context. Maybe he took it far too literally? I'm not sure, but literalism, the interpretation of words in there literal sense, is often a fault of us all.

In posting this I am not particularly advocating any "going to the masters". My own Pure Land path is very egalitarian and has little time for "masters" and in fact seeks to find lessons at all times; in all places, from all people, young, old or inbetween. Nevertheless, I find the chapter interesting from various perspectives. Maybe others have no such "urge" as spoken of here but fear not, it is not a fundamental requirement of developing simple human empathy and having a compassionate and loving heart.

Related Quotes:- "When I speak of my stupidity, I do not refer to something that is innate, but rather to the false impressions that I have cleverly stockpiled, layer upon layer, in my imagination" (Soko Morinaga, from the Introduction to "The Ceasing of Notions")

Passing Over and Further Ramblings

There was a Christian theologian called John Dunne who wrote a book called "The Way of All the Earth". It concerned what Mr Dunne called "passing over", passing over from one world view to another, then coming back again and seeing your own "view" with new eyes. I suppose it has a close relationship with the "don't judge another until you have walked a mile in their shoes" advice.

John Dunne - still over? Or back again?

 Anyway, I passed over at one point (passed over, not passed out) Maybe a bit of autobiographical information is appropriate here. I had always had the yearning to travel and it was the exotic that attracted me. Palm trees, deserts, pagodas and the like. After my overland trip back from Australia my heart and mind was soaked with the "exotic". A few months after getting back to England I found myself on my local railway station, a dull rainy day looking out over the skyline. Oh dear, I thought, I'm well and truly home. Then a very simple thought struck me, but struck deep. What in fact is the "exotic"? A palm tree or an oak tree, sand or grass, a pagoda or a church spire? I won't labour the point.

Later, reading a book involving a Buddhist worldview, I just found that the old accepted landmarks had disappeared. From my viewpoint that took it for granted that the "western" worldview was a given, set in stone, the "way things actually were" and that the "eastern" ways were exotic and to a degree outside of actual reality, it became apparent that in fact one way of knowing and seeing was not necessarily more real than any other. Once this is seen there can be no going back. This is not to claim that one view is correct - but it is to see the possible relativity of all views, where one is not more "exotic" than any other. Nothing is quite the same again. 

Christian Cosmology

Buddhist Cosmology

A "plain" Cosmology - or is it?

Well, enough of that. But having said that, if we reflect at all we must consider exactly what constitutes "reality", beyond the immediate one of the kitchen sink, bills and babies crying. Here is a rather long passage from a book by the Trappist monk Thomas Merton. I will not apologise for quoting it in full as for me, even as a non-theist, it has always given much welcome food for thought, reflection and even contemplation. Merton is perhaps addressing his very own "cosmology":-

.......the deeper question is the nature of reality itself.


Inexorable consistency. Is reality the same as consistency?


The "reality" of the world of many is of consistency, but the reality of the real world is not consistent.


The world of consistency is the world of justice, but justice is not the final word.


There is, above the consistent and logical world of justice, an inconsistent illogical world where nothing "hangs together," where justice no longer damns each to their own darkness. This inconsistent world is the realm of mercy.


The world can only be "consistent" without God.


His freedom will always threaten it with inconsistency - with unexpected gifts.


A god who is fitted into our world scheme in order to make it serious and consistent is not God.


Such a world is not to be taken seriously, such a god is not to be taken seriously. If such a god is "absent" then doubtless the absence is a blessing.


To take him seriously is to submit to obsession, to doubt, to magic, and then to escape these, or try to escape them, by willfulness, by the determination to stake all on an arbitrary selection of "things to be taken seriously" because they "save," because they are "his affairs."


(Note that even atheism takes seriously this god of consistency)


But mercy breaks into the world of magic and justice and overturns its apparent consistency. Mercy is inconsistent. It is therefore comic. It liberates us from the tragic seriousness of the obsessive world which we have "made up" for ourselves by yielding to our obsessions. Only mercy can liberate us from the madness of our determination to be consistent - from the awful pattern of lusts, greeds, angers and hatreds which mix us up altogether like a mass of dough and thrusts us all together into the oven.


Mercy cannot be contained in the web of obsessions.


Nor is it something one determines to think about - that one resolves to "take seriously," in the sense of becoming obsessed with it.


You cannot become obsessed with mercy!


This is the inner secret of mercy. It is totally incompatible with obsession, with compulsion. It liberates from all the rigid and deterministic structures which magic strives to impose on reality (or which science, the child of magic, tries to impose)


Mercy is not to be purchased by a set way of acting, by a formal determination to be consistent.


Law is consistent. Grace is "inconsistent."


The Cross is the sign of contradiction - destroying the seriousness of the Law, of the Empire, of the armies, of blood sacrifice, and of obsession.


But the magicians keep turning the Cross to their own purpose. Yes, it is for them too a sign of contradiction: the awful blasphemy of the religious magician who makes the Cross contradict mercy. This of course is the ultimate temptation of Christianity. To say that Christ has locked all doors, has given one answer, settled everything and departed, leaving all life enclosed in the frightful consistency of a system outside of which there is seriousness and damnation, inside of which there is the intolerable flippancy of the saved - while nowhere is there any place left for the mystery of the freedom of divine mercy which alone is truly serious, and worthy of being taken seriously.

Well, I love this. The inconsistency of grace........and that mercy is alone to be taken seriously. But many still insist upon "justice".